#i spent the first five days of this week (well technically last because it’s already 12:17 am but) crying and stressing over it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pinkcaddyconfessions · 1 year

Text

Anything for You, Darlin’

- - -

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader (can be Austin!Elvis if you prefer)

Word Count: 2,389 words- my longest chapter yet

Warnings: Language, Fluff,

Author’s Note: well this is my longest chapter to date. I hope you enjoy it! I hope you had a happy thanksgiving if you celebrate!

@mslizziesblog

- - -

Chapter 15

November 1977

Elvis was back on the road performing his latest tour. This tour was thirty days spent out through six weeks so he could spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with his family. Elvis didn’t want this tour to be just a greatest hits tour. He wanted to give each audience something different and exciting to look forward to. He did the classics like “Love Me Tender,” “Jailhouse Rock,” and “Hound Dog.” He performed his own renditions of his favorite songs like Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You.”

You and the kids weren’t able to be a part of the tour in early November due to school schedules and other various activities, but Elvis was adamant on having you and his family with him during the December leg of his tour. Every single night before and after his shows, Elvis would call you to make sure all five of his babies were alright. He talked to Mallory, Elvis Jr, and John separately for ten minutes each before the show because he knew they would be asleep by the second call. That second call was all for you and baby Kennedy. He would ask you about the most mundane things like the weather, but you loved that about him.

November 23, 1977

Before long Elvis was home from the November leg of his tour. He came straight home from his NYC show in order to get home quicker. When he walked into the house, he wasn’t surprised that all the Christmas decorations were already up. He knew you loved Christmas just as much as he did, so he was ok with you decorating early. It was nearly 1AM so he didn’t expect anyone to be up when he quietly walked up the stair to the master bedroom. He didn’t see you in bed, so he went to the nursery to see if you were there. Just as he suspected, you were in the rocking chair holding Kennedy, oblivious to the fact that your husband was in the doorway. It wasn’t until you looked up for a quick moment that you saw him. It nearly startled you seeing him in the doorway.

“I thought you were never gonna notice me, Satnin.” Elvis started walking into the nursery to get closer to you.

“What are you doing home so early? You told me that you weren’t gonna be home until Wednesday night.”

Elvis was in front of you knelt down so he could be eye level worth you. “(Y/N), technically it is Wednesday. And besides, I couldn’t wait any longer to see my babies.”

You gently kissed him right on the lips. The taste of cigars and Coca-Cola still lingered. “Well, you ain’t gonna hear me complain. Welcome home baby.” Just in that moment, Kennedy’s eyes shot wide open, like she knew her daddy was home. “I don’t think I’m the only one who missed you Elvis.” You gently placed Kennedy in his arms. His heart melted every single time he saw you or his babies.

“Well hello there little Kennedy. How’s my little princess? You’ve gotten so big since the last I saw you baby girl.”

You softly giggled to yourself. “Elvis, she hasn’t grown that much in two and half weeks.”

“Satnin I’m telling you now, she’s grown at at an inch or two. At least she’s finally got some hair bless her heart.” He was right on that. Her hair was just starting to grow and of course, it was dark just like it was with her older siblings.

“Okay, you’re right Mr. Presley. Now can you please let her sleep?”

“Alright princess your mama said it’s bedtime. I’ll see ya first thing when the sun rises. Daddy loves you Kennedy.” Elvis gently kissed Kennedy’s head and then put her into the crib. “Come on (Y/N), it’s your bedtime too.” He gently picked you up and carried you into the bedroom. You could hear his heart beating while he carried you. Elvis carefully laid you down on your side of the king size bed and tucked you in. He was careful not to turn on any lights while he changed into his pajamas. When he finally got into bed, he saw that you were almost asleep so he wrapped his arms around your waist in order to pull you closer to him.

“Good night Satnin. Sweet dreams my baby doll.” He kissed the top of your head several times and then both of you feel asleep.

November 30, 1977

Elvis was so excited about today because his whole family was coming with him on tour. The whole Presley household was excited. For first time ever, all four kids were going on tour with you and Elvis. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was sure gonna be worth it in the end. Elvis helped get everyone loaded on the private jet plane, Hound Dog II. The plane was custom made for your family with plenty of space.

By the time everyone was loaded on the plane, you were worn out. You tried your best to hide the exhaustion, but Elvis could see it. He got the kids settled down and ready for take off and then, he tended to you. As soon as the plane took off in the air, Elvis walked back to the queen sized bed that was custom made for you and him to find you curled up in a ball, almost halfway asleep. He got on the bed which made you jump almost clean out of your skin.

“Shit Elvis, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I didn’t mean to scare ya baby. Come here and let me take care of you Satnin.” He carefully pulled you into his lap and held you close to his chest. He started gently kissing your face and rubbing your head until you fell asleep. He kept saying sweet nothings into your ears while you sleeping. “I love you so much (Y/N). You’re always gonna be my queen. Sweet dreams Satnin. Elvis held you the entire plane ride so you could get some much deserved sleep.

In two hours time, you were almost to Chicago. Elvis started peppering your face with kisses to wake you up because knew you didn’t like to be startled when you were asleep. You slowly start to wake up and smile at the thought of still being in your husband’s arms. Elvis brushed your (Y/HC) hair away from your face so you see the Chicago skyline. You were in complete awe of the view.

After the plane landed, you and Elvis got the kids unloaded into the limousine and headed to the hotel for the night. Elvis softly tucked you and the kids into bed before getting himself into bed. This was the life he had always dreamed of. Sure, it was great being the King of Rock n Roll, but his whole world revolved around you and his babies. Elvis thanked God and his lucky stars every night that you had come into his life when you did, changing it for the better.

December 1, 1977

The day was already going a hundred miles a hour by the time the six of you left the hotel. He was already in his jumpsuit that you picked for him to wear that night, the blue swirl. You loved the way that jumpsuit brought out his blue eyes, even through the blue tinted sunglasses that he was wearing. Elvis loved it when his little family matched it so you did it every single chance you could. You and Mallory are matching in white bell bottom pants and blue blouses while baby Kennedy was in a baby blue long sleeve dress. Elvis Jr and John are in navy blue button up shirts and black slacks.

When you got to Chicago Stadium, you all were escorted by security and the Memphis Mafia to Elvis’ dressing room. Elvis was pacing around the room out of nerves. He had been doing this for twenty plus years and still questioned himself. What if he forgot the words? What if they didn’t like him?

“Babe, you’re gonna make track marks in the floor if you keep pacing around like that.”

“Satnin, I’m nervous as hell and you know that.”

“Now hun, you are not just any performer. You are Elvis fucking Presley. Every single time you go on that stage, lightning strikes. More importantly, you’re my husband Elvis. The father of my children. I love you so much baby. Now go out there and sing your heart baby. The kids and I will be out there watching you.”

“Alright (Y/N), I’ll be looking for my babies. Don’t get mad at me if I decide to surprise you night baby.”

“I expect nothing less from you Mr. Presley. I love you baby”

“I love you too Satnin.” Elvis took your face in his hands and kissed you right on the mouth. By the time he got done kissing you, your nude pink lipstick was all over his lips. He chuckled as he saw the lipstick on his lips. You and the kids were led out to the front row. The nervous energy of the crows was exciting for you.

The 2001 Space Odyssey started to play. Moments later, Elvis came out calm, cool, and collected. The crowd was electric and screaming for him. His performance was amazing like usual. About half way through the show, Jerry came out to get you and the kids. You were puzzled on why he was coming to get you because it was too soon. He didn’t say a word when he escorted to you and the kids to stage area. Elvis introduced the band and orchestra like he always did. After two more songs, he took a breather before he spoke to the crowd again.

“Ladies and gentleman, I’ve introduced you to my band, but there’s a few more people I wanna bring out. Daddy, come up here.” Vernon slowly came up the stairs and met Elvis. “This is my dad, Vernon.” The crowd applauded for him. After Vernon left the stage, Elvis began to speak again. “Now I wanna introduce you to the love of my life, (Y/N) Presley. Come on out here baby!” You were hesitant to come out, so he went over to you and took you by the hand so he could lead you out himself. “Now I don’t know why she’s actin’ all bashful, there’s no need for it she’s so beautiful. This woman right here has put with me for at least fifteen years, being married to me for eleven of those years.” You couldn’t hide the fact that you were blushing and Elvis chuckled to himself.

“I love you baby.” You tried to walk off the stage, but Elvis gently grabbed your hand. “Sorry baby, but you’re staying up here doll. Now I’d also like to introduce our beautiful children. Mallory! Elvis Jr! John! Come on out!” Your three older children came running to you and Elvis. The twinkle in their eyes was something to behold. They hugged both of you like they haven’t seen either one of you in a week even though they just saw you. Elvis looked at you and mouthed go get Kennedy to you. “Now ladies and gentlemen, as you all know we just welcomed another baby in August. Little miss Kennedy came a little early, but I’m happy to say that she’s alright. My wife’s getting her now.” You saw the tears in his eyes as he saw you holding baby Kennedy in your arms. “Here for her very first concert, Kennedy Grace Presley.”

While the whole audience was applauding, Elvis took the moment to softly coo to his littlest baby. “How’s my little baby girl right now? Are you being good for mama? Come here baby, daddy wants to show you off little darlin.” You handed Kennedy to your husband and then he proceeded to show her off. “Isn’t she beautiful people. She gets it all from her pretty little mama.” You chuckled and nudged him. You knew for a fact that Elvis was the most beautiful man alive and here he was calling you beautiful. He took any chance he could to embarrass you or show your whole family off.

“Thank you very much honey. Now kids go back with Uncle Jerry, I got one more surprise for your mama.” Jerry came out to get Kennedy and to lead the older children off the stage. You glared at your husband wondering what he had in store. “Come here (Y/N), there’s one more thing I have in store you baby.” You walked to him and he wrapped his left arm around you. You tell this man was forever in love with you. “This next song is for this beautiful woman right here. My wife, the mother of my children. My world. My rock. I’m ready whenever the band is.” The music began playing and you recognized the song immediately: How the Web was Woven. He knew you loved that song so much that he decided to surprise you with it. The tears began flowing from your eyes as he was singing to you. When the song ended, Elvis hugged you tight and whispered in your ear “I love you so much (Y/N) (Y/M/N) Presley. Don’t you ever forget it Satnin.” He gracefully walked you to the stairs and kissed you one more time. When we saw you had made it down the stairs, Elvis continued on with the show. When it came time for “Can’t Help Falling in Love” you and the kids were escorted out to the limo to wait for Elvis. Minutes later, Elvis came into the car with you and the babies. He loved on you and the kids.

“You did amazing tonight baby. I love you Elvis Aaron Presley.”

“I love you too Satnin. Now let’s get to the Hound Dog II and go to Indianapolis baby. I know you’ve always wanted to see Christmas lights in every state, including Hawaii so cross Indiana off the list.” This man knew you like the back of his hand. His main goal in life was making you happy and he was willing to do anything to do that.

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x reader #austin elvis x reader #elvis fluff #dad!elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #austin elvis smut #austin!elvis x reader #anything for you darlin #elvis presley x reader #elvis 2022 #elvis fanfiction

108 notes · View notes

jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

Text

romeo and...cullen? | part 18.

Summary: Y/N Cullen, youngest in both actual age and last to be turned in the Cullen clan. Her world is turned upside down when Bella Swan enters her family’s life, because Bella doesn’t bring just herself but drags some of her friends into the Cullen’s life as well.

Warnings for the Series: light violence, light angst, light smut

Pairing: Jacob Black x reader

Word Count: 2.0k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

You woke up to Jacob walking back into the garage with a breakfast tray in hand. He easily closed the door one handed and returned to you. You had put his sweats back on and wrapped yourself up in the blanket.

“Good morning,” you said, yawning and stretching.

“Morning. We’ve got toast and bacon and juice.”

He sat the tray down between the two of you and you both began to dig in. This space you were existing in with Jacob felt so comfortable, like one you had known your whole life.

“Technically you have one last present. This one’s from everyone. Me, dad, your family, the pack.” Jacob handed you a small envelope.

You set down your piece of toast to grab it.

“Jake what is this? Y’all have already done so much… wait for real? This isn’t happening.”

You were staring at plane tickets. Two that said San Francisco and two that said Hawaii.

“Carlisle said everyone else has had a chance to go vacation on their own but you always stayed behind with them.”

You practically leapt onto your boyfriend, almost sending Jacob back as you hugged him and kissed him.

“We leave after Bella’s wedding.”

You were watching Bella break in her wedding shoes. She looked like an awkward duck. You didn’t want to laugh at your friend but you couldn’t help it. Heels were not for the uncoordinated.

“I’ve been breaking these in for three days, I think I should go barefoot.” Bella turned to Alice.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s just, you don’t think this is a little much. The dress, the shoes, all of it.”

You couldn’t blame Bella. This wedding was Alice’s dream but Bella didn’t really care about all this. Alice spent the day bossing the boys around and making sure everything for Bella’s wedding tomorrow was perfect.

Jacob held the small bridesmaid’s bouquet of flowers as you tied his tie for him. You heard the click of a camera and saw a quick flash go by.

“Seriously? Pictures, Rose?”

“What? You two looked cute.”

Jacob handed you back your bouquet and you went with Rosalie to go line up for the wedding procession. The ceremony itself went off without any problems. Bella’s wedding really did look great. Although you probably wouldn’t let Alice take over planning for yours, you at least wanted some influence when the time came.

You, Jake, Bella, and Edward all took the same car to the airport. You gave your brother and friend a hug.

“Have fun you two!”

“Bring me back something from San Francisco,” Bella said as she hugged you back tightly.

The Airbnb you stayed at was super close to your old neighborhood. You and Jacob spent the first day buying groceries and settling in. You took him all around the city, showing him your favorite old spots and discovering new things that had been put up since you had left. This trip was just what you needed before summer came to an end and you had one more year of school left.

“(Y/N), I have a serious question to ask you.”

You and Jake were walking along the huge pier in San Francisco.

“Yeah?”

“After you graduate, are you guys just going to leave again? Are you gonna go off to college?”

“Jake I’ve been to college three times now. I don’t really need another degree. I guess we haven’t thought about what we’re doing. After I graduate we’ll still have at least five years before people start to notice and maybe another one or two before they get suspicious. But we’ve got time, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“Alright.” Jacob kissed your forehead. You guys had a couple days left in San Francisco before spending two weeks in Hawaii and going back to Forks.

You were back at the Airbnb setting up a chess board on the floor of the bedroom. Both you and Jacob were in ridiculous couples underwear and t-shirts that read “I ❤ San Fran” that you had picked up at a tourist shop on the pier.

“Do you already know how to play?”

Jacob shook his head and you began showing him the rules. “Edward taught me how.”

“You sure you two aren’t actually related?” Jake asked as he made his first move.

“Hmm?”

“You two are so much alike sometimes. Same music, same hobbies, same wavelength of thinking.”

You laughed and continued to play. When the game finished— you beat Jacob— you got up to get lunch for both of you. Jacob stood up and pulled you back by the band of your underwear.

“Jake,” you whined as your back met his chest.

“Yes, princess?”

He laughed and turned you around so he could kiss you. You still weren’t able to fully drop the shield you had around yourself but moments when you were eating or intimate you let your powers go, enjoying the full sensation of everything.

Jacob’s hands found their way to his favorite part of you, gripping your butt harshly. You jumped slightly as the first spank landed on your ass. Jacob rubbed the area where the first one landed, soothing the slight sting before spanking you a few more times.

“What about lunch?” you asked. The words came out choppy as Jacob reached into your underwear, fingers moving in and out of you.

“The Chinese food can wait, I’m not that hungry.” Jacob mumbled against your lips. “Are you?”

“I think I’m hungry for something else.”

Jacob’s fingers paused momentarily as you reached into his boxer briefs. It was your turn to have him moaning against your lips. His blood smelled even sweeter when he was overwhelmed and turned on; and, you wanted nothing more than to keep that scent going. Jacob watched as you pulled his underwear down, stepping out of them without much thought.

His hands worked their way into your hair. Jacob could come undone right then and there with the way you looked up at him. He helped you stand up and you both made your way over to the bed.

The scent of your blood singer gave you the overwhelming urge to take control. You took Jacob’s shirt off before removing your own clothes. Jacob growled as you were on top of him, both of you slightly breathless. You were getting closer when you heard a slight cracking noise. Jacob gripped your hips to stop you.

“Wait, (Y/N).”

You looked at where Jacob was staring. Underneath his fingers were slight cracks. You both watched as the cracking closed and turned to bruises before slowly fading completely. Jacob sat up a bit, removing his hands from anywhere near the area.

“Shit, I’m so sorry (Y/N). I let myself go too much.”

You knew something seemed different this time. “Jake it’s fine. I like it when you let go completely, I know you want to.”

“I can’t. Look, I just hurt you.”

“I’m fine, it would just be some normal bruising if I was fully human. I’m a vamp, our skin’s so tough we crack and break not bruise.”

“But if it’s not just bruising, I’m actually breaking—”

“Jacob, look at me.” You grabbed the sides of his face. “I’m tough, okay. I don’t want you to hold back anymore, not at all. Let go completely. The cracks are bruises, like a hickey.”

“(Y/N)…”

“I’m your imprint aren’t I?”

Jacob nodded, feeling slightly turned on again at the sound of you saying imprint.

“So you know when I’m in pain.”

You began to roll your hips again, placing Jacob’s hands back on you. He held on a little tighter. Jacob was turned on but still nervous as he watched little cracks form under his fingers before turning into bruises.

“Does it feel like I’m in pain, Jacob?”

He focused completely on the imprint bond and couldn’t feel any pain only bliss and pleasure at that moment. Jacob flipped the two of you over so that he was now on top, letting go completely exactly like you asked. He was starting to actually enjoy the little cracks his hands made and the way you seemed to jump a little in extra pleasure when it happened.

You couldn’t think straight. The pace he set was fast and rough. Jacob was spurred on by your little mumbles of his name, the obscene way you moaned, and the feeling of your cold fingers running up and down his arms and back.

“Harder,” you whispered.

Jacob smiled, happy to oblige you. Your phone rang on your nightstand and he looked over.

“It’s your brother.”

“Probably checking in on us. Ignore it, I’ll call back later.”

The phone went dead and you kept going before it rang again. Jacob pulled out and you answered the phone, frustrated.

“What, Emmett?”

You swung your legs over the bed and let them dangle there. Out of everyone it just had to be Emmett. He loved to talk and his conversations could take literal hours.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Something in his voice sounded kind of odd but you couldn’t place it. “How is the vacation?”

“The vacation’s just great, Em. We were having a really good time.” You tried to emphasize without giving away exactly what you and Jake were doing, hoping Emmett would get some kind of a clue and hang up.

“Fun. So you and Jacob are doing good?”

“Yes. We are doing fine, no injuries, no sicknesses, no money issues.”

Jacob smiled as you looked over at him and rolled your eyes. He lazily rubbed on your thighs while you talked to Emmett. You watched Jacob’s smile go devilish. You gave him a questioning look as he got off the bed.

“Right now? We didn’t do much of anything today, it’s a pretty quiet day in San Fran—”

Jacob was looking up at you from between your thighs, watching your reaction.

“(Y/N), honey are you okay?”

You heard Esme’s voice.

“Yeah…sorry, I got distracted. Emmett am I on speaker?” You had to collect yourself as Jacob went down on you. He was reveling in the fact that you were struggling to keep composure.

“Yeah, the whole family’s here.”

You heard a chorus of ‘hi (Y/N) hi Jacob’ and barely choked out a hi as Jacob spread your legs out further. Jacob lifted his head for a moment to say hi to your family.

“So you guys are still in San Francisco?”

“Yeah, for another day or two.”

“How quickly can you get home?”

“WHAT Emmett?”

Your hand flew to Jacob’s hair. Hopefully, the raised voice hadn’t made anyone think anything suspicious. You could feel Jacob smirk at your last reaction.

“Sorry. You guys are gonna have to cut your vacation short. We need you to come back like now.”

“Now?”

“We have a problem back home.”

“Okay, fine…we’ll be back tomorrow evening.”

“Tomorrow evening?!” You heard the exasperated voice of Edward.

“Yes, Ed. Jake and I still have to pack…” Jacob stood you up so he could finish the fingering he had started earlier. “And book new flights.”

“Ok. See you tomorrow evening.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

“Sorry to cut your vacation short, (Y/N). I know you guys were looking forward to Hawaii.”

You had to hold the phone down and bite your lip as you came on Jake’s hand.

He picked up the phone with his other hand, no problem, not stopping his relentless pace with you.

“It’s alright, Hawaii can wait. I think we got plenty of time.” Jacob saved for you as you were finally calming down, holding his shoulders for support.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, bye guys.”

You hung up the phone and pushed Jacob jokingly.

“Really? While everyone was on the phone?”

“I think you liked it.” Jacob kissed your lips and you could taste yourself on him. “Are you okay to go one more round?”

You smacked his butt. “After what you just pulled I don’t know if I should let you get off.”

You giggled as Jacob rolled his eyes and pulled you towards him. You melted into his kiss before he turned you around and bent you over the bed.

“We’re back. There better be a good reason we’re not surfing the beaches of Honolulu right now.” You walked into your house with Jacob.

Everyone was gathered awkwardly towards the front. Despite being very worried about what they were going to tell you, your brothers were ready to beat the crap out of Jacob when you two entered the living room. The hickeys on your neck and bruising on your wrists hadn’t faded from yesterday. The cracks only closed up this morning. When you gave Jacob permission to not hold himself back, he really didn’t. Your brothers couldn’t stop staring, you wanted to shrink into Jacob’s side.

Edward stopped looking at the marks and attempted to look you in the eye. “Bella’s pregnant.”

You and Jake raced past your siblings.

“(Y/N/N), Jake? Is that you?” Bella’s voice rang out.

“She’s been asking for you two,” Rose said as she helped Bella stand up.

You looked at your friend who was pale, deathly skinny, and heavily pregnant. None of it made sense you and Jacob were only gone for two weeks. Even if you had gone to Hawaii, it would only have been a month.

“What the hell did you do?!” Jacob turned to Edward. You put a hand on him, stopping him from going after your brother.

“I didn’t know it was possible,” Edward said.

“Carlisle, what is it?” you asked your father.

“I don’t know… the ultrasound and needles won’t penetrate the embryonic sac.”

“I can’t see it either,” Alice told you. “And I can’t see Bella’s future anymore.”

“Edward, what did you do…” you whispered looking at Bella. She whimpered in pain and you were by her side in an instant, making it all go away.

(Part 19)...

#jacob black x reader #twilight fic

161 notes · View notes

hueningshaped · 3 years

Text

★ cruel to be kind | l.c

▰ genre: childhood friends / bffs / idiots to lovers + fluff and a little jealousy also mingyu gets picked on a bunch and there’s a tiny makeout scene

▰ word count: 3.4k

▰ synopsis / request :

▰ a/n: couldn’t choose a title so i went with a song title hehe but there’s not much of a connection. i hope u don’t hate this ;A;

"For the last time, I don't want you going out with us guys tonight," Chan hollered from the kitchen in reply to a loud conversation that you two were now in the middle of.

You were in the process of doing your half of the chores since he had apparently already did his, despite the fact that he seemingly had never had time to before now. Dropping the basket of towels with a clash, you made your way to the doorframe to watch him with a glare.

"Every time we take you with us, it turns into a crap fest," he declared.

However, leave it to Mingyu to pass by and save the day, in the most minor way, reprimanding his younger friend softly with another basket of clothes in his burly embrace. He even appareled the frilly pastel apron that was originally yours from when you were ten years old, so it appeared five times smaller than him.

"Channie, you know that's hurtful talk. Do you really mean to hurt their feelings in that way?" It appeared that your tall friend was in a particularly stable mood.

"Yes! Thank you, Mingyu!" You whined out before returning your voice and mind to the situation at hand. Chan merely rolled his eyes. The television blared out from another room as the latter had a habit of being careless about his belongings and chores.

It almost made me no sense as to why you remained his roommate, better yet, why you even stayed with him, but being by his side was the only constant thing in your life.

If you thought hard about it, and you mean really thought hard about it, the conclusion of sticking with him is only because you’re best friends, but you’re quite close to the point you wouldn’t even point out that you were technically best friends.

There were more cons than pros to living with someone so unabashedly obnoxious and irrational, but funnily enough, that was your best friend.

Yet, there was also a brewing pressure that seemed to add tons to the tension between you, one that fueled more and more petty arguments lately, despite the norms of bickering and teasing each other. You shouldn’t argue though; like one nameless acquaintance told you, he was doing his thing, and you were doing yours.

“I’ve spent the entire week away from you,” he muttered, crossing his arms irritatedly but without the snap of venom. “I’d like to think that I’d be able to keep up this pattern.”

“Meaning what?” You mirrored his body language, all while Mingyu continued to cross back and forth between the two of you.

“Meaning,” he began, imitating your exact tone. “I’d like to get laid if slash when we go out — ” you yelped out in disgust at his comment. “ — and when we do stay in, I honestly feel like I have to babysit you or something.”

“First of all, ew, and second of all, I’m not sure why you feel like that, since I can clearly take care of myself especially with the guys. Nothing crazy ever happens, and I don’t mean to speak for them, but I can be pretty cool.”

“Yeah, pretty lame, you mean. Well actually, you’re just dumb.”

You were ready to pop a vein, had it not been for Mingyu calmly intervening with a readied basket of all the folded blankets in the apartment. With the comically subconscious stance of a pregnant mom, he even stepped in between you, placing his fists on his hips.

“Already talked to the others, and it was already a given that you were coming, so Chan and Y/N, cheer up, okay?”

With that, you couldn’t help but flash Mingyu one of your brightest smiles, because finally, someone who doesn’t bully you constantly. He snickered lightly and even gave you a high five, ignoring Chan’s bewildered blubbering.

On the surface of your minor victory, a minute part of you winced at his words. Was he that inclined to finally depart from you?

The night with the guys unfolded as it would: a hang out with an unbelievable amount of food. However, tonight would be different, considering all the money all thirteen men pooled in together, along with some of your own, to rent out a grand split leveled beach house of sorts.

Things were going as they typically would; Soonyoung drinking the night away, begging you to dance to the unmusical cooking sounds, which you would seemingly turn down until Joshua would ask you personally. You had a hard time turning down him for some reason, and they all seemingly knew — all for him to pass you on to Seungkwan, who chatted you up for hours on end, at times.

Seungcheol would tell you ‘great job’ for going outside of your comfort zone when you’d mention your school activities, and you’d be whisked away from most of the other guys because they just loved to hog you.

The night shifted when a few board games were whipped out, in an effort to keep a few members from losing their cool (their cool being not upchucking and getting gross) from the alcohol. Taking advantage of what grand space the beach house offered, the group was split between the largest room with an open area and the other end of the veranda forming a small living room: you and a few of the other guys watching a movie.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable right there, Y/N?” Joshua called from above you, prompting you to gaze up at him from where you sat. With the main sofas and seats occupied, you had opted for a comforter and a seat on the rug. “I still feel bad for making you sit on the floor. We’d be more than happy to trade spots. Right, guys?”

A smile curled upon your mouth to tamper down any possible doubts of his or the guys around you, nodding and leaning into the big, warm body beside you.

“I promise I’m comfy here,” you reassured, chuckle making its way out of your throat. “Mingyu’s here, too. Isn’t anyone wanting to ask to trade spots with him?”

“Hell no!” Seungkwan called out, speaking for everyone there.

As Mingyu pouted on and the laughter at his expense died down to view the movie, you wrapped your arms around one of his to soothe the teasing, and he leaned his head over yours. Unbeknownst to you, Chan’s jaw began to grow sore from how hard he was gritting his teeth, trying to peel his eyes away from you and Mingyu. The madness was beginning to boil, past simmering at this point.

Only reminded by Joshua, you remembered about the snacks you’d purposely bought for tonight, long abandoned in the kitchen where the board game took place.

“Chan! Could you pass the snacks over here please? Left them on the counter.” You hollered narrowly, catching Chan’s eyes revert from you to the game then back to you. He seemed upset, although it clicked in your mind it must be because of the game.

He’s always been a sore loser.

Chan let out a scoff, not meeting your eyes as he spoke begrudgingly, “Get it yourself.”

Some of the others in both rooms caught that, eyebrows furrowing at how unkind the youngest was being to his best friend. However, you decided to hold off on the second attempt to plead, in understanding as he could be quite snide and obnoxious at times. Shrugging Mingyu off gently, you made your way past and from Chan, taking at least half of the snacks you had bought. Seungcheol wonky blinked questionably at how Chan ignored you.

“I’m taking some of these snacks over to the movie area, but you guys can help yourselves to them as well.” You announced politely to the board game party.

“Wow, Y/N, very kind of you to go through the trouble of buying all our favorite snacks by yourself because this…is a lot.” Minghao commented and you grinned, murmuring a shy thanks.

“Actually, Mingyu and I stopped by a few stores before coming here, so you should thank him, too.”

From the living room, Wonwoo’s eyes widened by a fraction at how he caught Chan rolling his eyes and recklessly throwing a few game pieces when he moved his piece. Actions, gestures, and words passing through the air. All while you merely spoke, all while Mingyu simply would nod along with what you’d say, words revolving around your escapades, Chan turned away from you, lips permanently pursed, jaw clenched, and his knuckles paled and paled against his grip.

Once the conversation died down, everyone assumed their roles again, Chan continuing to huff and puff each time he would mistakably sneak a glance to your direction.

Midnight soon became of the night. The film ended on a positive note, but you couldn’t help but become a bit concerned as to why your best friend seemed so bothered. Clearly, whatever it was would not cease to persist, and he only brushed you off when you would even try to step in his direction.

You conversed with Vernon as the credits came to a close, and a few of the others that had been playing a board game were beginning to succumb to the night. Jeonghan and Wonwoo had moved to chatter with a few of the other elders, speaking in hushed tones that would be broken by wry chuckles and giggles. It all fueled the cognitive dissonance that pushed you closer to want to sleep.

The lights in the beach house dimmed as more and more scattered, but the elders remained speaking while Chan had finally finished disposing of all the trash with a heavy hand.

You supposed you would try to give him his much needed space, considering he still appareled furrowed eyebrows, and to bring it up later.

This plan of yours was short lived as Jeonghan appeared seamlessly out of nowhere with a hand on Chan’s neck, pushing the two of you towards the stairs.

“Okay, kids,” he crooned while your best friend kept his face straight.

“Where did you come from?” Your question was gently waved off.

“It’s bedtime, for now. I think you kids have done enough. I’ll make the rest take after your duties. Go on and good night, okay?”

Jeonghan left no room for arguments as he immediately turned on his heel once your foot was on one of the steps towards the rooms. Chan sighed loudly, making eye contact for once. You hadn’t been able to see his eyes all night, and despite it all, in the binds of disaster, one look from them could offer heaps and heaps of reassurance.

You’ve missed him.

After all, you had spent the entire week with Mingyu, considering Chan started staying over at one of his dance classmates’. Well, it didn’t start out that way. The two of you typically spent much of your time together, but due to his incoherent dance class intervals, he started coming home later and later, and well, Mingyu filled in the spot seamlessly.

He let you join in on the cooking, commending you on your help and how well the food tasted, which Chan initially could only ever reheat. Mingyu would even take you along with the grocery shopping, genuinely talking your ear off with questions that meant the world to you because he showed that he was interested in what you said and in you, though that could never possibly be the case for any other person. (You sometimes have that middle school angst of thinking you’ll never be loved, even at your grand age, but you could never bring it up to Chan, or anyone of the sort really.)

Watching a new show together would overlap with cuddling, with Mingyu actually wanting to and not even arguing, moreso gleefully asking to. You’d fall asleep with your head on his shoulder and your legs in his wide lap. Chan practically seethed when he’d return each time at the sight, pushing him to sleep elsewhere, away from you and his replacement.

But, you’d never see his side, or at least he’d never let you.

Passing a few rooms and making a right on a corner, Mingyu was also in the midst of following the same idea you were doing, just in reverse.

Face damp after presumably washing his face, your tall roommate grinned at the two of you before using both hands to ruffle each hair of the both of you.

“Sweet dreams, you guys,” he murmured, but his face falling as his chance to say whatever he was going to say next vanished. The action itself wasn’t completely foreign to you, but what had prompted it was; Chan took your hand in his, steering you to the bedroom, trudging and your own footsteps struggled to catch up. His back faced the closed door now.

“Hey, Chan, wasn’t that a little rude? You didn’t even say good night to him. He’s probably going to cry or something.”

“Oh, relax,” he spoke mockingly but without much fire, hands still locked together as he closed the door behind himself. “He’s got Minghao and Soonyoung.”

“Alright, well, then, what’s the hurry?” You gave his fingers a squeeze, before slowly releasing your hand from his. The lights hadn’t been turned on yet, leaving the two of you in the dark.

“I just wanna get to bed,” it was your turn to scoff, crossing your arms. Only the window brought forth some light, and at most, the moonlight painted your silhouettes.

“You know,” you began, a little wobbly, and usually, he’d tease you about the way you talked, stuttered, and said certain things; for now, he remained silent. “You confuse me. I think you want me gone, then you get mean — meaner than how you just are to me, how you’ve always been, even since we were kids. Then, you try to steal me all to yourself, but you push me away. Chan, what do you want?”

His furrowed brows cast a shadow over his eyes, blanketing them further in nebulous shade.

“I miss you,” your voice was textured with exaggerated fatigue, but despite your effort to keep the air between you two light, your words betrayed the facade you have fought to keep on for so long. “If it’s becoming exhausting to be my best friend, then you can move on. I’m more than okay if you want to move out or if you want me to leave. It doesn’t matter if we’re friends or if it means the end of it because I’ll always think of you happily. I feel bad sometimes because I feel that you feel that I — “

“Just shut up,” Chan muttered before striding over to you, fast paced, taking your face in his hands, in one fluid movement, leaving you speechless with whatever you were ready to say with a kiss.

Now, you’ve experienced a few kisses at most in your life, even having had the phase where you binged romance movies to swoon at some characters actively meeting mouth to mouth.

So, when Chan’s lips dove in for yours, exchanging open mouthed kisses, thumbs pressing gently into your face, you were legitimately dumbfounded. All words eluded you. Your hands themselves were unable to react, hovering by his sides but unmoving. Your eyes skimmed over what you could see, and you were further shocked at his taut jaw, drawn eyebrows – a face that you’ve only seen when he performed with his dance group at a prestigious contest, when he got his first tattoo of his grandmother’s calligraphy, when he joined you on the plane, leaving his family and home to accompany you for college, so the two of you would remain together as you take on the world.

You took his shirt into your fists and attempted to release for a breath, but his mouth chased after yours with a gasp. He lowered the fervor ever so slightly before breaking away with a singular kiss, exhaling while you panted. Chan met your eyes, and not for the first time that night, you wished for him to be forward rather than hide his true intentions behind a few gestures and actions.

The heat then began to consume you from the inside out. Your best friend just kissed you the same way a twentieth century miner would greet his wife after a long day at work.

“You don’t have to make an excuse if you want to go, Y/N. I’m sorry for…uh, that, but I just wanted to do it, just once,” he wistfully spoke, looking into your eyes before dropping his gaze. “Even if you know my true feelings.”

Your eyes about bulged out of your head, jaw dropping and wordlessly mouthing your reaction to what he was saying.

“Chan!” With a grip to his shoulders, you shook him to meet your eyes. “What are you talking about?! Are you saying you like me?!”

Your heart lurched and hammered in your chest in the same pattern that it had been for a while now, but you’d paid no heed. Even if you possibly (but definitely, said the subconscious part of you that you weren’t even aware of) liked him, it was simply a fact that Chan liked anyone else but you because you were best friends; for, the culture of boys constantly circulated around hookups, chaste relationships that lacked meaning, and the like.

It was his turn to freak out, forehead wrinkling and eye size growing.

“You mean… you don’t know?”

The thermostat had to be at 85 degrees Fahrenheit. You shook your head softly, waving your hands.

“This is the first time I’m hearing this, Chan,” you practically saw stars. “If you truly do like me like me.”

Chan nearly lost every bit of sanity he had ever had.

“Jeonghan hyung!” He cried, voice thick with frustration and incredulity. The floor beneath you rumbled with the grouped laughter of everyone else in the building; it was then that you both realized that everyone was in on the situation when you both weren’t even aware of the other’s feelings.

Heat radiated off your body in waves.

“Y/N,” His brought you back down to Earth, past the amused clutches of your idiotic friends that belonged in the clouds. You were enraptured by his gaze, a look you’d only ever seen in movies, pointed to you. “I really, really like you. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad friend.”

You simply drew your arms around him to pull him in a hug, his head pressing against yours. Just the same way you both would do when things became too much for one to handle on their own.

“No, Chan, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to realize.” You mumbled and he chuckled heartily at that.

“I told you you were clueless,” he said, to which you punched him in the side, eliciting a small wince due to your lack of effort.

“I like you, too, Chan. I’ve missed you lately.”

Your absence in his life for the past few weeks had served his own diluted Hell. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence when you shuffled over to the bed hand in hand.

“So, what’s going to happen?” You questioned, moving to lay on your side and look at him.

“Well, we’re going to get Jeonghan hyung’s ass, that’s for sure,” this made the two of you laugh before groaning at the reality that he’d sped up and somehow spoiled a long-burning confession despite his gestures being borne out of a good place. “But, nothing much. We’re going to be friends just like always, but we’ll be more than that.”

He looked to you for acknowledgment, every word reassured with your nod. Chan intertwined your fingers, cheeks and ears flush, completely visible even in this moonlight.

“And I’m going to steal you from Mingyu, but that’s besides the point.” He muttered too quickly, but you caught that, using your other hand to swat at him. This incited some lighthearted bickering, stemming from the way you all but missed the fact that his jealousy and unsureness was the reason he behaved the way he did. Oh, why did you have to be so oblivious.

But, it mattered not — because to everyone in the building, excluding the clueless you and Mingyu, it was an immovable fact that Chan, your very best friend, loved you.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #svt imagines #dino imagines #dino x reader #lee chan #lee chan x reader #lee chan imagines #chan x reader #chan imagines #chan scenarios #lee chan fluff #seventeen

213 notes · View notes

jbreenr · 3 years

Text

Talk Me Out Of It –Bucky Barnes

Pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes × reader

Summary: partying was not your idea of fun... until someone convinced you to stay for one more drink. (Here's the second part)

Word count: 3.7k

Warning: brief talk about sex, mention of a burn scar (is that a warning? I don't know, I'm gonna put it anyway), but none, other than that.

A/N: i'm beer drunk, it's raining outside and i just walked three blocks to get some churros while daydreaming about this so… enjoy, i guess. and tell me why i shouldn't write when i'm not in my five senses. also, let me know if you'd like a smutty second part bc im thinking of something. Lack of vocabulary and grammatical mistakes abound. *apologizes in español*.

Inspired by talk me out of it –Olivia Holt.

ᴹʸ ᵍⁱᶠ

“This is ridiculous.” You spat as you eyed up and down your reflection in the mirror. “I look ridiculous.”

“What are you saying?” your friend stood up from the bed and went to stand behind you. “You look hot. ‘Hot’ is good.”

“I don’t want to look hot, Angie. I don't want to go to that stupid reunion, in the first place.”

Angie spent most of her free time these last weeks trying to convince you to go to the annual high school meeting with her. You had missed the last… Well, all of them. And there was a legit reason why: you had way more important things to do on a friday night than failing to reconnect with old classmates (of which you had already forgotten most names) like, watching a Criminal Minds marathon choking on popcorn or scrolling through social media procrastinating the gradings of the exams you were supposed to have ready for monday morning, for example.

“C’mon! You said you’d do me this favor and I’d help you find someone to fix your pipeline.”

“No, you said that if I did this for you, you’d convince Trevor to fix it for free.”

Angie hugged you from behind and placed her chin on your shoulder, pouting and giving you her best puppy eyes. “Just because my fiance has the soul of a bricklayer doesn't mean that he also is a plumber.”

“Angela…”

“Fine, fine! I’ll tell him.” She raised her hands in surrender. “But I can’t assure you that he’d do a good job. To have the soul and to have the skills are two different things.”

“Why am I going? Isn’t Trevor supposed to go as your date?” He was technically not invited since he was from another generation of students.

Your friend walked to her closet, opened the sliding door and took two pairs of heels.

“He is, but he and Nate are really good friends and every time he appears, Trev goes to get a beer with him and the gang,” She imitated Trevor’s voice, making you laugh. “And leaves me to deal with Jessica and her bragging about all her trips and the expensive shit her boyfriend in turn buys for her.” Before you could say something, she added, “And I need you there to keep me from tearing up the hair extensions off her bleached head.”

The idea of Angie starting a fight with one of the most odious people on Earth played in your head, thoughts of your friend slowly losing patience and blowing smoke out of her ears had you biting your inner cheeks to prevent you from bursting into laughter. Mostly, because she didn’t have it in her to hurt a fly.

“I'll go.” You affirmed, rolling your eyes at your friend's triumphant yes. She stretched out her arms, heels in hand and looked at you, then the shoes, then you again. “But don't believe I'll get in the way if you decide to break Jessica's new nose with the edge of a table.”

“Deal!” She handed you the white stilettos –that matched the thigh dress that was suspiciously your size–, wearing the biggest smile on her face. “We'll have so much fun; we can try Andrew’s weird ways of getting drunk, bet on who makes a fool of themselves the fastest and, who knows? Maybe you’ll finally get Ryan Morgan’s attention and have some in the bathroom of the club.” She winked at you.

“Ew! Shut up!” You laughed it off, not wanting her to start the teasing she used back in the day when it came to your youth crush.

“I’m only saying that you haven’t had sex in what? Eight months? It is time for you to go out, to talk to other adults besides your students' parents and me. Believe me, with that dress and a smile, you could drive anyone crazy.”

You blushed and tried to play it off with a joke. “Alright, stop flirting with me or I’m telling your soon-to-be husband.”

“Meh,” She downplayed the matter with an exaggerated grin. “He knows he’ll always be number two in my heart.”

As she finished the sentence, the horn of Trevor’s BMW sounded repeatedly from outside, urging you to hurry up and scaring Angie to the point she swore he listened to her.

Sighing, you took your small purse and walked towards the entrance.

“Let’s get you someone to bang tonight.” She said as she closed the door.

“I still can’t believe you convinced me to come.” There had been only five minutes since they entered the bar and Bucky’s grumpiness was already making Sam regret the decision of bringing the super soldier with him.

“It’s not that bad!” Sam nodded his head to the bartender as a greeting and showed him two fingers, asking for drinks. His usual, apparently. “Remember what your therapist said? You need to make a new friend. What better place than a party to do that? It’ll be easy.” he leaned against the bar and took the glass of whiskey, sipping from it.

Of course Bucky remembered what his therapist said. It was the only thing he had been thinking of for a whole week.

”There are still not many contacts on your phone, James.” The woman wearing a blue shirt and a plain grey skirt sitting across from him said as she checked Bucky’s phone for the fourth time in two months.

The first time she did, she found out that Bucky was not answering Sam’s texts on his old flip phone and she scolded him for that; the second time, she scrolled through a couple of messages between them on the screen of his new smartphone; the third time was not so different from the second; this time, she decided to do something about it.

“I'll give you a mission,” She returned the barely personalized device to Bucky, and took her notebook to write something down. “next week you have to bring me at least two more numbers...”

“I know what you’re doing, Doc, and it’s not gonna work.” He put his phone in his pocket and adjusted his position on the couch. “But, eight for the effort... Oh, really?” he protested when her pen came in contact with the paper again accompanied with a tired look on her face.

“Two numbers.” She said as the clock struck eleven, telling them that their session was over. Bucky stood up and waved goodbye to her. “And they better be real, James!” She shouted from her seat as he closed the door behind him.

Dr. Raynor was being a little too optimistic by thinking that Bucky could start new friendships out of nowhere as if he was the same Bucky Barnes the 40’s knew. More than a mission, it was a challenge.

During a quick visit to Sam’s apartment, he managed to get Sarah's number from his phone without him noticing, but he couldn’t find someone else to add to the list, which reduced things to only one more number.

“I wouldn't be so sure about it.” He affirmed, looking away in search of a potential new friend.

Soon after you arrived at the beach club, you found out there was good and bad news: Neither Nate nor Ryan were going to show up tonight. Honestly, you didn’t know which news was which. In line with Angie, it was good that Nate was not there, that way, she’d have Trevor all for herself, and it was bad that Ryan wouldn’t see you slaying –as she previously described– in her lent dress. On the other hand, you knew that thanks to Nate’s absence, your friends would not pay attention to you all night, leaving you alone, but you were relieved that Ryan didn’t attend as well, that saved you from having an awkward moment with Angie trying to make you two hook up.

If you were asked, you wouldn’t admit it, but the place was nice; fake torches were placed all around the dark wooden floor, illuminating the space, along with some light series hanging here and there, walls with tall windows and a glass ceiling allowed the –not so prominent but beautiful– natural light inside, small tables in front of low sofas were strategically positioned on the sides, and a colorful dance floor was saturated with people dancing to the beat of loud music.

“Angie! You came!” Jessica’s whistle-like voice greeted your friend. “Oh, God! Y/N? What are you doing here?” Her exaggerated enthusiasm, the hug she gave you and your forced smile reminded you why you preferred to stay home, eating junk food, instead of interacting with those people. “I thought you’d be nerding as you’ve been doing ever since we graduated.” The lack of tact of her assumption had you almost taking a step forward, you were only stopped by Angie’s hand on yours.

“We’re gonna go find a table but uhm, we’ll see you in a minute, yeah?” Her self-control in those kinds of situations always surprised you.

Saying her goodbyes, she dragged you to the tables near the dance floor, Trevor following behind.

The place was crowded, people walking in every direction, chatting in the line for the restroom or just chilling and singing along to the song currently playing.

When Angie found an empty table, she practically threw herself on top of it to keep a young couple from taking it. Four chairs rounded the table and even though you did your best to sit between your friends, they found a way to be on each other, sandwiching you.

Ten agonizingly slow minutes later, you decided that if you were going to put up with all the cheesiness of theirs, you’d at least take advantage of the alcohol to make it more bearable.

“You guys!” You called, breaking the spell they were in and making them look at you. “I’m getting a drink, you want anything?”

You mentally wrote their order and walked towards the bar. A few people were there, some occupying chairs and others only waiting for their drinks. You spotted a space big enough to make yourself visible to the guy behind the bar.

“What can I get you?” He politely asked you while shaking a silver recipient and pouring the liquid in a cup. After telling him the complicated cocktail Angie asked for, the specifications of Trevor’s special drink and deciding for a simple beer for yourself, he invited you to have a seat so you wouldn’t wait standing.

Chin in hand, legs crossed and a yawn said that your drinks were supposed to be ready a while ago. One of the guys sitting next to you had left his friend’s side to go dancing with a girl, came back and then went to the dancefloor again. At least, he was having fun. The other guy’s back was facing you, his elbow rested on the bar and from your peripheral sight you saw the screen of his phone unlocking and then turning black repeatedly.

Huffing, he went to put his phone in the pocket of his jacket, but the movement of his arm pushed a glass of liquor off the bar and straight to your thigh.

“Damn it!” you spat when the cold liquid made contact with your skin.

Your words brought more attention than you intended. The guy’s (who turned to you with an intrigued expression that fast morphed into a worried one) included.

“I’m so sorry.” he apologized, taking a bunch of napkins and doing his best to dry your leg without touching you that much.

“Angie is gonna kill me!” snatching the napkins from him, you rubbed the growing wet patch in the dress, in hopes of making the yellowish stain disappear. “She's gonna bury me in the woods and then plant a tree near the grave to compensate for the life she took.”

“What?” he asked with a little laugh as he saw you struggling to take the little remains of paper off the dress.

“This thing is hers and Lord protects whoever dares to damage her new wardrobe. I don’t want to deal with an angry Angie ever again. She's the personification of an angel, but even the devil used to be one.” not looking up, you answered.

“And, where’s Angie?” He handed you another napkin.

“The pretty five feet blonde with a blue strapless over there.” You pointed in her general direction, not taking your eyes out of your current task.

“You mean the girl that’s practically eating that guy alive?” Taken aback, you looked at him for the first time that night; Blue eyes reflecting the color of the lights you were under, a short beard framing a plump pink smile, dog tags hanging on a chain around his neck, black t-shirt and leather jacket accentuating his obviously worked body, and a pair of gloves covering both his hands. How was he not melting in those clothes? You had no idea.

After the eternal seconds you drowned in his beauty, you turned to look for your friend, only to find her doing exactly what the stranger said she was doing. Her and Trevor were in the middle of an intense make out session, all thoughts of their upcoming drinks, seemingly forgotten.

“Well, I’m still not taking any risks.” Leaving the ball of napkins you made on the table, you said, “If she yells at me for this, I won’t hesitate to blame you.” The severity in your warning intrigued Bucky. He was not sure if you were being serious or not.

He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted when the bartender approached you. “An apple, orange and mint Margarita with an itty-bitty tiny bit of cinnamon,” he repeated the way you described Angie's drink. “the weirdest mix I’ve ever done, and a Corona.” he opened the bottle for you and left it to rest on top of a piece of paper.

You took your wallet out to pay for them but a gloved hand stopped you.

“Allow me. To make up for Angie’s dress.” He tilted his head and gave the bartender some cash, not waiting for your authorization. The guy turned from your face to the stranger's a couple of times and with a sigh, walked away to keep working.

“You’ll have to buy more than these to make up for Angie’s absurdly expensive dress.” You laughed while balancing the drinks in your hands, successfully keeping them steady enough for their content not to drop. The piece of paper took off from the bottle and fell to the ground.

You were prepared to leave, but he stopped you for the second time that night.

“How many more?” You couldn’t decipher if he was genuinely asking, mocking you, or being flirty. Your eyes traveled to your friends, who were most likely trying to beat the record of the longest kiss ever performed. The stranger bent down to pick the paper up and quickly eyed it. “They won’t miss you for a couple more minutes.”

You contemplated the situation: you could either go back to those lovebirds, to uncomfortably third wheel them and end up drunk on Trevor's strange vodka, curaçao, white and dark rum mix or, sit again and do all the small talk thing with this guy until his friend came back.

Even though you were mentally prepared for the first option, you put the drinks down and sat crossing your legs.

“Yeah, they're gonna be fine without me.” you affirmed, and it was not only because you spotted Jessica making her way towards them.

Bucky did his best not to look too excited when you decided to stay, maybe his most complicated mission was not going to be that complicated after all.

“I haven’t introduced myself.” He smiled showing his perfectly white teeth. “I’m Bucky.” His right arm rested on the bar and his hand was ready to shake yours.

The politeness of his voice and the little smile he gave you made you giggle. Your palm came in contact with the rough material of his glove as you told him your name.

“I think this is yours.” He placed the piece of paper in front of you.

“It is?” Incredulous, you took it. In black ink were written the name and number of who you thought was the bartender. “Oh, it is.”

“You should be used to it.” Considering how pretty you are, he completed the sentence in his mind.

”Pff, totally. That's the fifth tonight.” You said as you folded the paper and put it in your purse. The statement had him raising his brows in surprise. How was it possible that someone gets five numbers in a night and he can't even get one? “I'm kidding!” You clarified when you saw his expression. “No one ever talks to me. They usually think I have a resting bitch face.”

“He didn’t.”

Various colors danced on his face thanks to the lightning of the room and you only wished to have the red on yours, so he wouldn’t see the inevitable blush on your cheeks.

“He was an exception.”

Trevor’s drink was just as strong as you thought it would be, but Bucky didn’t even blink when he took a sip. Still, you suggested to settle on a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

Time flew; you were having so much fun conversing with him, finding out that people didn’t get close to him as well helped you stop feeling like you couldn’t act normal around him, the story of what his therapist asked him to do almost made you spit your drink, and your random babbling with nonexistent words in song lyrics in the middle of a sentence had him cackling every time.

Coming down from your laughter caused by something he said about his friend Yori starting fights out of nowhere, you refilled your glasses.

His fingers took the neck of his shirt and moved it back and forth, as to shake off the suffocating heat he was probably feeling.

“Why don’t you take that off? I boil just by looking at you.” For the look he was giving, you were sure he saw the loading bar processing your words drawn on your forehead. “Maybe that was not the right way to say it.”

“It’s… complicated.” He simply answered, suddenly shy and apparently uncomfortable.

“A poorly done tattoo?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking, the alcohol already taking effect.

He took a sip of his beer to give him time to answer. “Something like that.”

By the way he said that, you figured it was a more delicate topic than the name of an ex or a distorted face drawn on his bicep.

“Well, I once had a student, she had this huge burn scar on her leg and she hated it, like, legitimately hated it.” Your eyes were glued on him, but he could see by the softness of your face that you were immersed in the memories, so he let you talk. “She would wear tights under her uniform even if it was hot outside.” You had your glass in hand and close to your mouth, but you didn’t drink.”One day I asked her why she did that and she answered ‘Because I don’t want them to think I’m a monster.’” Your expression was sad now, almost as much as Bucky’s. Not knowing, you had put into words the way he had been feeling about himself for the longest time.

“How did you respond to that?” He held his breath, almost afraid of what you were going to say.

Snapping out of your mind, you opened your mouth to answer.

“Hey, sweetie!” Angie’s voice cut you off. “We waited for our drinks.” Your raised brow told her that you didn’t believe a word she was saying. “Anyway, we’re leaving now. Jessica wants to play this stupid game where we remember the emarassing things we did in eight grade and I don’t want her laughing at the thought of me falling off a chair in the lab. You coming?”

“I--”

“Told you not to interrupt them.” Trevor scolded her as he approached the group, but hugged her in an affectionate way.

“I had to make sure she didn't need backup.” You rolled your eyes but internally (and sarcastically) thanked her for worrying about you.

“It’s ok, but uhm, I’m down for one more drink.” You glanced expectantly at Bucky, wanting him to say that he was too.

He looked around, in search of his friend and huffed. “I think Sam forgot about me, so I don’t really have anything else to do.”

The smile on his lips said that he didn't want to do anything else.

Neither Bucky nor you noticed, but Angie and Trevor shared a look of complicity. Your friend's next words, charged with joy.

“Well then, we’ll get going. Have fun and be safe.” The swiftness of her change of mood when she looked at Bucky was impressive. “You better take care of her.” She pointed at him with a finger, and he understood why you were so worried about her reaction regarding the dress. “I’ll see you tomorrow, girl.” She leaned to hug you and whispered in your ear “He’s hot.”

“Angela!” Your face felt like a tomato. “Just, take her away from here, would you?” You asked Trevor, who saluted you and threw his fiancee on his shoulder, making you laugh.

“It’s the truth and you know it!” She shouted from above the music.

“I'm really sorry about her. She's not even drunk.”

Bucky's amusement was evident, it was the first time he felt that way ever since he visited Sam and his family in Louisiana, and your sweet embarrassment only intensified his happiness.

“I'll pour you another drink to make up for her.” Taking the bottle and filling his glass, you declared.

Suddenly, you felt in a déjà vu, in an upside down reality when he said his next words. “You'll have to pour more than one to make up for her.”

Your smile mirrored Bucky's when you asked “How many more?”

414 notes · View notes

iwadori · 3 years

Note

hello! I love your works so much! Can I request an angst to comfort scenario for #21 on your prompt list?

“It’s my fault for trusting you”

Feel free to use whichever character(s) you like!!

When the haikyu boys neglect you for another girl PT 3

Part One Part Two Part Three Part four Part Five

Word Count: 2.7K

Genre: angst,fluff

masterlist

Akaashi

You and Akaashi were beautiful people

Probably the most attractive pair of young adults that anyone can find

You were both top tier models in the industry

You always had a little rivalry between you but you always promised each other to never let it affect your ‘relationship’

“Beautiful darling, your beautiful” praised your photographer as you finished your shoot giving you air kisses on your cheeks. You thanked him and the rest of the staff and entered your dressing room sighing.

“Rough day?” Asked a voice, startling you a bit. You looked up to see your boyfriend, Akaashi Keiji sitting in the corner of your dressing room on a love seat.

“Gosh Keiji you scared me” clutching your chest dramatically “But yes, the day has been tiring Fabio has really been overworking me lately” you complained. Akaashi walks towards you and gave you a peck on the cheek “Aww poor baby” he cooed mockingly, “but don’t worry ‘bout it Y/N your sucess will be all be worth it eventually” he says making you smile.

“and besides, you’ve got a shoot with me soon anyways” he winks, making you chuckle. You finished removing your make-up as Akaashi tells you about his shoot today and Bokuto’s (your fellow model friend) antics.

You and Akaashi first laid eyes on eachother when you were both up and coming models, you both are under the same company. At first, both of your agents decided to make you spend time with each other to push the narrative of you being a couple anyways. However, since you and Akaashi had great natural chemistry it made your relationship great and made for a great photo too.

As much as the public loved your relationship and the saucy photos you tend to make together, they also thrived of the slight rivalry you guys had together or the times when you guys bother shot with other people (since it was easy for a fan to make a new ship off of two people literally standing next to each other.)

You spent the next day having what you and Akaashi called a ‘rest day,’ you both specifically clear your schedules for every 2nd and 4th saturday of each month to not do any work-related for the day and just bask in each other’s companies (as you were both busy and barely got enough time to see one another.)

You watched multiple movies, made your own homemade cookies and dinner, had pillow fights, built forts. You both were having so much fun, until you both got a call...Just then, the vibe changed you went from your free-spirited fun selfs back into work mode.

Your agent told you that two brands *Insert big fashion designer brand here* and *Insert another big fashion designer brand here* were having some form of standoff. To be honest, you didn’t really care about the context of the shoot(s) in this case, as your agents call ruined your day. They wanted you and Tsukishima Kei, to do some competing shoots and promotional videos for their brand against the other designer.

After getting all your information from your agent, you go back into the living and see Akaashi sitting down thinking deeply about something. “What was your call about?” you inquire sitting down next to him.

“Oh just some silly designer brand competition thing.” he mindlessly replies, still thinking deeply.

“Yeah same. So what’s got you thinking all deeply then?” you ask

“My fellow model is going to be Kiyoko Shimuzu” he sighed, making you blink repeatedly before immediately saying “You can’t do the shoot”

Kiyoko Shimuzu was japans beauty. Everybody loved her, she’s been a model since she was a child everyone wanting a grasp on her looks. The guys wanted her, the girls wanted to be here. Kiyoko Shimuzu was a force to be reckon with.

The real problem at hand wasn’t her stunning looks, popularity and fame. It was her connection with Akaashi. Before Akaashi went big and met you, he was Kiyoko’s boyfriend (well ex-boyfriend now) and they broke up because of long-distance or something like that.

However, to you, Kiyoko’s feelings for your boyfriend have never went away. Whenever you guys bumped into each other at red carpet events or runway shows, she always seemed to linger a bit too long around your boyfriend, which definitely wasn’t to your liking.

Akaashi lifted up his head from inside his palms and looked at you as if you had grown another head. “What do you mean, ‘I can’t do the shoot’” he asked in disbelief

“I mean, you can’t do the shoot” you reiterated not understanding why he didn’t understand.

Akaashi sighs before putting his face back in his hands to think, “Well I know you got to the shoot aswell Y/N who’s yours with.”

“Tsukki” You said nonchalantly say as if it was nothing, making Akaashi look at you again as if you were fully crazy before he had a chance to speak you cut him off saying “Don’t even start Akaashi.”

You and Tsukishima Kei, have best friends since you were kids. You weren’t romantic in any way shape or form, well at least you weren’t. Akaashi always claimed that that Tsukishima was in love with you, that you and Tsukishima were the perfect example of every ‘childhood friends-lovers trope’ ever, which to you wasn’t true. Everything between you and Tsukishima was and still is completely platonic which you can’t say the same for Akaashi and Kiyoko.

“You’re not doing the shoot” he says firmly as if he was your father.

“Oh so you can do your shoot with your literally EX GIRLFRIEND, but I can’t do mine with my best friend... yeah make sense” you say standing up, astounded.

“Y/N chill, If you’re so adamant about me not doing it with Shi- Kiyoko, then I wont” he says pulling your arm down making you land on him “and you better not do it with ‘Tsukki’” he mocked.

“Okay so none of us are doing the shoots?” you ask looking up at him

“Yup” he says

“Pinky promise,” you joked sticking out your pinky in his face.

“Pinky promise” he agreed hooking his finger around yours.

For the next month it seemed you were booked busy, you barely got to see your boyfriend as his agent had him running around all of Japan and even had him booked in some places in Europe for this month. Of course, you missed him, but you understand how busy it can be doing your line of work. You’ve been quite busy too, doing the usual shoots and runways.

Although he was busy, Akaashi basically went radio silent on you. You still expected him to reply to some of your messages or at least call once or twice when he had the chance, since he must have 10 minutes of break time and that's the bare minimum.

It’s been two weeks since you last saw Akaashi (and that was on your saturday rest day) and you were expecting him to come over today so you could have another. Since of course, Saturday ‘rest days’ were basically a tradition for you and Akaashi before you even started dating.

You had no text from Akaashi explaining his lateness/absense, so you just figured he wasn’t coming putting a damper on your day. You spent the day lounging around and shoving your face with your favourite snacks and food.

You get a text from Tsukishima which read:

Tsukishima: 1 Image Attached

Tsukishima: Looks whose boyfriend stumbled on set...

You didn’t respond as you were shocked at the sight you saw, the image was a picture of Akaashi and Kiyoko on set doing shots for the *insert the other rich designer brand* the shoot that you both agreed you wouldn’t do, which was also a LINGERE brand.

You felt betrayed, you both agreed to not do the shoot and it’s not like you did do yours. You made sure to turn it down the day you made your agreement. And he skipped on your traditional saturday ‘rest day’ without even giving you any word of him not planning on arriving.

You didn’t know what to do, do you confront him about it? Or do you wait for him to approach you? Since he would plan on telling you about this right? You eventually messaged Tsukishima a ‘thanks’ and you decided how you were going to handle the situation. Pop up on Akaashi and Kiyoko at the photoshoot.

You knew where it was at, since you had the address already from when your agent first offered you the idea. You drove to the place in a breakneck speed, strutting in there like a woman on a mission (which you technically were.) You decided to wait in Akaashi’s dressing room, not wanting to cause a scene at the shoot which would be bad for yours, Akaashi’s and Kiyoko’s image and would be a waste of the time of the staff and photographer there.

Akaashi finally finished the shoot and entered his room with a sigh not realising that you were sitting in the corner of his room. “Did you have a rough time?” you ask mockingly making him jump and his eyes widen as you were the last person he expected to be there. “Why so shocked, you weren’t expecting me?” you still keep the same mocking tone in your speech.

“Y/N I-” He started

“Y/N what?” You interrupted “Y/N I’m sorry for basically ghosting you for a month? I'm sorry for doing a shoot with someone who I know is still in love with me? I’m sorry for lying to you? I’m sorry for skipping out on our rest day with no explanation on where I am?” you stare at him as he stares back speechless.

“Oh, am I missing something?” you continue “Oh yes ‘Y/n I’m sorry for doing the shoot that we both agreed that we weren’t doing’” you sit down and wait for him to reply.

Akaashi puts his head down in shame, not really knowing what to say. Because of his silence, you roll your eyes and get up fed up with his lack of explanation. Before you fully leave Akaashi blocks your way with slight tears in his eyes “I had no other choice Y/N, I had to do all those shoots and travel other places with Kiyoko because sh-”

“Wait, that’s where you were?” you shout “Gallivanting around the country with HER!” you extend your arm pointing outside the door before you turn trying to leave again.

“N-No No Y/N you’ve got to listen to me” he said putting your hands on my shoulder “She has something, on me and I-I couldn’t I can’t get out of it. It’s deeper than just a simple shoot.” You were confused but you were so upset you just didn’t want to hear it so instead of listening to your boyfriend you decided to say “you’re so full of shit Akaashi” making him gasp at your coldness and the use of his last name. “ but hey I guess thats my fault for trusting you”

You finally left the room and went to go get a breather for a second with tears sparking in your eyes. You leaned against the wall and whispered “fuck” frustrated with the whole situation. Making you jump, Tsukishima said “you should go talk to him you know.”

“What do you know Tsukki” he cringed at the nickname

“I know more than you Y/N, just go talk to him.” he said making you squint your eyes at him wondering what information he held.

When you walked back to Akaashi’s dressing room practicing an apology in your head. But you paused your arrival hearing Akaashi talking to the one and only, Kiyoko Shimuzu in his room.

“Let’s face it Akaashi, now that I’ve got this sex tape of us, I basically own you.” she said to him making your eyes widen.

You decided the smartest thing to do was to pull out your phone and record as much as the conversation as you possibly could. Because you could already tell Akaashi was in a bind.

“The next thing I want you to do is...” she continued acting as if she was thinking “break it with Y/N!”

“No certainly not Kiyoko, you’re going too far.” he said making you smile internally that he still defended your relationship. “Me and Y/N are definitely NOT breaking up.”

“Akaashi are you forgetting that I have something over you.” she pulls out her phone and she plays a video, which you can only assume is the sex tape. You can hear a bunch of moans and groans which made your stomache ache.

Tired of hearing this, you burst into the room and say “What the fuck are you doing Kiyoko”

“Oh Y/N how lovely for you to join us...” she said with a smile, “I was just discussing with your ‘boyfriend’ plans for our next shoots.”

“I always knew you were a bitch.” you say shocking your head at her.

“What do you mean Y/N?” she says with a fake smile, not knowing that you were listening in on your conversation “Actually Akaashi was telling me something he had to tell you... isn’t that right Akaashi.” you both looked over at him and he was scared and speechless.

“Oh you mean how you’ve been blackmailing him for the past two weeks...” you accuse

“You have no proof of that.” She taunted

“Oh do I..” you rebuttal then pressing play on the recording you just took watching as both Kiyoko and Akaashi look shocked. Kiyoko scurries out the room knowing she’s been caught leaving you with a triumphant smile.

You sit down, gesturing Akaashi to sit next to you. “Akaashi, I’m so sorry for not listening to you earlier I felt so betrayed thinking that you went agaisnt out agreement, but I guess I was just being a self-obsessed bitch” you say with you now looking down in shame.

“Y/N” he says with you still not meeting his eye “Y/N look at me” he lifted your chin up so you met his eye “It’s fine, It’s completely fine you didn’t know of course you didn’t know, how would you know of sex tape I unknowingly did back when I was 16!” he exclaims “Its fine, we’re good” he pulls you into a hug and kisses you on the forehead.

After you both calm down, Akaashi explains how Kiyoko started to blackmail him and how the agency loved the idea of them two being together (not the blackmailing) as it created a jealousy storyline between you and her and how every time they met she kept proposing ridiculous demands.

“Also, how did you know I ended doing the shoot?” he asks

“Oh a little bird told me” you tease ��

“You mean a 6ft2 bird with blonde hair and a shit personality.” he retorts making you laugh

“Heyy don’t be so mean, if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t of came to save the day.”

“True, I’d give him that.”

Eventually, you and Akaashi go to your agency and present all your evidence and claims that Kiyoko was blackmailing Akaashi. Although they were upset, that Akaashi did partake in a sex tape they knew that they’d be an even bigger scandal if you presented your news that Japans sweetheart Kiyoko Shimuzu was blackmailing Akaashi Keiji. So the agency thought it was in everyones best interest if they got Kiyoko to sign an NDA saying that she will never bring forth or share the Sex Tape to anyone and she’ll agree to be dropped from the agency.

Your life was great now, with Kiyoko off your back and Akaashi being back to his usual self you couldn’t wish for anything more. You ended up doing the shoot persuading the design brand person (whatever the name for it is) to agree to let you do the shoot together instead of with other people. Both brands let you, because who wouldn’t want Akaashi Keiji and L/N Y/N to do a shoot together?

AUTHORS NOTE: this is the longest work ive written for a single character and i am TIRED lol..I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed my other works so I hope you enjoy this one.. to be honest I think with my works I start off strong and end shitly :// However I wanted to do something different today by making them models instead of students so I hope you like it. Now im off to read some fanfic so you guys have a good day!! <3

#haikyuu x reader comfort #haikyu angst #haikyu x reader #haikyu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyu #akaashi scenarios #akaashi x y/n #akaashi headcanons #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi angst #akaashi fluff #signedwithane😌

949 notes · View notes

hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

I have a fun prompt I've been thinking about I hope you have time for one day! When Newt and Hermann meet actually things go really really well and they even get together. It's just they bicker so much and have huge science-based arguments that everyone assumed they must have hated each other on sight.

sure thing! i had fun with this one

----

"So," Newt says. "I was talking to Tendo today."

Across the mess table, Hermann hums in feigned interest. Newt knows it's feigned 'cause Hermann doesn't stop either thing he's doing: using his left hand to wind noodles around a fork, and using his right hand to scribble away a series of lengthy equations on the back of a paper napkin. His full attention has been hopping between both for about ten minutes now—no room for Newt to slip in there. He's testing his limits enough as it. Half of the last equation ended up scratched into the tabletop, and the last time he lifted his fork to his mouth, it was empty. And then he swallowed anyway. Newt kinda loves the guy.

"Yeah," Newt says, deciding to continue like Hermann responded the way he was actually supposed to respond, which would've been something along the lines of what an utterly fascinating story, Newton, do tell me more. I love hearing you talk, Newton. How marvelously smart you are, Newton, and how melodic and breathtaking your voice is. Now watch me bite down on an empty fork again. "Kinda funny. He was asking how we met."

Hermann finally looks up at Newt suspiciously over the rims of his glasses, which are slipping slowly down his nose. He stills them with the tip of his index finger before they land in his dinner. "Why?"

"I don't know, man," Newt says. "He just was. It was like, small talk, you wouldn't get it. He dropped by the lab when you were out this morning to let me know that there was extra space if we wanted it. Like, lab space." Hermann resumes scratching an equation into the table absently. Newt rolls his eyes. "As in, we could have separate labs if we wanted now."

Hermann knits his eyebrows together. "Separate laboratories?"

When Newt and Hermann first started at the Hong Kong Shatterdome, the k-scientist team was pre-existing and significantly bigger, and anyone who joined on later—like, you know, them—basically got shoved in wherever they fit. For Newt and Hermann, that happened to be Laboratory Space D, Basement Level 1 (the only basement level), along with a former marine biologist who was killed on a research excursion a month later when a kaiju made unexpected landfall, like, right on top of their chosen shelter. Bad luck. Anyway, Newt's known about the existence of other Hong Kong Shatterdome lab spaces in the vague and absent sort of way that you would an urban legend, but (similarly so) he never thought he and Hermann would actually ever lay eyes on one. And then Tendo stopped by to dangle it in front of Newt on a stick.

"The other labs were being used as storage for ages after everyone else—" Newt searches for a word tasteful enough to encapsulate got stomped by a kaiju and wised up and decided to live out what are probably our last few days before the world ends with their families instead of alone in a military bunker. "—left. Anyway, Tendo told me they've been going through shit like crazy this month, I think to see if they can salvage any old tech, and that the other labs are basically totally emptied out now. We just have to ask and they're ours."

Hermann sets down both his pen and fork, twisting his mouth contemplatively. He finally loses the battle against gravity with his glasses, and they miss his plate by an inch, swinging back on their chain and bouncing harmlessly against his chest instead. Newt briefly wonders if getting a chain for his own glasses would save them from their frequent fatal falls into kaiju organ cavities and buckets of non-neutralized kaiju blood, but decides not even the money he'd save on replacement pairs would make a fashion faux pas like that worth it. "You know I don't much fancy the basement," Hermann says.

"Your joints," Newt agrees. The damp of the basement sets Hermann's joint pain off frequently, something Hermann talks about just as frequently. Newt's not really a fan of the basement either, though for different reasons—he would kill to get some windows and natural, non-fluorescent light in there. Sun lamps can only do so much. He's pretty sure he'd fucking glow if he stepped outside right now. Also, it's cold down here.

"And it might be nice to be closer to LOCCENT, in case of an emergency," Hermann continues. "And closer to—oh, hang on. What has this got to do with us?"

"Huh?"

"How we met," Hermann says. "You said, that Tendo asked—"

"Oh," Newt says. It's his turn to play coy. He stirs his chopsticks through his own dinner, accidentally flicking a piece of tofu to the table. It lands on top of Hermann's etched equations. Hermann scowls, because that's how their routine goes: Newt gets Hermann's stuff dirty, and Hermann gets mad. "Well. It was just that Tendo was like you can finally be out of each other's hair, how the hell did you guys get stuck together anyway when you obviously can't stand each other, that kind of stuff."

"Ah," Hermann says.

"And I said that it was because we knew each other before," Newt says, "and that we transferred here together. And that's when he asked."

"And what did you say?" Hermann says.

"That we used to correspond professionally," Newt says, "and met at a conference way back in 2017." He adds, with a grin, "Also professionally."

This was technically true. Newt and Hermann did write to each other, professionally, and they did meet at a conference, professionally, but what went down after a long and public shouting match in the events hall of a very nice hotel—in Hermann's room, five floors up in that very nice hotel—was not very professional. The events of the week that followed—spent, intermittently, between Hermann's hotel room, several coffee shops, a bench under a tree in Newt's favorite park, a rotation sushi restaurant, brushing knees shyly on the tram, and, finally, clasping hands on the staircase of Newt's apartment and gazing deeply into each other's eyes—weren't very professional, either, but Newt likes to think that they were very romantic. Rom-com level shit. Newt revealed none of this to Tendo, who referred to the 2017 conference as that Infamous Day for the rest of their conversation. "Well, it was professional," Hermann sniffs.

But he reaches across the table, and, very timidly, crosses his pinkie over top of Newt's. It's the most blatant form of PDA Hermann ever willingly engages Newt in. Newt thinks if he ever tried to touch two fingers at once in anywhere but the lab, or God forbid, hold his whole hand, Hermann's ears might start emitting steam like something out of a cartoon. "It might be nice," he says again.

Laboratory Space D, Basement Level 1, is unique—Newt knows—in that Newt and Hermann's quarters are connected to it directly. None of the other labs have that luxury (and Newt has a feeling it's because Lab Space D wasn't actually intended as a lab space). He remembers being told that when they were shoved into it. Yeah, you have the darkest and tiniest lab space on base, but your rooms are right there! When Newt wants to go to Hermann's room, or if he's in Hermann's room and needs a sweatshirt or something from his own, he just has to step the three feet between their two doors. Moving labs could throw a wrench in that—they might be asked to move quarters, too, and might be shuttled to opposite sides of the Shatterdome, and though they could just bite the bullet and request couple's quarters already, it's nice to have their own spaces when they need it. That would never work. And, well, besides—the lab, their lab, feels like home to them at this point. Newt shrugs.

"On the other hand," Hermann says, and he taps Newt's pinkie lightly, "I quite like how things are. I can live with the damp, really."

"We can get a dehumidifier," Newt offers.

Hermann nods, and he gives Newt the barest hint of a smile.

Their monthly delivery of lab supplies—whatever they can afford with their shoestring budget, which, these days, mostly means chalk, rubber gloves, and nice instant ramen—comes three weeks later. Newt wouldn't exactly call the Shatterdome delivery guy a friend, seeing as he has yet to divulge his name to Newt (and also Newt's pretty sure he has a thing for Hermann, since he always seems to wait until Hermann is in the lab to stroll by with his package trolley and always calls him Dr. Gottlieb with big stupid heart eyes, oh, Dr. Gottlieb, that new sweater looks soooo nice on you!, so anyway, that makes him Newt's rival by default), but he, at least, recognizes and acknowledges Newt at this point. That's more than Newt can say for most people on the base. After his usual greeting to the two of them (hey, Newt, oh, hellllooo, Dr. Gottlieb, did you do something new with your hair?), he starts to unload their packages, also like usual.

"I was surprised to see that you guys are still down here," he tells Newt, not like usual. "Tendo mentioned something about you getting your own labs."

"He did?" Newt says, meaning to frown, but grinning instead. It's kind of fun to be the subject of gossip. He pulls off his gloves and tosses them in the trash to help with their supplies—the dehumidifier he requested should be in there, and it's fancy and definitely on the bigger side.

"Yeah," their delivery guy continues. He hands Newt a fuckin' massive brick of a package. Hermann's stupid chalk. The amount that Hermann tears through in a month really is astounding: Newt has a private theory that Hermann is an undercover space alien from a planet where chalk constitutes all of the primary food groups, and he secretly sneaks out here and eats it in the dead of night when Newt is asleep. "Anyway, sorry I'm late," the delivery guy says, as Newt imagines Hermann crunching on a piece of chalk like a carrot stick, "I went to all the other labs first."

"No worries, dude," Newt says. "Sorry for the confusion."

He lugs the package over to Hermann's desk, and drops it down on the only spot not over-cluttered with papers and books. Hermann complains about Newt's messiness a lot for a guy who is just as bad, if not worse. "Need any now?" Newt asks Hermann.

Hermann, scribbling away at his chalkboard, grunts. Newt decides that's a no.

"Hard at work, Dr. Gottlieb?" the delivery guy says, practically fluttering his eyelashes.

Another grunt. Newt snorts.

"I thought you guys would've moved right away," the delivery guy (obviously disappointed at Hermann's lack of attention) tells Newt. "Tendo mentioned you've been stuck together for a while, ever since some sort of dramatic confrontation at a conference ten years ago." he adds eagerly, "Did you really get thrown out? I don't know how you haven't killed each other yet."

"It's taken a lot of hard work," Newt says. Yeah, the whole being-ejected-from-the-conference-and-barred-from-all-future-ones-forever thing is technically true too, but everyone there was too stuffy and serious for Newt's fun vibes anyway, so he thinks it's their loss. The most important part of the scientific breakthrough process, Newt frequently thinks, was having someone there to challenge you and push back at you. Sometimes loudly. And in public. In the conference hall of a very expensive hotel, in front of all of your scientific peers, some hotel security guards, and a poor graduate student who made the mistake of asking you and your penpal-colleague for your joint opinion on something and got caught in the crosshairs. Besides—out of everyone at that stupid conference, Newt and Hermann were the only ones snapped up by the PPDC, so it's doubly their loss. "And, yeah, we got thrown out. Me and Hermann fight a lot, but we always make up eventually. It's no big deal. It's, like, our thing."

"Make up?"

Newt waggles his eyebrows and doesn't elaborate. The making up part is the best part of arguing with Hermann, honestly, but he's not about to go giving private details about stuff like that to his rival.

By the time Hermann finally descends his ladder, three hours have passed, and Newt is frowning over an email he's just gotten from Shatterdome HR. Hermann will probably see it in a second when he checks his own email—it was sent to both of them, after all—but Newt waves him over to his desk anyway. "Look," he says.

He draws out the spare chair he keeps by his desk (for Hermann), and Hermann drops into it gratefully, propping his cane up against the arm. Then Hermann pushes his glasses up onto his nose and scans the email with a frown of his own. Newt reads it aloud for him anyway. "'Subject: Quarters Reassignment,'" he says. "Dear Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb: It has recently come to our attention that you will be transferring to Laboratories A&B. Should you wish to transfer quarters as well, you will find the necessary paperwork..."

"By Jove," Hermann groans, and pulls his glasses off again, smudging a bit of chalk on his cheek, "can't they just leave us alone?"

Newt laughs. "I'll tell them we're not interested. Wait, listen to this bit at the end: Congratulations—this must be a relief! Guess they were getting your complaint forms after all, Hermann." Both Newt and Hermann had long-since assumed that any and all official complaint forms stamped with a k-sci lab return address are filed right into the garbage. It's never deterred Hermann from sending them in, though.

"Hmph," Hermann says.

Newt carefully rolls his shirtcuff back down to his wrist and uses it to rub off Hermann's chalk smudge. When it's gone, or at least, mostly gone, he brushes his fingers back through Hermann's short hair. Hermann's eyelids flutter shut, and as he leans into Newt's touch, his creased forehead smooths just a little. "Mm. You're lovely," he murmurs. "We really ought to tell them we're married. It's gone on long enough."

"I guess," Newt says. "But it's kind of funny, isn't it?"

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

183 notes · View notes

gucciwins · 3 years

Note

ahh are you angel was so good!!! is it possible for you to do a follow up where he gets released from the hospital and they go back to her house and she fusses over him a lot and takes care of him and he's like really stubborn and insists on doing things himself and walking about when he really shouldn't? I LOVE YOUR WRITING BTW!!! so so so good!

Hello lovely, thank you for such a kind message. I was writing and I wanted it to be sweet but there's actually a pinch of angst involved. Anyways, if you take the time to read this I hope you enjoy firefighter harry being stubborn at home. This is a follow up to Are You Angel?

Word count: 3331

Trouble Follows

Are You Angel?

_____

Harry was living in bliss.

Although he was injured and healing nicely, the doctors have told him. He enjoyed it because he was living with his girlfriend, who cared for him and made sure he didn’t overdo it.

It’s been two weeks, and he swears he couldn’t love Y/N anymore, but it grows every day. He adored her and was so thankful for how she was caring for him. She’d make him breakfast, and they’d either share it in bed or on the couch. She made his coffee just how he liked it and left him different baked goods every few days. He’s happily putting on weight from all the treats she makes.

Then after seven-thirty, she would head to work and, like clockwork at twelve, would be making her way into the house. She’d remove her sneakers and set up the lunch she stopped by to pick up, and then she’d wake him up with soft kisses all over his face, helping him sit up because of his bruised ribs. Y/N would let him sit at the table the only time. They’d chat about how her day was going too far; then, he’d discuss the book he decided to read. He is currently reading Normal People because Y/N wanted to watch the show, but Harry said she had to wait for him to read the book so they’d be able to discuss both. Y/N thought it was the sweetest thing and smothered him in kisses. Harry likes it when she does that.

After lunch, she’d tuck him to the couch and let him rest while she made her way back to work. Then Harry spent those last few hours at home sleeping, watching Survivor, another thing Y/N got him hooked on. Harry even upgraded her Hulu because he could not deal with the commercials. He didn’t have the patience for that. Y/N told him she wanted to apply to be on any of those shows but didn't know if she’d do well; Harry doubted that. He knew she could do anything she put her mind to. Instead, she told him they should look into applying to do Amazing Race together, which he has not ventured into yet but surely will soon.

Y/N would finally come home around five, and Harry would be in the bedroom either getting ready to shower or lying in bed. He would honestly wait for her because he liked it when she helped him undress, then she’d join him in the shower where she’d let him kiss her all over. He’s honestly dying for a taste of her. The problem is the doctor does not clear him, so it’s a no to sex from her.

Honestly, the shower was part of his favorite day, he’d get to stand, and she’d just let Harry hold her. He’d whisper how he missed her. Then he’d try to tempt her by whisper sweet nothings in her ear about how he missed the taste of her on his tongue, how she could just as easily ride his face, and the one he knows that almost always gets her is how he missed being close to her, as she squeezed him tight when he slipped inside of her. She always took a step back, avoiding eye contact because she knew if she looked at the look in his eyes, she’d give in.

Y/N would look at his chest, her eyes scanning over the scars on his skin until she landed on the purple bruise of his ribs. “Not until that is healed.” She’d half-smile at him.

Today was different. He went to the doctor’s with Mitch, Y/N not being able to get out of shift as they were full of patients for the day but promised to come straight home so they could cook dinner together. He squeezed her tighter before she left this morning, hoping for good news.

Harry walked into the hospital with a smile, greeting the staff. He didn’t have to wait long until his name was called, Mitch staying in his chair, looking at a magazine of National Geographic. Harry fixed his hoodie, walking towards the nurse who guided him to room 205. Carla, the nurse, checks his blood pressure, his height, and weight letting him know he gained five pounds that the doctor would be impressed. Harry smirked, knowing he’d tease Y/N for helping him put on weight. Carla smiled and told him the doctor would be in shortly and informed him to change into the gown provided.

Dr. Vazquez walks in fifteen minutes with a knock on the door.

“Mr. Styles, good to see you.”

“You as well.” He smiles.

“Right, well looking over your charts, everything looks good but still got to look you over.”

“Go right ahead, doc.” Harry sighs with a slight grin.

Dr. Vazquez washes his hands then gloves up. He walks over to Harry, standing right in front of him. First, he looks at Harry’s arms seeing that the burns healed, with minimal scarring. Then he moves over to the gown, seeing there are no longer bruises on his leg. Harry had to do physical therapy for a week as a precaution, but he aced all the drills and then was cleared. He lifted the gown to expose his stomach.

“Does it still hurt, your ribs?” Dr. Vazquez asked as he felt around the area of the bruising.

“No.” Harry lied.

“Hmm…” Dr. Vazquez touched Harry gently on the bruise, and Harry hissed. “Think it still does. It looks like you will need that extra week to recover at least until the bruising goes away.”

“Another week,” Harry repeats.

“Yes, I want you to heal properly.”

“But my job,” Harry exclaims, not believing he has to be out for another week.

Dr. Vazquez sighs, “You’re going back to the job Harry. I understand how much it means to you. If I let you go back early, you could break a rib if you aren’t careful. Now, I want you to go home and keep doing what you’re doing. You’re in great health overall.”

“Except the bruise,” Harry mutters.

“I’ll let you get dressed. See you next week, Styles.” As Dr. Vazquez is turning the knob, he turns around. “Thank Y/N for the oatmeal cookies. They were delicious.”

Harry nods and hops down from the bench wanting to get dressed and go home.

Mitch drives Harry home; it’s silent all the way there until he parks in front of Y/N’s house, which is technically his. He’s not sure, but it feels like home, at least with her, it does.

“You alright, H?” Mitch asks, shifting to look at Harry.

Harry sighs, leaning his head back against the seat. “No, got another week and another checkup.”

“That’s alright; you need to heal properly,” Mitch responds.

Harry shrugs, “I guess.”

“We still on for dinner at seven?”

“Yeah.”

Harry gets out and makes his way to the front door. He sits on the couch, and the more he sits there, the angrier he becomes. He’s not mad at anyone, just the situation. Harry isn’t sure how long he sits there, letting his anger simmer, but it’s been a while because he hears the front door unlock and Y/N enter.

“Hi darling,” She greets from the door, where she slips her shoes off and sets her purse down.

Harry doesn’t answer, continues to sit there, too lost in thought.

Y/N smiles seeing him sitting there.

She hurries over him, desperate to hug him. She sits next to him on the couch, carefully slipping her arms around his waist as not to hurt him.

“Missed you.”

Harry sighs, kissing her head softly. “Me too.”

“Going to make you a tea, Ms. Waters was telling me it strengthens your bones and to make it even better, it smells like lavender although she said it might need some sugar if you don’t want it to be bitter.”

Y/N isn’t worried. Some days she comes home and does all the talking because he had a few rough days, and sometimes she’d be quiet, and Harry would cuddle her, commenting about everyone’s gameplay in Survivor.

This is the most stable relationship she’s been in. Yes, it is insane for Harry to move for the time being, but she’s not opposed to him moving in so soon. She loves him, and that means she sees a future with him. It may or may not end in heartbreak, but she wants as much time with Harry that she can get.

Harry was just as thrilled. Most of his clothes could already be found in the drawers she opened up for him. She has uniform shirts hanging in her closet. She buys his favorite fabric softener. They’ve been domestic from the start.

This is love, and she wants it for as long as Harry will give it to her.

Y/N came out with the mug, placing it on the coaster for Harry.

Harry stared at Y/N, thinking about every single thing she does for him. He was thankful he really was because he loved her, and this was showing him just how much she loved him, but he could do things independently.

Harry goes to sit up, and Y/N is there instantly to help him. Harry isn’t sure why, but it bothers him.

This seems to be the last straw after the day he had, and Harry shrugs her off.

She steps back, not a word is said.

“Y/N,”

A frown on her face, he called her by her name, not one of the sweet nicknames he has for her.

“You’re suffocating me. I can do this on my own. I’ve been hurt before, and I didn’t need you.” Harry says harshly.

Y/N flinches, taking a step back.

Harry instantly feels the guilt seeping in.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re feeling this way,” She says as she takes small steps back to increase their distance. “I’m going to go for a walk.” Shoes in hand, she opens the door and walks out before Harry can say anything.

Harry sighs because he didn’t mean to make her upset. He really is a dick.

Now she’s outside and upset. Harry hates that he drove her out of her own home because of his stubbornness.

He’s not sure how to apologize, but in the meantime, Harry can think about it before she comes back.

_____

It’s been over an hour, and Harry knows she should be home soon. He tried calling and texting her, but she’s ignoring his cars, rightfully so. He feels time goes by slowly now that she isn’t there to keep him company.

Harry wants to apologize and hold her close. He misses her and her sweet smile that’s reserved just for him. He feels awful because he’s not even sure if she took a jacket, and it’s a cold night. He did this and just wants her home, even if it means her being upset with him.

There’s a knock on the door, and he rushes over to open it but frowns when he sees Mitch and Sarah.

“Well, what a welcome,” Sarah says sarcastically at his expression.

“Sorry, thought you were Y/N,” Harry sighs, moving back, allowing them to enter.

Mitch and Sarah share a look, “Shouldn’t she be here?”

“She should, but I’m a dick, and she went on a walk to get away from me.”

“Harry,”

“I know, I felt awful right away, Fuck, I’ve never yelled at her-- we don’t fight. It’s not us, and now she’s not answering my calls.”

Sarah looks around the room before her eyes land on the bag next to the mushroom key holder. “The phone that is sitting next to her bag.”

“Fuck,” Harry frowns. He picks it up, seeing all his missed calls. He scrolls then stops when he sees Frankie’s name.

With Frankie, will be home soon.

It was sent fifteen minutes ago.

“She’s with Frankie.”

Harry leans against the wall, sighing in relief. “Should we be here when she gets back?” Mitch asks.

“No, we need to talk. Raincheck?”

Sarah nods, “Of course. Keep us updated.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Mitch walks out first, then Sarah before they share a look. Sarah sighs, turning to look at Harry. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me what happened, but Y/N loves you. I’ve known her as long as you have. From the way Y/N has spoken about you to Frankie and me, it’s like you hung the moon and stars for her. It might be easy to treat her as a target but know this; she will never stand to be mistreated because she knows her worth. So, swallow your pride and fix this with your heart and not your ego.”

Sarah walks away before he can respond. Harry is about to shut the door when a car pulls up; he recognizes it as Frankie’s, a red pick-up truck.

He smiles; she’s back.

Y/N gets out of the car, greeting Mitch and Sarah with a hug. She frowns when Harry assumes they tell her they can’t stay for dinner. She pulls a bag out from the passenger seat and hands it over to them. Harry feels himself soften because even though she was upset, she still passed to get dinner.

Heart of gold she has.

She’s absolutely perfect, and he might have messed it all up.

Y/N hugs Frankie before moving towards Harry, a bag of food in her hand. She doesn’t meet his eyes but walks past him into the house.

Harry closes the door behind him and watches her set the bag of food that he can now see is Thai food from his favorite place three blocks away. She stands there, nervously playing with a robin ring on her index finger, slipping it on and off.

“Uh…you’re right, I’ve been suffocating,” she says softly.

Harry sighs, “No.” But it’s like she doesn’t hear him because she keeps going.

“I can stay with Frankie for a while, this is your home as well, and I won’t kick you out. Or, if you want your own space, Mitch said he could drive you over to your apartment. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Harry feels the tears coming, god he doesn’t deserve her or her sympathy let alone her love.

“You don’t need to go anywhere. I want you right here. Need you right here.” Harry takes a small step toward her hoping she won’t back away.

Y/N doesn’t, but she also doesn’t look at him either. It breaks his heart.

“Will you please look at me, angel?” He pleads.

She lifts her head, eyes red and swollen. He did that. He made her cry.

Maybe he does deserve to feel this hurt.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean a word I said. I was upset and angry, and I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have. It’s not an excuse for what I did, and you don’t have to forgive me, but I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you upset?”

“Ribs aren’t fully healed, and I was ready to go back to work.”

Y/N nods because she knows what he means. He was ready to go back to work because he has been spending so much time with her.

“Right, because you need to be away from me. I got it.”

“God, no. Baby, no.” Harry cups her face. “Not at all.”

“Then what, Harry!” She tries to shout, but it comes out soft as tears begin to fall down her face. “I love you, but you’re not making any sense.”

Harry sighs, “I’m afraid that if I don’t go back soon, then everyone will see me as weak, that you’ll see me as weak.”

“Harry,” she whispers.

“I know, it’s ridiculous. I love how you care for me but me not being able to do the same kills me.”

“But you do,” she smiles; it’s the first one since she came back. “You watch my favorite shows and read books I’ve read because you want to discuss them with me. You try all my desserts without a complaint. You let me take care of you. You love me because you smile at me every morning and without fail greet me with a kiss.”

Harry lets his tears fall, wanting to soak in her words. “You love me in the little moments as well as the big. I’m sorry, I left. I wanted to give you space, clear your head as I did the same without upsetting each other more.”

“I’m sorry, I pushed you out of your house.” Harry presses a kiss on her cheek. “Will you forgive me?”

“Course, H.” Y/N wraps her arms around his waist. “Don’t like fighting.” She tells him as she nuzzles her face in his chest.

“Me either.” Harry sighs in content, happy to have her back in his arms where she belongs. “Were you serious about me moving in? I mean, we’ve only been together five months now.”

“Said it in the heat of the moment.” Harry nods, not letting her see his frown. “But it doesn’t mean I didn’t mean it. Five months may seem like little time, but with everything we’ve been through, it feels much longer.”

Harry smiles, “Yeah, I hate when people say this, but I do mean it. It feels like you’ve been a part of my life from the start.”

Y/N nods, knowing what he means, “Let’s make this our home. I want you to leave your shoes by the door and help me do laundry on Sundays. I want it all with you.”

“Getting to wake up to you every day and come home to you every night, there’s nothing I want more,” Harry confesses.

“I love you, Harry.”

“And I love you, my angel.”

Harry pulls her in for a final hug, not wanting to stop touching her, just needs her in his arms for the rest of the night.

“Dinner time?” He asks.

“Yes, please.” Y/N goes to pull away, but Harry holds her tight.

She looks up at him, eyes red but no longer sad. “Kiss, please?”

Y/N smiles at him fondly, giving a slight nod. Harry leans in, brushing their lips together softly, nervous she might pull away, but she doesn’t; instead, she presses herself closer to him. It’s a kiss that centers him, that reminds him he didn’t mess it all up, that at the end of the day, she came back to him. The kiss is soft, and Harry feels all the love she’s pouring in, and Harry hopes she can feel it from him as well.

Harry pulls back, pressing a final kiss to her lips.

“Now, dinner or shower first.”

“Shower want to hold you, angel,” Harry confesses.

“Alright, but no funny business.” She teases.

Harry gasps, “I would never.”

She giggles, making her way to the bedroom, with Harry following behind.

Harry leans against the doorway, watching Y/N set her clothes for the night on the bed, then going to his drawers to do the same. He wants this forever; he wants her to fluff his pillows, to warm his blanket, to run her fingers through his hair, to massage his back, relieving all the tension he has built up. He’s decided he’d let her shower him in love and bask in it because it doesn’t mean she sees him as weak; it’s her way of showing she wants to take care of him and who is he to deny her of that.

Harry feels his heart grow when she heads to the bathroom but stops turning to him with an outstretched hand; he steps forward, intertwining their fingers.

Yeah, he’s going to love her for a long time.

_____

Here's more firefighter harry because this wrote itself and in a matter of two days. will eventually write more for firefighter harry but will be focusing on other work :)

#harry styles #requested #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles au #firefighter harry!#harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles Drabble

352 notes · View notes

warmau · 3 years

Text

not knowing what to say isn't a foreign feeling to you, yet when you come face to face with ten outside his apartment on this summer morning, you are almost too petrified to even string a sentence together

he's really just........leaving

ten shines a big smile and from the open door you hear kun's exasperated voice asking why in the world ten is packing up his entire existence for a program that's going to last two months

"you look nervous"

ten jokes first, running a hand through his dark hair which he's spent the colder months growing out

"im the one going to a different country and yet you look like you might turn green"

his laughter tickles you and you force yourself out of the weird, frozen feeling, for his sake

"im not nervous - it's just this is our first summer apart since what, highschool?"

ten leans against the frame of his door and lets kun scuttle past him with a scowl

yangyang and hendery bounce after him with ten's insane amount of luggage

"yeah but it's two months, not two decades. plus....you know how much ive always wanted to do this."

right. and here you are being selfish.

"of course, i mean it's literally the birthplace of ballet."

"technically that's italy, but france is a close second."

"i hate you"

ten pulls you into his arms before you register that this is your goodbye hug

"i'll miss you too."

kun drives everyone to the airport, he complains and cries the most.

sicheng gives you a knowing look when ten takes your wrist in his hand and tucks your arm between his.

you ignore the look, and focus on ten. on him. and then - when the switchboard pops up his flight info - he gives a bubbly and excited

"ive gotta go!"

and then summer starts, just as he's gone

"so when are you going to tell him you're in love with him."

sicheng brings the big gulp he stole from hendery up to his lips and you keep your eyes closed behind your sunglasses

"sorry, yukhei's not my type."

"you know im not talking about yukhei."

you dig your fingers into the sand beside your towel, the beach is already so noisy so you pretend you don't hear sicheng, but you still feel him looking.

you guess a part of it is true, you love ten. who doesn't?

is that the core of the issue then, that ten is so available and loveable and charming, that it makes him also unattainable?

or at least, unattainable to you.

you hear your phone buzz inside your bag and sicheng is being dragged into the water by the rowdy rest of your friend group

it could be a text from ten?

your mind excites, but you put out that fire

it's probably just spam.

ten does text and even video call the first two or so weeks while he's away

you get blurry photos of food at cafes and the eiffel tower, random fancy looking dogs being walked on the small, cramped streets

ten's connection is kind of bad - but he still gleams through the fuzzy facetime camera as he shows you around the room the dance academy has provided

pangs of his happiness and excitement seep into you

and then there's the first sign of worry comes knocking and twirling through his door

a group of other dancers, all beautiful and strong, asking ten - from the limited amount of french you catch - if he's done, they're waiting for him to go to a show with them

ten gives you a scattered, quick goodbye. he says he'll video call again.

all you get is an update text almost five days later that has no pictures attached just a;

im ok - by the way i totally miss eating hot chips with you at midnight. ive had like a banana smoothie and that's it.

sicheng and kun are the first to pick up on the shift, you are quietly withdrawing to yourself

nothing makes you laugh

ten doesn't reply to your question about what the paris metro looks like, actually he doesn't even read it

kun nearly tugs hendery's ear red when he shares a snap story of ten pressed cheek to cheek with his new dancer friends in front of the louvre when you're in the same room

the thing is you are not jealous of any of them.

you don't go around trying to find their facebooks, clicking on their instagram profiles, comparing you and them.

you are just sad to your bones that they will understand ten in such a way that no matter how long you two have been friends

you will never, truly know

"you're his best friend"

sicheng reasons on the phone as you stare up at the wall above your desk, littered in old pictures and clippings and your gaze catches on the ticket stub from ten's first-ever solo dance performance

it had been a talent show in highschool.

it had been the first time you saw ten perform outside the corner of his cramped bedroom or the glimpse you caught meeting up with him outside the dance academy

he's in paris, he's with people who love it so much more than i do - they love dancing like he loves dancing.

i cannot understand that.

"i think you were right sicheng."

"im always right."

i do love him. when am i going to tell him?

you hang up after sicheng has his i told you so moment and stare at your screen

a notification flashes across the screen and it's a text from ten

the trains here are blue. i miss you.

you want to reply right away, so you open the message and start typing

i miss you too. actually, i think i finally understand why people who are in love are so hurt when they're suddenly left without their other half and ten you are my o-

you delete the sentence and make a face

nice. i miss you too.

you don't send it - or at least you forget to because your fingers are shaking and you exit out of the messaging app before checking

abandoning your phone, you turn on your side and stretch your hand out to reach the edge of the bed

there's enough space between you and it for someone to fit, so you remember the countless times ten has laid there

smiling and laughing and tickling your face with his sleeping breath

you can't even recall a conversation because there have been hundreds

suddenly you feel a warmth creep up your skin

hundreds of opportunities to tell him - and each time i chose to be a coward.

"you should write him a letter."

"this isn't a movie, what - you think im going to write a letter and he'll jump on the first plane from france to come to my side?"

sicheng cocks an eyebrow as if to say it is a possibility

"no. im not writing a letter. i'll suck it up and confess when he comes back."

you somehow end up writing a letter.

maybe because you really do want to just send a long text spilling your mushy, soft, pink feelings

but you know that's just not what ten deserves

he deserves (and you do too, but you won't admit this) a face to face confession

so you start retelling the moments that flutter up in your heart whenever you think about him

how he makes the room brighter when he's in it, how he dances with every bone, joint, muscle in his body - how he approaches it with no inhibition and true devotion that paints its way across his face when he practices, how he fits perfectly into the hole that grows more massive every day you don't see him

standing there across the hall - coffee in hand, gym bag with his scuffed dance shoes

by the time you're finished - the letter is longer than you imagine. there are parts crossed and scribbled out, repetitive thoughts, and stupid little comments and metaphors that compare ten to flowers or clouds or anything else pretty in nature

you cringe at yourself, but you do feel better

it could be your outline for when the time to actually tell him comes.

you shove the papers into an envelope, write ten's name and the address of his parisian dance academy just for the irony

and then make the mistake of letting it sit on your desk

in a matter of days, it has been swallowed by a bunch of other papers and trinkets

and when you're rushing around your room trying to get ready for another adventure to the beach - sicheng clinks the lollipop against his teeth and fishes it out - curious at the stamp

"do you want me to mail this?"

he asks and you're trying to find those sunglasses you literally just bought and grumble that sure, whatever - you'll meet him out by kun's car.

halfway to the beach, you turn in horror from the passenger seat to look at sicheng in the back

your eyes like saucers and a tremor in a voice

"wait. what did you ask me back in my room?"

sicheng's big smile is red from the candy, "your letter to ten."

and there comes the second pang of dread and worry that takes the overwhelming shape of your summer

oh my god - oh my god - maybe the letter won't even make it. i mean it's a letter to france....it'll take at least a month to get there. wait - it probably didn't even have a stamp on it. oh god maybe the address was totally off and some poor stranger is about to be subjected to my very incoherent feelings.....

every day you look at your phone and there's no texts or emails or anything from ten

his social media has gone quiet too

you throw your dignity down a well and ask all your friends if they've heard from him and they all scratch their heads and say no, it's been maybe a week since they did

your stress then turns from your love letter to a possibility that ten is in trouble

he kind of thrives from attention so it is very weird that he's so off-grid

you decide finally, on the day that it's been exactly a month and one day since he was gone, to call

you hover over the facetime button - should i text him first?

with a yelp, you nearly drop and crack your screen when ten's name flashes across the screen

you settle your breathing and tell yourself he hasn't gotten the letter, there's no way - since when has snail mail been efficient?

you answer and are about to ask what's up when ten waves something into the camera

"i got your letter."

maybe you go into rigor. because ten's eyebrows knit and he asks if your connection is ok, you aren't saying anything

you don't know if it's just because you miss him so much that you're able to drag yourself back into consciousness or because you are curious, in the depths of your mind, what his reaction will be

"o-oh. right- i-"

ten frowns and you think it's coming. the rejection is coming.

"is that why you didn't answer my text? you sent the letter instead?"

"your text?"

"yeah, i said i missed you and you read it and never responded."

a peek of a smile stretches on his pretty, bare face

"i never thought you were so romantic to send a letter."

something burns on your skin but you just try to make sure your hand holding the phone doesn't shake

"im not - i just, it was dumb sicheng said i should write it because - i don't know. he's the romantic, blame him."

"you're the one that said i could make a shy tulip open its petals with my laughter."

"oh god"

that smile turns into a grin

"and that my dancing manages to cast a spell on you."

you hide your expression by turning your face

"are you going to re-read the whole thing to me?"

"should i, you're so poetic."

"don't make fun of me."

your voice is serious this time, small and huddled, because you mean it

worse than being told he doesn't feel the same is to be ridiculed for holding him in your heart like this for so long

"im not making fun of you, the letter is beautiful."

you still can't look at him, it's so ten to be kind before he's cruel

"i could never write something like that - so i thought i would just call you and say it."

you don't need to love song yourself into telling me you just see me as a friend

"i love you."

your head whips back so fast your phone drops and you curse and ten can't help but laugh

"sorry, sorry -what did you say?"

he runs a hand through his dark hair, the lighting in his room is dim and illuminates him perfectly

a large white t-shirt engulfs his slender shoulders as he sits up against the wall

"i love you. i know it's corny to confess over facetime, but im guessing it's more forgivable than text?"

a bubble bursts in your stomach and it makes you feel lightheaded and inhumanely blissful all at once

"i love you too."

"more then friends right, because your letter had this part about kissing im very interested in."

you bite back your lip and nod, both embarrassed that he'd bring that part up too but also seeing ten - your close friend, your secret love - talk about kissing you

makes some of the neurons in your body go haywire

"good, i seriously was scared you might have been pranking me with thi-"

"i would never. im not hendery."

"oh how are they, ive been super busy with the practice for a review so i haven't talked to anyone."

another thing you love about him, he keeps everyone in. he leaves none of his friends behind. he pretends like he couldn't have a care in the world, but he cares more than anyone else.

"he's ok, he almost crashed kun's car yesterday."

ten shrugs, "expected."

and like that - everything is still somehow the same. there is no awkward phase after you've talked about your feelings for each other at all.

because your love doesn't come as a one hit punch because ten is beautiful, although he is to an unfair degree

it comes from the experience of being around him. having so much of him. maybe even getting a little addicted.

you do talk more on the phone, no more long pauses even though ten's practices get more grueling and you tell him to take his time to rest

but he's sweaty on the practice room floor - texting you - telling you everything is sore but the thought of seeing you soon makes it all better

it's three days before ten is scheduled to fly back that he has his review and you are biting your fingernails waiting for him to tell you about it

when you get a youtube link at like three in the morning - you click it and someone has recorded ten's performance

somehow, he looks more graceful than you've ever seen him

a new text comes in when it's almost done

'i think i did well - can i get a reward?'

'you'll get a really good one when you're home'

he sends a winking emoji and you can't fall asleep after because you wonder what he's expecting, you'd meant a kiss - had he meant more?

you wouldn't mind that at all.

xiaojun is being pulled away from the conveyer belt by kun and hendery is asking sicheng for a sip of his starbucks as you all wait for ten's plane to land in the airport lobby

you two have not told anyone - mostly because you know there will be endless questions you won't have answers too and sicheng might literally never let you live it down

so you wait for ten to be here so you can suffer together

you see the gates from his flight open and sicheng mutters that you look like you're going to pop like a goddamn balloon

for once in your life, you don't snide back at him, folding your hands in front of you and tippy-toeing to see over the crowd

and then, like seeing him for the first time all the years ago when you first met, ten comes out

hendery and xiaojun try to go for a running jump, but the older members hold them back because everyone can sense whats coming

you dash toward him and ten doesn't stay still either - you two collide so hard it almost hurts, but you don't care at all

ten's duffel bag falls over his shoulder and your hands are wrapped around his neck before he can even say your name

it's a first kiss that couldn't be more characteristically fit for you

sweet, big smiles tasted on lips, and interrupted by none other than your group of friends gasping in a symphony of shock

except for sicheng - he knew

ten tastes like you imagine he would taste, maybe because in smaller ways you've already had doses of the sunshine that radiates off him before

he keeps his hands wrapped around your waist as he looks down into your eyes

"mon amour"

"is that really all you learned in france?"

"ummm yeah, i don't know how to say let's get out of here and back to my place even though im pretty sure someone said that to me at some point."

you pout, "don't try to make me jealous."

"never!"

ten chuckles as you press your face into his neck and hug him close

the only way you get pulled apart is because someone (kun) reminds you all you're still at the PUBLIC airport

the drive back is a frenzy and everyone wants to know everything and not about just you two - because you're "two" now - but about france and traveling and ten's dancing

like you'd sensed - nothing has really changed

just this time, your fingers are locked in tens. and the warmth you longed for in silence is suddenly all out in the open.

funnily enough, you and ten don't ever write letters to each other again.

ten just doesn't like writing - it takes too much sitting down

and you are horrified everytime he fishes your love confession out of the memory box and dangles it above your head as leverage

it's how he convinced you into adopting the first cat. now you two have three.

so when you and him are deciding the best way to let all your friends know about your upcoming event you cross out mailed invitations

"we can make an email list."

your legs are thrown over his thighs on the sofa and he's resting the laptop on you them

"let's just make an instagram post: wedding in our backyard on thursday - you're invited."

ten pinches his nose

"we are not having a backyard wedding. we could not fit everyone in my dance company into it anyway."

you play with your engagement band and sigh

"fine, fine. what about.....we just call everyone and tell them. if we call kun right now he'll let all of the world know by the end of the week."

ten agrees with a hum, but then starts typing and you lean over to see

"bulk wedding invites? you're giving in?"

he closes the laptop and tosses it to the side, easily and gently pushing you down onto your back to hover over you with a small content sound

"i am. but we don't even have to write the letters - some company will do it for us."

his lips are inches from yours and all of a sudden you're young again - waiting to kiss him for the first time at that airport

"you know we'll still have to write vows right."

he is about to kiss you, he's so close and your eyes are closing

"i'll just read your letter outl-"

"TEN NO!"

he laughs, laughs until he finally does kiss you and then laughs again when he pulls back - the overflowing amount of love that exists in that moment is potent

you tell him to get over that old thing, but he shakes his head

"never, when again in all the lives i live is someone going to say i could make a shy tulip open its petals with my laughter?"

#i know his bday was in february please im still working through them cries #ten au #ten imagines #ten scenarios #nct au #nct imagines #nct scenarios #wayv imagines #wayv au #wayv scenarios #sfw #nostolgic!au #ten #member: ten #im sicheng through all this

363 notes · View notes

svnflowervol666 · 3 years

Text

Pinky Promise (dad!Harry)

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Harry introduces a certain special someone to the newest addition of his family.

Author’s Note: Surprise! Here’s some boy dad!Harry on this fine week night. I feel like Harry is almost always written as as girl dad (guilty as charged tho), so I wanted to show the boys some love. I didn’t really call this one an ‘x reader,’ because this one’s mostly about Harry and his bub, but the missus is still there, don’t worry! I hope you enjoy and as always, feedback of any kind, likes and especially reblogs are super helpful to keep me motivated to post more. Take care and TPWK.

The Styles household was always filled with noise. Whether it was contagious laughter echoing off of the walls in the kitchen, the pitter patter of pudgy feet bursting through the back door from the garden, or the low humming of the secondhand record player coming from the living room. The sounds were comforting, reassuring to those that lived there. While the ruckus caused by something like which Joni Mitchell song Harry should play on the guitar before bedtime or what color everyone’s nails should be painted each week might seem chaotic to some, it represented a kind of tranquility that at one point did not seem possible to grasp.

But today, in the modest, ivy-covered cottage with a pastel-yellow door, it was quiet. The sun poured in from the two open windows of the living area, filling the room with a still brightness that only London could emote. Dust particles danced in the light, drifting along through their own invisible current. The beginnings of the city could be seen in the distance, visible in a foggy haze with promises of sweet treats and adventue-packed days. But no sound, as the newest member of the Styles family had commanded the attention and affection of everyone within its walls.

“She’s so little,” the youngest spoke up. Although he was now technically the oldest. He outstretched his hand out to caress the petite foot that stuck out from beneath the periwinkle-colored muslin blanket.

“I know,” Harry replied, watching the swaddled newborn’s toes curl in reaction to being tickled by her brother, “I remember when you were this tiny, too.”

“I was?” he asked, scratching at his chocolate brown curls that never laid flat.

Harry nodded in affirmation, recalling the early morning when his son had been born prematurely. He’d spent nearly ten days resting in an uncomfortable vinyl recliner beside his girlfriend’s, who was now his wife, hospital bed counting down the minutes until the nurse would give them the “ok” to go visit their bub in the NICU. Harry stared in awe at his newborn through the glass of the incubator, using the open portal on the side to reach in and stroke his cheek with the faintest of touches. He was covered in wires and tubes, surrounded by monitors and beeping machines, all tasked with keeping his underdeveloped organs afloat. It was the most pitiful thing he had ever seen, and Harry still has those nights where he’s plagued with memories from the hospital. While the day he became a father was most certainly the best day of his life, it was one of the most traumatic experiences he’s ever been through.

“Mhmm. You were actually even smaller when you were born,” Harry prodded, playfully wiggling his eyebrows at him.

“No I wasn’t! the toddler jabbed back, crinkling his nose up at his parents, his aquamarine colored eyes turning into tiny slits on either side.

“Umm, yes you were,” Harry’s wife replied with a chuckle from where she sat beside the rest of her family on the couch, “We bought the tiniest size clothes we could find and they still didn’t fit your teeny little bum.”

The boy sat confused, trying to comprehend how a person could be smaller than his sister, let alone be so tiny that clothes didn’t even fit them.

“Well, I’m big now. Right?”

“Much bigger,” Harry reassured him, “But now that you’re bigger, you have t’ take care of your sister. You have to teach her how to be kind and share your toys with her. Think yeh can do tha’?”

“Yes! C-can she swim with me in the pool?” he stumbled over his words, overjoyed by the idea of someone always being around to play his sacred water games with him in his nana’s pool.

“Not yet, bubba,” Harry laughed, tickled by his son’s enthusiasm, “We have t’ wait until she’s a little bit older. But I’m sure she’d love to swim with you at Nana’s when she knows how.”

“Okayyy,” the boy replied, slightly defeated.

“Do you want t’ hold her?” Harry asked, gesturing to the sleeping bundle in his lap, her puffy eyelids closed peacefully as tiny, sporadic grunts left her little belly.

“Yeah, but I don’t know how,” he professed, his plush, pink toddler lips turning down into a frown.

“’S alright, I’ll show you,” Harry then carefully shuffled from his position on the couch, turning so that he was facing his son.

“So, first, you have to make sure you hold her head because she can’t keep it up on her own,” Harry started, reaching over to place the baby girl into his son’s arms.

Unlike the last time, Harry’s hands didn’t shake. He wasn’t afraid like he was before, when his arms trembled as he took his newborn son into his arms for the first time, petrified that he was going to accidentally smother him or drop him and that the worst thing he could imagine would come true. No. This time, his hands were sturdy, protective over his new daughter as he was preparing to introduce her to his firstborn for the very first time.

Harry’s wife looked on lovingly as his son took the baby from him excitingly, his left hand cupping her head gently. Her tired eyes were filled with love when he wrapped his arm protectively around her little tufts of peach fuzz in the best way that a five-year-old with mediocre hand-eye coordination could.

“You also have t’ hold her bum so she doesn’t squirm out of your arms.”

Harry took his son’s hand into his, guiding him to place his tiny forearm along the baby’s back with his palm resting on her diaper-clad bottom. When he was confident of his son’s grip on the infant, he pulled back. He made sure to hover over him with his brawny, tanned arms just ghosting over his son’s. Just in case.

The boy was elated. His sister was warm and soft, and she looked like one of the stuffed animals that he slept with every night. He couldn’t believe that the person he talked to in his mother’s belly every night for nine months and gave kisses to each morning before nursery school was here and real and now she gets to live with him forever.

“She’s so cute,” he spoke in gentle whisper this time, remembering what his mum had told him about being quiet around the baby so that she doesn’t wake up cranky.

He was absolutely smitten over her. Everything about her was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his brief time on Earth: her button nose that sat perfectly above her lips, her miniature fingers wound tightly her fist as if she was ready to fight, her little tongue that barely poked through her mouth each time she yawned. He could stare at her forever if he could.

Instinctively, he pulled her into his bony chest for a hug, squeezing a little too harder than he should have. The baby girl tensed in his grasp at the motion, the beginnings of a shrill whine escaping her pruney lips.

“Whoa, bub. You have t’ be careful,” Harry intervened, loosening his son’s arms so that the baby rested peacefully in the boy’s lap again.

“She’s fragile. You can’t squeeze her like that,” the boy’s mum reminded him.

“Sorry, Baby,” said the boy as he reached down to press his tiny lips to her eyebrow.

Her forehead wrinkled up at the contact, similar to one of auntie Gemma’s baby puppies, thought the boy to himself. He also thought that she kind of looked like one of the puppies too, but he kept that to himself.

Harry and his wife watched their children interacted, how his son was brushing his thumb along her skull, how her face relaxed at the steady motion. They were already in sync with each other, already comforting each other just by their presence. They were both besotted with their daughter, but Harry thinks he might be just a bit more in love with her than his wife. Harry had gotten used to raising his son, while he taught him to be a kindhearted and gentle creature, there had always been a degree of roughness to which he interracted with him. His daughter, however, was made of glass, Harry had convinced himself. He vowed to do whatever it took to make sure she never shed a single tear because of him or anything else he had control over.

Now, Harry had two babies. One boy and one girl, just like his family before this one. The similarities slightly terrified him. His son was soft and gentle and loving, just like Harry had been as a child. He was sensitive, always yearning to be held and touched in the way that Harry had when he was his age. His daughter, even though she was only a few days old, was already a stubborn little fighter like his sister. She cried her lungs out within her first few hours of being born, kicking and screaming until it looked like her face was turning blue. She hated the harsh lights that the doctors shone in her eyes and their cold hands that poked and prodded at her belly like she was a science experiment. It wasn’t until she was in the arms of her family that her wailing subsided.

It was thoughts like these that felt surreal to Harry. He never saw himself as someone that could be in the position he is now. He’d always thought he’d be an eternal bachelor, someone who only ever stayed with someone for a certain period of time before everything inevitably blew up in his face and he’d be back at square one. He never thought that he’d be the type of person with a wife and a white picket fence and a slew of babies; he never thought that he could be the type of person who could be this happy.

“Bubby, can I ask you to promise me something?” Harry asked as he scooped the boy into his lap, making sure the baby was secure so that the three of them laid in one pile on the couch.

He pulled his wife closer as well, making sure they were shoulder to shoulder and he felt surrounded on all sides by the ones he loved the most.

“What?” his son asked, peering up at his papa with huge eyes that resembled saucers, his long, dark eyelashes brushing his brow bones.

“I want you to promise me,” Harry began, wrapping his arms tighter around his two babies, resting his chin in the crook of his son’s neck, “tha’ whatever happens t’ the two of you, no matter how many times you get into fights. No matter how mad you might make each other. That you’ll love her. No matter what. That you’ll always be her big brother.”

Harry hadn’t realized, but his voice trailed off near the end. His voice was just above a whisper, so quiet that only his son could hear. He pressed his lips to side of his bub’s forehead, an attempt to soothe both his son and himself.

“Can yeh do that f’ me?”

The boy in Harry’s lap pondered his father’s words. His finger went absentmindedly to stroke his sister’s hand, astonished when her fingers unfurled from the tight fist they’d been bound in all day. He slipped his pinky into her palm just as her muscles relaxed so that she was now clutching tightly to his digit.

He had no idea of the weight that Harry’s words carried. He had no idea of the thoughts of uncertainty that haunted Harry about never getting to this point in his life. He doesn’t understand the cruelty that exists outside the walls of his home besides the pesky little boy in his class that borrows his crayons and doesn’t give them back. He doesn’t know that other children don’t grow up in homes with parents that love each other like his do.

He didn’t know any of these things, but he sensed that it meant a great deal to Harry, and he wanted to make sure that his father knew he could count on him for anything because he loved him with all of his heart and Harry proved that to him every single day.

“Pinky promise, papa,” the boy responds, loosening his hand that was wrapped around his sister to offer it to Harry.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #dad!harry #dad!harry x reader #dad!harry styles x reader #dad!harry styles

829 notes · View notes

flashflashhundredyarddash · 3 years

Text

Shove You Out the Door

Jaime regretted not letting the Reach invasion happen.

The day started out fine. He spent two hours stressing over what to wear to the movies before he covered up his shirt with the same blue hoodie that he wore all the time anyways. When he showed up 20 minutes early for their noon showing Bart was already there, wearing shorts in deference to the early summer Texas heat, and Jaime had the very unchill thought of legs sjdjfnee and Khaji Da offered to eliminate The Impulse, even though Bart had been Kid Flash for two years already. Bart spotted him and quickly latched onto Jaime's arm, pulling him into the theater and chattering away about whatever sci-fi movie Bart had picked out.

They went to a diner afterwards, and when Jaime blew his straw wrapper at Bart he laughed in delight. When Bart got up to go collect 50 more straws and sat back down he slid into the booth next to Jaime, and Jaime panicked because oh god, are they on a date? Jaime meant for it to be a date and then had freaked and not actually said anything to confirm it was a date so technically they were just hanging out and Bart was fiddling with the woven bracelet that Milagro had made for him that he wore everywhere because actually Milagro was his best friend now, sorry Jaime-

Then Booster Gold sat in the booth across from them.

Jaime didn’t realize it was Booster Gold at first, so he cleared his throat and said, “This table is a little occupied,” and Bart blew a straw wrapper into the side of his face.

The man who had so rudely sat at their table and interrupted their maybe-date opened his mouth before Bart interrupted him. “Hi Booster Gold,” Bart said.

Booster Gold closed his mouth. “It’s just Michael right now, actually,” he said. His blond curly hair was dark at the roots and when he smiled Jaime felt awe at how white his teeth were.

“Can we… help you?” Jaime asked, because he wasn’t sure why a random member of the Justice League decided to look for one or both of them. He had the thought that maybe he was actually an alien or shape-shifter and was coming to kidnap them or kill them or something, but then dismissed that thought because that was stupid, and also why would an alien disguise itself as Booster Gold to come kill them?

“Actually, I was hoping I could help you,” Michael said with his perfect, shiny teeth. He spread his hands out and magnanimously stated, “I have decided to offer my esteemed superheroing services and mentor the new Blue Beetle.”

He glanced back and forth between Bart and Jaime.

“Which one of you is Blue Beetle?” he asked.

Jaime choked on his drink.

“Me,” Bart said, immediately, “I’m Blue Beetle and I definitely need your superheroing services.”

Jaime put his hand over Bart’s mouth and very pointedly did not react when Bart licked his palm. Bart could never understand the pains of being an older brother.

“I’m Blue Beetle,” Jaime said.

“You’re both Blue Beetle?” Michael asked.

“Yes!” Bart shrieked.

“No!” Jaime said.

“This mentoring thing is already so complicated,” Michael sighed.

“Look,” Jaime said, wiping his hand off on Bart’s shirt, “it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but I’m a little confused. I don’t think our skill sets are really… compatible.”

“I get it,” Michael said. “You’re the Blue Beetle and I’m a time traveler from the future. On the surface we have nothing in common.”

“Wow,” Bart said, “You’re from the future? What’s that like? Has the world been invaded by crazy bug aliens?”

“What?”

“Ignore him. Like I said, I appreciate the offer, but I feel like I’ve got this handled. Besides…” Jaime couldn’t help the bit of hurt that bled into his voice, “why didn’t you ever show up when I first got the scarab? I could have used a mentor back then.”

Michael sighed again and rested his face on his hand. “I don’t know. When Ted died, I just… I just didn’t cope well, I guess. He’d been my best friend for so long and… yeah, you didn’t deserve to have to deal with that, kid.”

“Wait, you actually knew Ted Kord?” Jaime said, leaning forward.

“Yes?” Michael said. He reached for a chain around his neck and pulled at it to reveal the ring that had been tucked into his shirt.

“Oh shit,” Jaime said. “I’m sorry, man.”

Michael waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, grieving widow. But anyways, I’m cool now, I did the whole therapy thing, and since I was married to the last Blue Beetle, I figure that makes you my, like, step-protege or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Jaime said.

“Oh man, if you had showed up last week we would’ve gotten you something for Father’s Day,” Bart said, “Like a custom shirt that says world’s #1 guy who was married to the guy who was actually supposed to be my boyfriend’s mentor. World’s #1 replacement mentor.”

Jaime abruptly turned to look at Bart. “Boyfriend?” Jaime squeaked.

Bart squinted his eyes at him. “Have we not been dating for two months?”

“Should I go?” Michael asked.

“I thought maybe we were dating but I wasn’t sure? I do want to date you but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to date me.”

Bart huffed out a laugh. “You are so dumb. I don’t share food with just anyone. Also I already have my prom dress picked out so you just need to get a red tie.”

“I have a red tie!” Michael shouted, making them both jump. “I have like five hundred ties. Boom! You’ve just been mentored.” He pointed at the basket of fries in front of Jaime. “Are you going to eat those?”

Jaime slid the fries over to Bart.

“Oh my god,” Bart said, sounding a little choked up, “I love you so much. I will even let you eat some of these.”

“Am I nailing this boyfriend thing so far?” Jaime asked.

“Oh, totally, babe.”

Jaime nodded to himself. He was totally nailing this boyfriend thing.

“Ah, young love,” Michael said, getting up. He patted his pockets for a minute and then stopped. “I was going to pay, because I’m a mentor now, but I don’t know where my wallet is.”

“Don’t you own a quarter of Kord Industries or something?” Bart said.

“So! I’ll see you around, Blue, Blue’s boyfriend. Maybe you could help me out on a patrol or something. That’s what Green Arrow does with his kids, I think.”

“Sure, man,” Jaime said, deciding to throw him a bone. “See you around.”

Michael smiled brightly and then scribbled his number onto a napkin before leaving the diner, the bell tinkling behind him.

“Oh my gosh, did you see-” Bart started.

“His teeth!” Jaime finished.

Bart nodded aggressively, his auburn hair flopping. “I have never seen a man with more beautiful teeth. Well, except maybe yours.”

“You’ve got a pretty nice smile, too.” Jaime said, and reminded himself Bart couldn’t hear the way his heart fell out of its rhythm for a second.

“Yeah,” Bart said, leaning in, “Maybe we should compare notes.”

#author's note: booster knew how to find them bcus anyone whos anyone in the super community knows blue beetle and kid flash hang out #all the time so he just asked barry lol #blue beetle #bluepulse #jaime reyes #bart allen #kid flash #impulse #michael carter #boostle #booster gold #dc #young justice #yj #the burd squawks #fanfics #the burd writes #also milagro thinks jaime is lame but thinks bart is SO COOL FOR SOME REASON

200 notes · View notes

goldenraeofsun · 3 years

Note

A/b/o + celebrities and/or coffee shop 👀

Thanks so much for the prompt, Julesy, and I'm so sorry for the long wait! Part II should be up in the next few days, but hopefully this beginning 7k will satisfy for the time being 😘

Castiel is elbow-deep in suds when Jo plunks a medium to-go cup on the edge of the sink. “Thank you?” he says, bemused.

“It’s not for you, doofus,” Jo says, rolling her eyes. “There’s a customer out back,” she jerks her head towards the service exit that leads to the alley where they dump their trash and Ruby takes her furtive smoke breaks. “I need you to take this to him.”

“Out back?” Castiel repeats dubiously, craning his neck to catch sight of their on-site baker, Benny, who is busy kneading focaccia dough for tomorrow’s sandwiches. Benny, full of southern politeness, doesn’t give any indication he’s eavesdropping.

Jo gives Castiel a short nod, her alpha scent flaring with irritation. “I’d take it out there myself, but he always talks my ear off, and Kevin still can’t draw a latte art that doesn’t look like a dick, so…”

Castiel frowns but nods, and Jo’s expression eases once she doesn't hear a challenge to her request. Still, he has to ask, “But why doesn’t he order at the counter like a normal customer?”

Jo takes a step back towards the door. “You’ll see. Just… don’t make a big deal of it.”

“A big deal of what?” Castiel calls to her, but she’s already disappeared out to the front of the cafe.

Castiel sighs and wipes his hands on a dish towel. He picks up the drink, sniffing curiously.

He nearly gags at the strong aroma of brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and apples all on top of espresso and milk. They definitely don’t serve that on the menu. Admittedly, Castiel hasn’t memorized the list of hot drinks they serve at Hunter’s Cafe, but this is an assault on anyone with a nose. He’s been their busboy and dishwasher for six months since his second year as a graduate student began, and Jo has only let him mind the counter three times, all as far from peak time as she could get.

But a job is a job. Holding the drink, he shoulders open the back door.

“Hey - oh, you’re not Jo,” a familiar voice says.

Castiel stops dead in his tracks because, despite the sunglasses, the baseball hat, and hunched shoulders, Dean Winchester is unmistakable.

Away from the limelight, Dean apparently favors soft-looking flannels over worn tee shirts and jeans. In one hand, he holds a half depleted sheaf of french fries. Stunned, Castiel doesn't immediately hand over the reason for his appearance.

“Whatever, is that mine?” Dean demands, zeroing in on Castiel’s cup.

Still beyond speech, Castiel dumbly hands the affront to coffee over.

After a muttered thanks, Dean takes a long drink. “Christ, this tastes even better than normal.”

Castiel inhales a surreptitious breath. It’s not every day one gets to catch the scent of Hollywood’s omega darling.

Not that anyone would know Dean's secondary gender just by looking at him. Dean stands a few inches taller than the average male omega - he has nearly an inch of height on Castiel, and Castiel is the dictionary definition of standard alpha physique.

While Castiel might not be Dean’s most knowledgeable fan, he hasn’t been living under a rock for the past five years. It was all over the papers when Dean was cast in his first alpha role. Dean wasn’t the first omega actor to do so, but he was certainly the most prominent. Castiel’s sister, Anna, an actual fan, spent a memorable dinner ranting about how all the prejudiced reporters on the press tour. Apparently they only asked Dean about the diet and exercise routine that transform into a “real” alpha, while, in the next round, his alpha castmates fielded questions about their characters’ moral code and complex development.

But, in the alley behind Hunter’s Café, Castiel’s nose is completely overwhelmed by the fryers of the fast food restaurant next door, the set of dumpsters directly to his right, and the almost offensively apple coffee Dean is currently drinking like his life depends on it. Dean could smell like old gym socks for all Castiel can tell.

“Where’s Jo?” Dean asks once he resurfaces. He jams a few fries in his mouth. Before he's finished chewing, he sucks down some more latte in an unholy taste combination.

“Busy,” Castiel replies. “We have a new hire, and so far Kevin can only draw genitalia on lattes instead of flowers.”

Dean guffaws, nearly inhaling his drink. Swearing unrepentantly, he takes his sunglasses off and rubs at his temple with his free hand. “Christ, I’m too hungover to laugh like that.” He squints over at Castiek before sliding the sunglasses back on his face.

Castiel stares. “If you’re hungover, why are you here at -” he checks his watch “-seven in the morning?”

Dean slurps at his fruity latte before he answers. “Got a meeting at nine. This,” he says, brandishing his mostly empty cup, “and a large fries are the cure.” His hands occupied, Dean ducks his head to fish a single fry out and holds it like a cigarette between his lips.

“That sounds disgusting,” Castiel says, aghast.

Dean inches the rest of the fry into his mouth. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it,” he says with a wink.

Cas blushes.

“Hey,” Dean says, a new thought coming to him, “What’s your name?”

Taken aback by the question, he answers, “Castiel.”

Dean mouths his name once, his brow furrowing at the new syllables. With a small shrug of capitulation he says, “Well, Cas, thanks for the drink.” He toasts him one before tipping the cup all the way back, draining it.

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean grins. “I couldn't tell if you recognized me or not.”

“I did,” Castiel says, clearly unnecessarily.

Amused, Dean throws him a long, considering look. “You’ve got one hell of a poker face.” He unceremoniously shovels the rest of the fries in his mouth and balls up the wrapper. He tosses it with practiced ease into the waiting dumpster.

“Thank you?” Cas says, nonplussed.

“Thank you,” Dean says, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You’re the one who saved my hide.” He sidles forward and shoves a bill into Castiel’s slack hand. Without another word, he takes off out of the alley and onto the street.

Once he’s out of sight, Castiel unclenches his hand. Dean tipped him ten dollars.

* * *

“How is this even more pungent than last time?” Castiel demands, nose wrinkling as he sets a now clean muffin tin back on the shelf. It’s been a week since he met Dean Winchester, and hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of apple pie since then.

He is alone with Jo in the kitchen, since Benny’s early morning shift ends at eleven.

“I added a caramel drizzle,” Jo says, her scent rising with her self-satisfaction.

Castiel stares at her in horror. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“’Cause I’m trying to see what his limit is, and so far - nothing,” Jo says, shrugging. “Get to it. He’s real grouchy if you make him wait too long.”

“And why aren’t you taking it to him?” Castiel says, eyebrows rising. “Kevin’s moved onto multiple hearts now. Admittedly, his first one looked like a labia, but he’s gotten much better.”

“But Ruby didn’t show up, so we’re short staffed,” Jo says shortly. Outside, Kevin yells something indistinguishable though the kitchen door, and Jo winces.

Castiel takes the latte.

Just like last time, Dean is waiting, wearing a different flannel but the same jeans with the hole above the left knee. He abandoned the sunglasses, since the clouds overhead cast the whole alley in shade. They’re hanging from the vee of his shirt collar, pulling the fabric down a tempting extra inch.

Unfortunately, the fast food restaurant next door must have just taken out the trash last night, since the alley reeks of stale bread and rotting fish patties.

Castiel lets the door slam behind him, unable to hold back his corresponding smile as Dean lights up as he sees him.

“Thank god,” Dean says as he reaches for the latte. “I was starting to think Jo was gonna stiff me.”

“We’re short staffed at the moment,” Castiel says apologetically, “so you got me again.”

Dean eyes him over the lid of his cup. “Not a downside from where I’m standin’,” he drawls.

Castiel has no idea how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Dean can’t mean it like Castiel thinks he does. He’s an actor, feeding people lines is the dictionary definition of his job. Instead Castiel asks, “No french fries this time?” because he’s not nearly ready to leave yet.

“Already ate ’em, while I was waiting,” Dean says dismissively.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” Dean says with a little grin. “I got my caffeine fix eventually, and that’s what I really care about.”

“You look remarkably more put together than last time,” Castiel says as he leans against the doorway, watching Dean sip at his drink.

“Didn’t drink as much,” Dean says with a grin. He tips back his cup and takes a long pull. “Fries can only get you halfway there. Christ, that’s the stuff.”

Castiel can’t help but make a face. The latte smells horrendous; it can’t taste that much better.

“What?” Dean asks, eyes narrowing.

Castiel probably shouldn’t tell Dean what is exactly on his mind. Castiel has found very few people appreciate his default brand of honesty - Hunter’s Café customers, especially. But Dean isn’t technically his customer - he’s Jo’s - and Castiel has reached the point in his life where he doesn’t need to hang onto people who don’t like him and vice versa. Dean isn’t even providing extra publicity for the establishment, since he’s getting serviced in the alley behind the kitchen.

Technically, Castiel needs a celebrity acquaintance as much as he needs a free bag of cat food (he doesn’t have a cat).

But he does like having one.

A celebrity acquaintance, that is. Cats are inherently suspicious.

Reluctantly, Castiel says, “I can’t imagine that latte tastes very good.”

To his surprise, instead of demanding Jo bring him his coffee from now on, Dean laughs. “Not a fan of apple pie?”

“Not in my coffee.”

Dean takes an obnoxiously loud slurp. “I think it’s delicious.”

“I think your taste buds must be severely incapacitated.”

Dean waggles the near empty cup in front of Castiel’s face in what must be an enticing manner to someone with no sense of smell or taste. “Wanna try?”

Castiel valiantly holds back his recoil. “No, thank you.”

But Dean’s genial expression doesn’t waver. “‘M feeling pretty much human again, so it’s up for grabs.”

“I’d sooner lick the dumpster,” Castiel blurts before he can filter himself.

Dean whistles, rocking back on his heels. “Harsh.”

Castiel sighs. Honesty was a mistake. He mutters, embarrassed, “I’m just not a very big fan of sweets.”

“No?”

“I’ve been living with my cousin while in graduate school at Columbia,” he explains, his tone apologetic for his earlier comment, “and he has a horrendous sweet tooth. I don’t think he’s ever seen a carrot that wasn’t in a cake first.”

A wide grin splits Dean’s face. He laughs.

What Castiel wouldn’t give to scent Dean’s joy for himself. “He would probably love that latte,” Castiel continues wryly.

“Probably,” Dean agrees. He taps his fingers against the sides of the cup as he asks, “So you’re in school? For what?”

“Do you really want to know?” Castiel asks seriously. He’s had too many conversations with strangers and casual friends who have asked the exact same question and regretted asking it almost immediately.

Dean ducks his head. “I don’t know any graduate students, and I,” he breaks off, his cheeks going pink, “I never went to college, so I have no idea what it means.” He sucks on the dregs of his latte, gaze dropping to the vicinity of Castiel’s knees.

“Oh,” Castiel says, feeling lighter. “In that case, I’m studying ethnomusicology.”

Dean’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you fucking with me? That doesn’t sound real.”

“It’s a legitimate area of study,” Castiel assures him. “I research music as it pertains to culture and diverse elements of social life. Ethnomusicology focuses not only on the music itself, but music as a social process, as a medium for humans to relate to each other. In short, it examines how music functions in a particular society.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t get the glazed-over look most people do when he explains his field of study. “So what kind of music are you talking about?”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to flush. His colleagues, while they respect his academic reputation, have nearly all looked down on his chosen object of study. “One of the main tenets of ethnomusicology is a global perspective on music-”

“What, like Tibetan throat-singing?” Dean interrupts. At Castiels’ stare, he explains quickly, “Sammy had a phase.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I do know a professor at Cornell who is studying just that. But my focus is much closer to home. I study,” he inhales a small breath, “tribute bands.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “What.”

“Tribute bands offer a fascinating definition of the nature of performance, the difference between authenticity and identity,” Castiel says, already on the defensive. He can already hear his voice trying to fall into his usual academic patterns, and tries to rein himself in, “and historical consciousness in popular music. Here -” He pulls out his phone.

Dean listens in complete silence to Yellow Dubmarine’s cover of I Want You.

“Anyway,” Castiel coughs, embarrassed he made Dean sit through all that, “I also teach Rock and Roll from the 1950s to 1980s. There is a great deal of crossover with my specialty since most tribute bands recreate acts from the 60s to the 80s.”

“Dude,” Dean says in a rush, “if you think that makes you less interesting, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Castiel blinks.

“What bands are we talkin’ about?” he asks eagerly. “More Beatles? The Stones? The Who?”

Castiel nods. “I’m hoping to go to a Lez Zeppelin concert next month.”

“Led Zeppelin?”

“Lez,” Castiel says, emphasizing the ‘z’, “an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band.”

Dean frowns. “They have a gimmick?”

Castiel shakes his head. “They’re completely sincere, I assure you.” He smiles wryly. “I interviewed Misstallica for a paper I’m writing on diverse, for lack of a better word, musicians in the tribute world, and they felt right at home with the long hair and tight pants. I’ve never met people who more adore the songs they perform.”

“Huh,” Dean says, rubbing his chin.

“Except maybe Air-O-Smith,” Castiel adds, “an American all-omega tribute band of Aerosmith.”

Dean’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

“My favorite all-omega tribute band, though, is Omega You Eight One Two,” Castiel muses, “a Van Halen cover band.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says faintly.

“Their lead guitarist, as you can imagine, is phenomenal.”

Dean shakes his head, his expression going slack. “Wait, seriously? That’s a thing? All omega acts?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “That’s one of the most compelling aspects of tribute bands, when they flip the traditional male-alpha dynamic of the original, and how they translate that into their own act while keeping the whole performance authentic to the creators. It’s a fascinating process to watch and study.”

“I bet,” Dean says fervently. “Hey, d’you think-”

The back door opens before Dean can finish his sentence.

Jo pokes her head out, looking askance at the pair of them. “Are you still out here?” She glares at Dean. “Stop complaining about your diet, and let Castiel come back to work.”

Castiel’s mouth purses. “You’re on a diet?”

“Not on cheat day,” Dean tells him, lifting his empty cup. He turns to Jo. “And I wasn’t complaining at all. Cas was actually telling me about tribute bands.”

“Really?” Jo asks, her nose wrinkling.

Dean tosses his trash in the dumpsters. “They sound awesome.”

“I like them,” Castiel says lamely, off-footed now the conversation is clearly wrapping up.

Jo rolls her eyes, alpha irritation practically radiating off her. “Good for you.”

“Alright, well, I’ll let you deal with Joanna Beth on your own,” Dean says as he pulls out his wallet and hands Castiel a folded bill. He gives a mocking salute as he takes a step back, “Good luck, dude.”

“Thank you?”

“Come on, fanboy,” Jo growls once Dean’s disappeared from view, “back to work.”

* * *

“Can’t you take it?” Castiel asks, his tone verging on pleading, as Jo follows him back into the kitchen. It’s too early in the morning for another meeting, closer to first time Castiel met Dean at seven am compared to their last meeting at a little before eleven.

This past weekend, Castiel went down a spiral of Dean Winchester content. He read up on all of Dean’s recent projects, scanned headlines about rumors of his next film - some action thriller that Castiel presumes is the reason for Dean’s diet, and watched interview after interview. Dean on Stephen Colbert. Dean on Good Morning America. Dean on some very confusing show where they forced him to eat spicy chicken wings, which just seemed like an exercise in pepper-based sadism.

Castiel didn’t really understand the Saturday Night Live skit where Dean played one half of a demon-hunting brother duo, but the live studio audience laughed uproariously at multiple points.

Jo all but slams Dean’s latte on the ledge above the sink. “You know the health inspector is here. I can’t let Ruby near the guy, and you know how Kevin gets around figures of authority.”

Castiel sets down his tub of dirty dishes. “He nearly peed himself when he had to tell you he dropped a tray of scones over the floor last week,” he says flatly.

“Exactly,” Jo says. “Benny is busy,” she says, tipping her head to where Benny is adding more flour to a huge bowl.

“Cheers, darlin’.”

She turns back to Castiel. “So, you’re it today, champ.”

“Great,” Castiel grumbles.

“What?” Jo asks, her hands on her hips. “You seemed to get along with Dean. I actually didn’t know you could talk that much before I sent you back there.”

Castiel carefully transfers the dirty plates to the sink. “Getting along with him isn’t the problem,” he says darkly.

“Getting along with him too well is the issue?” Jo asks, her eyebrows rising.

Castiel scowls at her observation. Her emotional intuition is what makes her an excellent café manager, so he can hardly fault her for that. He doesn’t respond to her question.

“Take it to him,” Jo says, her tone softening. “He likes you.”

Castiel raises his head to stare at her. “How do you know that?”

Jo pulls her phone from her back pocket and waves it in his face. “We talk,” she says. “How do you think he orders every time? He’s not getting those lattes for free, not after I spent so much time getting them exactly right.”

Castiel can’t hold back his grimace. The latte still smells awful, like a vat of boiled candied apples.

“Look,” Jo says, lowering her voice, “Dean’s famous, sure, but he’s actually a very private person. He runs his mouth to anyone who’ll listen, but he never really says anything important. So he doesn’t really connect with a lot of people. If he says he likes you, I’m gonna say that’s a good thing - if you tell him I said this, I’ll kick your ass - and make you his designated errand boy.”

Castiel bites his lip. “But I don’t -”

“Dude, don’t make me pull the boss card,” Jo says, just the barest hint of threat in her words.

“Fine.” Castiel snatches the latte off the counter. “But I want a raise.”

“You can get a free sandwich.”

Castiel glares daggers as he shoulders open the back door.

But the alley is empty.

Castiel breathes through his mouth as he steps out. The overflowing dumpsters carry the odor of moldering cheese and more rancid fish, and the fryers next door are still going strong. He doesn’t find Dean lurking behind the trash for some strange reason, and he’s about to head back in and dump Dean’s latte down the sink when a shout makes him turn around.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean calls, jogging in from the brightly lit street.

“Hello, Dean.” He hands over the latte.

“Thanks - sorry.” Dean rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. “Some fans caught me sneaking in here, and wanted a selfie.”

“Oh,” Castiel says for lack of anything better to say.

Dean tips back his cup, his expression falling into pure bliss. “Christ, that’s so much better when I’m not hungover.”

Castiel stares. “You’re drinking that with all your capacities intact?”

“Ain’t no better way to enjoy pie,” Dean says, grinning widely.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “That’s not pie.”

“It’s as close as I’m gonna get at eight in the morning on a Thursday,” Dean says with a shrug.

Silence falls between them, and Castiel can’t help glancing over Dean’s shoulder, tentatively scanning for the people who caught his attention earlier. Plenty more would have approached Dean if he didn’t have Jo’s latte waiting for him; Castiel would bet his job on it.

Dean is a celebrity.

Castiel is a grad student who can’t even afford to support a guinea pig on his stipend and café salary.

After a long beat, Dean asks, a touch hesitantly, “So, what’ve you been up to?”

Stalking you on the internet.

“Nothing,” Castiel lies. At the slight fall in Dean’s expression, he adds, “I cleaned my kitchen over the weekend.”

Dean chuckles. “You’re a weird dude, you know that?”

Hurt, Castiel takes a step back. Jo probably needs him for… something.

“Not in a bad way!” Dean says quickly. “Shit,” he swears under his breath, “please don’t stop giving me coffee.”

Castiel hesitates. “Why is it weird that I cleaned my kitchen?” He frowns. “I suppose you employ someone to do that for you.”

Dean seesaws his free hand back and forth as he sips at his latte. “Not always,” he lowers his voice, “I actually like cleaning - it helps me relax and shit. There’s nothing like blasting some tunes and scrubbing out that stain on the counter that’s been annoying you forever.”

Castiel lowers his voice too. “Is this a secret?”

Dean grimaces. “Not really. But, you know, it’s one of those omega things.”

Castiel doesn’t know. Well, he knows it is a stereotypical omega trait to like housework, but he has no idea why Dean would whisper it in a back alley like he’s confessing to defrauding an elderly relative. “And that is bad because…?”

Dean takes a long pull from his cup. “I don’t want to hammer the omega thing home too hard, alright?”

“But you are an omega,” Castiel says, feeling a little stupid for saying it out loud.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “but if I lean into it, I’ll stop getting alpha roles.”

“You only want to play alphas?” Castiel asks curiously.

Dean’s mouth twists. “They’re the better parts. Omegas are always the damsels in distress or get killed off first for the plot.”

“I’m sure not all films are like that,” Castiel says. God knows, Anna made him sit through enough films with an omega protagonist that did not fit the typical romantic comedy restrictions.

“Most.”

“The last movie I saw,” Castiel says, hesitant because Dean must know more about this than him, “my sister recommended it, it had an omega lead who led a team of paranormal investigators. A sort of horror-comedy.”

Dean’s face loses some of its hostility. Almost intrigued, he asks gruffly, “D’you know who wrote it?”

“Not off the top of my head.” Castiel pulls out his phone to look it up. He reads aloud, “Ghostfacers, directed by Ed Zeddmore, written by Harry Spangler. Starred Maggie Zeddmore and Alan Corbett.” He pauses, trying to remember the details. “I think they both were omegas. I’m sure there are more films like Ghostfacers out there for you to make.”

Dean sips at his latte. “A few. None with big enough names attached to really get on my radar.”

“Well, if you signed on, wouldn’t there be a big name attached?”

“Yeah,” Dean says in a tone that clearly conveys he’s thought of this possibility before. He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just - what if I take one of these roles, and it gets all this attention just ’cause I’m in it, and it flops?”

Castiel tilts his head. “That would hardly be your fault. Most failed films are hardly the work of one person. Usually, it’s a combination of a bad story, bad production, and bad acting.” He levels Dean an appraising look. “Right off the bat, you control two of those elements - pick a good script and act as well as you always have.”

Dean blinks. “You’ve seen my stuff?”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “I thought I already said I knew who you were?”

“Yeah, but,” Dean says, his voice petering off with embarrassment, “that didn’t mean you liked my movies.”

“The majority of America liked your last movie, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “Either that, or you have a very hardworking and wealthy mother who poured a hundred million dollars into ticket sales.”

“I mean, Mom’s a fan, but not that big of a fan,” Dean says, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure she’d rather get a twenty-minute call from yours truly than sit through a two-hour flick with my name on the poster.”

Castiel hands over his phone. “Here,” he says, tilting it so Dean can see the summary of Ghostfacers.

Dean brightens as he reads through it. “The Alpha dies first?”

“He thought he could deal with the ghost on his own.”

“Typical alpha macho,” Dean snorts. His head snaps up as he gives the phone back. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Castiel says easily. “With my lifestyle, posturing is a waste of time. I’ve long ago resigned myself to not being the primary breadwinner in any future household.”

“Really?”

Castiel throws him a look. “I’m in academia, Dean. Tenure is hardly a guarantee. Even so, there isn’t a wealth of money out there for ethnomusicology grants.”

Dean tips his head in acknowledgement. “It’s awful big of you.”

“Just logical,” Castiel says evenly. “It shrinks my dating pool considerably, but I’d rather do what I love than compromise that much for any potential partner.”

Dean inhales a deep breath, his eyes unfathomable. “I get that.”

“If it means I can’t afford to mate a house-omega, I’ll just have to keep cleaning my kitchen myself,” Castiel finishes with a shrug.

Dean grins. “I mean, if you spot me a six pack and don’t tell my trainer about it, I’ll clean your kitchen.”

Castiel turns bright red. He can’t bring himself to respond to that offer, so he changes the subject.

* * *

Castiel doesn’t even bother pretending to protest as Jo barges into the kitchen, the telltale scent of sugary apples wafting around her like a palpable shield. Castiel already set himself for heartbreak where Dean Winchester is concerned. He might as well take advantage of every interaction he has left.

He went to sleep late last night, watching one of Dean’s earlier movies. He was slimmer and younger, but he still shone with his signature charisma and talent. For the first time since Castiel started the morning shift at Hunter’s Café, he snoozed his alarm.

Hurrying through his morning routine, Castiel couldn’t help resenting Dean just a little. If only Dean hadn’t chosen a profession where his literal job is to be whatever his audience wants him to be.

As Castiel pushes open the door, Dean is waiting outside. Dark sunglasses shield his green eyes, and a violet bruise blooms over his left eyebrow. As the door slams shut behind Castiel, Dean winces. His left hand holds a half-empty paper container of french fries.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. “You don’t look good.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean says darkly. “Gimme.”

Castiel pauses. “Did your hangover eliminate your manners?”

Dean flushes bright red. “No,” he mutters. “Sorry, Cas. I just feel like shit.”

“You look like shit,” Castiel says frankly as he hands it over.

“Thanks,” Deans says, his voice sour as old lemons. “I told Charlie tequila shots before Monopoly was a bad idea, but did anyone listen to me?” He gestures to his face. “Next thing I know, Jo’s throwing Charlie’s bag of DnD dice at my head.”

“You got that playing Monopoly? Wait, Jo did this to you?” he demands, gesturing to the cafe behind him. “Jo Harvelle?”

Dean just glares over the rim of his coffee cup. “Yeah, Katniss got me good.”

“God, why?”

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts in a distinctly smug smirk. “’Cause she was going bankrupt, and she had to sell her last property to me.”

“So this was because of Monopoly,” Castiel says dubiously. In his experience, a board game has never led to actual violence.

Dean shrugs. “Game nights get intense. Why do you think I’m always bangin’ down your door the morning after?”

Castiel can’t believe it. “You’ve been getting this drunk at a game night? Every time?”

“So what?” Dean shoves four french fries in his mouth. “Whaddya think I was doin’?”

“Partying?” he suggests.

Dean snorts. “Maybe six years ago when I was doing B-level flicks and trying to meet as many people as I could. Now I have a back-to-back shooting schedule and hangovers if I don’t pace myself.”

Castiel watches Dean polish off his fries at a truly impressive and horrifying speed. He can’t help asking, “Why was Jo at your game night?”

“’Cause she’s a menace who knows how to pick locks?” Dean heaves a weighty sigh. “I’ve known Jo since we were kids. She and her mom - who started Hunter’s Café - were my neighbors.”

“I had no idea.”

Dean gestures to the alley with a wry hand. “Jo likes to keep it under wraps.”

“I see why Jo keeps making those drinks for you,” Castiel says, nodding at the half-finished latte in Dean’s hand.

“You didn’t make it?” Dean says, and does he sound almost disappointed?

Castiel shakes his head. “Jo is keeping the recipe close to the chest.”

“Probably worried everyone’ll want one if they get the taste.” Dean tips the cup back.

Castiel can’t help his noise of disgust. At Dean’s sharp look, he says aloud, “She’s probably worried everyone will never come back if they try it.”

Dean’s laugh cuts off with a wince. He raises a hand to his head. “Christ, last night was a mistake.”

Castiel surreptitiously scents the air for a better gauge of how discomfited Dean really is, but, as always, all he gets is trash and fryer oil. “How are you doing? Apart from the injury, headache, and general hangover-related malaise.”

“Oh, apart from that?” Dean echoes mockingly, but his words lack any heat. He crams a few fries into his mouth. “I asked my agent to send me a few more scripts with omega roles,” he mutters.

Castiel smiles. “That’s great.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Hopefully, she’ll pick out a decent one, and I can get something set up for after Two for the Show wraps.”

“Is Two for the Show the reason for your diet?”

Dean huffs. “Yeah. I have a bunch of shirtless scenes, so that means three months with the diet coach from hell.”

Castiel makes a noise of sympathy. After a moment, he asks, “Is it worth it?”

Dean chews a fry, scowling between bites. “Not really,” he says in a low voice. “Sammy’s the farmers market maniac in the family.” Wistfully, he continues, “Give me a good cheeseburger deluxe every day for the rest of my life with a side of pie, and I’ll die a happy man.”

“I didn’t think apple pie came as a side.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Dean says with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his latte.

Castiel doesn’t bother holding back his smile.

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. “It’s just like, I don’t look like a traditional omega, so I figured I might as well try for the alpha roles.” He swallows. “’S a win-win situation. I look the part and the characters are better - what’s the downside?”

Castiel cocks his head. “Other than your restricted diet and inadvisable levels of drinking?”

A humorless smile pulls at Dean's mouth. “Not pullin’ the punches this morning, huh?”

Castiel colors, his face heating with shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.” An inadequate excuse, but it’s not like he can tell Dean the real reason for his more uncharitable thoughts.

Castiel has never been one to lean into his alpha instincts. Possessiveness, aggression, arrogance - Castiel has had his (mostly regrettable) moments, but they hardly define his character. But over these past few weeks, he’s had to repeatedly tell himself that he can’t solve Dean’s problems. Dean is a wildly successful adult with millions of fans, while Castiel can’t even handle Hunter Cafe's front counter during the morning rush.

Dean would hardly welcome a nobody little alpha telling him to just… do what he wants and damn the consequences because he deserves to be happy with his life and his work.

Dean plucks out the rest of his fries and balls the wrapper against his hip. He lobs it in the dumpster. “No, I get it. I’m complaining about things that most people would kill to have.” He glances towards the mouth of the alley, his mouth set in a thin line.

But before Dean can leave, Castiel says quickly, “That’s not the way I see it. Your specific frustrations aren’t universal, but hardly anyone’s are. Society is inherently unfair, and it’s understandable to be angry about it.”

God knows Castiel railed enough about the unfairness of Dean Winchester to Gabriel enough over the past few weeks.

Even now, hungover and bruised, Dean is beautiful.

Castiel steels himself. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think not looking like a typical omega is a bad thing.”

Dean turns to him in surprise, and Castiel would give up that free sandwich Jo offered him to be able to scent what exactly Dean is feeling. But, after a second that stretches into an eternity, all Dean gives him is a quiet, “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel nods, chastised by Dean’s reaction. “I should get back to work,” he says awkwardly.

Dean mutters something that might be a swear underneath his breath. Raising his voice, he says, his tone apologetic, “’Course. Sorry for keeping you.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s alright. I,” he pauses, “always enjoy talking to you.”

Dean’s mouth lifts into a small smile, and it’s like the sun rising through the early morning fog. “You too, man.”

* * *

After his next shift, Castiel asks Jo to show him how to make Dean’s apple pie latte.

Castiel’s first attempt is a disaster. He burns the espresso and adds too much nutmeg. Jo makes him try it anyway, as a non-monetary payment for her time. As Castiel gags, a smirking Jo dumps the bitter, weirdly savory mess down the sink.

“Passable,” Jo declares at Castiel’s second try. “You need more of the apple concentrate, though.”

“It’ll be too strong,” Castiel protests even as he shakes more powder in and gives it a stir. He hands it back to Jo for evaluation.

“You could barely taste it!” Jo says. She raises it to her lips. “Mm, that’s the stuff.”

“It is?” Castiel asks hopefully.

Jo nods and pushes the cup towards him. “That’s what it’s supposed to taste like.”

Castiel frowns as the overly sweet apples hit his tongue. He can barely taste the coffee underneath all the other layers.

“Trust me,” Jo says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she sets Castiel up for a third cup. “Your scent’s getting in the way, but it tastes exactly like an apple pie.”

“My scent?” Castiel echoes, baffled.

Jo throws him a look as she pushes a clean coffee cup into his hands. “Yeah, you already smell, I dunno, crisp but sweet? A little like apples. Makes you think the latte dials it up to eleven when it’s more like a nine for everyone else.”

Castiel hadn’t thought to put those pieces together, but it makes an astonishing amount of sense.

He brings his last apple pie latte home to Gabriel, and his cousin makes him write down, step by step, how to make it. In between actual licks into the cup to get the dregs, Gabriel swears to visit him at Hunter’s Café more often.

When Jo next ducks her head into the kitchen to tell Castiel that Dean will swing by in fifteen minutes, Castiel gets to work. He awkwardly sidles behind the front counter and maneuvers around Ruby and Kevin, nearly knocking Kevin’s elbow as Kevin attempts some elaborate leaf pattern.

Castiel draws a rudimentary apple on top of Dean’s latte, and if it looks more like a misshapen mango, nobody will see it but Dean.

For the first time, Castiel heads out to wait for Dean at the mouth of the alley.

Dean doesn’t keep him in suspense for long. He makes his way down the street, shoulders hunched, and head bowed. Gaze fixed on the dirty sidewalk, Dean doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he turns the corner.

Dean isn’t even wearing sunglasses or a hat to hide his face, but everyone walks straight past him.

It’s the most riveting performance Castiel has ever seen.

A few steps away, Dean catches sight of him, and it’s like some magic switch is flipped on, and he is Dean Winchester again.

Smiling brightly, he jogs the rest of the distance and follows Castiel as he slinks further back into the alley. Dean wrinkles his nose as they get closer to the dumpsters and the smell of an entire rancid fast food menu hits him. “Hey, Cas,” he says as he takes his latte. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, tipping his head.

Dean stares down oddly at the demented pear and takes a sip. Face going slack with a bliss Castiel doesn’t even need to smell, Dean groans.

Castiel freezes and sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the apron covering his lower half over his pants. “It’s good?” he tries futilely because Dean is clearly beyond speech.

Dean just gives him a thumbs up as he lowers the cup. He licks his lips, chasing the taste, and Castiel has seen pornography less graphic.

“I might have to tip Jo this time too,” Dean says, staring at the latte in his hand in wonder.

Castiel coughs. “I - I made this one, actually.”

Dean chokes on his next mouthful. “Are you serious?”

Castiel nods because if he opens his mouth he’s not sure what exactly will come out. Probably something highly embarrassing.

“This is the best one I’ve ever had,” Dean swears.

Castiel’s whole body heats with the force of his blush. “Thank you. I asked Jo how to make it, since it seems like I’ve taken over your delivery duties.”

Dean grins. “You’re a lot more fun than Jo,” he says lightly, “so I’m not complainin’.”

Castiel didn’t think he could get any redder, but here he is.

After an awkward beat, Dean says, “I think I found my next movie.”

“Really?”

Dean shrugs, but his eyes glimmer with anticipation. “It’s a World War II biopic about an omega who sneaks into the army, disguises himself as an alpha, and rescues a unit trapped behind enemy lines.” He taps his fingers against the side of his half-empty cup. “A little on the nose, but the script is good.”

“It sounds very promising,” Castiel agrees.

“Their biggest problem was the budget - historical pics aren’t cheap. But they think if I sign on early, they can leverage my name with the studio.” He smiles shyly. “Get the movie done right.”

“That’s fantastic,” Castiel says, a delightful warmth filling his chest - still a pale reflection of Dean’s excitement.

“Thanks to you.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise. “Me?”

Dean throws him a funny look. “Yeah, you. You told me to get my head outta my ass and movies I actually like doing-”

“Not in so many words-” Castiel interjects, alarmed.

“’Cause the whole point of doing these stupid macho alpha flicks was so I could get the clout and money to do the stuff I actually liked,” Dean continues. “And I kept thinking, can’t do it yet, not there yet, until some rando tells me, fuck yeah you can.”

“I definitely didn’t say that-”

“It was implied,” Dean says blithely, waving off his protests. “So I figured, if this dude who doesn’t know me from Adam-”

“I’ve seen several of your films.”

“- tells me to go for it - it being something I’d thought of doing for years - is there any real reason why I shouldn’t?”

Castiel just stares at him, stunned.

Dean beams. “I’ve got a meeting with the director next week.”

“That’s wonderful,” Castiel says sincerely.

“Anyway, yeah, it’s partially thanks to you,” Dean says, tipping his latte in Castiel’s direction. “I also want to talk about romantic B-plot since I think it’s stupid.” He shakes his head, scoffing. “True mates, bullshit.”

“You think true mates are bullshit?”

As far as Castiel saw online, Dean’s never spoken on the record about true mates or any mates at all. Entertainment news sources reported rumors about him and a one-named alpha singer, Amara, early in his career, which he denounced thoroughly. A few months later, someone published revealing photos of him and an older alpha actor, Fergus Crowley. When asked about it, Dean refused to give details.

Dean makes a face. After a pause, he says, “My parents said they were true mates, but it wasn’t… pretty. No Hollywood romance between them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“’S fine,” Dean says in a tone that clearly says it isn’t. “Whenever Dad took off for a few days, I’d get to watch as many movies as I wanted, and - well, the rest is history.”

“I don’t know anyone who’s found their true mate,” Castiel says. His parents had a cold, distant marriage. A few times over the years, he wasn’t sure his mother even liked his father’s scent. Anna happily mated another omega last year, and Gabriel avoids all romantic entanglements like the black plague.

Castiel’s dating history can best be described as dismal. During his last visit to his pediatrician, his doctor called him a “late bloomer” which Castiel eventually realized just meant socially awkward. In the decade since, Castiel’s slept with a grand total of three people. And, to his supreme regret, none of them managed to bring his rusty people skills up to par.

But, in college, Castiel found music and his calling. And all his faults didn’t matter nearly as much.

In the crowd of a concert, people are so far outside the ordinary conditions of life, and so conscious of the fact, that they free themselves from individual concerns and devote themselves wholly to the collective. All their fury, their joy, their hunger for what they can’t have, is sublimated into the music.

Castiel has never felt more connected to humanity than in the middle of a crowd.

Truthfully, none of his past relationships ever measured up. None of his past partners ever managed to get Castiel out of his own head - not like the music.

Castiel shakes his head ruefully. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a true mate even if I had one.”

“Have a lot of super sappy sex with the lights on?” Dean offers, laughing.

Castiel frowns. “I wasn’t aware that kind of intercourse was restricted to true mates. I’ve done that in the past since I've always shared an emotional connection with the people I've slept with.”

“Oh,” Dean says, reddening. “Were you mated? Jo didn’t say.”

Inordinately pleased that Dean had asked Jo about him, Castiel shakes his head. “No, I’ve never been mated.”

Dean drains his latte. Swallowing, he says, “Me neither.” He throws the cup in the open dumpster and turns back to Castiel. “I haven’t dated in a while, actually,” he says in a low voice. “Couldn’t risk being seen with an alpha and remind everyone of what I’m not.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Surely people can’t be that close-minded.”

“’Course they can. Most are,” Dean says, his voice full of assurance.

Castiel’s mouth twists. “That sounds like a negativity bias to me.”

“Huh?”

“Negative information sticks with us longer and more strongly than any positive counterpart,” Castiel says with a shrug. “It’s something I always keep in mind when reading my course reviews after the semester is over.”

“So," Dean says, eyes dancing, "you can take the nerd out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the nerd, huh?”

Castiel smiles wryly. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Dean laughs. “Look,” he starts, his expression turning a fraction more serious. “I might be fucking up a good thing here, but do you want to go to a Lez Zeppelin show next week?”

Castiel’s mouth falls open as Dean reaches out and pulls out his phone to show him a ticket confirmation email.

“It’s no big if you don’t want to,” Dean says awkwardly into the silence.

“I - I do,” Castiel says, stumbling over the words. “You do?”

“Uh,” Dean throws him a bemused look, “Yeah? I bought the tickets, dude.”

“I’m just surprised,” Castiel says honestly.

Dean stares at him. “This is seriously comin’ out of nowhere for you?”

“A little,” Castiel says defensively.

“Seriously?”

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “You’re … you. You’re famous. Why would you ask me?”

“Because I like you?” Dean says, nonplussed. “You’re nice in a way a lot of the alphas I know aren’t, and,” he breaks off, reddening, “you said you didn’t mind that I didn’t fit in with other omegas, looks-wise-”

“I don’t,” Castiel interrupts. “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Dean gapes. “Did you seriously -” he breaks off, apparently unable to voice the rest of his thought. His face turns an impressive shade of crimson.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “Should I not have said that?” he asks, brow furrowing. This can’t be the first time Dean has been complimented on his looks. As Castiel understands, good looks are one of the main precursors to acceptance in Hollywood.

“No - I mean, maybe - never mind,” Dean fumbles, more out of sorts than Castiel has ever seen him. “It’s that nobody just out and says that, even to me.”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says, but he’s smiling. “You should look in the mirror sometime, though.” He winks, and Castiel’s brain nearly fritzes out. “So that’s a yes?”

Castiel nods, an all-encompassing warmth filling his chest and exploding out to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.”

Read Part II here!

#destiel fanfic #fanfic #destiel #profoundnet #rae writes fic #alpha castiel #omega dean winchester #alpha beta omega dynamics #celebrity dean winchester #barista castiel #professor castiel #the original apple pie latte

119 notes · View notes

swissmissficrecs · 3 years

Text

Favorite Sherlock Holmes fics from 2020

Usually I put a bunch of explanations and disclaimers on these lists but you know what, it was a weird year and I’m not going to try to justify or apologize for what I read or didn’t read so here are my favorites that were completed last year, in descending order of length:

and your very flesh shall be a great poem by CaitlinFairchild (151K, E, Johnlock) After a tragic confrontation with terrible consequences, Sherlock and John follow Mary as she flees to America.

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (107K, E, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being. (This one is very slightly cheating because it was finished on 30 Dec 2019, but it didn't make it onto my 2019 list because I didn't read it until after I'd made the list. And it deserves to be on a Best Of list, so here it is.)

Thermocline by J_Baillier (83K, M, Johnlock) John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Do No Harm by Calais_Reno (79K, T, Johnlock) In 1923, Dr John Watson is on trial for the murder of his lover, Mary Morstan, a writer of popular mysteries. If convicted, he will hang. Sherlock Holmes sets out to prove his innocence, but finds himself more and more infatuated with the handsome doctor, and deeper and deeper inside the bohemian world of London's painters, playwrights, and poets. Will he uncover the evidence needed to acquit him in time?

To Be Human by ohlooktheresabee (78K, NR, Johnlock) There is a serial killer on the loose with a penchant for collecting the brains of his victims. Sherlock, John and Scotland Yard are on the case, but something about the chosen victims has Sherlock on edge. While they piece together the clues that will lead to the killer, John begins to realize that the way his best friend thinks may sometimes be more a hindrance than a help….

immediate and inglorious by simplyclockwork (72K, E, Johnlock) Bodies are showing up in back alleys, with no sign of a struggle, no trace of drugs. If not for the strangulation bruises on their necks and the scythe carved into their left shoulders, they could have died peacefully, in their sleep. With New Scotland Yard dumbfounded by the Grim Reaper Killer case, Sherlock is called in to consult. The more he investigates, the deeper Sherlock finds himself drawn into the work of London's newest serial killer. As his views of good and bad begin to blur, he risks losing himself to a darkness he never imagined. And, even more pressing: where does John Watson, grieving ex-boyfriend of the Grim Reaper's latest victim, fit into all of this?

Curtain Rising by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (61K, E, Johnlock) A disgraced television star is the target of a series of death threats just after a theatre production’s adaptation of The Sound of Music is announced with her as the lead. The suspect list is a mile long and growing, Rosie Watson is in the spotlight, and Sherlock might be getting too fond of his time on stage to focus on the case. With opening night approaching, can he and John figure out who wants their client dead before her final curtain rises?

The Fire Finds a Home by fearfully_beautifully_made (61K, E, Johnlock) After Sherlock and John decide to give having a relationship a go, this is how their relationship starts to develop. There a little bit of plot, if you squint, but it was mostly an excuse to write John and Sherlock having sex in a lot of different ways and learning to love each other.

Borrowed Ghosts by DiscordantWords (57K, M, Johnlock) In the aftermath of the Culverton Smith case, John spent one painfully stilted afternoon hanging out with Sherlock. He counted the minutes, finished his tea, and left for home without ever clearing the air between them. And once he'd left, he found it very hard to go back.

You Might Just as Well Be Blind by ArwaMachine (56K, E, Johnlock) When a serial killer starts targeting couples, Sherlock and John must do what they have to do in order to get to the bottom of things. Unfortunately, John already has a girlfriend. Surely pretending to be in a relationship with Sherlock won't pose any problems with his relationship, will it?

The Broken Tether by J_Baillier (54K, M, Johnlock) Maybe he thinks that you only enjoy his company because of the Work, because of the way his dazzling intellect shines when he's in his element, but the truth is this: it is when he is at his most human, most bare, that you feel closest to him.

how the light gets in by subtext-is-my-division (Quill_A) (54K, E, Johnlock) Red wine always makes him tipsier than usual and he finds himself saying, the words slurring a bit. “You know, I’ve got to ask. Do you always shoot cabbies for people you barely you know?” John meets his gaze over the rim of his glass, and there’s something there that Sherlock can’t pin down. “Not for everyone,” he says, meaningfully, pointedly, his smile all teeth.

Erosion by saintscully (53K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock’s father falls ill, leaving the surviving family members broken and rudderless. James Sholto shows up in London unexpectedly, his intentions unclear. John has to navigate the consequences of crime, illness and death and their impact on his frayed relationship with Sherlock.

Hold You Like a Weapon by MissDavis (52K, E, Johnlock) Eurus shows up at 221B Baker Street in labour. Things go downhill from there.

Chances Are by Berty (51K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock is spending some time in his mind palace - so far, so normal. But why is John there, why do things keep changing and why are there only two exits from the sitting room at 221B, neither of which seem to go anywhere useful? It's a case like no other for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Sine Nomine by SilentAuror (45K, E, Johnlock) As Mycroft reviews the footage from Culverton Smith's morgue, he revisits his original question: whether John Watson would be the making of his brother, or make him worse than ever. He's come to a conclusion, but decides to give John one last chance. So he gives him a choice.

Cockaigne by HollyShadow88 (38K, E, Johnlock) When John’s contacted by an old uni friend about problems in his new art exhibition, he doesn’t think it will be worth Sherlock’s time. After a glance of the crime scene, however, they’re both pulled into the project in ways John didn’t expect. Will a week of erotic performance art finally be enough to bring them together in the way they both secretly hope? (Spoiler: it’s a tropey fic, of course it will)

Written in Ashes by 88thParallel (37K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock becomes the prime suspect in a homicide case, and recently unearthed memories of his childhood are complicating matters. It's up to John to track down answers — can he help Sherlock before it's too late?

A Desperate Indulgence by LollipopCop (34K, M, Johnlock) John thinks it's 2012 after waking up with amnesia, having no memory of Mary. Sherlock, exhausted from years of tension and hiding his love, pretends they got married instead.

Inhale With Ease by Vulpesmellifera (25K, E, Johnlock) In the years after Vivian Norbury's capture, life seems to work out just as John planned. He's got that respectable job at the surgery and goes home to his wife and child. He joins Sherlock on cases a couple times per week. It's a rhythm he can live with - just enough adrenaline highs to balance out the drudgery of a normal bloke's life. Until a pandemic, and Victor Trevor, arrive in London.

The House on Rue des Boulangers by Berty (24K, M, Johnlock) After being invalided out of the army and without any other prospects, John Watson has relocated to a small town in northern France. Now he has to decide what to do for the rest of his life. One morning there's a mad stranger in his garden chasing a swarm of bees, and it seems John's decision is made.

High Mountain Tea Leaves by disfictional (23K, E, Johnlock) A mountaintop robbery on a Japanese-occupation-era train where the only item stolen was a small case of mysterious tea leaves in a backpack? An ideal Christmas gift, two days late. Sherlock convinces John to travel for tea.

Detours by saintscully (22K, M, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) During the better part of the first year following Mary's death and the events at Sherrinford, Sherlock and John are slowly rebuilding their lives and their friendship. All seems (relatively) well and John takes comfort in once again being a father, a doctor and a friend. An unexplained shift in Sherlock's behaviour catches John by surprise, and he begins to worry about his place in his friend's life. John has to examine everything he thought he knew about Sherlock, himself and their relationship in order to win his rightful place yet again.

hands full of matter by simplyclockwork (21K, E, Johnlock) When Sherlock is captured in Serbia, Mycroft cannot afford to involve the British government in his rescue. Instead, he sends John. After two years spent thinking Sherlock was dead, John finds himself navigating not only Sherlock’s rescue but their fractured friendship as well.

The Victim Experience by J_Baillier (16K, T, Gen) A case takes Sherlock and John deep into the seedy underbelly of the haunted attractions industry. With audiences craving more and more intense experiences, is a real murder the next logical step?

On the Fence by BeautifulFiction (13K, T, Johnlock) The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

Plus bonus ACD era:

"Baker Street: The Sleep of Reason": A Memoir by John H. Watson, M.D. by Gaedhal (98K, M, Johnlock, Johniarty) This is a Victorian Era story in the "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Ritchie-verse. The main characters are Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson and is from the doctor's memoirs. It was written before "A Game of Shadows" so there are differences in this story and film canon, mainly in the person and backstory of one particular character.

The Taste of Truth by sanguinity (25K, T, Johnlock) Two and a half years after Reichenbach, John Watson discovers the magical tree that caused Holmes to fake his death.

The Adventure of the Vatican Cameos by Garonne (18K, E, Johnlock) How should one behave when waking for the first time in the bed of one's dearest friend? Holmes and Watson solve a case in Catholic London while navigating the turbid waters of their new relationship.

Hot Water by wordybirdy (13K, E, Johnlock, Watson/Gregson) Dr. John Watson's libidinous affair with a respected Scotland Yard inspector abruptly judders to a halt when the former meets a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, for the very first time. The attraction between the two is strongly mutual, but misunderstandings only multiply and tensions abound, as all three men attempt to deal with the new situation.

#rec list #best

519 notes · View notes

rowanaelinn · 3 years

Text

Fire on Fire - Chapter five.

chapter four // chapter six

As the days merged into weeks, a routine settled in.

Aelin alternated between college, her work as TA, homework, cheer practice, her work at the bar and she didn’t have a moment to herself. She liked it that way. She knew how to manage many things at once, has been doing it for years, but she didn’t know how to handle boredom. These moments where you did nothing and you started thinking about everything in your life? Aelin didn’t know how to handle that.

For the first time in a month, Aelin had a night to herself. And instead of spending it to sleep as her body begged her to, she and Lysandra organized a party. Nothing too much, just some of their friends, music, and alcohol.

She was in the kitchen, pouring herself a drink as she talked with Chaol and Dorian. They had brought their roommate but Aelin had no idea where he was, and to be honest she didn’t really care. “I’m not joking, she knocked at our door at two in the morning.”

Aelin laughed at the situation Dorian was describing. “Well, you got to give her points for her determination.” She poured a drink to Chaol and he smiled warmly at her.

“So, how’s life here?” Dorian asked and Aelin shrugged. They had spent a lot of time together lately, they just didn’t speak much.

“Nice.”

“Nice? That’s it?” Lysandra joined them, sitting on the kitchen counter. “What about that roommate of yours, Rowan?”

“Please,” Lysandra huffed. “They’ve been giving each other the silent treatment for a month now. It’s even worse than when they yelled at each other.”

“That bad?” Dorian laughed and Aelin rolled her eyes.

“I remember a year ago, we were partying and suddenly everyone heard you scream. I turned around to see where you were and you threw your drink at his face.” Chaol laughed and she did too, remembering that night.

“You complained when we always argued and now you complain because we ignore each other. You’re so annoying.”

“It’d be okay if you were just ignoring each other. But if looks could kill, you would have killed each other long ago. I hope you realize that everyone notices.”

“What are you even doing here? Stop sleeping with my cousin.” Aelin said and Lysandra barked a laugh. She winked and wiggled her brows and Aelin had to stop thinking about them. Lysandra always had a crush on Aedion, Aelin knew that. But she wasn’t used to seeing Lysandra hanging out in this house, not to be with her but because she was with Aedion. Well, technically they weren’t together. They slept together and both of them were stupid enough not to realize the other’s feelings.

Fenrys came behind Aelin and put an arm around her shoulder. She tried to get out of his grip but he was too strong. “You four, stop isolating yourself and come play with us.”

“Depends, I’m too drunk for Twister.” It was an understatement, she barely could keep her legs from falling. She was too drunk for everything, but she liked it. With the right number of drinks, her brain stopped processing things, that’s exactly what she needed.

“Being drunk is what makes Twister worthy, Ace. But no, what about seven minutes in heaven?” He wiggled his brows and Aelin was ecstatic.

“I love seven-minute in heaven!” She almost screamed and Fenrys laughed at her enthusiasm.

“I would know,” Dorian said and she stuck her tongue at her friend, it just made them laugh harder.

“That was an awful first kiss.”

“You’re joking? We found you making out again an hour after the game.” Lysandra laughed. It had happened when they were fifteen and Aelin didn’t have a lot of memories of that night. Actually, she didn’t have a lot of memories from her teenage years.

“That’s a story I want to hear,” Fenrys said, always curious about everyone’s life.

“That’s nothing, wait until I tell you about that time she played with Rhys-”

“Stop!” Aelin screamed, throwing a spoon at her friend for him to shut up. She didn’t know what he wanted to say and that’s what worried her. She decided her brain made her forget for a reason other than alcohol, as stupid as it was.

“Rhys like Rhysand Night?” Fenrys asked, surprised.

“Yeah, Dorian and I have been friends with him and his brothers for ages now.”

Their parents all knew each other and the five of them kept meeting at parties. And while Dorian and Aelin tried to avoid the spotlight as much as they could since they turned eighteen, the three brothers left for Velaris and became either musicians or actors. Gods, she hadn’t seen them in ages now. She missed these idiots.

“You’re coming to play?” Fenrys asked and they all joined him in the living room. There weren't enough seats so Aelin just sat on Dorian’s lap. Aedion sent them a furious look but didn't comment, Aelin just rolled her eyes. Lysandra made the bottle turn and of course, it fell on Aedion. Aelin decided not to read too much on the look in her cousin’s eyes and just took another shot, ignoring them.

“Ten bucks we find them half-naked,” Lorcan said and Aelin laughed, remembering another time when she had a similar bet about her cousin. She turned her head but Lysandra wasn’t there, neither was the others. Her heart clenched at this feeling of loneliness even if she was in a room full of people.

Instead of thinking too much into it, she took another shot. When she looked in front of her, Rowan Whitethorn was watching her, a disapproving frown on his face.

------

Rowan wondered why he was still looking at her when she drowned a third shot. This time her eyes didn’t leave his as she drank and she winked, leaning more into Dorian Havillard’s embrace.

He didn’t know why he had to clench his fist to avoid shaking, why seeing her now made him so angry. He had been angry all the time since that conversation a month ago, and not at her. He was sure he would wake up the morning after by Lysandra stabbing him, but none of that.

Aelin didn’t tell anyone what happened in the bathroom, and it made him so angry at her.

It made him angry that she didn’t cry to her friend and cousin the day after, asking them to defend her, like Rowan thought she would. No, the morning after she looked nothing like the woman he found in the bathroom, she didn’t look half-dead as she did the night before. No signs of the breakdown.

It made a small part of his head wonder how many times she had been in this state and nobody ever noticed. But he liked to ignore this part of him and focus on the anger.

He was glad of it as he watched Dorian’s arm curl around her waist and her arm around his shoulders. They both laughed as he held his drink to her lips, making her drink everything. Rowan finished his first drink, clearly not as drunk as the two in front of him were.

He had no idea what they were for each other, they acted like friends. Close friends, yes, but still friends. But Rowan had heard too much these past four weeks. Heard how there wasn’t any actual work every time he came here to study.

He hated her for it, hated her for being selfish and not caring about the noise. He also hated himself for noticing Dorian came here to study every time Rowan could see Aelin’s eyes lined with silver, see how her smile was a little too forced, or how her hands shook. Things that didn’t seem to be noticed by anyone else.

He hated himself for noticing, even though he tried not to, that there was no pleasure on her part. But he was probably reading too much into it, why would she keep doing it, then?

When he finally looked away from her, he found Lorcan looking at him, a weird look in his eyes. Rowan arched a brow in a silent question but his friend just looked away and joined a conversation with Fenrys.

When Aedion and Lysandra got out of the closet after Vaughan knocked on the door, Rowan fought a grin on his face at the look on Aedion’s face. He silently waved his pants so that he noticed that his zipper was open. The smile on Aedion's face did not falter as he fixed it, Rowan rolled his eyes.

“Your turn, Ace,” Lysandra said as she sat down next to her friend. Rowan found his new drink more interesting than the blonde girl turning a bottle.

“Fuck,” Dorian said.

“You’re kidding me,” it was Lorcan’s turn to speak.

Rowan looked up when Fenrys burst out laughing and his heart stopped. That fucking bottle pointed toward him. What had he done to the Gods for them to hate him so much? “do it again” He groaned. Why did he even agree to play this stupid game? He thought the worst that could happen would be being stuck with Fenrys, totally forgetting about her.

“Scared to spend time with me, Whitethorn?” Aelin arched a brow, a small smirk on her face. Rowan suddenly hated that part of him that was too proud to back down from a challenge.

“Get in that damn closet already,” He said, standing up and walking toward it, not caring if she followed or not.

When she closed the door after her, Rowan started counting in his head. Surely, seven minutes wasn't that long.

The closer was way too small for Rowan’s taste, he could feel her body brushing his in many places. “I didn’t know being so close to me disgusted you, Whitethorn.” She said after thirty-six seconds.

“So you speak, now?”

“What? You missed me?” She asked, voice full of fake sweetness. The dim light let him see her eyes fixed on him, he fought a shudder at the intensity of her gaze.

He huffed a laugh. “You wish, princess. This past month has been better than the last two years.”

“I know, living right next to me is such a delight.”

He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge of groaning at her for the way she twisted his words. She laughed softly, her breath tickling the skin of his throat. “You really are full of yourself, aren’t you?” It was better to attack her with his words than to focus on his body’s reaction to her proximity.

She made a low noise as if she was thinking very hard about her answer. “I am not, just realistic. Have you seen me? I’m amazing.”

“I don’t even think you believe that yourself,” he stated and it was true. You just had to try to see more than the facade she kept in front of everyone to see it. Rowan was surprised no one had made comments on it. He wondered if everyone noticed and decided to not say anything, as Rowan did, or if they really were that blind.

“You know nothing about me.”

“You are not hard to figure out, princess.” Lie, Rowan was a liar. It was so damn hard to find a reason for everything she did, to explain why she hid everything about her real emotions.

“Is that why you hate me so much? Because I am so easy to read?”

“You’re not important enough for me to hate you,” He said, voice low as he looked at her eyes. They were objectively beautiful, everyone would agree on that. The ring of gold around her pupil always seemed to catch fire whenever she was angry, it was his favorite part about her eyes.

What the hell happened to him? He didn’t have any favorite part of her.

She laughed softly, shifting to be more comfortable but it just brought her closer to him. He couldn’t keep his groan to himself this time, apparently for Aelin’s delight.

“You know what I think?” She asked, raising herself on her tiptoes. “You can’t stop thinking about me.” She was almost as tall as him this way, she put her hands on his shoulders to stay stable, and even if he should have brushed her hands away, he didn’t. “I think you want me, and it’s not me you hate, but yourself for wanting me.” Her thumb brushed his neck and held in the noise that threatened to come out at that touch. “I think that maybe it even makes you feel a little bit dirty to want me, and you both love and hate it.”

He pushed her to the wall, putting both of his hands on the wall on both sides of her head, blocking her from any movement. He lowered himself slightly, his lips close to her ear. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something whispered that she was right, but he ignored it. Focusing on his anger, that’s how he had always kept people at bay these past ten years. “Tell me Aelin,” he started using one of his hands to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, brushing with the tip of his fingers the sensitive spot of her skin right behind it. “Why would I want a coward?” Her whole body tensed at this and he was happy with himself.

“Shut up.”

He laughed softly, still murmuring in her ear. “Don’t like that word? Because that’s what you are, Aelin. A coward. You always run away the second it becomes hard.” He had seen Aedion take his car and go pick her up from wherever she called for help too many times. He remembered Aedion having to drive out of the damn city because she had left, and it didn’t happen only once either.

Before he could say what was in his mind she pushed him off her, with more strength than he knew she had. “Fuck you.”

“You’re just proving me right.”

“I have nothing to prove to a bastard like you.” She spat and left, slamming the door behind her. Rowan took a minute to sigh, thinking about what he said. That was true, she always ran away, but he wasn’t better. And he noticed how she struggled, he might as well have kicked a man already down.

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

Aelin smiled at Dorian as she came back, hiding the fire inside of her. Everyone arched a brow, she knew it had been less than seven minutes but she would have killed him if she had stayed one more minute with that bastard.

“Will we find his dead body in the closet?” Lorcan asked, and surprisingly enough that sounded like… a joke. She might have answered in the same tone as him, might have joked with him, had Rowan not ruined her mood for the night.

“Want to be next?” She arched a brow and didn’t wait for an answer, taking Dorian’s hand and making him stand up. She didn’t comment to anyone as she dragged him up the stairs and pushed his back on the wall, not wanting to kiss him.

She needed to feel something other than that consuming rage, and needed the distraction. Dorian didn’t wait before kissing her back hungrily. His hands found her ass and pressed her closer to him. He didn’t need to bother with soft, loving, touch. It wasn’t a part of their agreement, it was just sex. Nothing else.

They had slept together twice in their teenage years even if she didn’t remember it, too high and drunk to remember anything, but they had started again three months ago. He had gotten mad at her for sleeping with however she could, telling her it was unsafe. But even if she never told him why she did it, Aelin was sure he understood. So he had told her to sleep with him instead.

It was his own way to help her, knowing he couldn’t do much else. If Aelin thought about it long enough she would cry of shame and fondness for her friend, but she didn’t think about it. It was the whole point of it, not thinking.

“Shit, sorry,” a voice interrupted them and Aelin looked surprised at Dorian and Chaol’s roommate. “I was looking for the bathroom but I couldn’t find it.”

“Downstairs,” Aelin said, breathless. “There’s only my room and my roommate’s room here.” She said but the mention of him just relieved the flame in her. The flame that begged to burn everything she tried to keep safe inside her. He nodded and smiled, walking past them.

“I’m not going home tonight, Chaol will drive you back. Is it okay with you, Cairn?” Dorian asked and when Cairn nodded and left, Dorian kissed her again.

As he took off her clothes, she focused on the feeling of him, Dorian, her friend, on her.

When his fingers found her core and started getting her ready for him, she fought against the voices in her head. You are a coward.

And as Dorian took a condom and entered her, she closed her eyes. He thrust into her hard, the way she liked it. He kissed her neck, breast, and lips. Trust me, Aelin, you will like it. She bit the inside of her cheek, not wanting to hear him. She moaned Dorian’s name as he gave her a particularly hard thrust. Let me show you what a real man can do. She shut everything out, moaning too loudly to hear anything else.

As she and Dorian climaxed, they were both breathless. He disposed of the condom and fell on the bed next to her, not hugging her but staying close to her. After a while, Dorian’s breathing calmed and she knew he fell asleep.

Aelin stood up and took a long, hot, shower. Washing away the touch of anyone on her skin. And as she often did, she wondered how long she would keep living that way. She had given up the hope of recovery a long time ago. but she still hoped that one day the pain would ease.

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

tag list:

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @surielandiareendgame // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #throne of glass fanfiction #aelin galathynius #fire on fire

96 notes · View notes