#my phone breaks for 2 days and i come back with a half-resolution to a long-simmering sexuality crisis its like i did a meditation retreat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jungshookz · 3 years

Text

kiss me at midnight; myg

➺ pairing; min yoongi x reader

➺ genre; ceo!y/n x secretary!yoongiverse!! sfw!! fluff!! the title says it all!! this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for!!

➺ wordcount; 8.1k

➺ summary; y/n finally musters up enough courage to tell yoongi about her i-know-i’m-your-boss-but-i-have-non-boss-feelings-for-you feelings.

➺ what to expect; “careful, secretary min… i might have to give you a raise if you keep sweet-talking me like that.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“let’s see… the decorators are coming at 2, the caterers are coming at 6:30, the DJ is coming at 7…” yoongi reads out loud as he goes down his checklist, “the bartender sent over the special drinks menu which i emailed to you this morning, and- ah, right, the caterers mentioned that they were able to switch the mini hot dogs to sliders instead-”

“oh, that’s great! mini hot dogs just don’t carry the same level of class as teeny little hamburgers…” you narrow your eyes slightly as you clasp your hands in front of your face, tapping your fingers against each other, “what about the chocolate lava cakes?”

“mhm, don’t worry, those are on the menu as well, as per your request,” yoongi pauses, “ah- the people bringing the photo-booths are coming to set them up at 5 - we’ve already cleared out the space for them, so that should be good to go… also, are we putting a limit on photos?”

“a limit?”

“yes, a limit,” yoongi looks up at you and shrugs, “there’s only so much film and it wouldn’t be fair for one person to take ten photos and for another person to not have any at all.”

you immediately scoff before dismissing yoongi with a flick of your wrist, “silly yoongi, you can’t put a limit on fun. just tell them we’re willing to pay for extra film and for one of their workers to hang out at the party and wait until the booths need refilling.”

“there.. is no limit… on fun…” yoongi mutters to himself as he continues to scribble notes down in his notebook, “and… that’s it!” he clicks his pen before tucking it back into his shirt pocket, “pretty much everything has been taken care of. if all goes well, this’ll be a fantastic new year’s eve party.”

“yay!” you throw your hands up into the air before leaning back against your chair with a giggle, “this is so exciting. i love throwing parties!”

“and i love planning parties...” yoongi hums absentmindedly, looking back down at his list, “so i guess we make a pretty good team...”

“teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

“mm.”

a couple seconds of silence ticks by as you scour through your brain for a new topic of discussion

you could... talk about the weather?

or maybe ask him what he did over the weekend?

ask him about what he did on christmas day??

“so…” you clear your throat, smoothing your skirt down before folding your arms on your desk and leaning forward slightly, “you bringin’ any... hot dates to the party tonight?”

wow

that was... not an ideal topic of discussion

also, way to sound like a creep!

“me?” yoongi glances up at you and tilts his head slightly, “well, i’ll be with you.” he pauses, dark brows knitting together, “did you… want me to bring a date?” he shifts in his seat, “i’m sure i can arrange for someone to accompany me if that’s what you want.”

“no!” your eyes widen and you shake your head quickly, “i mean- no, i was just- you know, i just- usually you have a plus-one that you bring to parties and, like, i’m sure that you probably had other new year’s plans that didn’t involve being at the party your boss is throwing- i’m just saying that perhaps, if you were planning on actually bringing someone, i just wouldn’t want to be a cock-block-”

you’re cut off (thankfully) when yoongi’s phone suddenly starts to buzz on your desk

he extends his arm and catches it right as it’s about to fall off (which, admittedly, shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, but yoongi could be sitting there doing nothing and you’d still find it attractive)

he holds a finger up pardon himself and you nod before leaning back a little

“hello? …oh, perfect. yes, i can come and pick them up now…” yoongi trails off, sandwiching his phone in between his ear and his shoulder before pushing his sleeve up a little to check the time on his watch, “i can be there in… roughly half an hour? yes. alright. perfect. see you soon.”

he hangs up with a beep before looking back over at you, “sorry about that! your dress and heels are ready for pick-up. what were you saying before my phone went off?”

“hm?” you clear your throat, “oh! uh… nothing. i was just- you know, small talk. but you can go now if you want to- i mean, obviously you need to go and pick up my outfit for tonight so i’ll just let you go-”

“alright, perfect-” yoongi nods and gets up from his seat, “i shouldn’t take too long but if anything comes up, just call me-”

“yep! you got it, homie-” you shoot finger guns at yoongi before quickly forcing your arms down and shoving both your hands in between your knees so that they won’t do anything like that again

your face flushes bright red as soon as the door shuts behind yoongi and a quiet groan slips past your lips before you smack your forehead down on your desk

jesus

that... was rough, to say the least!

sure, you fumble over your words whenever you talk to yoongi on a regular basis, but it’s never usually this bad...

what’s gotten into you today?!

maybe it’s just the pre-party jitters!

“get it together, y/l/n.” you mutter to yourself, patting your cheeks lightly before pulling your laptop towards you and opening it up

if there’s anyone who can get you get your shit together, it’s hoseok

Y/N Y/L/N (10:12AM): help me

you perk up when hoseok responds almost immediately, your laptop letting out a little ping! from his message

you have half a mind to scold him for not doing work and being on the company’s messaging system but you dO need to talk to him right now so

Jung Hoseok (10:12AM): What did you do this time

Y/N Y/L/N (10:12AM): nothing!! idk what’s wrong with my mouth today i’ve never called anyone homie in my entire life

Jung Hoseok (10:13AM): ?

Y/N Y/L/N (10:13AM): you had to be here to understand :-//

Jung Hoseok (10:13AM): Okay well

Jung Hoseok (10:13AM): I don’t know what I’m supposed to say now

Y/N Y/L/N (10:13AM): can you just come to my office because it’s too much to type out

Y/N Y/L/N (10:13AM): and bring me an iced coffee from the vending machine while you’re at it because yoongi left to pick my dress up

Jung Hoseok (10:14AM): Let me get this straight

Jung Hoseok (10:14AM): You want me to stop working and you want me to go to your office so we can gossip about Yoongi

Y/N Y/L/N (10:14AM): gossip sounds bad

Y/N Y/L/N (10:14AM): ‘discuss’ sounds more professional

Jung Hoseok (10:14AM): …

Jung Hoseok (10:15AM): See you in ten minutes lmao

»»————-　♡　————-««

“you asked him if he was planning on bringing a date to the party?!” hoseok laughs, leaning back against the chair before folding his arms over his chest and shaking his head, “wow. what, are you going to help him plan his wedding too?”

“don’t say that!” you groan, rubbing your fingers against your temples in tight circles, “i was just trying to start a conversation… i don’t know...”

“start a conversation? about what? about encouraging yoongi to be with someone who isn’t you?”

“keep up the attitude and i’ll reduce your lunch break from one hour and fifteen minutes to one hour and fourteen minutes.” you raise a brow in warning, hoseok gawking before wagging a finger at you

“i’ll report you to HR for abuse of power!” he jokes, his smile faltering when he notices that you still have that mopey, kicked-in-the-gut look on your face, “okay, think about it this way: this party couldn’t have come at a better time, you know? because now you know exactly what you have to do!”

“huh? oh, right.” you nod slowly, “yeah, of course i know what i have to do at tonight’s party.” you snort, pulling away from your desk and sitting up straight, “but... you know, just to make sure that you know what it is that i have to do, would you mind telling me what exactly we’re saying i have to do?”

“y/n. come on.” hoseok presses his lips together before leaning forward, “what do people usually do at new year’s eve parties?” he asks gently, in that infuriatingly condescending tone that people usually use when they’re talking to children

“people share their new year’s resolutions with each other?” you hum, thinking back to the new year’s eve party you were at last year where you ended up talking to a very friendly bartender about all the plans you had in mind for the new year

you can’t help but wonder how he’s doing

“well, yeah, but not quite what i had in mind-” hoseok shakes his head, “what else do they do?”

“they... sing karaoke really loudly?” you frown before letting out a gasp, “oh no! i didn’t think of that! do you think it’s too late to rent a karaoke machi-”

“wow, i really have to spoon-feed this to you-” hoseok slaps his hands against his thighs before letting out a huff, “a new year’s kiss, y/n. does that ring any bells?”

“oh, right! i forgot about that part,” you chuckle lightly, tilting your head back against the top of your chair to look up at the ceiling, “but what does that have to do with-” you pause, head snapping back down to look at hoseok with wide eyes, “oh, you’re saying that i should- with yoongi- hoseok, i can barely look at yoongi for five seconds without breaking eye contact-”

“why not?! its new years! you have to have someone to smooch when it’s midnight. even i have someone to kiss!”

“wait, who are you kiss-”

“and you know what the best part is?” hoseok grins, “you have an excuse to get super drunk tonight! and a drunk y/n is a slightly more confident y/n-”

“oh, i can’t- i can’t ask him, no.” you chuckle nervously, your hands suddenly feeling a little clammy at the thought of asking yoongi to kiss you, “because then he’s going to feel like he has to kiss me because i’m his boss, and the next thing you know, i’m being called up to HR-”

“you’re overthinking this again, y/n,” hoseok sighs, “don’t forget the fact that i caught him checking you out at the halloween party. you have to admit that he’s slightly interested in you.”

“that’s different!” you argue, your brows furrowing, “i was dressed as a sexy friggin’ bunny, for god’s sake!”

“and tonight, you’ll be dressed as a sexy friggin’ boss! the only difference is that you won’t have a little cotton tail and two bunny ears-”

“i don’t know…”

hoseok rolls his eyes at your doubt and resists the urge to get up and slap you across the face to get you to come to your senses

you can’t expect anything to happen between you and yoongi if you’re not willing to do something about it in the first place

he can’t even list out how many times you guys have had similar conversations that always end in you chickening out and changing your mind

you were supposed to make a move at the halloween party but you ended up bailing on the plan at the last minute and hoseok had to listen to half an hour of you whining about it over the phone

he adores you but sometimes he just wants to grab you and yell at you for being such a wimp when it comes to yoongi

“okay, you know what? forget yoongi. i’ll be your new year’s kiss!” hoseok teases, leaning forward before wiggling his eyebrows enticingly, “maybe if people see me canoodling with the boss i’ll finally get the street cred i deserve-”

“you know, i don’t know if i’ve reached that level of desperation quite yet-”

“i’m a great kisser, so it’s your loss...” hoseok kisses his teeth, raising his hands in defense, “anyways, just try not to overthink it. take a deep breath, relax, and hopefully you won’t point any more lame finger guns at yoo-”

“-ooou’re fired!” you stand up and slam your fist down on the desk the moment yoongi steps into the room, hoseok jolting at the sudden announcement, “you are fired, my good sir! you heard me loud and clear!”

yoongi’s eyes widen slightly and he presses his lips together before stepping aside and lowering his head

“what the hell are yo-” hoseok glances over his shoulder and it dawns over him when he spots yoongi standing by the door, “oh! oh. uh, okay. yes... i am... devastated...” he clears his throat as he rises from the chair slowly, “please... give me a second chance? i... won’t do it again?”

you blink, pulling down your blazer slightly before giving him a curt nod

“...okay, but this is your last chance. next time, you’re really fired.” you clear your throat, sitting back down before gesturing towards the door, “you may leave now, mr. jung.”

yoongi nods in acknowledgement when hoseok walks past him and he waits a couple of seconds before speaking up

“sorry. i didn’t realize you were busy because the door wasn’t closed all the way.” he smiles sheepishly, raising the garment bag in his hand, “i just wanted to put your dress in the closet for you.”

“yes! go ahead.” you smile, gesturing towards the closet before sitting back down in your chair

“by the way, i passed by that breakfast place on the way to the laundromat-” yoongi pauses, glancing over at you on his way to the closet, “you know, the place that makes those BLT bagels you like so much?”

“ooh, with the spicy mayo and the avocado?”

“mhm-” yoongi smiles, shutting the closet door gently and turning to face you, “they do chocolate chip waffles now and i thought maybe that’d be something you’d be interested in for future breakfasts.”

“oh, no way!” your eyes widen in excitement, “i’m very interested in chocolate chip waffles for future breakfasts!”

“that’s what i thought.” he chuckles, making his way back towards the doors, “anyway- i’ll be out there if you need me, boss.”

“mhm!”

you immediately get up from your chair as soon as yoongi leaves the room

you told yourself that you were going to wait until tonight but you’ve been thinking about your dress all week and you wanna see it now!!

“dress, dress, dress-” you murmur to yourself like a maniac, your heels clicking against the floor as you jog over to the closet

you push down a squeal of excitement after unzipping the garment bag and getting a good look at your outfit for tonight

you spent hours searching for the perfect dress and it was totally worth it now that you’re looking at it

it’s a navy blue midi-length dress that sort of cinches in at the waist but the skirt itself is relaxed so you don’t need to worry about your legs being constricted

there’s also a high slit in the skirt which is exciting (you had to shave your legs yesterday which wasn’t as exciting)

and it’s a long sleeve dress but the sleeves and sheer and billowy but cap around your wrists

it’s classy but also a little sexy but not like your halloween playboy costume level of sexy

you’re still not sure what possessed you to dress up as a playboy bunny but even you have to admit that that little black dress looked great on you

you zip the bag back up before pushing it aside to sneak a peek at the suit that yoongi will be wearing to the party

he asked if he could keep his suit in your closet and obviously you said yes because it’s yoongi

your eyes light up when you notice something peculiar about his outfit

it’s navy blue as well!!

the corners of your mouth lift in a wide grin, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of you and yoongi (unintentionally, but still) wearing matching colours tonight

heh

»»————-　♡　————-««

“c’mon, stupid thing...” yoongi frowns to himself as he struggles to tie his tie

he’s been at it for the last ten minutes and it seems like his gummy worm fingers aren’t going to be useful anytime soon

and it probably doesn’t help that he’s using his phone camera as a mirror instead of going to the bathroom to use the actual mirror

he doesn’t know if it showed this morning but he’s been a nervous wreck all day!

he practically zipped out of your office as soon as he had the chance to and he just hopes that you’re not suspecting anything

it’s just that as each day goes by, he gets more and more conflicted over what to do about his feelings for you

this wasn’t supposed to happen!

when he first realized that you liked him, he was flattered and admittedly it was a nice stroke to his ego knowing that his boss was interested in him, but he didn’t know it’d turn into this

he didn’t know he’d end up liking you back

this is a disaster!

he’s not supposed to like you back!

he already tried forcing himself to stop liking you but if anything it’s made things worse

he thought your schoolgirl crush was sweet at first and then one day he found your poor excuse of asking him to stay after hours to help you re-organize your pens was cute and ever since then it’s gone downhill

like the other day when he was eating lunch with you - you took the paper sleeve that holds the chopsticks and you folded it into a makeshift chopstick rest and gave it to him to use and,,. he’d have to be crazy to not find that wildly endearing

yoongi lets out a huff and leans back against his chair as he looks at himself on his phone screen

“good going, moron.” he grumbles to himself before lifting his hand and flipping himself off, “you and your feelings.”

of course, it’s not technically a... bad thing that he likes you back, right?

...but what’s everyone going to think?

he knows that he’s on the list of people getting the christmas bonus (because he helped you type it out) but what if people think he just slept his way to the money??

oh, god

that’s not who he is!

this is too much to think about right now

he just had this suit pressed and he’s not about to ruin it by nervously sweating in it

he’s just going to enjoy this party with you and then deal with his feelings later!

future yoongi can handle it

present yoongi is just going to enjoy the ride B-)

“whatcha up to?”

“-!” yoongi jumps and scrambles up from his seat when he hears your voice all of a sudden, “y/n! sorry, i didn’t hear you come out of... your... office...” he trails off, voice softening slightly as he takes in how beautiful you look in your dress

obviously he already knew what you were going to wear because he was the one who picked up your outfit from the dry cleaner’s but... it’s a different experience actually seeing you in it

beautiful

there’s really no other way to describe it

you look... beautiful.

“i don’t know why on earth you’re wearing a tie to a party.” you snort, eyes flicking down to the tie hanging loosely around his neck, “this isn’t a business meeting, yoongi.” (you decided it’d be best to take hoseok’s advice. no overthinking - just relaxing! and it seems to be going well...)

“oh.” yoongi snaps himself out of his daze before shaking his head, “i… i don’t know why, either. i guess i’m just used to wearing a tie.”

“well, i say ditch it - you know, let loose a little! it’s new year’s eve, after all.”

before yoongi even knows it, you’re stepping towards him and sliding the tie from his neck in one swift movement before tossing it onto his desk

ᵒ ᵍᵒᵈ

you even smell pretty

he freezes when you reach up to undo a couple of buttons on his shirt, his hands gripping the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles are stark white

“there we go!” you smile, fixing yoongi’s collar before nodding to yourself, “much better. also, do you think you can help me with my heels? i put them on already but the little buckles are flimsy and i can’t do them because of my nails.” you raise both your hands before wiggling your fingers

“mhm, of course.” yoongi steps aside and gestures towards his chair, “take a seat and i’ll take care of them for you.”

yoongi’s chair squeaks slightly as you sit down on it and you make a mental note to get him a new one

...maybe you should get everyone in the office new chairs to make your crush on yoongi less obvious

lots to think about

“so, do you think anyone’s going to have fun tonight?” you ask quietly, leaning back against the chair, “i’m nervous.”

“i’m sure everyone’s going to have fun, y/n,” yoongi lowers himself onto the ground so that he’s down on one knee before raising your leg so that your foot is pressed against his chest, “they get free food, free alcohol, and there are fun 2021 party hats and stupid 2021 glasses to match. what’s not to love?”

“me. i’m the part they don’t love.” you snort, propping your elbow up on yoongi’s desk before leaning against your fist, “i’m gonna take one step onto the rooftop and immediately ruin the party somehow. i bet the dj will stop playing music and his records will make that awkward scratchy sound.”

“don’t be so harsh on yourself…” yoongi scolds, tucking the thin strap into the buckle and giving it a little tug to make sure it’s nice and secure before lowering your foot gently, “besides, if anyone looks at you weirdly, i can just call security and have them escorted out of the party.” he tuts, smiling up at you as he lifts your other foot

“ooh. careful, secretary min… i might have to give you a raise if you keep sweet-talking me like that.” you joke, pushing the ball of your foot gently against yoongi’s chest teasingly

“oh, yeah? i wouldn’t be opposed to that, boss…” the corner of yoongi’s mouth twitches in a side smirk as he slips the other strap into place, “alright, there we go! heels are nice and secure.”

he gets up from the ground, dusting his knee off before extending his hand to help you get up from his chair, “ready?”

“as ready as i’ll ever be...” you reach for his hand only to pause, your nose scrunching slightly as you pull away, “i don’t know. let’s think this through. do we have to go to the party?”

“well, you are the host.” yoongi points out, “and i planned the whole thing! do you know how hard it was to arrange for a karaoke machine on new year’s eve?” he frowns playfully, “you can’t bail on me like this.”

“i guess...”

“listen- whenever you want to leave, just let me know and i’ll grab the entire plate of sliders, a crisp bottle of champagne, and then we’ll head back down here to eat, drink, and watch the fireworks from your office window.” yoongi tilts his head, his hand still out for you to take, “deal?”

“...throw in the chocolate lava cakes as well and we have a deal.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“wow! you really outdid yourself, yoongi.” you nod in approval as you look around, “look at this place!”

you never even knew the rooftop had the ability to look like some trendy upscale bar that sells cocktails for $30 each

“hey, if this secretary thing doesn’t work out, maybe i could become a party planner.” yoongi jokes, lifting his glass up with a smile

“you know, i really think you could.” you clink your glass against his before taking a sip of the bubbly champagne, “by the way, you don’t have to hang out with me all night. you’re allowed to go and mingle with your coworkers.”

“i know.” yoongi hums before his nose scrunches slightly, “but every time i talk to them, they’re always gossiping about something and i think gossiping is unproductive.”

“wha-” you gawk, your lashes fluttering, “you’re telling me that you’ve had access to juicy office gossip this whole time and not once have i ever heard any of it??”

“i mean...”

“you have to tell me something. i’ll take anything!”

you grin excitedly when yoongi gestures for you to come in closer

“jungkook and tzuyu had sex on the photocopier by the supplies room.” he blurts out quickly, clearing his throat before taking a sip of his own champagne, “but you didn’t hear it from me!”

“they- what?!” you gasp in shock, jaw practically dropping to the floor, “they did?? during work??”

“no, it was after work!” yoongi shakes his head, “i think you had a meeting across town that night which is why we weren’t here... otherwise we... probably would’ve heard it but- it’s on the CCTV security cameras and everything. of course, since the photocopier is kind of out of frame, you can only see their lower halves-”

“well, then how do you know it was jungkook and tzuyu??”

“their shoes! and jungkook’s socks. he’s the only one who wears bright purple rubber-duckie socks to work.”

the two of you turn to look at jungkook across the rooftop and you blink before looking back over at yoongi with a pout

“that’s my favourite photocopier.” you mutter, “i hope they didn’t get any... fluids inside of it-”

“gross! why would it be inside of the machine?!”

“i don’t know! people go crazy during sex sometimes!” you raise your hands in defense before clearing your throat quietly, “okay, but seriously, i feel like having vigorous sex on a piece of office equipment is definitely violating something so i might have to bring them in for a little chat-”

“ooh, can i be there when you scold them?”

“absolutely-”

“miss y/n?” you jump in surprise when someone taps your shoulder gently from behind

you glance over your shoulder to see joy before smiling politely, turning around fully to face her, “joy! what’s up?”

“i’d like to talk to you about something, if that’s alright - do you have a moment?”

“oh! um, of course-” you pause, turning to hand yoongi your glass, “let’s head over there for some privacy. what’s on your mind?”

“it’s just... you know, regarding past comments i may or may not have made about you-” she chuckles uneasily, “seeing as you still have to figure out who’s getting christmas bonuses this year, i thought that-”

yoongi bites back a grin when you turn back to look at him with pleading eyes and he shrugs helplessly before raising his own glass at you and downing the rest of the champagne

»»————-　♡　————-««

yoongi’s never been a huge fan of parties mainly because he’d much rather enjoy a bottle of champagne and full-sized burgers in the comfort of his own home

he really only started going to parties once you became CEO of the company and he wasn’t left with a choice because he was worried that you’d fire him if he didn’t attend any of these festive celebrations

he likes to think that you’ve opened him up to new experiences, helping him become a better human being overall

:-)

“hey!” yoongi chokes on his tiny burger patty when someone gives his back a hearty slap, “i’ve been looking for you everywhere! i have a bone to pick with you, min yoongi.”

yoongi’s brows furrow in confusion when it’s hoseok that plops down on the bar stool next to him

“what-” yoongi swallows his bite before giving his chest a couple of pats to help get the masticated chunks of meat down smoother, “what did i do??”

hoseok opens his mouth to say something before pausing, eyes flickering to the side as he reconsiders what he’s about to say

he’s a little tipsy thanks to the open bar so he didn’t really think this decision through but he’s here now so it’s a little late to back out

you explicitly asked him not to meddle but he feels like if he doesn’t do anything, then you’ll never do anything and you’ll just go to the grave keeping your feelings for yoongi a secret

does this count as meddling?

he just has to find a way to steer the conversation towards the topic of you and yoongi and romance

this might be meddling, now that he’s thinking about it

...

it’s fine!

he’ll do it in such a subtle way that yoongi won’t even notice!

“it’s not something that you’ve done. it’s something that you haven’t done.” hoseok clears his throat, narrowing his eyes at yoongi suspiciously, “do you like y/n? because she likes you.”

(not very subtle, but hoseok never likes to beat around the bush.)

“woah-” yoongi’s eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a nervous chuckle before looking around, “ha, i- um- where did you get that idea from?”

“you didn’t deny it.” hoseok grins in success, “so you do?”

“i...” yoongi pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek before he lets out a huff and his shoulders droop in defeat, “yeah. yeah, i do. ...but what does that have to do with you?”

“oh, it has everything to do with me!” hoseok chirps, clapping his hands together excitedly, “i’m here to give you advice!”

“yeah, okay,” yoongi immediately scoffs and rolls his eyes as he turns back to pick up his drink, “no offense, but i don’t think i should be getting advice from the guy who was almost fired today-”

“oh, please, i wasn’t getting fired when you walked in.” hoseok raises a brow, “we were talking about you before you barged in so y/n obviously panicked and changed the subject to make it look like she wasn’t going all goo-goo-ga-ga over you-”

“what? you were- y/n was talking about me?” yoongi perks up, his interest in the conversation suddenly reigniting, “really?”

“she’s always talking about you,” hoseok points out, “don’t get me wrong - i love going to her office to talk about you instead of doing my work, but it’s exhausting! which is part of the reason as to why i’m willing to give you advice to get this show on the road.”

“i don’t need advice, though.”

“of course you need advice. if one of you finally made a move, i wouldn’t need to give you advice, but here i am.” hoseok gestures to himself before shrugging, “so... what’s wrong with you?”

yoongi scoffs in offense

that’s a little ruDE

“what’s wrong with me?”

“yeah. why haven’t you made a move yet if you like y/n back?” hoseok emphasizes as a reminder that this crush goes two ways and that yoongi can be blamed for the lack of action just as much as you

“because... i can’t! it’s not that easy, man.” yoongi shakes his head, “i can’t just ask her out. she’s... like... she’s miss y/n.”

“yes. and the sky is blue.” hoseok frowns, “i’m sorry, what’s the problem?”

“she’s the boss!” yoongi snaps, glaring over at hoseok, “she’s our boss!”

“exactly! she’s the boss! if you’re going to date someone in the office, it might as well be the person signing off everyone’s paycheques at the end of each month-”

“but you can’t- the rules!”

“what rules??”

“there are no rules! that’s why i’m so confused! i’m used to rules! that’s how the world works in my head! what the hell am i supposed to do now? go rogue?! i’ve never gone rogue before!”

“oh, god, who do you think you are? some secret agent? all you’re doing is asking someone out-”

“i can’t date y/n-”

“give me a legitimate reason as to why you can’t date y/n.”

“i’ll be penalized!”

“who’s going to penalize you?!”

“the boss of our boss!”

“please!” hoseok groans loudly, throwing his head back in frustration, “you don’t think he’s goofed around with any of his secretaries?”

“okay, but this isn’t me goofing around with y/n, this is me... being serious with y/n!” yoongi presses his lips together, unsure of what to say next, “yeah. i wanna be serious with y/n.”

“i promise you that no one cares about relationships as long as work is handed in on time and bags of money are being made.” hoseok hums, gesturing for the bartender to fix up another drink for him

having this conversation about you with yoongi is just as exhausting as having this conversation about yoongi with you

...

he doesn’t know if that sentence made any sense but all this alcohol is making the words jumble up together

“well, okay, but-” yoongi chuckles nervously, turning and setting his glass down on the bar countertop, “then we’d have to make a file with HR declaring the status of our relationship, and then we’d have to talk about whether or not we want to keep things private or let the whole office know- oh, god, and what if it doesn’t work out? what if we break up? it’d be embarrassing after having declared our love for each other in front of everyone! and favouritism! don’t even get me started on favouritism! people are going to bag on y/n if they find out that i’m on the list of people getting a bonus! ...but, in my defense, even if we weren’t together i would probably still be on that list because i’m hardworking-”

“yoongi-” hoseok interrupts, slapping both his hands down on his shoulders before letting out a sigh, “do you like y/n?”

“yes.” yoongi answers without missing a beat, “i like y/n. a lot.”

“okay. then that’s all that matters, right?”

yoongi opens his mouth to respond but he pauses

huh

that... is a fair point...

it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks about his relationship with you

what is it about alcohol that makes some people so wise?

“do you know what kind of a person you’d be if you just repressed your feelings and pretended that they didn’t exist at all? a coward, that’s what you’d be. because y/n is a fantastic woman and you need to hurry up and make a damn move before she realises she’s wasting her time on you and moves on to someone else who isn’t afraid to show their true feelings for her.” hoseok shakes his head gently before pulling away from yoongi with a nonchalant shrug and a snort, “but, you know - i’m drunk as hell and i’ve had nothing to eat so all the things coming out of my mouth righ’now could be complete and utter bullshit!” he hiccups, giggling to himself, “who knows!”

“well… what do you suggest i do?”

“what else do you do at a new year’s eve party?” hoseok’s head flops to the side, the over consumption of nothing but champagne suddenly hitting him like a brick wall

“…share new year’s resolutions?”

“wha- god, you guys are truly the perfect pair- no, dumbass, you kiiissss someone at midnight.” hoseok slurs, “you already know she’s into you. and now i know that you’re into her so she’s definitely not going to oppose giving you a big ol smooch!”

“well, it’s-” yoongi pulls his sleeve up to check his watch, anxiety bubbling in his stomach when he realizes there are exactly twelve minutes to midnight, “oh, god.”

okay

that’s fine!

it’s fine, he can work with twelve minutes!

all he has to do is 1) find you, 2) start a casual conversation, 3) somehow transition the casual conversation into a not so casual conversation about his feelings for you, 4) transition from the not so casual conversation to asking if you’d like to be his new year’s kiss, 5)-

“i can’t pull this off in twelve minutes. i don’t know how i’m going to do this!” yoongi swallows thickly, turning to look at hoseok (who’s starting to doze off), “how the hell am i going to do this??”

hoseok picks himself up off the counter, turning to face yoongi before a wide smile spreads on his face and a little gasp of excitement slips past his lips, “hey! i’ve been looking for you everywhere. i have a bone to pick with you, min yoongi-”

“okay, buddy-” yoongi quickly reaches out to keep hoseok from toppling over, “you’ve definitely had one too many-”

»»————-　♡　————-««

ding!

yoongi steps off the elevator with a huff, quickly checking the time on his watch for the millionth time tonight

he spent two minutes running around the rooftop like a headless chicken in case you were still up there somewhere

luckily jungkook told him that he saw you leave the rooftop and there’s really only one other place that you’d be

he makes his way down the hallway towards the double doors of your office, smiling in success when he sees that one of the doors is slightly ajar

bingo!

maybe it’s because he’s now confident about his true feelings for you, but he feels like there’s a spring in his step right now!

(it could also be because of the liquid courage, but that’s neither here nor there.)

he pushes the door open a little to stick his face in, giving himself a mental high five as he sees you leaning against your desk with a flute of champagne in your hand, staring out the window

“hey!” yoongi clears his throat, knocking on the door gently, “there you are.”

“hm?” you turn to glance over your shoulder, “oh, yoongi! yeah, hey.”

“i didn’t realize you’d disappeared... i would’ve brought the sliders with me if i knew you were in here.” he jokes, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, “everything okay?”

“ah, well. maybe next time.” you smile stiffly, turning away from him to look back out, “yeah, everything’s fine. joy practically talked my ear off up there so i just felt like i needed to get away from the party for a little while.”

“you know, the fireworks are starting soon...” yoongi points out as he makes his way over to you, “you’re probably going to get better pictures of them up there than down here in your office.”

“yeah, i know… but it’s also going to be very loud up on the rooftop and i’d prefer to start the new year off with working eardrums.” your nose wrinkles as you let out a chuckle, “also, i…”

“what?”

“i… i don’t know, i just don’t really want to start the new year awkwardly standing in the middle while everyone else is getting new year’s kisses.” you reach up to scratch the back of your neck before chuckling awkwardly, “that… makes me sound like a very bitter single person and i swear it wasn’t supposed to come off that way-”

“no, i totally get it.” yoongi shakes his head as he wipes his hands on the side of his pants, “as a matter of fact, i kind of wanted to talk to you about something-”

“hold on, hold on- before you say anything, i-” you interrupt him, turning to set your glass down, “i, um- i have something that i wanna say to you as well. can i go first?”

“oh! yes, okay….” yoongi cowers down a little, pressing his lips together tightly, “is... everything alright?”

“yeah!” you nod quickly before pausing, “i mean, sort of. kind of. i’m… not sure if it’s going to be a good idea or not, but i just want to let you know that if you… you know, if you feel uncomfortable or something after i tell you this, you’re free to pack up and leave, you know? i mean, i actually already have a letter of recommendation written for you so if you wanna go off and work for someone else, i’ve already put in a lot of good words for you-”

“woah, woah-” yoongi raises his hands before letting out a chuckle, “i- while i definitely appreciate the gesture, you know i’m… not planning on going anywhere, right?”

“yeah, well… things change!” you clear your throat, gaze averting as you reach up to scratch the back of your neck, “things... change. i… don’t mean to sound so elementary school about it, but i…” you trail off, the little voice in the back of your head reminding you that this is your last chance to back out and not tell yoongi about your feelings for him

you’ve chickened out more than a handful of times, so what’s going to different about this time around?

you look up at yoongi and he blinks twice before offering you a soft smile, “you…?”

how are you supposed to back out when he’s looking at you like that?

and maybe it’s just because he looks particularly handsome tonight in his suit or because you’re all riled up on cocktails, but...

“i like you.” you blurt out, trying your best not to cringe or make any faces, “like… in a… romantic? way?”

yoongi’s eyes widen and the smile fades from his face, though you don’t have much time to process whatever reaction that was before he’s speaking up

“you like me.” yoongi repeats, swallowing thickly before nodding, “in a romantic way.”

“yeah.” you shrug, “and i have for a while, but i just never said or did anything about it because i thought it was inappropriate - you know, because i’m your boss and around the time i started liking you was when we held that seminar for workplace harassment and i didn’t want to make you feel like i was harassing you or creeping on you or anything - a-anyways, at first i thought i was attracted to you solely because you’re hot in that broody, college skater-boyfriend kind of way and i thought it’d go away on its own, but then the feelings never went away, and then i thought that maybe this was just a more serious schoolgirl-type crush that would take time to go away, but then a lot of time went by and it still didn’t go away, so… here we are now, at the end of the year, and i… still have a huge, huge crush on you-”

“-i like you too.”

“okay, cool, but i’m not done talking about-” you pause, your eyes flickering upwards, “wait, what?”

“i like you, y/n.” yoongi breathes out with a smile, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “actually, i’ve known for a long time that you liked me and at first i was just flattered and admittedly i was a little cocky about it but then i... actually started to like you one day and- well, i didn’t want to say anything because- woah-!”

yoongi yelps when suddenly a paperweight is hurled in his direction and nearly whacks him in the face, “what the f-”

“are you kidding me, yoongi?!” you snap, slapping your hands down as you glare at him across your desk, “are you kidding me?!”

“okay, i-i-” yoongi stammers, “i wasn’t expecting this reaction so i’m not entirely sure how i’m supposed to-”

“you knew that i liked you this entire time-” you groan, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose, “and you knew that you liked me this entire time... and you didn’t say or do anything about it?!”

“well, why didn’t you do anything about it first?” yoongi exasperates, “you- you’re just as much at fault here as i am!”

“because i-” you laugh lightly in disbelief, “because i thought that if i told you that i liked you, that you would feel pressured into saying that you liked me back because i’m your boss! how would i know if your feelings were genuine or if you were just playing along? of course i couldn’t tell you!”

yoongi chews on the inside of his cheek anxiously as you let out a huff before stepping away from your desk and heading over to stand by the window again

“i...” he trails off, bending down to pick up the paperweight before setting it down on your desk gently, “i’m sorry that you... struggled with that... but... i think the important thing is that i do like you, y/n. i genuinely like you, and i was an idiot for not saying anything earlier... i let my doubts get in the way and...” he sighs, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, “i’m not good at- i’m not good at dealing with this kind of stuff and usually i just brush it aside and hope the problem goes away but i see you almost every single day so i couldn’t just brush it aside-”

“yeah, well-”

both of you freeze up when you suddenly hear the countdown chanting echo from up on the rooftop and yoongi feels his heart plummet to his stomach when he realizes he didn’t even ask if you wanted to be his new year’s kiss

shit

shit!

“i’m just-” yoongi shakes his head furiously, “i get nervous when there are no rules and there certainly isn’t a handbook for what to do when you’re attracted to your boss-”

10!

you let out a scoff as you turn to face him, “-and you think there’s a handbook for what to do when you’re attracted to your secretary?!-”

“i was a total coward for not saying anything sooner and i wish i did! i wish i kissed you at the halloween party!”

“you- you wanted to kiss me at the halloween party?”

“of course i did, dumbass!” the name slips out of yoongi’s mouth before he even realizes it and he smiles sheepishly when you give him a warning look, “...miss dumbass.”

“anyways,” yoongi coughs, “i-if you’re still interested, i’d really like to kiss you tonight if that’s okay-”

“wait, did hoseok put you up to this?” you narrow your eyes in suspicion before pointing to yourself, “because he told me to ask you to kiss me tonight-”

“yeah, he put me up to this because we both know that you certainly weren’t going to make the first move-”

“how dare you?” you scoff, crossing your arms stubbornly, “i could make the first move if i really wanted to-”

“what?! that’s bullsh- oh my god, can we agree now to kiss first and then argue about this later?!” yoongi snaps, eyes full of panic at the thought of not making it on time, “please??”

“fine, but-”

1- HAPPY NEW YEAR!

you don’t get a chance to say anything else before yoongi swoops in swiftly to lean in and kiss you, warm hands quickly reaching up to cup either sides of your face

the sound of people cheering and fireworks going off in the sky is nothing compared to the erratic thumping of your heart and the high-pitched ringing in your ears

oh, wow

your lashes flutter as you feel yourself relax, your fists uncurling against yoongi so that your hands rest on his chest

you can feel his rapid heartbeat through his shirt and that’s all the confirmation you need to know that yoongi really, truly likes you back

yoongi’s hands leave your face so that he can reach down to grasp your hips and pull you towards him, only for his arms to snake around your waist a second later

your hands slide up his chest before your arms wrap loosely around his neck, feeling as though nothing else matters except what’s happening right now

you’ve dreamt about this moment for so long but it’s so much better than you could’ve possibly imagined it to be

and you’re not sure if it’s the copious amount of champagne that you consumed tonight but you just feel so warm inside

yoongi pulls away (far too soon for your liking), his eyes lidded and hazy as he smiles fondly down at you, “happy new year, boss.”

you can’t fight back the wide grin on your face when he leans down to nudge his nose against yours, both of your hearts undoubtedly beating in time

“happy new year, secretary min.”

❄️christmas with cee 2020 masterlist 🎄

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

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cheri-translates · 3 years

Text

Headcanon: Let’s break up on the 30th of February

This work, 我们 2月30日号分手吧, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

Every failed prank pulled on Victor has only served to embolden you. Once again, you’ve come up with an idea on how to challenge him.

“Victor. After giving it much thought, I've decided to break up with you on the 30th of February.” Exercising your acting skills, you bite your lower lip, standing before him with a pitiful expression. Your eyes are welling with tears as you pretend to be torn between reluctance and resoluteness.

“Mm,” Victor responds simply.

Without lifting his head, he circles some data on your proposal with a red pen, then draws a cross.

Hold on, why is this situation turning out different from what you imagined? Wasn’t he supposed to tug on your hand, begging you not to leave with reddened eyes? Turns out the television dramas lied!

You gripe, pinching his ear. “You actually responded with just a ‘mm’!”

“What else?” He creates some distance between himself and the desk, giving you more space to move. Resigned, he covers his hand over yours, rescuing his poor ear from your clutches.

“Do you not love me anymore? As expected, men don’t know how to treasure what they’ve obtained!” You lunge at him, and the chair swivels backwards along with this action. Fortunately, Victor holds you before you fall.

“Didn’t you say it yourself?” After keeping you steady, he brings you into his arms.

Enraged, you give him glare, climbing up from his body and giving him an angry stomp on the foot. “Who was the one who said he’d never leave me? Now that I want a break up, you aren’t even trying to make me stay.”

Victor’s brows scrunch up in pain. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know that the 30th of February doesn’t exist?”

Seeing that your plot has been unravelled, you chuckle in embarrassment. Trying to placate him, you nuzzle into his arms. “Heheh, Teacher Victor is really smart!”

He encircles his arm around your waist. As though he’s forgiving a playful child for the umpteenth time, he pinches your waist as a small punishment. “Since a certain someone doesn’t have sufficient IQ, I’ll have to make up for her absence of IQ.”

“Victor, there’s no need for personal attacks!

[ GAVIN ]

Having an off day from work, the two of you decide to stay at home instead of heading out.

He’s currently reading a book while you’re scrolling on your phone as usual. All of a sudden, you come across a pretty interesting prank, and decide to use it on Gavin. “Gavin, let’s break up on the 30th of February.

Gavin freezes, the arm around your shoulders loosening by quite a fair amount. He turns his head stiffly towards you, a dash of pain flashing in his dimming amber eyes. “Have you... thought it through?”

“I have. We’ll break up on the 30th of February.” You give him a nod of certainty.

Gavin retracts his right hand which was around you earlier. With his brows tightly knit, he speaks carefully, his tone filled with unease. “Then... before you find someone who can protect you, could I continue protecting you in the meantime?”

Oh my goodness, I forgot how honest this man could be.

“Gav, look at the calendar.” Knowing that you’ve gone too far, you hurriedly tap open the calendar app on your phone.

“I’m not looking! I know that it’s the 26th of February today, and there are four more days till the 30th.” Gavin cranes his neck away, pushing away the phone you’ve brought to him, tone slightly upset. If he had ears on the top of his head, they’d definitely be drooping.

“Why don’t you take another look?” Suppressing your laughter, you push the phone in front of him again.

“I don’t want to!” He squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re going to tell me that it’s a non-leap year, which means there’s a year and four days left. But a year passes by really quickly, and the 30th will arrive soon.”

Oh no, I’ve shocked this poor boy silly.

Not receiving a response from you even after a long time, Gavin opens his eyes to find that you’ve been rendered speechless. He lowers his head with a pout. “Am I wrong?”

With a sigh, you lift his head, giving him a gentle gaze as you explain. “Dear, it’s a non-leap year, but there are only 29 days in February even in a leap year. There will never be a 30th February, which is why I’ll never break up with you in this lifetime.”

“...”

Gavin blinks, reacting only after a long while. Reaching out to encase you back into his arms, his fluffy hair nuzzles the crook of your neck affectionately. “You gave me a scare. In compensation, go stargazing with me tonight.”

[ LUCIEN ]

The bathroom is always the easiest place for inspiration to strike.

“Lucien, I’ve made a decision. I’ll break up with you on the 30th of February.” Your expression is solemn as you step out of the bathroom, looking at Lucien as he reads a book.

The light in Lucien eyes dim, and he sets down the book. With a mellow tone, he asks, “Little Butterfly, are you serious?”

You nod, repeating yourself once more with the acting skills you’ve picked up from actors during filming. “I’m serious. We’ll break up on 30th February.”

Lucien pauses for a moment, then lowers his head in thought. The situation dawns on him, and he releases a sigh, casting you a resigned glance. Tugging on your hand so that you sit in front of the dressing table, he takes out the hair dryer and dries your hair slowly. “Sorry. Even though I know there won’t be a 30th February, I won’t agree to it.”

“Huh? Why not?” You turn your head, speaking loudly amid the whirring wind. “Since you’ve already figured it out, just play along with me!”

He pats your half-dried hair, then turns the hair dryer off. Then, he locates the styling brush and tidies your hair. “I don’t wish for us to be tainted by the term ‘break up’, even if the chances of that happening is zero.”

Lucien is indeed pretty sensitive when it comes to this matter. Realising this, you obediently sit still on the chair like an elementary school kid, leaving him to tidy your hair. “Okay okay, I was in the wrong. I won’t joke about such things next time. Also, I can promise that the butterfly will never leave her painter in this lifetime.”

“Good.” The corners of Lucien’s lips curl upwards, satisfied.

He picks up the hair dryer again. “Since you’ve admitted your mistake, your punishment will be to make me cream puffs, and accompany me to class tomorrow, in the capacity of a family member.”

[ KIRO ]

Once again catching Kiro red-handed as he steals your snacks, you grab a fistful of his hair angrily. “Kiro, since you’re always taking my snacks, I've decided to break up with you on the 30th of February!”

“Miss Chips, you saw that post too?” Kiro completely ignores the first half of your sentence. As though lacking even a shred of remorse, he places your favourite snack back in its original position, unable to hide it in time. He stands up obediently, the innocent expression on his face causing your anger to dissipate.

“Huh? You already know about it?”

“Of course. There’s nothing Kiro doesn’t know!” Being able to escape unscathed, Kiro’s imaginary tail wags in the air.

You roll your eyes, chasing him away from the snack cupboard. “Boring.”

“But Miss Chips, let’s not say such things in the future. I’ll admit that I was a little frightened earlier.” He lifts his hand, showing you a gap between his thumb and forefinger. “But just a little.”

“Really! Did I really scare you?” Pleasantly surprised, you turn around.

Kiro arches his brows in astonishment, then lowers his head as though upset. “Miss Chips, what’s with that excited expression?”

“Ever since we returned from the haunted house, I’ve always wanted to give you a fright, then snap photographs of your expression and make them into memes,” you laugh, taking out a small box from your pocket. Retrieving the lock from within, you clasp it onto the snack cupboard under Kiro’s shocked gaze.

“Miss Chips!!”

On that day, all the citizens within 10km distance had a discussion online about how they heard a man mimicking the voice of superstar Kiro, but his tone sounded so miserable that it was akin to a squealing pig awaiting its demise.

[ SHAW ]

After who knows how many times of facing Shaw’s mockery, you decide to give him a scare by employing a new prank you learnt on the web.

“Shaw, I’m ending our relationship as girlfriend and boyfriend on the 30th of February!”

Shaw’s eyes flit to you leisurely as he grabs the final chicken cutlet on the coffee table. Revealing a triumphant grin, he begs to be punched as he responds, “Pick another day. There won’t be a 30th February in your lifetime.”

???

Finding this incredulous, your eyes widen. “You little brat - you’re looking forward to the end of our relationship, aren't you?”

“I wouldn't say that I’m ‘looking forward’ to it, but it’s inevitable.”

He doesn’t explain further, licking the corners of his lips. Then, he takes a sip of mixed cola from your coke. The longer you watch him, the more enraged you are. It’s often said that people tend to lose their rationality when angry. Without much thought, the words in your head leap out of your mouth.

“Fine! Since you’re so certain, I’ll end this relationship with your annoying eggplant head today!”

“Sure.” Shaw feels around in his pocket.

You turn around to leave, never wanting to see this eggplant head ever again.

“Hey, wait.” He suddenly calls you. “I haven’t gotten my household register.”

Puzzled, you turn around with a glare. “A break up is just a break up. Why do you need your household register?”

Shaw stares at you as though he’s looking at a blockhead. “We’re ending our relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend, so isn’t the next step to start our relationship as husband and wife?”

At this stage, it’s difficult to remain angry. Yet, in order to preserve some dignity, you stutter and stammer, face flushed. “W-who even wants to start a relationship as husband and wife with you!”

“Who else but you?” Shaw digs through the drawer, retrieving both of your household registers. Grabbing your hand, he pulls you out of the house. “Let’s go and get a marriage license.”

–

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro #mlqc lucien #mlqc shaw #mlqc victor #aeiofjsdklneiowahfsdkl #S H A W

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Note

Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing.

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin. It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

“Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but… he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone—softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #georgie barker #rosie zampano #tma rosie #tim stoker #meet cute #blind date au #this is my love letter to TMA #prompt answer #fanfic prompt

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windblooms · 3 years

Text

topaz devices | ch. 01

if zhongli isn’t a the brightest individual blessed by the archons, then he’s socially inept, and spends his days stuck behind a desk as the heir of wangsheng incorporated. frustrated by seeing his best friend burn through his days like paper over a bonfire, childe decides that if there’s one thing worse than a permeant desk job, it’s being converted into a corporate machine in one’s mid-twenties. and he’s not going to let that happen to zhongli.

gender-neutral reader x sugar daddy!zhongli. modern au, slow burn. chapter 1/?. 2213 words.

as usual, zhongli awakens a minute before his morning alarm goes off.

and as he lays on the daybed, adjusting to the faint lighting of the moon that floats through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, the first thing he does is reach for his phone. but when he pats down the area beside him, then above his head, and feels nothing, he begrudgingly props himself up on his elbows, and blinks the final bits of sleep out of his eyes.

this isn’t the first time he’s fallen asleep at the office. admittedly, it’s probably over his hundredth, since he’s found it more practical to crash near his workspace than drag himself three floors up to his room. but, oh, where did he leave his phone? zhongli glances around, eyes no longer bleary; it’s not on the coffee table next to him, nor on the floor between it and the daybed, and for a split second he believes he left his phone at the tea station across the hall.

and then it chimes with his alarm on the marble floor just before his work desk.

“ah,” he sighs to himself, voice still somewhat choked from the morning. as the tone plays, he runs both of his hands through his hair, pulling back his bangs before letting them fall to the sides of his face, and takes a glance around his office: he vaguely remembers staying up until four in the morning to finish scanning over a forwarded contract, and the three empty cups of caffeinated tea that surround his desktop computer can attest to his commitment; there are reference binders on his desk that zhongli hadn’t put away after using, likely too engrossed in the project to tidy up as he worked, and the most damning evidence of his corporate devotion is easily the fact that, well –

“conference in one hour,” his phone alarm is interrupted by the sound of its virtual assistant voice. “conference with,” it continues in robotic fashion, “mrs. ningguang at seven-thirty-a.m.”

– he had scheduled an impromptu meeting after he finished reading said document. as in, he intended to follow through with a meeting arrangement on less than four hours of sleep. as in, arranged a meeting when it was three in the morning.

as in, he also expected others to attend the conference on a four hour’s notice.

such is the way of wangsheng incorporated, an institution where everyone involved is asked to sell their soul to the matriarch, all for the prosperity of her company. the matriarch in this case being, of course, zhongli’s mother.

“conference with,” his virtual assistant repeats, and zhongli hauls himself up from the daybed and onto his feet, padding over to his phone before swiping over the screen to silence all of his notifications. “mrs. ninggua – ” beep.

he inhales, stretches his arms, and then gazes out to the liyuen skyline.

the horizon is still dark, with only hints of warmth leaking onto the expansive blanket of night. below, however, the streets are illuminated by commuting vehicles and establishments opening for the day. from his place on the higher floors of the company building, zhongli can only imagine the hum of life – he’s much too far up to actually hear anything.

it’s at this moment he realizes that the last time he’s actually stepped foot out of the building was over a week ago – and a grimace becomes his first expression of the day. archons, he didn’t think he was that busy, but begins mentally count the days regardless. yeah, 9 days. zhongli’s frown deepens; knowing himself, it’s probably also been 9 days since he’s left his floor on the building.

as much as he would like to leave, though, the company is more important to him. until there’s a convenient time for him to take a break, he’ll keep working. it’s what he’s always done – it’s what he’s good at.

so he inhales once more, as the skyline is washed with violet. exhales.

the clock reads six thirty-three.

. . .

it’s around four in the morning when childe decides that zhongli is officially insane.

who the fuck arranges a meeting in the dead middle of the night? granted, he’s only zhongli’s secretary, so it’s not like he has to take part in it – the gripe here is that he’s the one who manages zhongli’s entire schedule. so when zhongli goes out on his own, arranging things without telling him first, that’s when the issues start.

childe receives the conference notice just as the other executives do (while on a comfortable date with his bed); reading zhongli’s attached note with gunk wedged in his eyes and a screen flashing blue light directly into his irises makes him think –

there’s no way zhongli’s in the right state of mind. and after three whole years of working with him, others would think that childe’s used to his mercurial behavior by now. but he would give himself more credit, insisting that he’s not that deep into the corporate mentality to put business before rationale – but maybe it’s the luxury that comes along with being a secretary and not anyone more important.

now, where was he? oh, yeah. plotting exactly which words to tell his boss when it’s an acceptable time in the morning.

that means grumbling obscenities until he falls back asleep, brain power exhausted. that means waking up at an appropriate time (read: six), rolling out of bed, then heading to the tea bar, and concluding that, well, this is just how zhongli operates.

as in, he can’t be angry at his best friend for long.

ceramic cup in hand and bedhead as thick as a haystack, childe recalls two things that were previously clouded by his indignance: one, that the business life is all zhongli’s ever known, even when he was a kid (that much was made obvious when he couldn’t even list out how many hobbies he had the first time they met). two, the fact that, when asked, zhongli didn’t know which would be worse between losing stock investments or entire contact with the outside world.

sheltered is probably the closest word childe can think of, but zhongli isn’t stupid either. maybe socially inept is the better way to describe him – not like it cripples his personality entirely though. he’s got some redeeming qualities – childe tells himself to think positively of zhongli for the entirety of his stroll down the hall towards his office – but stops short once he opens the door and realizes that, well,

“three,” childe mouths incredulously, nearly dropping the ceramic in his hand. “three cups of tea from last night alone?”

“good morning to you too.”

childe doesn’t have much time to gawk. he would drag his face down with his fingers if his hands weren’t occupied, but knowing zhongli, he wouldn’t even make note of his dramatics. absorbed into his work first thing in the morning – and childe, looking down at himself, isn’t even dressed properly. just a dress shirt and pants, while zhongli has already decked himself out in a full-piece suit.

that’s what happens when zhongli decides that his office is where he’s going to live.

“you know,” childe starts, sighing for good measure. the ginger makes his way over to zhongli’s desk, replacing the three cups with one of fresh tea. glaze lily tea, to zhongli’s preference. “staying up late isn’t good for your health. especially when you’re high on caffeine six days a week.”

well, duh. the words come out dumber than he intended, but it gets the point across. it’s not childe’s job to sound intelligent, only that he knows how to manage someone else’s schedule.

it takes a few seconds for zhongli to respond, as his fingers are busy typing away at the keyboard. drafting another email, most likely. in that time, childe hooks his fingers through the handles of the three cups zhongli had downed the previous night, preparing to carry them out. “i do what i need to get things done,” the workaholic counters. his eyes don’t leave the monitor for a second, and childe has half the mind to think that he’s a robot. “we’ve talked about this before.”

zhongli’s not wrong, but childe’s face sours nonetheless. “i can’t have the heir of the company sabotaged by his own toxic work ethic, and insist that you take a nap whenever possible, my liege.”

his dramatics doesn’t earn him any points. he worries briefly that zhongli’s already gone into his own world, only able to be hauled back to the surface once the sun is far gone, and his eyebrows furrow. but now bent on getting a constructive response from zhongli, he refuses to budge from his spot across the desk.

almost as if he’s uncomfortable, zhongli looks up. childe knows he’s not actually peeved, and that the brunette is just thinking of what to say. three years of working for him taught him as much. “if i have time to, then i will.” the young heir averts his eyes towards the screen before meeting childe’s again. “thanks for your concern.”

if childe were any other person, he would believe zhongli. zhongli speaks without a falter in his voice – as if it weren’t already as smooth as velvet – and his eyes are resolute when locked onto his. but he’s not someone else, and the closest individual to a friend that zhongli has. it would be a disservice, both as a friend and coworker, to leave zhongli to his devices. so childe doesn’t relent. it’s his turn to be stubborn and set in his ways.

he places the cups back onto the desk, and the other man looks up curiously, just in time to see childe’s eyes narrow. “i mean it, zhongs.”

and, with just as much performative sincerity as before, zhongli says the same thing he always does, with a straight face and empty eyes. “i do, too.”

“no, you don’t.” childe’s scowl is as deep as his concern. he wasn’t joking earlier when he said that zhongli would be murdered by his own obsession with work – “responsibility,” as the younger of the two would insist, but he’s blind to his own persistence, and time has made that blatantly obvious. “i know you have a meeting soon, so i won’t stay long. i don’t care if we’ve talked about this before,” he rushes his words, determined to get them in before zhongli quips, “it doesn’t make it any less important.”

a pause. zhongli’s typing has halted and is instead replaced by silence. hell, he even folds his fingers together on top of the keyboard, as if telling childe that he finally has his full attention. but the void in his eyes hasn’t changed: amber, clouded with vermillion, and burning in coals.

childe assesses him sternly, extending the stillness of the moment, before proceeding. “i’m going to block out your schedule tonight after eight, and we’re going to have a talk.”

zhongli tries not to look fazed. to his credit, he really, really tries, but his posture bristles just enough to cue the secretary in on his client’s displeasure. “no, i’m not going to watch over you for the rest of the night to make sure you sleep,” he reassures just as swiftly, half-teasing and half-serious, “but we are going to make some plans.”

both of childe’s hands are flat on the desk as the two of them regard each other. although zhongli is the taller of the two, his position in the office chair gives childe the height advantage in the current situation. “after you get enough rest this week, i’m going to get you out of this building,” childe vows to zhongli. neither of them blink. “you’re going to walk on the streets and breathe fresh air. you’re going to spend time with people your age and eat at a restaurant. you’re going to have fun.”

it is at that moment, when zhongli’s face falters as if he’s being spoken to in python when his input is java, that childe realizes that he has no strategy, and that he’s just saying the things that he wants for zhongli: he refuses to believe that zhongli will continue to regard this room, conditioned with with frigid air and tailored to each tile on the floor, is his only future, and instead wants his 25 year-old boss to have some semblance of life in his days instead of bleeding through each, only to tear through the next.

childe had the choice to dream towards the life he currently lives. on the other hand, zhongli never did. inheriting a multi-million dollar company, especially being the son of the ceo, outwardly sounds like the opportunity only the archons could bestow. childe would have thought the same too.

until he realized that predestination sucks, and that zhongli is too good to wither his youth away behind a desk.

childe has exactly thirteen hours to come up with a plan. from the thoughts floating in his head, it can turn out in one of two ways:

one: zhongli is integrated back into society and lives a happier, more animated life than what he currently has.

two: childe loses his job.

#genshin impact #zhongli x reader #zhongli scenarios #zhongli headcanons #modern au #sugar daddy au #slow burn #eventual smut #how to tag :')

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starryeyes-darkestnights · 3 years

Text

Gold Rush

Part 5 of We Dance Together Now

An O’Knutzy au where Leo and Logan are still playing for the Lions, but Finn is a musician/grad student they met by chance on a roadie to Montreal.

Here are the first few parts!

Part 1 - Jingle Bell Rock

Part 2 - This City

Part 3 - Shut Up and Drive

Part 4 - Wicked Game

I also stuck this up on AO3, my username there is the same :)

These beautiful characters and their world belong to the incredible @lumosinlove ! Her work is amazing, and I’m so happy to get to play with some of the people and places she’s created <3

The song that Finn is singing in this chapter is Gold Rush, by Taylor Swift. And it’s the song that inspired this entire fic :):)

I imagined Finn playing it like the version by Travis Atreo! (If you haven’t listened to that you should :) )

I hope you like it!!!

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

Logan

It was too early the next morning, or maybe too late from the night before, when Logan finally gave up on the idea of sleep. The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon when stole out onto the balcony, closing the door softly behind him and leaning against it. He stayed there for a moment, still and quiet in the pre-dawn chill, and let the fresh air wash over him. He let his eyes close and breathed in deep- once, twice, three times.

It was better, being out here. He always felt more grounded, more like himself, outside. He pushed away from the door and wandered over to the patio chair in the corner, out of sight from anyone who might wander into the living room.

He wasn’t sure how to talk to the other two after last night. He had been off all night, he knew. Having Finn there to watch them play, seeing Leo get hit on the ice, making it to the play-offs… it had already been a lot. And then that moment in Cap’s kitchen…

He slid down in his chair, scrubbing his face with his palms as he tried unsuccessfully to block out the memory of Finn’s eyes on his, of Leo’s chest flush against his back.

What he should have done was leave with Dumo when he’d offered. But no, of course he wouldn’t do the sensible thing. He had to be cocky and assume he could keep it under control, when clearly he was an idiot who didn’t know what control meant. And by the time he figured that out it had been too late and he had no good excuse to uber back home without making it obvious that he didn’t want to be around them.

So instead he had just walked home with Finn and Leo, like they had planned. And when they had finally gotten inside, just the three of them, alone in the dark apartment, Logan had promptly panicked and bolted off to his room with hardly a word. Clearly the sign of a man with his shit together.

Plus, to add insult to injury, shutting himself in his room hadn’t even helped. In fact, it had made it worse. Because all he had to do was look around to see that the room had clearly been put together for him. It had happened gradually when he had started spending nights there. First, the sheets had been replaced with new ones in his favourite colour after a slightly drunk and very passionate argument with Finn about the importance of having favourite colours (Finn was in favour. Logan was not. At least not out loud. But Finn had figured it out anyway). Then a container of the Tiger Balm he was constantly rubbing on his legs had appeared on his nightstand after a stretch of home games. There were always two towels waiting for him, after Finn had caught him scrounging around the linen closet for an extra one evening. There was a water bottle on his dresser, a phone charger plugged in next to it. He had clothes in the drawers and an extra pillow to hug while he slept—Leo must have shared that detail.

His toothbrush was in the bathroom, his favourite snacks were always in the fridge and a spare blanket had made a new home on the couch for when he inevitably got cold while the other two overheated. He’d had more than one pair of very fluffy socks thrown at his head when Finn caught him shoving his toes between the couch cushions to keep warm, and those socks were sitting on the end of his bed even now. Everything he needed to be comfortable, Finn had provided, without ever saying a word about it.

It had surprised Logan at first, how thoughtful Finn was underneath all that chaos. How observant. Him and Leo were similar that way. They were similar in a lot of ways, actually, and it both warmed and twisted Logan’s heart to watch as the two of them grew closer.

Last night, as he had closed his bedroom door behind him and took it all in, it was the twisting that took over. That room had felt like a safe haven for him for the past four months, but now everything in it reminded him of what he could never have. And so he had just laid there, on top of the blankets, staring at the ceiling and trying to will himself to sleep.

The balcony door creaked open again as the sun finally broke away from the skyline, and Logan didn’t have to look over to know it was Leo.

His tall silhouette moved forward to lean his forearms on the balcony railing. He didn’t look at Logan either, but Logan knew he had come out to keep him company. Just like he had last night. Logan tried not to read too much into it. It was just who Leo was. If Finn was the master of creating a comfortable space, Leo was the master of joining you in it.

It was something Logan was kind of jealous of. He was always fucking up when people needed support- joking when he should be serious, and being serious when they needed distracting. But Leo always got it right. He always knew when someone was having a bad day, and he’d show up with exactly what you needed. A cup of tea, the channel changed to your favourite show. A closed door and a quiet warning to others to give you space. He always knew when to ask about it and when to let you sit with it, or when to sit with you in it. Everyone loved him for it. Logan loved him for it. Which was half of the reason he was out here hiding in the first place.

Not that it had worked, because apparently Leo also had a knack for finding people when nobody else even knew they were hiding. Logan had closed his door when he came out. Leo shouldn’t have known he wasn’t still sleeping. He let his head roll to look at Leo’s profile against the morning sun.

“How did you know I wasn’t in my room?”

Leo turned to look back at him with a kind smile and shrugged. “I know you find peace outside. I figured you would rather be here than there right now.”

Logan wasn’t sure what he had been expecting exactly, but it certainly wasn’t that. He just blinked back at Leo for a few moments, trying to formulate a response, and thanked the universe when the door slid open again, distracting them both. Finn stepped out with coffee and a tentative smile, handing steaming mugs to Leo and Logan before sitting down next to them and turning to look out over the early morning cityscape.

The three of them stayed there together in awkward silence, watching the city over the balcony railing. Logan was almost reminded of the night they had done the same thing in Ilvermorny, standing shoulder to shoulder at the railing and looking out over the moonlit ocean. But this was different. Because this time, for the first time since the day they had met, nothing about their silence was comfortable. And for the first time since the day they had met, nobody knew how to break it. And Logan knew it was his fault.

---

Finn

Leo and Logan left for their team meeting at 7am, and Finn hadn’t sat still since. His mind was racing, his pulse pounding in his own ears. Everything was wrong, and it was his fault, and he had no idea how to fix it.

He should have known it from the moment he stepped foot in the arena. If he was being honest with himself, he should have known it as soon as he agreed to come to the game. Half of the reason he had avoided it for all this time was because he knew that seeing the boys in their element like that would be difficult to resist.

But he hadn’t expected the way that game would crack him open. He had felt exposed from the instant he saw them on the ice, and if he had been smart, he would have left the party early. Faked a headache. Blamed a school assignment. But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to walk away from them. Instead, he had let his heart overrule his brain, and predictably, he had gotten hurt. And now he was regretting it with every fibre of his being, as the memory kept replaying in his mind.

Last night, he had left the dance floor to go and get a drink. And when he tried to go back out, he had caught sight of Logan, right where he had left him on the edge of the room. And that had stopped him in his tracks.

Because instead of the scheming look Finn had expected to see, Logan’s face had been a stormy expression of pure longing. It had taken Finn less than a second to follow his gaze to where Leo stood, love clear in his concerned eyes as they roamed over Logan’s face.

Finn’s stomach had plunged through the floor even as he looked away. He’d turned on the spot and strode back into the kitchen, pressing his back against the wall and facing resolutely away from the living room, trying to breathe deep and settle the spinning in his head.

He should have expected it. He had noticed it before- the flickering glances and fleeting expressions between them. He had brushed off every one of those instances as just his imagination, and then they had all come back to him in that moment. His brain had felt like it was fighting itself- half of it warm with the thought of them together, the other half cold with the thought of never being with them himself. He’d shut his eyes, trying to block it all out. And then Natalie had come to his rescue. He replayed their conversation in his mind.

“Finn? You ok?”

Her voice cut through the sounds of the party still going on around him.

He’d opened his eyes to see her looking up at him from beside the door, a concerned look on her face. He quickly schooled his face into what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“Ya, of course. Just had one drink too many I think. I need some more water.”

She looked unconvinced, but smiled back anyway and reached out a hand for his cup. “That’s where I was headed too. I’ll fill yours up.”

Finn had stayed put while she went over to the sink, feeling guilty for not helping, but not sure he could move at the moment. When Natalie brought back his cup, he’d been surprised to see her lean back next to him instead of heading back out to the party.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She cut to the point in true Natalie fashion, looking straight into his eyes with a genuine kindness that almost made him want to open up.

But he shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’m good.”

She nodded, still holding his eyes. “Ok. But promise me, if you ever need to talk, that you will? It doesn’t have to be to me, but I want you to know that I’m here. And that whatever you say to me, doesn’t go beyond me.”

Finn nodded back with a smile, small but genuine. “I promise.” He meant it.

She took a drink of her water then, looking satisfied. And Finn was beyond grateful for her when she started her next sentence:

“So… you can only listen to one album for the rest of your life. What do you choose?”

---

Finn checked the time on microwave. 8:30. It was still early, but it was going to have to do, because he couldn’t handle this on his own anymore. He was going to keep that promise to Natalie sooner than he had expected. He picked up his phone and dialed the familiar number, turning on speaker and dropping it back onto the table.

“Please pick up, please pick up” he muttered to himself as he circled the dining room.

“…hello?” His best friend’s sleep-filled voice filled the room. Finn snatched the phone back up.

Finn: June. Thank God. I’m sorry for waking you up. Are you awake? Can you talk? Do you want me to let you sleep?”

June: Finn? What the fuck. It’s so early. Why do you sound like that? What’s wrong?”

Finn heard her shuffle around in the blankets, heard her whisper to Heather to go back to sleep. Suddenly he realized he didn’t know what to say. How to explain it.

June: Finn? Dude, what’s up??

Finn: I… I just need your help. I don’t know how to do this anymore.

June: What? Do what anymore?

Finn: Be around them, June.

June: Be around who? Finn, you don’t make sense, can you like, start from the beginning? I just woke up.

Finn dropped the phone back to the table and brought his hands up to his hair. This was not working. He squeezed his head for a second, trying to organize his thoughts before he tried again.

Finn: It’s Leo and Logan. I thought I had it under control but then I watched them play hockey last night and then I was completely NOT in control, and then I watched them dance together and that… that hurt. And now everything is completely out of the box and I don’t know how to shove it back in.

June was quiet for a moment, before letting out a sympathetic sigh.

June: Finn…

Finn: I know, June. I know it’s stupid. Just tell me how to fix it. I’m going out of my mind.

June: That’s not what I was going to say.

Finn: … Oh. What were you going to say then?

June: I was going to tell you to not shove it back in the box.

Finn: Excuse me?? Are you still sleeping? That is not what I called you for. You’re supposed to be helping!

June: I am helping. Finn, you clearly care about each other. Everything you’ve told me about them… it’s obvious. So why are you boxing things up? Let love happen.

Finn stopped pacing and stared at the phone incredulously.

Finn: Let love HAPPEN?! June, they are LITERALLY professional athletes! They are gorgeous. Every time we go out they’ve got, like, hordes of girls following them around. You should see them June. They think they’re subtle but they’ll sneak behind them on the dance floor and crash into them just so they can talk to them. So they can touch them. And I can’t even blame them! And they’re always so fucking annoyingly beautiful. It’s like- it’s like a contest for these girls, and I can’t compete. I don’t want to compete. It’s impossible, June. I’m a grad student with a guitar. I stand less than zero chance here. Plus…

Finn cut himself off with a sharp intake of air. He was working himself up nearly to the point of tears, and he was not interested in crying right now. He let out a steadying breath and forced himself to sit down. June waited a second before prodding him gently.

June: Plus what, Finn?

Finn: Plus… I don’t know, June. Last night… you should have seen it. The way they were looking at each other, I just... I think, even if they ever were to be willing to get into a relationship with a guy, one they would have to hide… it would be with each other. Not with me.

June: Ok, well… actually wait, is it Logan or Leo that you’re into?

Finn dropped his face into his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. This was another thing he wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with.

Finn: That’s… another thing. I don’t- I don’t even know. I. Don’t. Even. Know. Isn’t that insane? How is that even possible?? They’re completely different from one another and I… I know it doesn’t make any sense to be equally into both of them, and I have tried, God, believe me I have tried to turn it off. For both of them. But apparently I can’t, June. Not for either one. So, in all honesty, even if, let’s just go completely hypothetical here for a second, even IF I thought it was a possibility that either of them could be interested back, I couldn’t do it anyway. Because there would always be someone else too.

June: I see…

Finn: I just— UGH! This is insane. This is so stupid. This is the stupidest thing that I’ve ever done. June. Help.

He dropped his head to the table as he felt all the energy drain from him.

Finn: Help me turn it off. Please. I need to turn it off.

He was going to cry. Goddammit. He tilted his head back and stared unblinking at the ceiling, breathing deeply, willing it away. He could hear June on the other end of the line, just waiting, giving him time. After a moment, he continued.

Finn: Why am I like this? Make my feelings go away. I don’t want them.

June’s voice was soft coming through the phone.

June: Yes, you do, Finn. Your heart is what makes you, you. I would never- never- do anything to take it away. You’re the best person I know, and I know this is hard for you right now, but it’s going to work out. I promise. You’ve always got me to talk to when it gets too much, but please don’t ever think it’s better to change who you are.

Finn didn’t think she was right. He was tired of his heart being always on his sleeve. Tired of feeling so vulnerable. Tired of feeling like he was going to implode every time Leo and Logan were near. There was a line he hadn’t known was there that had been crossed last night, and he didn’t know if he could turn back now. If he could go back to pretending. He hated feeling like this, and he hated the tension it was causing between them. But he didn’t want to argue with June right now.

Finn: Ya. You’re right. I’m kind of tired now though, I think I’m going to go back to bed. Thanks for listening, June.

June: Ok… any time.

Finn could hear that she didn’t sound convinced, but she let out a resigned sigh.

June: Seriously, Finn. Call me any time, ok? I’ll pick up, any time of day or night. You know that. And I sent you my flight itinerary right? I’m coming to see you soon. I’ll be there to hug you in person.

Finn: Ya, I got the itinerary.

June: Good. And please don’t forget, I don’t care if these boys are professional bajillionaires, you’re the only Finn O’Hara in the world and they are the ones who are lucky to have you. I love you.

Finn: Love you too, June. I’ll talk to you soon.

Finn hit the End Call button on his phone and just sat still for a moment, unsure if he was feeling better or worse. His eyes locked on a mug on the other side of the table and he pulled it toward himself, hoping it was his coffee from earlier that morning. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be his tea from last night. He sighed. Leo was always making fun of him for leaving half-drank cups of tea all around the apartment and he supposed this was why. It was a very disappointing find.

He dropped his head into his hands and stared straight down at the dull surface of the old tea. The last of its ripples faded away as memories of the past few months started to roll through his mind like a film reel.

He thought of the day they met, up on that stage in Montreal. The trip they had taken to Ilvermorny to watch the stars. The team dinners he’d joined and the club nights they’d danced through. All the times he’d looked out from the stage to see them in crowd at his shows.

He thought back to that first show they had come to in Gryffindor, at the Burrow. The way he had felt when he saw Logan flirting with that girl. He hadn’t ever wanted to feel that way again. He had promised himself that night that he would turn whatever feelings he had for them off, keep it friends only.

And even though he wasn’t perfect, he really thought he had been doing a good job of it. But now, sitting here feeling that exact same feeling amplified a thousand times, he knew that he had never turned anything off. That that hope had stayed there, growing in the back of his mind whether he’d been willing to admit it or not. And last night had exposed it. And now that Finn knew, like really knew, that what he hoped for would never be, it was coming back around to crush him.

Finn tried to shake the thought away, tilting his head back to get some air. He was getting in his head, and he knew it. He just needed to catch his breath. He needed to get his thoughts out.

He needed his guitar.

He stood abruptly, grabbing the mug from in front of him and dumping it in the sink on his way out of the kitchen. For his entire life, music had been the way that Finn worked through his feelings. No matter what tangled mess was crowding his mind, pulling at the heart he could not for the life of him keep off of his sleeve, music calmed him. It brought him back to earth, centered him and let him start again. So now, just like he had done a million times before, Finn sat on the edge of his bed, closed his eyes, and let his emotions bleed out through the strings of his guitar.

---

Leo

That afternoon, Leo let himself into the apartment quietly. Finn hadn’t responded to his messages letting him know that Coach had let them go early, and Leo thought maybe he was napping after the late night and early morning they’d had.

He screwed up his face at the thought of their morning. Leo had hoped that sleep would help with whatever weird tension had appeared between them last night, but it seemed to have done the opposite. In the bright morning light, everything had seemed even more awkward, and they had spent the morning like strangers- unsure of how to act or what to say. It hadn’t stayed in the apartment either. Leo had shared an Uber with Logan to the arena, and Lo hadn’t looked at him a single time. He had also, impressively, managed to avoid him for nearly the entire day despite being in pretty close quarters in the locker room. But Leo had finally cornered him for a few seconds on their way out the door. Just long enough to make sure he was still planning to come to Finn’s show tonight. He was anxious for them to work through whatever this mess was. And Logan had, in the end, agreed to come, so Leo hoped that meant he wanted to as well.

For now, though, Leo just wanted to make some tea and retreat to his bed to sort through his own thoughts. Last night had messed with his head too. Knowing Finn had been at the game, watching, and then the excitement of the win. He’d been on an adrenaline high, and then watching Finn and Logan doing… whatever that had been in the kitchen. That had hurt. He’d tried to act normal, but he wasn’t sure he’d done a very good job.

He was pretty sure that what he had seen between the two of them was what was up with Logan as well, but he wasn’t sure about Finn. He’d been weird even before that, from the time they’d met up after the game.

He dropped his keys on the table beside the door, and was just about to head to the kitchen for his tea when he heard the sounds of Finn’s guitar coming from down the hall, quietly playing a song he didn’t recognize. His interest piqued immediately—Finn was always singing quietly around the house, but he NEVER played guitar when Leo was home, unless it was to dick around to karaoke songs in the living room. He always rehearsed for shows in the practise rooms on campus, and when he worked on his own stuff at home it was always on the keyboard, with headphones plugged in to stay quiet. He always insisted it was not pleasant to listen to the songwriting process, but Leo was pretty sure he would be happy to listen to Finn play anything for hours if he did it on his guitar. He was good on the keyboard, but the way he played guitar… it was like it was a part of him. Leo could never look away when he picked it up on stage.

On second thought, maybe it was for the best that Finn did refrain from playing around him.

He made his way down to where Finn’s bedroom door was open and leaned quietly against the doorframe. Finn didn’t seem to notice him, and Leo took advantage of the rare moment, being able to study him unseen.

Finn was sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes closed and guitar propped on his knees. His fingers danced along the strings as sunlight filtered into the room, casting shadows below long eyelashes and playing across the freckles Leo loved, high on Finn’s cheekbones. There was never a time when Leo didn’t want to reach out and touch those freckles, let his fingertips trail across Finn’s skin- soft and gentle, connecting the dots. It was a daydream he kept close to his chest, never letting anyone else see.

Leo let himself be lost in that moment, watching, until the boy in front of him started to sing and his admiration turned to awe.

Leo was used to the Finn he saw playing music on stage, at parties, even messing around in their living room. That Finn was always larger than life, full of mischief and chaos, working hard to make sure everyone was having a good time. Leo had assumed that’s what he was always like as a musician.

But here, alone in his room without an audience to entertain, Finn was playing for himself. And Leo realized he’d been wrong. Maybe that was who Finn was as performer, but this- this was Finn as a musician. As an artist. Open, unguarded, his heart in every note. It was utterly captivating. It felt like he was intruding on something private.

The realization that he was intruding on something private, and had been for several minutes longer than he should have been, finally snapped Leo out of it. He cleared his throat just as Finn started to sing a little louder.

“What must it be like to grow up that beautif—” Finn turned his head at the sound and caught sight of Leo in the doorway. He slammed his palm down on the strings as his voice cut out, ending all of the sound in the room at once. He jumped up, eyes going wide as he stood, his body tense. Leo lifted his hands in a show of peace, and watched Finn let out a relieved huff, relaxing as he realized who was there.

“Jesus, Leo. Dude. Once again: learn to make noise when you enter a space. You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.” Finn’s tone was joking, but Leo noticed his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Leo suddenly realized he was nervous, a feeling he wasn’t used to around Finn. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I tried to message you, Coach let us go early, I know you weren’t expecting me back yet…”

“It’s ok.” Finn stepped in when Leo trailed off. “I didn’t have my phone. And you never have to be sorry about coming home, ok? Just… try not to scare me when you do?”

Leo huffed out a small laugh at that, relieved that Finn didn’t appear to be upset with him. “I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t recognize the song you were playing. I wanted to come and see what it was. Are you practising for tonight?”

He watched the long lines of Finn’s throat as he swallowed before answering- a nervous tick of his that Leo had picked up on.

“Oh. Um, no, it’s not for tonight. It’s a… it’s a new one.”

“You wrote it?”

“Ya. I did.”

Leo considered Finn for a second before asking, “… Can I listen?”

Finn hesitated, starting to look uncomfortable as he shifted the guitar across his chest.

Leo immediately regretted the request, worried he had crossed a boundary. He had heard Finn play original music at shows, but this was his personal space, and he had just waltzed in and invaded it. He tried to backtrack. “Oh my god, I’m sorry Finn, I shouldn’t have asked that. I didn’t mean to make you—”

Finn cut him off. “No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s ok.” He looked up at Leo, a new spark in his expression. “I want to play it for you.”

---

Finn

This was his opportunity. He could play the song and either Leo would recognize it was about them or he wouldn’t. He would be upset by it or he wouldn’t. All he knew for certain was that he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. He wasn’t deluding himself, he knew it wouldn’t work out. He had realized that last night. Reaffirmed it this morning. And he was aware that it didn’t make any sense, the feelings he had for the two of them, but he was so tired of bottling it up. All he could do was share the best way he knew how and hope they could work through it. They were worth that.

Before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, he cleared his throat and brushed his fingers across the strings. As soon as he played the first notes, the song took over. It always felt like magic, the way the sounds of the guitar wrapped around him, calmed him, pulled him together. He looked down, away from Leo as he started to sing.

“Gleaming, twinkling, eyes like sinking ships on waters, so inviting I almost jump in”

He kept his gaze down as he moved through lyrics he had finished this morning. The words he had pulled out of himself to try and make sense of it all. To tell the story of the past few months with these two incredible, indescribable boys. This first verse was vague enough that if he didn’t already know, Leo wouldn’t guess it was about him.

But the one that followed… Finn forced himself to look up, to connect with that familiar blue-eyed gaze and watch his reaction. There was no way Leo wouldn’t realize what he was singing about now. Memories swirled behind Finn’s eyes as he played.

“What must it be like to grow up that beautiful

With your hair falling into place like dominos”

Dark curls falling over emerald eyes; blonde over cerulean. Finn wanting to reach out and touch so badly that his hands shook.

“I see me padding across, your wooden floors,

With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door”

Every time Finn had walked across Leo’s room to take back the shirt that Leo was constantly stealing and leaving hanging on his closet door, where he knew Finn would be able to find it if he ever came looking. He watched as Leo’s small smile turned into a look of recognition.

“At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit”

The first time Finn had caught on to Logan’s game, at dinner with Talker. The countless times since that he and Leo had called him out for stirring the pot. The grumpy look on Logan’s face when he realized he was caught.

“And the coastal town we wandered around,

Had never seen a love as pure as it”

The day they drove out to Ilvermorny and spent one of the best days of Finn’s life playing tourist and looking at the stars. The burning heat he had felt as Logan flirted with him from the side of the balcony railing. The pull in his heart when he realized how much Leo missed the open skies. He knew now what those feelings meant.

“And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea,

‘Cause you know it could never be.”

This morning, at the table, reliving all of these moments as the hope he had been harbouring slowly slipped away.

Leo’s face was unreadable now, and Finn closed his eyes to the sight as he kept singing.

“Cause I don't like a gold rush, gold rush I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch Everybody wants you”

Girls lining up, pushing for their chance to make a move on them. The heat crawling up the back of his neck as he fought to not let it get under his skin. He’d told June this morning that he couldn’t compete. That he didn’t want to have to compete.

“Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you Walk past, quick brush I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush”

Watching them touch the boys, running fingers down their arms, laying palms on their chests as they danced by. Pretending that it would turn into something more. His world spinning as he was reminded time and time again that he could never do the same.

“I don't like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush Everybody wants you And I don't like a gold rush”

The boys made him better. Everything was so easy when they were together. So good. And that made it so much worse to see the longing in Logan’s eyes when he looked at Leo, to see the love in Leo’s when he smiled at Logan. To watch everybody else want these two boys who so clearly wanted each other.

He slid into the final verse, trying to keep it together as he repeated the first few lines. And then,

“My mind turns your lives into folklore

I can’t dare to dream about you anymore”

There was something there between Leo and Logan. Finn knew he wasn’t imagining it. The vision of their future together had been running through his mind on a loop since last night, and it was perfect. They were perfect, together. He knew that the only thing he could do now was rewrite the ending of this story. Write himself out of it. So, lyrically at least, he had.

“I can’t dare to dream about you anymore.

At dinner parties I won’t call you out on your contrarian shit,

And the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure as it,

Cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea,

Cause it will never be.”

Finn’s voice cracked on the word never, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sing the final lines. He forced his hands to finish playing anyway, to give him time to take a few steadying breaths so he could at least look at Leo.

When he’d dragged it out as long as he could, Finn let the final note fade out across the room and sat perfectly still for a few moments. Hoping it would be ok.

When Leo didn’t speak into the quiet, his heart sank. He lifted his head, intending to look at Leo, but his eyes stayed glued to the frets under his fingers. The burst of confidence he had felt when he started the song was a distant memory now.

He tried to laugh, but it sounded fake even to himself. His knees wouldn’t stop bouncing. He needed to break this silence.

“So… ya. Um. I’m sorry. That wasn’t a song that I ever intended for anyone to hear, and…” he stopped as his voice caught in his throat again.

It was quiet for another moment before Leo’s voice, kind and gentle, spoke up.

“I think they should.”

Finn’s heart was pounding in his throat as he heard Leo take a step toward him.

Leo spoke again, softer this time. Cautious. “I think Logan should.”

Finn’s knees finally stopped moving. His entire body froze in place. On a hypothetical level, he had known this was what was going to happen when he decided to play this stupid song. But he always had been better at jumping than at dealing with the fall, and experiencing it was turning out to be much worse than imagining it. It would seem he had failed to factor in how much panic would be involved. What had possessed him to think it was a good idea??

He was suddenly desperate to take it all back.

“Logan?” He croaked out. “No, Logan doesn’t—”

“Finn.” Leo cut him off. He was closer now, standing beside him. “You wrote that song about him. About me. About us.”” Leo’s voice was steady. It wasn’t a question.

Well, fuck. There was no taking it back now. Dealing with the fall it was. He took a deep breath, tried to steel himself for whatever was about to happen, and finally looked up into Leo’s eyes.

His face was still giving nothing away. Which was horrifically unfair because Finn knew that every single thing he was feeling was written across his own. Goddamn goalie face.

Finn whispered then, his voice full of apology. “Leo…”

Leo’s mask finally disappeared.

“Don’t apologize, Finn. Not now. Please.” His expression was suddenly open, vulnerable. Finn wasn’t sure what to do then, so he just pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and sat still, giving Leo the space to make the next move. He took it.

Leo’s eyes flickered between Finn’s, unguarded, and searching- always searching.

He started slowly. “I thought it was just me. I thought I was going crazy—these feelings, I didn’t know what to do with them. I just wanted to pretend it wasn’t there.” He shook his head a little, his gaze shifting away from Finn as he continued.

“I promised myself when I came to Gryffindor that I wouldn’t get attached to anyone. Not anyone on my team or anywhere else. I just wanted to keep my head down and focus on my career. But then…” he paused for a moment, and Finn could see him debating how to proceed. All of a sudden he turned those ocean blue eyes back on Finn, and the look in them made Finn forget how to breathe.

“But then there was Logan… and then there was you, and I just… I don’t know.”

Finn’s heart skipped several beats as he blinked up at Leo. He had long suspected Leo’s feelings for Logan, had almost expected that confession, but…

“Wait. Me?” His voice was laced with confusion.

Leo nodded back.

“Ya. You.” he breathed out. He looked away then, his cheeks flushed and confidence faltering as he continued.

“But I thought… you and Logan. I see how you watch each other. I saw the way he looked at you last night. Oh my God, Finn, the way he was looking at you last night. I knew he had feelings for you and I never thought… I thought I would just have to back away and watch the two of you.”

What? Finn’s head was reeling.

“Leo… Logan. I’ve been watching how he looks at you, Leo. That’s what the whole song…” he stopped, not sure he was making sense. But Leo was nodding.

“I know that now. Now that I’ve heard you sing that, I know.” He smiled reassuringly at Finn, then leaned against the windowsill as his expression turned hesitant. Finn watched some kind of internal debate play out over his features before Leo connected their gaze once more.

“Finn, in your song, you said you don’t dare to dream about us anymore. That it could never be.”

Finn nodded slowly. He had written that this morning. When he thought he needed to back away. Now though… something had sparked inside him as he listened to Leo speak.

“And maybe... maybe you’re right. Maybe it never can be, the way you were thinking about it before. The way I was thinking about it before. It’s impossible, to feel this way about two people.”

Finn felt the spark go out. He was familiar with this moment. Too familiar. He pushed the flickering reminders of his first years in Gryffindor back out of his mind. He didn’t need them to know he was about to be let down gently.

But Leo’s voice was shaky, nervous as he continued. “But maybe—maybe if I stopped dreaming about you separately. If WE start dreaming about us together, all three of us. Maybe… maybe then it could be.”

That… was not what he had expected.

Finn felt something connect inside of him as he considered Leo’s words. It felt right. He looked up at the boy beside him, usually so calm and collected, now looking just as freaked out and vulnerable as he felt.

Finn felt a surge of protectiveness over him. Leo had put himself on the line here, for Finn. So that Finn wouldn’t be out there alone. He knew how big of a risk that was for Leo, with the job he had and the scrutiny it came with. If Leo was willing to take that risk, Finn knew he would do whatever it took to make it worth it.

“Yes.” His voice cracked. He tried again. “Yes.”

Leo looked at him carefully, searching, Finn knew, for confirmation that he meant what he was saying. “Are you sure?”

Finn’s mind was still reeling, but the one thing he felt sure of right now, was this. “I’m sure.”

Leo quirked up one side of his mouth then, his smile warming up the room like the sun peaking out from the clouds. “Ok.”

“Ok.” Finn repeated, starting to smile back. “So, what do we do next?”

Leo’s expression turned serious again. “I think next, we need to talk to Logan. When he gets here. But right now,” he took a step toward Finn, “do you think you could put down your guitar?”

Finn looked down at the instrument he now realized he was clutching to himself like a lifeline. He pulled it over his head and slowly set it down on the bed behind him. Leo held out a hand, his eyes cautious as he watched Finn grab his wrist and stand up.

The two boys were face to face then, and Finn slowly let his fingers slide to twine between the taller boy’s. He had touched Leo hundreds of times before, been closer to him even on the first day they met. But this- the feeling of Leo’s calloused palm against his own, of his thumb tracing gentle circles across his knuckles- was something completely new.

He watched as Leo looked down at their connected hands and used the grip to pull Finn closer, until Finn could feel the heat from his body coming through his shirt. Finn wondered vaguely if Leo could feel the way his own heart was beating through his skin. His eyes traveled up to lock onto Leo’s. He would never get over Leo’s eyes. They were so blue, like the ocean in the sunlight. So inviting.

Those eyes flickered back and forth across Finn’s face, and Finn let Leo be the one to voice what he was sure they were both thinking.

“Finn.” His voice was a whisper.

“Ya?” Finn replied just as softly.

“Will you kiss me?”

Finn’s skin erupted in goosebumps as he felt Leo’s other hand slide gently across the back of his neck. He didn’t know if he even had a heartbeat anymore.

He brought his own hand up, tracing his fingertips delicately under Leo’s jaw and running a thumb along his cheekbone, before tangling his fingers into his hair and pulling him the rest of the way forward.

“Yes.” He was barely able to breathe the word out before their lips met in an impossible kiss.

Finn’s whole body was electrified. He leaned in closer and felt Leo do the same, tilting their heads in unison. Finn felt himself slipping away, his brain drowning out everything but the feel of Leo under his fingertips, against his lips, nothing but Leo’s name running through his mind.

Until another name joined it. Logan. Finn took the moment to slowly pull back from Leo, who was panting slightly as he leaned his forehead against Finn’s, his hands coming up to trace lightly along Finn’s cheekbones. Finn opened his eyes to look at the beautiful man in front of him and said, simply, “Logan.”

Leo nodded, not letting go of Finn. “He’ll be here in a few hours. We’ll talk to him?”

Finn just nodded his agreement, closing his eyes again and moving to rest his forehead against Leo’s shoulder.

“I should let go of you now,” he murmured, “or I’ll never be able to again.”

Leo chuckled, the sound warm where their bodies were touching. “That doesn’t sound half bad to me.” He ran a hand through Finn’s hair and kissed the top of his head. Finn melted into it. “But you’re right,” he hummed against the red curls, “we need to talk to Logan.”

Reluctantly, they backed apart from one another, keeping their hands laced together.

Finn watched Leo’s chest rise and fall evenly, always so composed. Finn’s heart was still racing through his bones.

“How are you so calm right now?”

Leo laughed at that. “It just looks that way. Believe me, my mind is freaking out right now. I was just kissing one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever known.”

Finn cocked his head, lifting an eyebrow. “One of them?” He teased.

Leo just smiled back softly, meeting Finn’s gaze with affection.

“Yeah”

Finn couldn’t help himself; he leaned into Leo again, wrapping his arm around his waist and resting his head where he could feel the steady rhythm of his heart.

“Hmmm” he hummed, listening. “Logan.”

Leo nodded and rested his chin on top of Finn’s head. “Logan.”

“Let’s make some dinner?” Finn asked after a few seconds.

Leo actually snorted at that, finally breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.

Finn grinned back in response. ��Ok fine. Will you make some dinner, and I can finally watch you without pretending that’s not what I’m doing?”

Leo smiled softly, looking surprised at that admission.

“I didn’t know you liked watching me cook.”

It was Finn’s turn to snort. “Leo, I like watching you do everything. But yes, I love watching you cook. You care about it so much. I’m surprised you’ve never caught on to that.”

Leo laughed as he pulled Finn toward the door. “After today, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that there are a lot of things I’ve been oblivious about. Let’s go. I’ll make you something you like.”

#sweater weather lumosinlove #lumosinlove #Coast To Coast #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #leo knut #logan tremblay

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pallasperilous · 3 years

Text

Occursus

Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.”

Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.

Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.

Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.

Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.

And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.

Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.

“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”

Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”

Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”

“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”

Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.

“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”

“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.

“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.

“Who?”

Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”

“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.

“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”

“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”

Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”

This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.

“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”

“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”

Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.

“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.

Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”

“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”

“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”

Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.

“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”

“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.

Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”

Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.

So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”

Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.

“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”

Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”

“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”

Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.

“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”

“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”

Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him like a carcass in an acid bath.

That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.

Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.

From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)

Point being, he calms the fuck down.

Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.

“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –

“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”

Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”

“Much.”

“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”

Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”

“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”

“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.

Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”

“You infected me,” Cas says.

“Uh,” says Dean.

The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”

Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”

Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.

“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”

“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”

“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”

“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”

“What part of it confuses you?”

“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”

“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.

Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,

“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,

“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.

“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.

“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”

“So what’s a better one?”

Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”

“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.” He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”

“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.

“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”

“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”

Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”

“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.

“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”

“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”

Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.

Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”

After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.

Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”

“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”

“That was only a partial truth.”

Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”

“You got a raging case of the Deans.”

Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”

“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”

“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”

“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”

“It is.”

“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”

“My hand didn’t burn you.”

“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.”

“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”

“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”

Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”

“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”

“You wanna call it even?”

Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”

There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade.

“So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.

“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.

Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”

Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”

“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”

“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”

That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”

“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”

“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”

“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”

Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod.

Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”

“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”

“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”

“Then you understand.”

“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”

Cas nods. “You did.”

“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…” and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”

“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.

Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––

“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.

Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.

“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”

“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.

“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”

Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.

“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”

Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”

“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”

It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}

#spn fanfiction #spn 15x20 #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #bless you all for your sexy and angsty coda fics please enjoy this massive wodge of angel lore wankery dating back 11 seasons

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cakejots · 3 years

Text

this is us trying, Chapter 8 - The Unravel

In this AU, they don’t know each other outside of the suit. And in this AU, Ladybug and Chat Noir love each other. But in this AU, Chat doesn’t want their identities revealed.

Written for @ladynoirjuly 2021

notes: this is a coherent story based on all the prompts; each chapter contains at least 3 prompts. TW for mention of death threats.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10

Read on AO3

24. Rewrite the stars

With how he reacted to those online comments about Marinette a few days prior, Adrien legitimately thought he was going to throw another fit again. But as always, Marinette’s closeness managed to distract him from the negative and made the ‘task’ bearable.

“Go to hell? I’m sorry but who are you to tell me what to do?” She dismissed the comment. “You think I’m just gonna listen to you? People who send these kinds of messages clearly need help.”

He snorted. “Don’t let it get to you, Buguinette.”

“Ah no no,” she shook her head. “It’s just… I can’t understand why they have the need to send this kind of stuff to other people.”

Marinette moved on to other comments within the hashtag page and saw quite a handful of positive comments. She would even go as far as to say that people are generally supportive of their relationship.

There was just a very loud and obnoxious minority that stood out everywhere. It was no wonder Adrien got that infuriated, she wasn’t feeling the best either when she read what people had written about him.

“Chaton?” She stopped scrolling, taking a break before her anger got the better of her. “You’ve gotten quiet. Something on your mind?”

“Uhh, yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” She put down her phone and moved to sit beside him, combing her fingers through his hair. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

Adrien leaned against her palm and closed his eyes. “I feel better already.”

She chuckled when he started purring. “Do you wanna stop for a while? Your hair’s so smooth and I honestly think I can do this for the rest of the day.”

“Ahh, that is so very tempting, my lady,” he opened his eyes and pouted. “But at last, this can’t be put off any longer.”

She continued massaging his scalp. “Hmm?”

“The management wants me to make a public apology and… and break up with you to save the company’s image.”

Marinette went rigid with her ministrations.

He quickly wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. “Obviously I’m not going to do that. You wound me if you think I’ll do that, Marinette,” he joked.

“Ahh no.” She hugged and leaned against him. “It’s not you. I— I’m just appalled that they’d demand you to take such a drastic move.”

He shrugged. “The company’s image suffered a huge blow when the Agreste Scandal happened. It has only been around six months since then, and now they have to deal with another.”

She nodded and tightened her grip on him. “So what will you do, Adrien?”

He smoothed her arm and nosed her hair. “To hell with them.”

“But—”

“I finally found you, I’m not going to let you go,” he grinned.

A rosy pink hue settled itself on Marinette’s cheeks. Even when she’s already his, Adrien never stops to let her know how special she is to him. She pulled back to hold his gaze while her thumb brushed against his cheek.

“What if they dismiss you?”

Fire lit in his eyes. “I’m going to do what makes me happy, what makes us happy. I’m not going to apologise for my love for you.”

Warm and fuzzy feelings filled her chest as he settled on what he planned to do. Adrien has come so far, and Marinette was more than happy to allow him the agency he desperately needed.

“You’ll rewrite the stars, huh?”

“I’ll rewrite the stars.”

Marinette pulled him close—

“Then I’ll be here supporting you every step of the way.”

—and gave him a long and earnest kiss on the lips.

25. De-transformation

Adrien was hiding half his body behind the door that leads to Marinette’s room. She had her full attention on the task on hand that she didn’t realise he was at the entrance watching her from afar, much like how a kitten observes their human. Adrien really admired how focused Marinette can be sometimes. But right now, he wished that she wasn’t that fixated on whatever she’s doing.

Despite his resoluteness on what to do with the scandal earlier on, Adrien was feeling stressed about it now. They had agreed that he would release a statement to address the scandal tomorrow, and it’d just be a couple of sentences from him, along with a photo of them in his mansion, to really sell to the public that they aren’t fooling around and that she has been staying with him for a while now.

The kiss they had shared earlier did tons to calm his nerves. He could never get enough of the thrill whenever they kissed, it was just that addictive to him. Her alluring lips, curious and exploring hands, the tiny sounds she made, and how she felt within his arms were the only things that mattered.

But that was a few hours ago, right after he came to a decision on what to do. They parted ways afterwards for Adrien to draft his statement, and it looked really good at first. But the more he read and thought about it, the more he felt like they’d face more backlash if he were to put that statement out. His anxiety was returning and he needed to take a breather.

Which was why he was standing at Marinette’s door right now. He really wanted another kissing session with Marinette, but he doesn’t want to push his boundaries either. He figured a rooftop run would help him to loosen up and take his mind off of the drafted statement for now. But he didn’t want to do it alone either.

Adrien stared at Marinette’s back. He felt really bad for disturbing her. He really did. But…

“Marinette?” He called out softly.

She lifted her head to look back at her door, only to see Adrien concealing half his body behind her door. She frowned and briskly walked towards him. “Adrien! What’s wrong?”

He came out of his hiding and averted his gaze “C-Can we go for a rooftop run for a while?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m starting to feel a little overwhelmed.”

She petted and stroked his hair. “Of course! Let’s go!”

Adrien gave her a radiant smile.

The rooftop run, sadly, wasn’t as helpful as he had fancied. All he had to do was run… on rooftops which he had been running on for the last 6 years. He could even do it with his eyes closed. His mind was not preoccupied with anything else and his thoughts kept going back to the scandal.

Chat dash towards the top of the Eiffel Tower.

“De-transformation.”

He walked towards the edge of the platform and stared at the city underneath his feet. At least he was still able to admire the view. He sat down, hugged his knees and closed his eyes to enjoy the breeze…

Only to be pulled back by a pair of arms around his waist.

“Adrien! What were you thinking?” Ladybug shook his shoulders when he faced her.

“No, no! I wasn’t doing anything!” He waved his hands. “I was just trying to distract myself.”

Ladybug frowned. “Then why de-transfrom? You can enjoy the view as Chat Noir, can’t you?”

He avoided her eyes. “I-I wanted to feel the breeze.”

She pursed her lips. “You said you wanted a distraction? Something to occupy your mind?”

Adrien nodded.

Ladybug stood and brought him to his feet, smiling. “How about a game or two of Mecha Strike with the gamer pro herself?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I assure you that you’ll be needing that mind of yours to defeat me,” she declared triumphantly.

“You won tournaments?”

“Duh. Now come on! Transform and let’s go!”

“Buguinette,” he called out as he transformed. “I’ll have you know I didn’t only spend my time at home studying.”

Ladybug threw her yo-yo and a smirk at him. “Then may the best player reign once and for all!” And she jumped off the edge.

Chat followed suit, anticipating the game battles they have for the night.

26. Reveal

They had no idea how it happened. No, they were lying if they said that. They knew how it happened. They just didn’t expect it to unfold the way it did.

The mecha strike matches they had after they arrived back at Marinette’s home did tons to ease Adrien’s nerves. His mind was full of battle strategies to take her down, but she always managed to outsmart him. She wasn’t Ladybug for nothing. She truly is the Reigning Queen of Mecha Strike.

After they had established their respective status in the world of Mecha Strike, Marinette hoped to put Adrien’s mind at peace entirely. He has his way with words and has written beautiful love poems for her. There’s no way the statement he wrote was horrible.

And so she asked to see it; and he gave it to her, because Adrien fully believes in her word for this. He knows that Marinette would never lie about how she felt about the things he pens down.

She gave her smile of approval, and even commented on how sweet it was. She was confident that it’d sway the hearts of haters in the right direction.

And those were very comforting words. Not only has he accomplished proclaiming his love for her to the world, but he also might possibly increase the appeal of their relationship.

Later, they went to bed, peacefully.

When the time came to finally reveal their relationship to the world, they discreetly made their way back to the Agreste mansion, transformed of course.

Marinette suggested taking their picture in his kitchen to really sell the domestic lifestyle to the public, and Adrien agreed. But as they were deciding on the perfect picture to post along with the statement, Adrien started panicking again.

And so did Marinette. (She didn’t have a lot to work with in his mansion.)

Then, she suddenly recalled that being surrounded by soft things could help, that was how she calmed down when she was younger after all. She felt better just by enveloping herself in her blanket and soft toys.

So she pulled him into his room and pushed him onto his bed, remembering how soft it was, and slowly ran her hand through his mane to coax him into lying down. But all Adrien did was close his eyes.

Her other hand landed on his shoulder to push, but didn’t manage to make him budge at all as she was pulled into his lap, coming face to face with him.

Marinette was startled by his actions and stopped her ministrations. But he began rubbing his head against her palm, and she continued. She also started caressing under his chin with her fingers.

He opened his eyes lazily to gaze at her; so did she.

And Adrien gently held her face to bring their lips together, after he saw in her eyes what was most likely in his as well.

Marinette didn’t hesitate this time, fluttering her eyes close and wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him closer, to bring herself closer to him. She released a tiny whimper when Adrien’s hand suddenly landed on the small of her back, drawing her in to close the non-existent gap between them.

There was just something different about this kiss. Adrien’s heartbeat wasn't thundering as hard as he thought it would be, and a wave of calmness washed over him as they continued moving their lips against the other. His thumb stroked her cheek, to invite her to continue for as long as she liked.

Marinette’s hand shifted towards his hair and grabbed, pushing herself further into his face, and Adrien groaned before grinning against her lips. Marinette soon followed suit before she pulled back, but couldn’t go far as she was literally caged within his embrace.

“What’s so funny?” She opened her eyes and beamed.

Adrien moved in to kiss her nose. “Nothing. Just, thank you,” and he smooched her forehead.

“Trust me, this helped me as much as it helped you,” and she pressed her lips to his cheek.

Marinette caressed his other cheek. “Ready to post that statement and shut the haters up once and for all?”

A glint shone in Adrien’s eyes. “Oh, definitely.”

They moved to sit comfortably on his bed and Adrien copied his statement from his notes, the photo already chosen and sitting on the post, waiting to be sent out.

“You know, this feels very much like a blog post. I’ve never written this much on this account before.”

“SHIT!”

Adrien jumped and looked at her full-blown eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”

She swiftly placed her hand on his. “Chaton, before you post that, I need to let you know that it was my best friend who informed me about what happened to you last week.” She scratched her head. “That’s how I was able to get to you, even though it took quite a while.”

Adrien was visibly confused. “O...kay?”

“And she actually asked for an update on the situation.”

He finally caught on. “Oh! Tell her then! Give her the update she deserves.” He chuckled. “Thank you so much, Marinette’s best friend!”

Her kitty’s so cute when he’s elated. “She… um, s-she wants to know about how we met and stuff.” Marinette glimpsed at him. “How do you want to deal with that?”

“Well, that’d be hard, wouldn't it?”

“Well, we can't use anything related to fashion right?” She said, matter-of-factly. “Since she knows that I wanted to intern at Gabriel and the chance went poof with the final battle…”

“Why not tell her the truth?”

“What?!”

He shrugged. “I mean, the threat is gone. I don't see why not?”

She smiled. “Adrien, honey, my best friend is Alya.”

“Uhh, she... has a nice name?” He tilted his head.

“She’s Alya Cesaire!” She shook his shoulders. “She’s the lady blogger! She’ll flip if she learns that I'm Ladybug!”

“Oh.”

“So there’s no way.”

“What an interesting turn of events,” he simpered. “How about telling her that I don't want people prying into my life?”

“That’s not fair to her,” she pouted.

“Then how about the bakery?” He threw in another excuse.

“Huh?”

“You work in the bakery sometimes, right?” He clarified.

She furrowed her brows. “But I've never seen you at the bakery.”

“Neither did she,” he pointed out, “so maybe we can use that?”

Her face lit with comprehension. “Oh my gosh, Adrien! You’re a genius!”

“We can go with the typical ‘well, we met one day at the bakery, and the rest was history’ kinda sharing.” Adrien gesticulated a rainbow curve with his hands.

Marinette giggled. “I’ll call her now.”

“You two are so sickeningly sweet, you know that?” Alya’s voice echoed through Marinette’s phone.

“Thank you!” Adrien replied, the post still sitting on the edit page.

“So how are you guys gonna deal with the scandal?”

“Adrien will be releasing a statement to address it,” Marinette replied this time.

“Ooo, a reveal huh? When are guys doing it?”

“Now, ehe,” and Marinette gave the okay signal for Adrien to release the statement.

“Marinette!” Alya screamed. “What the hell!”

#ladynoirjuly2021 #ladynoirjuly #ladynoir #mesfics #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #mlb fanfic #chat noir #ladybug #alternate universe #light angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #this is us trying

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charincharge · 4 years

Note

jealous rowan pls that's all I have to say

I Don’t Want To Wait, Part 2

rowaelin high school bff AU masterlist

There was one day of the year that Aelin was a complete control freak about – and that was her birthday party. She spent most of the year scheming and planning for her next big bash; Aelin’s birthdays were like prom and a wedding combined into one. This year’s theme was a masquerade ball, and Aelin was not skimping at all.

So it was no surprise that she was running late, trying to micromanage everyone.

“No, that streamer needs to be lowered one inch more,” Aelin groaned at Rowan, who stood with his arms awkwardly above his head, trying to accommodate his best friend’s wishes.

“Ace, it’s perfect where it is,” Rowan insisted, his arms tired from holding up decorations and taping them to the wall. “And don’t you need to finish getting dressed?” Rowan nodded at Aelin, whose hair was still in large curlers and wearing a sweatshirt and leggings.

Rowan’s Aunt Maeve came bustling out of the kitchen, her hair tied back in an elegant chignon and examined her restaurant, which had been transformed by her nephew and his best friend. The restaurant patio was glittering with curtains of twinkle lights, looking like stars. They’d cleared out the tables to make room for a dance floor, and red and purple streamers hung in long strands, connecting the heat lamps dotting the corners of the room.

“Oh, Aelin, it looks magical out here,” she said, sweeping Aelin into a giant hug. Aelin smiled, proud of her hard work on display. “But Rowan’s right. You need to finish getting ready.”

Maeve ushered Aelin to the large powder room where Aelin’s perfect dress was waiting. She’d saved up all her babysitting money to afford the gorgeous deep violet ballgown. She let Maeve help her put it on, stepping into the strapless contraption and arranging the large skirt so it flared all around her. Maeve tied up the corset laces in the back of the dress tightly. That was Aelin’s favorite part. Mostly because when it was all properly done up, it made her look like she had some boob to spare, rather than her usual barely there curves.

She pulled the rollers from her hair as Maeve helped her apply a light dusting of makeup. She examined herself in the mirror. Aelin didn’t usually think of herself as beautiful, but tonight…

“Wow,” Rowan called from the doorway.

Aelin blushed as his dark green eyes perused her dress, pausing just slightly on her unusually ample chest.

He raised an eyebrow and motioned to his own chest, back and forth. “Those are new.”

Maeve had the decency to smack her nephew’s arm as she made her way out of the bathroom, departing with a loaded glare. He rubbed his arm and pouted.

“What are you doing in here, Buzzard?” Aelin was planning a grand entrance to the party, and no one was supposed to see her until she decided she was good and ready.

Rowan grinned roguishly. “I need your phone. To connect to the speakers. Unless you want me to play my music…”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned him, going through her bag and handing him her phone.

“See you on the dance floor,” he said with a wink, and disappeared again. Aelin sat and combed her fingers through her golden waves, pinning the top half up, and finally put on the piece de resistance, the gorgeous black lace mask she’d ordered.

Perfect.

The night moved along just as Aelin had planned – she got her dramatic entrance with lots of ooohs and ahhhs, people milled around the patio, looking stunning in their formal wear and masks, and the playlist was the perfect mix of up-tempo and slow songs to dance to. Aelin had greeted as many people as she could, but every time she took a few steps, she was stopped by yet another person, thanking her for the invite. This is what she got for inviting the whole sophomore class, she supposed.

She kept looking over her shoulder at the small table of her friends, who’d congregated together. Mostly, she couldn’t take her eyes off of Rowan, who despite being thoroughly annoyed with her birthday extravaganza, had still dressed up in a suit and silver mask.

With a slow song playing overhead, Aelin finally thought it was time to take a break and join him, when a hand tapped her on the shoulder.

Despite the elaborate green mask covering his face, Aelin would know Chaol Westfall’s shining copper-brown eyes anywhere. She sat next to them in almost every class this year.

“Chaol!” Aelin greeted him with a warm hug. “Thank you for coming.”

He smiled in return and held out his hand. “I was hoping you would dance with your favorite lab partner.”

Aelin looked around. “Oh, is Dorian here already?”

“Ha ha,” Chaol deadpanned, and Aelin couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Aelin nervously accepted his hand, and let him walk her out onto the dance floor. Chaol awkwardly placed one hand onto her side and kept the other lifted between them. A proper dance carriage. Aelin was impressed as he led them in a waltz, in time with the music.

Aelin’s lips formed a small ‘o’ as he blushed. “My mom put me in dance lessons when I was little,” he admitted. “I rarely have a reason to use them.”

“Color me impressed,” Aelin said, and Chaol lowered her into a low dip, smiling widely. As he lifted her back up, Aelin giggled in a way so unlike her she couldn’t believe the noise came out of her mouth. She sounded so girly.

Chaol moved them effortlessly across the floor, gliding from spot to spot, and Aelin couldn’t believe her own feet. She had no knowledge of the waltz herself, but she just followed his lead. As the song came to a finish, Chaol bowed slightly and pressed his lips to her hand.

“M’lady,” he said, thanking her for the dance. Aelin turned, finally ready to join her friends, when she crashed into a solid body with an oomph.

She looked up too see a frowning Rowan, his eyes dark with displeasure. But he wasn’t looking at Aelin, he was glaring across the floor at Chaol. Aelin poked his side, trying to get his attention, but Rowan didn’t even crack a smile.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Aelin asked, and Rowan shrugged, clearly annoyed by something.

“Just wanted to see if you needed help.”

“With what?” Aelin asked, confused. She looked over her shoulder at where Rowan was still glaring and put it together. “Oh, with Chaol? No, he’s nice. And who knew that he could dance so well?”

“I can dance,” Rowan muttered, and Aelin quirked her head at her best friend. In the twelve years she’d known Rowan she didn’t think she’d seen him dance once. Not even at his cousin’s wedding after sneaking two glasses of champagne.

“Do you want to…” Aelin asked, nodding her head towards the dance floor, expecting him to turn her down immediately. But he surprised her and nodded stiffly. “Okay…”

Aelin wanted to tell him he was being super weird, but she held it in. Instead, her nervous heart beat faster as she led Rowan onto the dance floor. Her palm was sweaty in his, and she realized that everyone would be looking at them. Rowan seemed to sense her nerves and finally took the lead. He wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her close, and she lifted her arms to rest on his wide shoulders. It was a far cry from the formal hold Chaol danced with her in. As Aelin exhaled a shaky breath, Rowan’s grasp on her tightened, as if he were pulling her into a hug. Except they’d never hugged for this long before.

They swayed, side to side, as the music continued, until Rowan finally broke the silence.

“Did Chaol get you a present?”

Aelin had no idea. She hadn’t gone through the tall stack of presents on the side table yet.

“I’m sure whatever he got me isn’t nearly as good as my breakfast cake,” Aelin said with a smile, and that finally got a small smirk out of Rowan.

“That’s because I know you best,” Rowan said resolutely, and Aelin tipped her head back and craned her neck to look at her best friend’s face. She lifted her hand and poked his cheek, turning his frown back into a smile.

“You do, weirdo.”

“Happy birthday, Ace,” Rowan whispered, and Aelin shivered as his breath ghosted across her ear. Rowan disappeared off the dance floor and held court as his table for the rest of the night with the rest of his cadre, but Aelin rode the high of that dance until she was crawling into bed that night.

She touched her ear where Rowan’s lips had almost touched and smiled into the dark.

~*~*~*~

tags: @hizqueen4life @df3ndyr @keshavomit @aknymph

#rowaelin #aelin x rowan #high school au #charincharge writes

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wxlfstxrx · 4 years

Text

sweater weather chat #5, part 2

our dear @shinymooncolor asked me to help write part 2 of her amazing text fic that had me screaming into my pillow at 6am. lots of hockey puns, lots of laughter, and lots of flirting oOoOooOOoo. thanks shiny for the guidance, and i hope you like it as much as i do :) characters by @lumosinlove!

They had won. He had had his second shutout of the season. A perfect way to pay back a new sponsor. Kasey had never cared much for sucking up to the guys in suits. He had a handful of lucrative endorsements— he didn’t have to do much besides wear certain brands for press and endorse a bunch of stuff like skates, equipment, and even hair products once in a while.

The teasing over the past few days had been near insufferable. And he still felt like kicking himself. But he’d been so frustrated and turned on and Nat knew. She knew what a single snap would do, knew he had to suffer through another two hours worth of presentations. He had tried to pay attention, he really had, but once he knew Kris was taking notes, his mind had drifted. Having his girlfriend live texting and snapping pictures of herself did not help. His phone had glitched at one point, and the texts had been sent off to the worst imaginable group of people. Even texting his mother by accident would have been better than his immature, prankster teammates.

He stomped down the hallway, following the excited chatter and buzzing of his team. He knew the press would be interviewing him, so he stayed in character, not even wincing when Pots threw an arm around his shoulders and cheered loudly before smacking a kiss to the helmet perched on the top of his head. He did, however, squeeze back when Leo wrapped an arm around him, part congratulating and part sympathetic, and he patted his rookie mentee on the back in response.

Coach began his victory speech as he slowly and methodically padded down, unlacing his skates and disregarding the increasing volume that arose on the back of a win. He ignored the pointed whispers of the boys next to him— Kuny and Nado were always up to something, and he wasn’t going to rise to their bait. Not this time.

Dumo got his attention as he sat down heavily next to him, between him and his Russian stall neighbour, wrapping a sweaty arm around his shoulder and waxing poetic about his saves. He rolled his eyes, but immediately re-schooled his face as the media swarmed through the doors. They descended upon him and Cap, and he politely answered questions with pre-studied replies and polite smiles. There was a commotion and some wolf whistles and whooping, but he resolutely ignored it and continued speaking to the reporter.

“No, I’m always preparing differently, each game is new and you can never truly rely—” He stopped short, feeling his cheeks flame; even his many years of psychological training and optimisation had not prepared him for the sight of his six foot teammate dressed up in fishnet tights, some sort of leather bodice and his tattoos on full display. Their teammates were whooping and guffawing, and when Nado caught his eye, he winked exaggeratedly and blew a kiss.

“What the bloody fuck,” Kasey whispered, his jaw dropped and his face bright red.

Nado casually sauntered over to him, falling into Kuny’s stall with frankly too much grace for someone in five inch stilettos. He draped himself against Kasey’s side, and Kasey blinked, leaning back.

“Hey, handsome,” Nado smirked, curling a lock of Kasey’s long brown hair around his finger. He leaned closer, his breath tickling Kasey’s cheek. “I bet my stick would feel great in your crease, don’t you agree, sweetie?”

Bewildered, Kasey’s gaze snapped to the rest of the locker room, purposefully avoiding looking into the cameras. God, he bet the media was having a field day with this… whatever this was. All around him, his teammates and some of their partners who had come down to congratulate them on their win were bent double with laughter, with Pots right at the front gleefully recording the whole spectacle, presumably for Nat, who had not been able to make it due to a gig on the other end of the city.

Nado hooked his legs over Kasey’s on the bench, throwing his arms around him as he seductively trailed a finger down his cheek. “Or, if that’s not your cup of tea, I’m happy to let you cover my crease any time. We can work on our power plays together.”

Someone roared with laughter, and Kasey pushed Nado, who was practically seated on his lap now, off of him. The heavily tattooed man pouted, his big blue eyes glistening like the ocean on a clear summer’s day.

“Aww, c’mon babe, don’t I look hot in leather? The boys seem to think so, and something tells me that you do too,” He smiled sweetly, and Kasey scowled at the others. Tremzy looked like he had just scored his first goal in the league, and Harzy had an arm slung around him, grinning smugly. He met Leo’s eye, and he gave him an apologetic smile and half nod, but his eyes were glittering with amusement.

“I—” Kasey had to stop himself from cussing in front of the media, and he groaned instead, running his hands through his frazzled hair.

“Err, sorry,” The reporter— not Skeeter, this time— cut in, evidently entertained but also very confused. She turned to Nado, seeing as Kasey had buried his face in his hands, muttering under his breath. “Jackson, help me to understand the situation here. Is this some sort of new game ritual you have, or are we missing something?”

Nado smiled lazily, leaning back against the stall divider beside him and combing his fingers through his floppy brown fringe. “Ask Kuny, he’s boss.”

Realising what Nado had done, Kuny spluttered, glaring warningly back at Nado, but he simply shrugged and began to rub Kasey’s back sensually.

Kasey jumped, and he quickly whispered to Nado as the reporter headed over to a very harassed looking Kuny, the cameras trailing behind her.

“Nado, what on earth? What are you guys playing at?”

“Sorry man, I had to. ‘s my punishment for that whole… thing with Kuny’s cousin. He made me do it,” Nado grimaced for a second, then shrugged, batting his eyelashes. He looked down at himself, cocking his head and nodding in approval at the tight leather bodice around his torso. “Gotta admit I look smashing though, I might just have to get a picture of this for the gram.”

Kasey sighed, and looked over at Kuny, who was surrounded by the media and the rest of the team, in their various states of undress.

“Nado been bad. I punish him,” He replied curtly, not wanting to speak more than he had to. Talker snorted, and Sergei and Dumo both barked out a laugh which they covered up with a cough.

The reporter’s eyebrows flew up beneath her bangs. “Oooookay, seems like there’s been lots of, uh, love going around today,” She turned back to the cameras, which swung back round to face her, and she began wrapping up her interview.

Kuny awkwardly slid away, approaching Nado and Kasey as the press made their exit. He thwacked Nado upside the head, and he yelped.

“Fuck you. You— You buttface,” Kuny growled menacingly, but everyone around them burst into another round of laughter.

Timmers wheezed, and he slapped Kuny hard on the back. “Fuck Kuny, you’re a real special one, you know that?”

“What?” He glared. “I cuss at Nado, why you laugh?”

“Nothing,” Timmers shook his head, his hazel eyes bright and shining with mirth. “Nothing, Kuny. You’re good. Stay like this forever, please.”

Pots, who was still recording, whipped the camera around to face Kasey and Nado, still seated on the bench, Kasey having forgotten about removing his gear when the press had come in. Nado instantly threw himself back onto Kasey’s lap, flicking his fringe dramatically and smiling at the camera.

“Say, Nado, why do I have a feeling you’ve got more to offer than what you’ve given us already?” Pots grins, zooming in to Nado’s wink.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask!” He lifted the back of his hand to his forehead theatrically, his voice a high pitched whine. He didn’t even break character, Kasey had to give him that, but before he had the chance to push Nado off him again, the other boy had cupped both his cheeks in his large hands and brought their faces close together.

“You know, I think the ref should’ve given you two minutes in the box earlier,” Nado simpered, waggling his eyebrows at Kasey, who decided to fix his gaze on the long scar running across his teammate’s face rather than look into his eyes. “Because baby, you’ve got me hooked onto you.”

Kasey’s eyes flew up to meet Nado’s in a frown. “I— That wasn’t— What?”

Tremzy gasped loudly. “Blizzard, are you… blushing? From that pick up line?”

“What? No I’m not,” Kasey tried to defend himself indignantly, but Nado was grinning from ear to ear and even Loops, who had been silently watching all this while with a mysterious smile, snickered at that.

Nado turned so he was straddling Kasey, and his hands gripped onto the dividers on either side of them, effectively caging Kasey in his stall. With nowhere else to look at, Kasey dared to roam his eyes over Nado, from his chin-length brown hair falling into a curtain around his face, to his confident smirk, down to his bare unshaved chest, still glistening with sweat from the match earlier and the stifling heat in the locker room.

Up close, he could see the details on his tight leather corset, the three heavy straps in the front and the tight shiny material stretched out at the crotch, giving Kasey an impressive but probably very inappropriate view of Nado’s groin. He flushed even more as he realised Nado’s bare ass, save for the fishnet stockings, was planted on his lap.

Speaking of the fishnet… Fuck.

Nado had actually shaved his legs for this. What the hell. His long legs were spread wide open and his muscular thighs were pressed against his own, and those stilettos... His stall suddenly seemed very warm, and Kasey leaned back against the wall behind him, his head thunking against the wood loudly.

“Oh, Kasey,” He pinched Kasey’s flaming cheek with one hand, and he swatted it away, huffing in embarrassment. “Seems like the fishnet and leather are indeed to your liking, eh?”

“Fuck off,” He muttered in response, crossing his arms and turning to the side.

“Oh, but don’t you just love the way the fishnet feels against your legs?” Nado purred into his ear. “Just imagine, darling, what these legs will feel like, wrapped around your—”

Kasey stood up suddenly, his hands sliding under Nado’s ass and lifting him up. Nado shrieked and clutched onto Kasey’s broad shoulders tightly as he turned around, slamming him up against the empty wall beside his stall. He leaned in close enough so their noses were almost touching, his light brown eyes blazing, a stark contrast from his usual calm and collected front. “Yeah, Nado? You wanna go? Why imagine? I’m not afraid of spearing you. Think you can handle me, hmmm?”

He raised a brow, and Nado’s eyes widened in shock. He heard a mixture of gasps, chokes and laughter from behind him, and his lips curled up in a victorious smirk. He stepped back from the wall, walking them over to Kuny, who was seated by his stall. Kasey let go of Nado, dropping him into his roommate’s lap, and nonchalantly turned back to his stall to continue undressing. As he tugged off his leg pads and skates, he called over his shoulder to Kuny.

“Take your work wife home, won’t you, Russian God? He’s got a timeout.”

With that, he peeled off his jersey and the rest of his gear, and headed to the gym to cool down, leaving the rest of the team in chaos.

On the way out, he passed by Kuny patting Nado on the head comfortingly and telling him, “Hehe, not be bad anymore. I’m win.”

He was sure he heard Nado respond with a “Fuck, I think I need a cold shower. Now.”

#Sweater Weather #sweaterweatherchats #lumosinlove #sweaterweatherchatsnr5

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matildaofoz · 3 years

Text

The Invisible Itch Pt. 2 (Demon!Michael x Reader)

Summary: Michael introduces himself after last night and you find yourself on the short end of the proverbial stick by your own doing, no less. Demons don't play nice and Michael puts you firmly into place.

A/N: This is a little interlude to the next part of this series, no smut just yet I'm afraid but plenty of dominant Demon!Michael. He's so much fun to write and the back-and-forth between him and the reader are some of my favourites.

Warnings: Cursing, Power-Play, minor violence and hurt (reader-receiving), mentions of smut

Word Count: 2.4k

Tag List: @prophecy-is-inevitable @jimmlangdon @drasangel @leatherduncan @sexwon131 @rocketgirl2410 @9layerdevilfoodcake @vulgarprayer @michaellangdonstanaccount @michaellandgons-sunshine @iwillboilyourteeth @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul, @kitty4860

After you'd awoken the night after an encounter you couldn't begin to make sense of, you had quite literally grabbed whatever your hands could reach out the wardrobe and sprinted out the door, not daring to even enter the bathroom. You felt whatever, whoever had introduced himself the night before lingering in the place you called your home and that knot in your stomach wound tighter as the day went on. You were going insane. Surely, for the truth of the matter meant that there were forces in this world - and apparently in your apartment - that you couldn't fathom.

You needed answers and so you began to scour the Internet, not caring if your work search history took a weird turn. You still felt his fingers between your legs, his teeth on your shoulder and his grip on your hip. God, the way he had pleasured you was unlike anything you'd ever felt. You tried to shake the lustful thoughts flitting through your mind, the image of him standing before you burned into your retinas.

Demon. That word kept popping up on the websites and subreddits you found and you swore you felt those strong hands on you again as you read page after page of first person accounts with the supernatural. The more you read, the more you became alarmed, mentions of people having unwittingly sold their soul to the devil himself despite not believing in these kinds of things. If this was any other time, you would have scoffed at the idiotic posts. And yet here you were, baring the bruises of something you couldn't explain. The work day drew to a close far too soon, the day feeling like you spent it in a daze, a thick fog hanging over your mind, visions of him clouding your senses. Maybe you had sold your soul, given it to that man, that demon. That would explain the haze you walked through, that ache between your legs.

"Hey (Y/N), you alright? Anything going on, you didn't seem right today," Cindy from accounting said as you both stepped into the elevator.

"Hm? Oh yeah sorry, I'm just tired I think ," you replied with a little embarrassed smile several seconds after she had turned to address you as the doors slid shut. She mustered you, taking in the slight dark circles under your eyes, apparent because you hadn't even bothered to put on any make up. You forced a smile, not feeling up to any small talk.

"Heard Kevin's been bragging about you two going down to his lake house this weekend. Please tell me that's not true, " she continued and you were glad she didn't mention your appreance.

"He did what?!" you shrieked, now suddenly rattled into the present by her statement.

"Thought as much," Cindy replied, a small chuckle on her lips. You two didn't get to speak often but she was one of the few people in the office who showed her disdain for your manager and his creepy ways openly.

"This is turning out to be an even worse day than it already is," you groaned, making Cindy snicker beside you.

"Just be careful, I know he's all bark and no bite but you wouldn't want to get yourself in any situation," she said, patting you lightly on the shoulder as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the underground parking lot.

"Yeah, definitely won't do that. Thanks for the heads up," you called after her as she stepped out to head to her car, waving at you without turning around. You liked Cindy and her no-nonsense attitude. Too bad you were already in a situation of the supernatural kind. You'd kick Kevin's balls any day if he tried anything. The demon in your flat however was an entirely different beast to tame. If that was even a possibility.

You sat in your car outside your apartment building for a good 10 minutes, looking up at the dark windows, debating on whether or not you wanted to spend the night there. What had gotten into you, a tiny voice in the back of your mind berated you. You weren't scared of horror movies or graveyards, you laughed your way though haunted houses you and your friends went to on Halloween and yet the thought of stepping foot into your safe space suddenly filled you with dread. You could explain all those things away by good editing, special effects and makeup. A real-life demon on the other hand...With a huff you swung open the car door and stepped out into the chilly movember air and headed for the entrance. As you passed under the streetlights, you swore you could feel those eyes of his on you, watching from above.

The lock clicked, unlatching the door. You entered, expecting to come face to face with him and yet you were greeted by silence. You ventured into the kitchen, switching on the lights, back rigged. Empty. Next you headed for the bathroom. It looked as if you'd never even took a bath last night, no wine bottle, no glass on the floor, no water puddles on the ground. Slowly but surely you were beginning to think that you'd had a very vivid dream, one that would definetely warranted a visit to your pyschologist, and somehow managed to bump your hip and scratch your shoulder. It made no sense. You knew you were being watched as you stepped out the car. God, maybe you were finally at your breaking point, brought around by nothing in particular, you just simply snapped.

You ventured into your bedroom to change out of your clothes. The note...was gone. You swore you'd left in laying on your covers. After several minutes of franticall searching under the covers and around the bed, you gave up. Maybe your breakup was fianlly catching up with you in an unusual way or maybe it was the loneliness. Whatever it was, all that remained of last night were the bruises. You changed into an oversized t-shirt and some cotton shorts, examining the blueish imprints on your hips. Perhaps you had gotten so drunk last night that you'd simply not remembered hitting your hip and this morning, still drunk your brain had conjured up the note just as it has the demon that fucked you raw in the bathtub last night.

Having let your guard down at finding nothing out of the ordinary, you padded into the living room, your phone in hand that was currently reinstalling tinder. Might as well get back in the game if I'm dreaming up hot demon bathtub sex, you thought to yourself.

You switched on the light, revealing the demon from last night perched lazily on the sofa, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" you screamed, dropping your phone. So much for not being scared.

"Good evening to you too, (Y/N)" he chuckled, taking in your frightened expression, those pretty (Y/E/C) eyes of yours ripped wide open.

"What are YOU doing here?" you hissed, trying to calm your heart that was currently in overdrive. He wasn't real, he wasn't supposed to be real.

"What do you mean what am I doing here. Didn't we assess last night that this is my domain? I should be asking you that question, Angel," he retorted, that grin of his widening into a dashing smile, his awsner punctuated by a wink that shouldn't have the effect it had on you.

"S-so this, last night, this was all real?" you whispered with your hands gesturing around you, disbelief in your voice and realisation flitting over your face.

"Oh it was real. A demon fucking that sweet little cunt of yours. Very real and very enjoyable I might add," he rumbled, hia brazen words making your cheeks flush. You stood in the door flabbergasted.

"I'm Michael by the way. I didn't get to introduce myself properly last night since you passed out. Not to worry, I take it as a compliment of my expertise," he winked once more.

You watched him as he revealed why you couldn't remember getting out the tub or falling asleep. So he was a demon. A spawn of satan. Your mind went back to all the things you'd read earlier about his kind, that knot in your stomach suddenly coiling in on itself.

"Did I sell my soul to you last night?!" The words spilled over your lips, your (Y/E/C) gaze shooting daggers at the demon who looked more bemused by the second, taking in your flustered appearance. He hadn't expected you to be so straightforward.

"No, you'd know if you did," he smirked, tapping his chin, a cocky smile on his lips as he watched you deflate slightly. You didn't dare breathe a sigh of relief yet.

"This is like if you're a cop, you have to tell me. You can't lie, you can twist the truth but you can't outright lie," you responded, not satisfied by his half answer.

"Oh, we've been hitting the books at work today? Smart girl," he chuckled. You hadn't done nearly enough research to know the pile of proverbial shit you had landed in unknowingly, but you had done enough between work meetings and over your lunch break to know that a demon was bound by whatever force held them to this plane that made it impossible for them to lie if called upon directly. Your hands clenched by your sides, waiting for his reply. He groaned at your resoluteness. You were a lot smarter than you knew and he was growing impatient with the incessant line of questioning. Usually it was him with one hand on the lever.

"Sweet (Y/N)," he inhaled deeply. "You didn't sell your soul to me last night. It's still firmly sat behind your ribcage, all yours. I'd swear on my heart if I had one. I do have integrity, you know. Are you satisfied now?" He sneered, watching your face as he waited for your reply, one eyebrow cocked expectantly, a hint of offense on his features. You sighed in relief at his statement.

"Thank God," you breathed. At least some of what you'd found on various internet sites and reddit threads seemed to be true. At the name, Michael's eyes darkened and he stood up to his full height from the sofa. Your spine straightened as he approached you, his demeanour growing even sourer.

"Don't mention him in my presence," he rumbled, coming to stand before you, the tips of his pristine parent leather boots touching your bare toes. Had he approached you like this when you had entered your apartment, you would've shrunk back but your little research endeavours had struck a hint of Gold, a fact that had emboldened you as much as his admission that he infact a demon. You wanted to try and see what else you could use against him. Resolute, you stood your ground, neck slightly tilted back to meet his gaze. He may have scared you just now but you were not one to back down, for better or worse.

"God," you uttered again, watching his eyes grow dark, an inky blackness swallowing his blue irises.

Michael tilted his head to one side, those shadows starting to creep up behind him like they had last night. A silent warning.

"Jesus Christ," you continued to test him.

"(Y/N)..." his voice rumbled low out his chest, and the depth of it sent shivers down your spine.

"In the name of the father, the son and the hol-" His right arm shot up and he grabbed you by the throat roughly, cutting off your breath before you could finish the sentence. In the blink of an eye you were pressed between the wall, Michael's hand around your throat pinning you in place.

"Shut your fucking mouth or I'll do it for you," he hissed, his body pressed firmly over yours, his black gaze burning into you, and a searing pain exploded behind them. You screamed in terror and anguish as it felt like he was burning your eyes out their sockets.

"FUCK, I'M SORRY, I'LL STOP, PLEASE!" you cried, your vision going blurry from pain and tears that had begun to spill out the corners. At your cries, Michael's hand loosened the grip around your neck and stepped back. You slid down the wall at the loss of his body holding you up, gulping in air, fingers gingerly touching the skin around your eyes, afraid they would come up bloody. Unbothered, Michael watched as you regained control over your breathing, mustering you with a hint of disdain. He crouched down before you, making you press yourself against the wall in an effort to keep the distance between you.

"Don't ever think you're smarter than me, little one. Test me again and you'll see. I dare you," he chuckled, one hand catching your quivering chin in his hold to assess the damage he'd done. Only several small burst blood vessels bloomed in the whites of your eyes. Nothing permanent and yet enough to remind you that you were in his domain, abiding by his rules.

"Now that we've established who's in charge once again, why dont you tell me about your day? I took the liberty of getting some wine," he said, any trace of anger or demonic demeanour wiped from his chiseled features, that small smile playing on the corners of his lips again. He was psychotic or just simply demonic, that little voice in th back of your head whispered while you watched him, the back of your head and shoulders pressed into the wall.

He offered you his hand to help you off the floor, as if the last minutes had never taken place. You debated whether or not to refuse but seeing as how you were on the much shorter end of the stick firmly in his grasp, you took his hand and were hoisted up to your feet by Michael. You recoiled from his grasp as soon as you were steady on your feet, eyeing him warily. Alcohol sounded like a good idea even though you wanted to keep your wits about you around him. There was no doubt in your mind now about who it was you were dealing with and this was far worse than you'd anticipated and yet it didn't seem like you had much choice. Your lease wouldn't run out for another 6 months and there was no way you'd go back to your best friend's couch.

“Why the hell not,” you muttered, earning yourself a gleeful grin from the handsome devil before you.

“I knew you'd come around, Angel,” he grinned, those hooded icy blue eyes glinting.

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #michael langdon #demon!michael #ahs apocalypse

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incarnateirony · 4 years

Note

after jared has now confirmed on that podcast that the last scene of the show will just be sam + dean, i hope everyone can stop speculating about cas being there. he is not. (that of course doesnt mean hes not in the ep at all)

For those who WANT to actually listen, you can see it here (https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/jared-padalecki-returns/id1256754097)

While I intend to talk on this statement left by the Nonnie there's a few other things to talk about. For those specifically interested in THIS QUOTE, it’s part “Ten” in my notes.

Before I go on, lemme say, I keep saying Misha *isn’t* in the final *shot.* I can also say *ten thousand times* that “the final shot” is NOT THE SAME THING AS THE “FINAL SCENE.” I don’t know how many times I have to beat this into people’s heads. The “Final scene” may not even BE the final shot because for all you know, the last final scene is something like around scene 50 and the last 10 shots are some Swan Song montage with a dialogue. Scenes are also composed of *multiple shots* on the regular, and *very rarely* shot in order. So actually, it depends on what you even consider a ~scene~ but a shot and a scene are not the same thing. No matter how many times people choose to misunderstand this, this will continue to be true.

As it is, the board already going up to 47 was high. Not unheard of, but high. I absolutely do not think anybody should be surprised if that’s actually closer to the last 5 minutes of the episode and the next 10+ shots are literal full blown montage. Because once again, and I can not emphasize this enough, they are not teleporting to a bridge at the end of the fucking show. I repeat, they are not, in the last 20-40 seconds, teleporting to a bridge at the end of the fucking show. And they weren’t on that location any other day.

But I also know this fandom takes anything that’s in shorthand and blows it up into the worst case extremization, so I’m actually going to address this and even tag @curioussubjects and @winchestersingerautorepair and point out that Jared talks about “the last time Sam and Dean see each other” -- so enjoy that. See you on the other side, brother.

Okay so first, as a general note related to everything, that particular podcast is a mess. There is literally 17 minutes of nothing related to Jared at the start. It's a mix of sadness about how he knew a relative was dying, sadness, people's sad facebook messages which I get, losing someone is sad--but then a bunch of nonsense about ads and swag and sponsors. Like to anyone preparing to actually listen, you can skip to about 17 minutes in.

One: Confirmed they started quarantining (J2 at least) on Aug 2. 14 days gave them a few days before filming. But they refused to break quarantine even to walk the dogs to not reset the quarantine period. (This is one of the first things they talk about after the barrage of ads and other things)

Two: Jared has some great insight on how and why to let a dog go. He jumped it a little sooner than I would I think, but he talks about knowing when they're in pain or suffering. He gave assistance to her bad hips and other things through late life but saw when the spark left her and she wanted to go. Someone will probably try to problematize this but as someone that witnessed someone refusing to put down their dog while she spent half of her day having seizures and shitting herself, huffing, being terrified and unable to move, that was impressive. (This starts somewhere around 22 and goes to about 31:30, it's about a ten minute segment.)

Three: after this they actually go into the show, it also lets us know that the podcast is *recorded early on in filming*. It's talking about the first few days he left for filming. This wasn't just-now recorded. This is a few weeks old, like most Inside of You podcasts are.

Four: Jared ignores social media a lot, he confirms.

Five: He goes on having to talk about saying goodbye to a 15 year friend, never having gone more than 5 months without playing Sam, the process of being in the moment. It boils down to staying distanced from social media and your phone to be in the internet, which can actually add to feeling alone. (This may not be true for everyone, but I can definitely see why it feels so for Jared--he admits it's somewhat escapism.) Rosenbaum debates what counts as connection, but Rosenbaum also doesn't deal with a bajillion shitty comments from all his fandom lanes. He uses the podcast as an example, which is entirely different than Jared talking about ignoring twitter or instagram.

(Commercial break at 39 for a counseling/therapy service, runs to about 41 then one for a toothbrush rofl goes to about 43:15, so basically a 4 minute commercial break)

Six: Jared talks about his clinical anxiety impact on the final shooting and everything and why it was so important to have his dog with him during quarantine. He started terrified about it but got 4-5 days in and realized it was great. The wife and kids even considered going with him but he said it was okay and declined. After 45 he goes on complimenting his wife and the work she does at home.

Seven: He goes back to March 12 being the last day of filming back before covid and everyone had to run home on Friday the 13th of March LOL. So Supernatural got cursed on Friday the 13th. Rolling back to everything Gen has to do with the kids and the routine, goes back to talking about her. Talks about being the New Toy from dad being home so much. But then back to August first day of shot as an outdoor shoot. How early it was. So 21pt1 was an outdoor shoot. They continue to go on and on about how hard having kids is, if rewarding, until after 50 minutes. This converts into a conversation with his psychiatrist about his kids, his mom's birthday during social distancing, and all kinds of other commentary. Difference of psychologist vs psychiatrist. Loves sugar cuz he couldn't have it as a kid, etc.

Eight: This bit carries them all the way out past the hour mark. Just before the hour is where the "pain" section from the promo comes from. It turns into mortality and fear of death. Turns into stuff like natural childbirth. So from an hour to 1:03:00 it goes on, then it turns into another ad break that goes to about 1:07:15

Nine: How emotional the ending is, reading the script every day, remembering places start after the 1:07:15 commercial end. First week they shot up the old highway for example. Jared saying goodbye to locations he knows. Very bittersweet. There are no pickup shots because of covid.

Ten: The final scheduled moment, what you're talking about, and Jared tried very very VERY difficultly. (1:08:30 or so) -- he struggles and says "The last time Sam and Dean see each other is the last time Jared and Jensen see each other, if that makes any sense." He refused to say what the last scene was. It will be the last filming camera moments together. Which unto itself uh, hi, yes, welcome to every speculation I ever had, see you on the other side brother. Because it's the last time they see each other.

Eleven: After a bit about being emotional, they talk about Jared’s arrest, the trolling about orange jumpsuits from the crew, and asking what happened. Jared doesn’t even entirely know what happened, says it’s not an excuse, but the cliff’s notes are he was filming in Van, then he flew to Austin, he had a double date with Gen and two friends, he went to his friend’s bar (we alllll know Stereotype), they split some wine, a cocktail, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, bachelorette parties and show fans bought him drinks, he doesn’t know what even happened, he thinks he was blacked out, got pulled down by his hair and thought he was in a fight. He hasn’t had a drink since, he was like absolutely fucking nope. He literally wonders if he was drugged in the drinks he took from other people, but either way, he’s completely stopped drinking. It goes into them settling and actually the people thinking he was drugged, which is why the legal followthrough was light. This goes out to almost 1:20:00.

Twelve: Around then he goes on about Walker’s pickup period, how and when shooting normally works, and it’s all kinda in the air because of Walker, shortseasons because of covid etc.

Final question blast:

Supernatural movie?: Jared hopes so

Channel chuck norris?: Make Walker his own, has nothing to do with Chuck’s walker even if he grew up watching it in texas, new character, new story, new era.

Paranormal experiences of his own?: He has seen some things, experienced some things he can’t explain, but as far as specifically, “definitively no but possibly yes.”

Talked with Chuck Norris at all?: Not talked to him directly, their “people” have talked, had to give his blessing though because Chuck Norris co-owned the rights. Part of the EP group and ownership.

If you had a chance, what superhero would you play: He’s heard Nighthawk from fans, he kinda sits there quietly thinking and has a hard time. Screentested for the Superman McG movie in 2004 but didn’t get it.

The car wasn’t in either of their contracts. Jared actually goes on that despite images Jared’s actually the car guy more than Jensen. It wasn’t in either of their contracts but they kinda just knew it was gonna happen. He goes on about his favorite cars, his car books and parts books since he was a kid, etc.

-----------

Following through on this, I HAVE to keep saying. 47/A47 is, I would bet 5 dollars on it right here and anyone that wants to bet against it can leave a comment in the notes so I know who owes who money, Sam and Dean having their final talk already post major resolutions with a few more ends to tie up, saying their pre-goodbyes, and shot 60 is Sam and Dean’s final shot of going separate ways, with Sam on one side and Dean on the other.

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fanfictionaries · 4 years

Note

Giiiiirl, I am CRAVING some baking with Bucky. Like some good old recipe from his mom or sisters, eating half the batter, being all innocent and goofy. Maybe Reader introducing him to the world of cupcakes with a second batch of batter they make. Just a sweeeet baking day ❤️

I made myself happy sad with this one. XD

Might be a little more angsty than you were looking for, but all the sweet fluff is there as well!

Inspired by my own great great grandmother’s recipe.

Orange Rolls

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Words: 3k

Warnings: None, just the fluffiest fluff you can imagine; slight angst.

Author’s Note: I loved doing this, so please people. Send me more requests! ALSO this is an actual family recipe of mine. I recommend trying it!

I recommend listening to this song while reading this: https://open.spotify.com/track/7pR7yPgbYcipmTUHT5g68p?si=nQZeCOmoTcm43qOI1YRPNA

***

Step 1. Dissolve 2 yeast cakes in ¼ cup warm water.

The room was alight in the glow of soft warm sun. Nestled in your blankets, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and yawned widely, stretching and turning to snuggle into the familiar warmth of Bucky. Firm muscle, soft skin, ticklish arm hair – all missing. Instead only cool sheets, drawn back on his side of the bed. You didn’t have to check the time to know it was early, but you rolled over to the bedside table to check your phone anyways. Five AM. Much too early to be up on a Sunday morning, even for your early bird of a super soldier. Rolling onto your back, you stayed quiet, attempting to hear any signs of life in the small apartment. Perhaps he’d only gotten up to use the bathroom. The sound of heavy items falling and a string of curses coming from the kitchen brushed away the thought. Jumping out of bed, you pulled one of Bucky’s large sweatshirts over your head and stepped into your slippers.

When you rounded the corner, the first thing you noticed was the expanse of your pantry laid out onto the floor. The second thing you noticed was Bucky, sat cross-legged in the middle of the array of flours, sugars, and spices, head in his hands. You knew this look. This crumpled, defeated look that so few had the privilege to witness. Everyone saw the stoic, cold Winter Soldier. So little saw Bucky Barnes, a kid from Brooklyn. Tiptoeing around the spilled bags of sugar, flour, and sprinkles, you stood beside him, leaning over and placing a gentle hand to his back, rubbing soft, slow circles.

“Nightmares?” you asked, moving your hand up to thread through his freshly cropped hair, scraping your fingernails against his scalp. Bucky tilted his head back, leaning into your touch like a cat leaving its scent. You could see the telltale signs; red rimmed eyes, pink tipped nose, raw bitten lips.

“No, no nightmares. I uh…I had a dream about my mom,” Bucky answered, the end of his sentence biting off in a short, harsh laugh. You held your breath. It flattered you that Bucky felt comfortable enough with you to share the gory, ugly details of his past – the things that kept him up at night. The things he thought you couldn’t love him for. But never had he talked about his family. The only memories of his past life you ever heard were the ones Steve brought up, the rowdy stories of two young men up to no good in 40’s Brooklyn. Yet on his own, Bucky remained silent about his life before the war. You never pushed him. It would be cruel of you to press a subject that was most likely too painful for him to think about. Now, the waver in his voice and the tears that welled in his eyes told you that that assumption had been correct.

“I was sittin’ in my old kitchen and uh—” he sniffed, taking a moment to clear his throat “—it was Easter. I know it was Easter ‘cause ma made orange rolls. She only ever made them on Easter. And it—it was the best damn orange roll I’ve ever had. I woke up and I remembered Steve brought over some boxes of my family’s old things, stuff Rebecca left behind I guess, and I found this.”

In his hand he held an aged recipe card, stained from years of use. The yellowed card stock was bent and torn, but the writing still held clear, thick and messy in some places as if it had been traced over multiple times. It was well used. Well loved. At the top, clearly labeled in large looped font, were the words ‘Orange Rolls’.

“I couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth. I figured I’d try to make them, but I wasn’t much for the kitchen back then, let alone now. And—and you don’t have any yeast cakes. I can’t make them without yeast cakes (Y/N). It’s the first ingredient and I can’t—” The words broke off, catching in the back of his throat. He wrapped his arms around your legs, clinging to them like a broken child. Rolling off of him in waves, the permeating sadness and longing washed over you, breaking your heart with each hit.

“I don’t think they make yeast cakes anymore Bucky—” you spoke slowly, choosing your words carefully. At the statement, you felt his arms tighten in a panic. You were quick to placate him “—but I have some dry active yeast that I think should work. Why don’t we clean this up and then see what we can do, yea?”

Step 2. Warm 1 cup milk, add ½ cup sugar, 3 Tbsp shortening, 2 tsp salt.

Turns out, a single yeast cake is equal to approximately 4 and ½ tsps of dry active yeast. After this joyous announcement and your internal praise to Google’s ever living library of knowledge, Bucky was up on his feet, standing in front of the stove over a saucepan of milk.

“How do you know when it’s warm?” he asked, looking curiously down at the pan of milk in front of him.

“Stick your finger in it, if it feels warm, then it’s probably warm,” you answered sarcastically, reaching into the depths of your pantry for the Crisco. A rarely used, but very important staple for any kitchen.

“What? I’m not sticking my finger in it,” said Bucky, watching with rapt horror as you walked up beside him and dipped the tip of your pointer finger into the warm, white liquid.

“I think it’s warm enough to put the sugar in. What?” you asked him when you saw the look of exasperation on your boyfriend’s face.

“You put your finger in the milk.”

“And? My hands are clean. You watched me wash them. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of catching cooties. Cause I hate to break it to you but, you probably already have them.” Lifting on your toes, you placed a sweet, soft kiss to his lips. Catching you around the waist before you could drop back down, Bucky kissed you back with slow purpose.

“Is that right?” he asked teasingly, breaking away from your lips ever so slightly.

“Afraid so,” you murmured against the soft, heat of his mouth.

Step 3. Beat in 3 eggs, 2 cups flour, and add dissolved yeast. Let rise for 1 hour.

The wet dough sat on the counter; a kitchen towel draped lightly over it. By this time, the sun had fully crested over the city skyline, pouring blinding light into the small space of your kitchen. The two of you sat at the kitchen island, sipping your coffee as you waited for the dough to rise. Your bare feet sat, propped in Bucky’s lap, the thumb of his metal hand absentmindedly rubbing the arch of your right foot as he spoke animatedly.

“You should have seen her. Becca was so mad; I thought her head was going to spin all the way around!” laughed Bucky, the creases at the corners of his eyes making a warm and welcome appearance as he regaled a story that you had never heard before.

“Well that’s what she got for touching your stuff,” you said, taking Bucky’s side in the long forgotten sibling argument.

“Thank you! See, you get it. I wish I could say the same for my parents. My pa gave me such a lickin’ and then ma sent me off to bed with no dinner. All for putting worms in her bed!”

“Did she get in trouble for letting your pet frog loose?” you asked, enraptured by the story.

“No! Do you know how hard it was to find a frog in Brooklyn?”

“Impossible. I don’t even know how you did it.”

“Well, really it was Steve that found him—”

“Him? Did he have a name?” you interrupted him with a cheeky smile.

Bucky scratched the back of his head, a light pinkness appearing on his cheeks, “He might of…”

“Aaaand?” you pressed, wanting to know the name even more at the prospect of it being embarrassing.

“I don’t know if I wanna’ tell you. I think you’re just gonna laugh.”

“I won’t! I promise!” you exclaimed, drawing an invisible cross over you heart.

Bucky looked at you skeptically, a raised eye trained on you before answering, “Fine. It was Mr. Ribbits.”

You tried your hardest, really you did. But a snort escaped your nose before you could stop it and then Bucky was playfully pushing your legs off of his lap and turning away from you, “See! I knew you’d laugh. You’re such a bad liar!”

“I’m sorry!” You reached for him, still attempting to stifle your giggles as you pulled at Bucky’s arm, turning him back towards you. “Really, I am. I think Mr. Ribbits is a respectable name.”

“Thank you. It is.” His tone was resolute, but it didn’t take a trained eye to spot the small smile working its way onto the corner of his lips. “But no, Becca didn’t get in trouble. In fact, my pa said I was too old to be picking up animals off the street anyways.”

“How old were you?”

“I think I was about ten.”

Step 4. Add 3 cups flour and beat in with spoon. Let raise 1 and ½ hours.

“We have to wait again?!”

“Yea, we have to let the dough rise, otherwise the rolls will be tough and there won’t be enough to roll out,” you explained, placing the towel over the bowl once again and reaching for your empty coffee cups.

“But I thought we just did that,” said Bucky in confusion. You tried not to smile at him, but the cute little scrunch of his eyebrows made you a weak and gooey fool.

“Baking is more of an art in patience than skill. Especially any kind of bread, babe. Don’t worry, once they’re done, they’ll be more than worth the wait,” you reassured him, patting his cheek gently.

“Well…can we make something else while we wait? What’s your favorite thing to bake?” Bucky asked, his innocent tone making him sound like a wide-eyed child.

You smiled, big and happy, and walked over to the recipe box that sat atop the fridge. Taking it down and setting in on the counter in front of you, you dug into the baking section and produced a handful of recipe cards.

“Take your pick soldier.”

Step 5. Roll out dough and spread on icing – 2 cups sugar, 1 orange: rind grated and juiced, 6 Tbsp melted butter. Roll, cut, and place in muffin tin. Cover and let raise 20 mins.

“Stop eating all the batter!” you scolded, whacking the back of Bucky’s hand with a spatula. The impact had no effect, the sneaking man having had the forethought to use his metal hand.

“If I wasn’t supposed to eat it this way, then why is it so delicious?” he argued, sneaking another finger into the chocolate concoction and bringing it to his mouth.

“Because it’s five pounds of sugar and fat,” you laughed, grabbing hold of his wrist and bringing the chocolate covered finger to your mouth instead. “Also – how is it gross for me to dip my finger into the milk but you can have these grubby little paws buried deep in my brownie batter?”

The question caught Bucky off guard. Raising his hand up, he wiggled the vibranium fingers in your face, “Metal arm – they’re, uh, sterile.”

You guffawed, absolutely tickled by the lame response, “Sterile. Okay. Well, preheat the oven Mr. Sterile.”

Using the spatula, you scraped the double chocolate chip brownie batter into the greased pan. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and a head came to rest on your shoulder, watching you scrape the sides of the bowl. Nuzzling his face into your neck, he placed a gentle kiss just below your ear.

“You know, you’re getting pretty mouthy these days. I have half a mind to take you over my knee,” Bucky growled playfully.

Before your brain could connect with what your body was doing, the spatula had already lifted away from the bowl and made contact with the side of his face. The wet splat of batter to skin sounded plainly through the kitchen. Releasing you from his hold, Bucky stepped back, his expression vacant and shell-shocked. Dropping the spatula back into the bowl, you covered your face with your hands as you tried not to lose it. He looked positively ridiculous. Chocolate covered the left side of his face, dripping down from his brow bone to his chin. You watched as he brought a hand up slowly, touching his face and bringing it back down to examine it. He stared at the chocolate proof on his fingertips for a few moments as you waited with horrific anticipation.

“Oh, that’s it, doll. You better run.”

The menacing words sent your heart rate soaring. A playful shriek escaped your lungs as you bolted from the kitchen, Bucky on your heel with a growl in the back of his throat.

Step 6. Place in the oven at 375 for 10-15 minutes. Makes around 3 dozen.

The brownies, already baked and cooling on the counter, were long forgotten as Bucky sat in front of the oven. Arms wrapped around his bent legs, he watched as the orange rolls slowly rose in their muffin tins.

“When are they gonna be done?” he asked you, staring into the depths of the oven like a fortune teller stares into their crystal ball. Like if he looked hard enough, he’d find all the answers to the universe.

“About five more minutes.” You sat down beside him, leaning into his side as the two of you watched his long-forgotten memories rise. You were excited to try the rolls. It was a recipe you had never heard of, which was a rare thing. But most importantly you were excited to try a little piece of Bucky’s life. A piece of the man, the boy, that he used to be before life happened. It felt special and intimate.

“What if they’re not as good as I remember?” The words were soft and honest. You could feel the same sadness and apprehension as earlier that morning drift from him to you. Leaning against him firmer, you took his hand into yours. Threading the warm flesh into your own, you continued to stare into the heat of the oven.

“They will be.”

Step 7. Enjoy.

The rolls were a beautiful sight. Small, golden brown swirls in a neat, compact shape. The sugar filling had melted down into the bottom of the pan, creating and thick and chewy caramel layer at the bottom of each one. A delicious detail that Bucky said was supposed to happen, but also made it incredibly difficult to pry them from their tins. Still, with the help of a butter knife and a lot of patience, the two of you were able to get most of them out unscathed. A buttery orange scent swirled through the air, causing your mouth to salivate as they sat atop of the wire cooling rack. The two of you sat at the kitchen island, staring at the rolls in silence – you with a look of anticipation, Bucky with a look of confusion.

“What is it?” you asked, wondering if he still doubted that they would hold up to his dream.

“I’m pretty sure they had frosting.”

While the recipe didn’t call for it, Bucky insisted that they always had a frosting on them. After a few minutes of questioning about what kind of frosting it was, or at least what it looked and tasted like, you came to the conclusion that it was most likely a simple glaze. A few minutes later, you each had a plate in front of you with a single, gooey, glistening orange roll sat pristinely on it.

You were starving. You’d been up for nearly five hours and you hadn’t eaten anything yet. But you didn’t dare dig in until Bucky had his first bite. Reaching out tentatively, he picked up the roll, twisting and turning it, inspecting it with a warry expression. Holding your breath, you watched as he brought the baked good to his lips and took a generous bite. He chewed, and chewed, and chewed – each second leaving you with more consternation than the last. When he finally swallowed, he set the rest of the roll down onto his plate and heaved a heavy sigh. Your heart dropped.

“No good?” you asked, fearing you already knew the answer from the way his shoulders bunched over the counter.

Looking to you, tears once again welling in his eyes, Bucky did something unexpected. He kissed you. A firm, chaste kiss that lasted only a moment but formed butterflies in your stomach before he pulled back.

“They’re even better than I remember.”

The proclamation sent your heart soaring. You let out the breath you’d been holding, feeling your own tears of relief and joy begin to well. Blinking them back, you smiled at him, blinded by the dazzling smile you received in turn.

“Well then, let’s eat them all because I am famished,” you replied, picking up your own orange roll and taking a giant bite. The mix of soft, warm bread, zesty orange, chewy caramel, and sweet frosting set your taste buds alight. As you chewed, you envisioned a ten year old Bucky sitting in his mother’s kitchen on Easter morning. Curly brown hair, all teeth and dimples in his Sunday best and as happy as a kid could be. Why?

Because this was the best damn orange roll you’d ever had.

Marvel Taglist:

@caffiend-queen

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

#requests #fan fiction #fanfic #fluff #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #memories #baking #angst

194 notes · View notes

marveloussupernerd · 3 years

Note

I really enjoyed the way you wrote that Jumin Han ANGST my friend and if you don't mind I would very much like to request more ANGSTTT but with Seven because he is the CEO of ANGST FOR NO REASON. Be as creative as you want with it, you're the author! I was thinking something like MC getting seriously hurt/shot?? by someone who's after Seven from his agency work, or something less *deadly* like MC drunk and cheating/kissing another RFA member. Either way, I know I'll love what you come up with!

Hi bb! Sorry you’ve been waiting for this for like WEEKS but I was NOT in an angst vibe LMAO. But after I’ve brainstormed I’m v excited to write this. If ppl don’t like angst / want to see a resolution maybe request a pt 2 ? 🥺

Bullet Wound - Seven

Warnings: violence (shooting), medical stuff (surgery, injury), argument, spoilers for Seven’s real name !!

Summary: Seven’s company was not very happy that he betrayed them. Neither of you has thought it was a problem anymore. You were wrong. Seven feels responsible for you getting hurt

You held his hand, swinging it as you walked. “I had a lot of fun today,” you told him, smiling as you glanced at him, then down at your entwined hands, his golden wedding band shining in the sunlight.

“Me too! I can’t believe you had never had fish-shaped buns before today,” he mentioned, feigning shock.

You laughed. “They were very good. But honestly, I hadn’t even heard of them until the RFA talked about them.”

He sighed. “Who would believe my wife was so boring before she met me?”

You used your shoulder to ram into his side slightly, pushing him off his path slightly. He simply laughed. “What do you wanna do when we get home?”

“Hmmm...” you thought aloud, “nap. Cuddle. I’m exhausted.”

“You shouldn’t have stayed up all night with me when I was doing my work,” he pouted.

You shrugged. “What can I say? I can’t sleep without my husband by my side.”

He stopped for a second, halting you with him and pulling your hand slightly to turn you towards him. He had that goofy, fond smile you loved so much. “You’re so cute. I love you.” His voice was firm, full of meaning, as though nobody could deny it.

You couldn’t hide your grin, turning back on track and pulling him along with you. “I love you t-“

A deafening noise. It made you jump. “What the hell was that?” Seven exclaimed.

You looked around, trying to find the origin of the sound. And then you felt it; fire in your body. In your back. You placed a hand on it and flinched from the pain, blood slicking your hand. “Saeyoung,” you uttered out, the shock evident in your voice. “I think we need to run.”

He turned to look at where you were glancing, and then saw your hand. “Shit!” He exclaimed. Without hesitation, he swung you into his arms. “Hold on tight and stay with me, Babe.” He started running toward his babe car.

He threw the door open, setting you down gently in the seat. He buckled you up, hand pulling the lever to move the seat upright. “Ow!” You hissed in pain from the contact of the chair against your wound.

He shut the door and headed to his side, climbing in and driving off without even buckling his seatbelt. “I know it hurts but that’ll help keep some pressure on it. I’m driving to the ER as fast I can, so just hold on.”

“Sae... Saeyoung,” you choked out, trying to focus on your breathing and not the pain. “Your seatbelt.”

“Oh!” He used one hand to buckle it up. “Sorry. I didn’t even think about it.”

“You have to be safe too, okay?” You started tearing up. “Remember that.”

“Don’t say things like that.” He raised his voice. You nodded. You saw him frown. “I just... you’re making it sound like you’re going to die. And you’re not.” His voice was much softer now.

“I understand. I’m sorry I made it seem that way.” You let out a breathy sigh. “I’m just scared.”

He stopped the car pretty suddenly, right outside of the emergency room doors. He unbuckled, rushing out of the door, leaving his keys and phone inside. He opened yours and picked you up again. “I know. But you’re gonna be fine. I’m not going to leave your side.”

“I don’t think-“

“I’ll figure it out. Even if I have to watch you on the cameras. I’ll be here for you. Promise.”

“I love you,” you whimpered, lip trembling. You were scared.

“I need help! My wife’s been shot!” He announced as he entered the room. Fortunately, nobody was waiting and subject to the scene, only the people working there.

The lady at the front’s eyes widened. She announced something over the speakers, but you couldn’t hear it. “Where at?” You heard her ask Saeyoung. Your vision was blurry. You were nervous.

“Back.”

“Scale of 1 to 10?” They both shifted their eyes towards you.

“Eight.”

They didn’t stop looking at you. You raised an eyebrow. Why? “One to ten?” She asked again. Saeyoung looked petrified.

Were your words not coming out? You took a deep breath, focusing on expelling the air and moving your mouth to get the words out. “Eight.”

“Okay,” she nodded, scribbling things down. Seven smiled sadly at you.

Two people burst through the doors with one do those rolling beds. Seven set you down gently in it. He didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye. Your eyes widened in fear as you heard the doctors frantically speaking medical jargon. Saeyoung, in the distance, blew you a kiss. You closed your eyes and tried to relax.

When you did open your eyes again, they felt extremely heavy. Like you were doing physical labor to open them. “Thank God!” It was Seven’s voice. You worked harder to open your eyes and saw him, still in his bloody outfit from earlier, bags under his eyes and concern marking his features.

“Hi,” you said weakly, trying to give him a smile.

“Oh my God. I was afraid I’d lose you.” His eyebrows knitted in concern. “Did you know your heart stopped during surgery?” A sob escaped from the back of his throat. “It stopped.”

“I’m here,” you whispered. Your voice was hoarse. “I’m still here.”

You reached out your hand to grab his own, not surprised to see an IV hooked to your arm. “This is all my fault.” He was crying hard now, eyes refusing to meet your own. “This is because of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” you reassured him.

“It is! None of this would have happened if I wouldn’t have let you get close.” He walked away from you, moving to look out the window. “I’m an idiot.”

“I don’t think so. I’m glad you let me in, Saeyoung. I don’t blame you for this at all.”

“But I do. I blame myself.” His voice was now more angry with himself than sad.

A knock on the door. The doctor. Saeyoung composed himself, turning to meet him.

“Nice to see you again, Saeyoung.” The doctor greeted, a bright smile on his face. “And there’s our fighter. How are you feeling?”

“I think whatever pain stuff you have me on helps, but I just woke up so I’m still a bit drowsy.”

He looked down at your chart. “You did sleep through the night. 17 hours,” he explained.

Your eyes snapped back to Seven. “You’ve been here for seventeen hours?” You asked, the shock evident in your voice.

The doctor laughed. “He’s been by your side the whole time. Now I do want to keep you probably for another few days to monitor, but it should be pretty relaxed. Just try to keep your mind at ease and your heart rate down. All helps the healing.”

“Any significant injuries I should know about?” You asked. You knew people got really messed up from shot wounds.

He grinned, shaking his head no. “You were very lucky. Didn’t hit any major organs or your spine. You’re in good shape, relatively speaking.” He wrote something on his sheet. “I’m going to make sure the nurses visit you every half hour. I’ll probably be back in two hours or so. If you need anything in between, feel free to page the nurses.”

“Thank you Doctor,” you smiled. He waved and left.

“I... don’t think we should do this,” Seven spoke up, breaking the silence.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I’m putting you in too much danger,” he stated simply.

“Well I’m okay. And I think it’s worth it,” you defended.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re such... an idiot. How could you get shot because of me and still be so naive and stupid?” He wasn’t yelling, but his voice was cold. The beeping on your heart monitor steadily increased, betraying you by giving away how his words made you feel.

“And what do you want me to do about it Seven? It’s not like we’re just dating casually. We can’t just break up. We’re married. And thank goodness we are,” you added for good measure.

“‘Maybe we shouldn’t be.”

The monitor jumped again. This time it didn’t slow down. Your eyes felt heavy again and your back felt like it was on fire once more. “Don’t say that.” You whimpered, your voice quiet due to the pain.

“I’ll say what I want. It’s a bad idea.”

“Saeyoung.” Your voice was very firm. “I-“ you listened to the racing heart monitor again. “Do you hear that? My heartbeat? How fast it’s going because of things you’re saying? I’m supposed to be relaxed. You’re not helping.”

“I’m trying to make you be realistic” he defended.

“Go home Saeyoung.” You demanded.

“Huh?”

“Go home. Take a shower. Change out of the bloody clothes. Take a nap. Come back to me when you’ve decided to be mild and respectful of my health.”

“But, I-“

“No.” You said, allowing no room for argument. “You are upsetting me. Come back when you feel bette.r.”

“I’m scared to leave you,” he whimpered, turning to you so you could see his eyes watering.

“I need to be alone right now. Go home. See you later.”

He frowned. A lot. He sniffled.

“Stop!” You called to him. “You’re the one who said you wanted to get a divorce. And I said to leave and calm down for a while. So stop pouring.” You jutted your lip out. “I can’t get comfy laying down and my husband wants to divorce me because I got shot and I got shot.”

His frown only increased. “Take care,” he said softly, heading to the door. “I’ll respect your wishes.” He walked out the door.

#mystic messenger #mysme #seven

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too-attached-to-fiction · 4 years

Text

leave a message | r. l.

Masterlist here.

Part 2

Word count: 1130

Requested: no

Summary: Modern!Non-magic!au where reader calls Lupin sometimes to hear his voice after they break up after a few years of being together.

A/N: I got emotional over the 36 questions musical podcast, especially the song Question 36, and realized that this really fit with Remus and it’s mostly angst with a fluffy ending :) song can be found here.

~~~

“Hey Remus, it’s me. (Y/N). I miss you. A lot. Could we meet up for coffee? I think I need the closure.”

~~~

“Hi. It’s me again. I saw a wolf figurine in one of those little shops down Picadilly Circuit.. You know, that stationary store that I loved to visit? The one I always dragged you to but you were the one that always begged not to leave? I haven’t been there in a while, but I went today. The owner saw me looking at the figurine and she looked at me with a sad smile. God, even she knows we’ve broken up. Or maybe I’m just acting that mopey. I think I stared at it for five minutes before she snapped me out of it. I know I said this last time, but I miss you. It sounds stupid but I call to hear your voice from the voicemail box, even though it’s the same every time. And I wish just once, you’d pick up.”

~~~

“Hey. It’s (Y/N). I’m coming back from the postal office empty handed. I just dropped off a box of your stuff, and I’m sending it to James and Lily. I don’t know where you’re staying, and I don’t think you want me to know. But everything’s in that box. Most of the photos we took, all of your shirts and sweats and underwear and… God, I’m crying again, fuck-”

~~~

“It’s midnight, and I’m definitely tipsy. I told myself I wouldn’t call you anymore, but it’s New Years, and I should be out with friends, but I’m alone. Remember last new years when we were with everyone? Frank, Alice, Sirius, Peter, James and Lily? Frank and Alice are kind enough to still stick around, but they’re busy preparing for the baby. They said James and Lily are having one, too. We talked about that all the time, remember? We’d be lying in bed, and one of us would mention it, and you always said you’d be an awful father and I always said that you’d be wonderful because I never thought any kid of ours would hate you. Even after all this, I still don’t hate you. This time last year, you pulled me under a spare sprig of mistletoe right before the clock struck 12, inside when everyone was on the roof, waiting for the fireworks. But we’re not with each other anymore, and that fucking sucks.”

~~~

“One month in and I’m breaking my new years resolution by calling you. But it’s been a while and I felt like hearing your voice, so, sue me, I guess. You still haven’t changed your voicemail message, and I can still hear it, so maybe you’re keeping these voicemails, and you definitely haven’t blocked my number. So, uh… Thanks. For keeping it open. Okay, this is weird. Let me just-”

~~~

“Wooh. Okay. It’s March 20th, our anniversary, and I, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), don’t know how to get over you. It’s been three months, which isn’t much recovery time, but Alice says I need to stop moping. I’m clearly moving forward, but I feel like I’m fighting every step of the way. But I’m going to keep going. I’m putting one foot in front of the other. In case you haven’t noticed, this will be my last message, hopefully. I need to stop looking at what we were because I can’t go back. And, um, wow. I think I feel better just saying that I’m going to stop looking back. It’s weird, but I feel lighter.

“I’m going to travel for a bit, see where my feet take me. I think I need time away from England, and maybe the distance will help with, you know. Everything.

“But if you’re listening… Just in case…

“I love you. I think I always will.”

~~~

Remus looked at his phone, noting that another voicemail message from (Y/N) had appeared in his notifications. He frowned, staring at the notification for a few minutes.

“It was your anniversary today, wasn’t it?” Lily, who was four months along, looked at Remus with a sad, understanding expression on her face. “Another voicemail?”

“Yeah.” Remus croaked out. Lily moved to sit next to the man, who was still staring at the phone in his hands.

“You two never talked after the fight, did you?” She placed a hand on his shoulder as he shook his head.

“How could I, Lils? I couldn’t bear looking at her in pain, knowing that I was the one who did that. She deserves someone who isn’t going to hurt her all the time.” Lily’s lips tugged into a frown, but she didn’t say anything as she rubbed her hand up and down his back.

“I think you should listen to the voicemails.” Lily suggested quietly. “You don’t have to if you really don’t want to, but I think it could be good for you. Closure, and everything.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that. I don’t care if she wants me back, she doesn’t deserve me.” Remus sighed as Lily stood up.

“It doesn’t matter if she deserves you or not. She still wants you.”

Remus trudged upstairs, finally opening his phone and pressing his voicemail box.

He hoped Lily was right.

~~~

“If you’re listening… Just in case… I love you. I think I always will.”

Remus closed his eyes. The line repeated in his head over and over, her voice still the same way he remembered it to be.

Could they start over? After everything they’d put each other through, could they really start over and pretend nothing ever happened?

He pressed the call button before his brain had the chance to think it over. He hoped she would pick up…

“Hello?”

“Hi, (Y/N).”

“Remus?”

“Yeah. Hey, listen, I-”

“I’m at the airport already. My flight’s boarding as we speak.”

Remus felt his throat tighten. “Where are you going?”

“I was planning on going to Japan for a while, actually. Nothing’s actually stopping me from going right now, you know?”

“I want to talk to you. In person.”

“Remus, that’s sweet, but-”

“I’ll meet you over there.”

“At the airport? We’re leaving in half an hour-”

“No. Japan.”

He heard a sniffle on the other side of the line. “You’re serious?”

“I’m Remus.” He joked weakly, hearing her chuckle softly. “I’ll join you, in a few days. Can you let me know where you’re staying?”

“What if this doesn’t go according to your plans?” You asked. “It’s really expensive and I’d hate for you to go all the way out there just to-”

“You said you love me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s all I need. Listen, send me the name of your hotel, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

#remus lupin #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #remus lupin imagines #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #angst with fluffy ending #marauders imagines

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

i lost a friend (i lost my mind)

Criminal Minds Fic Part One

| PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 |

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: character death, canon-typical violence, mental instability (I’m reluctant to name a specific disorder or condition)

Notes: cross-posted on Ao3, and this was my first whumpfic in this fandom so forgive me if it sucks. this is canon-compliant until after 12.01 The Crimson King

everyone has a breaking point. especially those who have been at war with the demons in their mind for their entire life.

“Hotch? There’s a lead… ” Rossi knocked on the door of the office he had taken over in the station, having come to let him know of a new lead they got on the child abduction-murder case they had been working on for the past three days in Colorado, only to pause in the doorway. Instead of seeing him wide-awake and sitting at the desk with the case file and piles of paperwork spread around him, the senior profiler was treated to the sight of the unit chief pacing around the room and twisting his hands, a nervous tic he usually hid and rarely gave into.

His concern grew as he took note of the phone that was tossed unceremoniously onto the ground and the papers that were strewn all over the floor and desk. He went to close the blinds to give them some privacy.“What happened?”

The unit chief stopped pacing but didn’t respond, only placing his hands on the edge of the desk and hunching over, trembling and breathing heavily.

“Aaron?”

He looked up, the pure terror clear in his eyes causing an icy, foreboding feeling to creep up Rossi’s spine.

“Jack collapsed at school.”

A bolt of understanding shot through Rossi. He walked into the room, taking a closer look at the panicking father (—he wasn’t the hardass unit chief right now, he was a single father who had no other biological family left apart from his son, who he almost lost to the machinations of a madman—) when he noticed the shaking arms, clearly struggling to support his weight. He made it to him just in time to prevent him from crashing to the ground as his legs gave out.

Rossi held his shaking form, allowing him to try and gather his bearings. Hotch took a shuddering breath in. “Jessica called me about ten minutes ago, the reception’s been really bad and apparently she’s been trying to reach me all day…Jack’s in the hospital right now. They think—” he swallowed, voice breaking. “They think it’s because of the pulmonary valve anomaly he was born with.”

Hotch looked up at Rossi, eyes glassy as he rambled on. “The doctors said he’d probably never have to worry about it much, especially with how well he dealt with the stress of—” his breath hitched and he looked down, unable to force the words out of his mouth. The older agent knew what he was talking about immediately and held him tighter, trying to give him some measure of comfort.

“You should head back,” Rossi said firmly. “Jack needs you more than we do.” He was surprised to feel him shaking his head.

“Oh, believe me, I’d be on my way to the airstrip right now if I could,” he let out a bitter laugh, “but the unit is already facing more budget cuts, I can’t—I won’t—take the jet. Besides,” he cut off his protest, “no sane pilot would fly in this weather, not even for a father whose child might be dying for all he knew—” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut as a few tears slipped out.

Rossi internally raged at all the deities he could think of for putting his former protégé—practically his surrogate son—through the works. First, he had lost his marriage, then lost Haley to a psychopath obsessed with making his life hell. Not even a year had gone by after that when he had to fake a teammate’s death and accepted a laborious assignment on the other side of the globe in order to cope with the secrets. Then came Foyet’s return from the grave via his torn internal adhesions, Mr. Scratch, the DOJ fiasco, and now this—

Hotch suddenly stood up, having regained tight control over the storm inside. “You said we had a lead?” he asked, his affect completely transforming as he moved to tidy the room.

Had Rossi not known Hotch for as long as he had, he wouldn’t have been able to pick the stress out of his standard clipped tone or the tension that was coiled in his upper body. He stood up and gave him a look behind his back, sighing when he remained unwaveringly silent as he waited for an answer.

Rossi knew there was no point in trying to force Hotch to stay, well aware of his history with being rendered helpless and unable to do anything while a loved one was in danger. “Yeah, one of the parents got an angry phone call from an unknown caller, and you know Garcia set up the trap-and-trace a few hours ago…”

~~~

The team immediately noticed something was off when Hotch and Rossi walked into the conference room half an hour later than they’d expected. The concern grew even more as they noticed their unit chief being more short-tempered and single-mindedly focused than usual—which really was saying something, as he had always pushed himself and the team harder when children were involved.

When they turned to look at Rossi in the rare moment that Hotch wasn’t there for a few moments, however, they only got a serious shake of his head. This and the unit chief’s transformation into Mr. Hyde prevented them from expressing any verbal concern in front of him.

The profiling team spent the next hour trying to maintain a stable connection with Garcia through repeated power shutdowns. The two hours after that was spent outside in the darkness and snowstorm, working with local law enforcement raiding the house Garcia had tracked the call to.

They got there just in time to save the child from dying of hypothermia after being buried in the snow as the other two victims had been just prior to their death. Hotch went after the fleeing unsub with Reid while the others stayed behind to comfort the child and accompanied them on the (thankfully) short drive to the local hospital.

By the time the whole team came back together, the storm had died down and the sun was rising. All too eager to leave the horrific case and weather behind them, it took no longer than twenty minutes for them to be packed and on the way to the airstrip.

The profilers were reminded of Hotch’s strange behavior, however, when they noticed his hands were clenched on the steering wheel and his stoic expression starting to give way to stress as he sped towards the airstrip—that Rossi was busy shooting worried looks at him also added to their suspicions.

On the plane, they watched as Hotch got up to take a call, only to return looking paler than he had been before. He clutched his phone tightly between his hands, rubbing at his knuckles in some measure of self-comfort while trying to control the storm of emotions he was struggling to hold back.

After a few minutes, Rossi went to sit opposite Hotch in the corner. He didn’t say anything, just observed Hotch as he resolutely avoided looking at the other profiler in favor of looking outside the window.

“I’ve called ahead,” Rossi began in an undertone, knowing the man could hear him. “There’s going to be a car right where we land, and I will be driving you straight to the hospital.”

Hotch flicked a scathing look at him. “I can drive myself,” he snapped.

“You are in no condition to drive,” Rossi retorted, raising his voice over his protests, “without harming yourself or others. Jack needs you alive, not wrapped around a pole somewhere along the way to the hospital!”

The silence that was in the jet was deafening as Rossi belatedly realized that the others had heard him and were trying to act as if they weren’t eavesdropping. Hotch looked away from the older profiler, who was looking at him apologetically; there was a moment of silence.

“I don’t know what I’d do if he—” he trailed off, not wanting to think about the worst. Pain and fear broke through his weakened barriers and showed plainly in his expression. “I can’t lose him.”

He had felt the team’s eyes on him from the moment he stepped out of that office at the promise of a new lead, and he could feel them on him now. While normally he would have shot them a look to get them to stop, right now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care as the statistics remained the forefront thought in his mind.

Hotch was all too ready to leave the plane when they landed after two hours of tense silence and worried looks. True to what Rossi said, there was indeed a car waiting for them next to the plane. Hotch didn’t bother grabbing his go-bag, only taking his smaller work bag before practically sprinting out of the plane, Rossi following close behind. The team was left watching the car speed away, worry about their unit chief and the boy who had grown up around the BAU weighing heavily on their minds.

~~~

Hotch was back in his office the next morning as if nothing had happened—only something had definitely happened, as he was even more closed off, colder than he had ever been before. Any attempts to get him to open up about what had happened were rebuffed, even with Reid and Rossi’s individual cajoling attempts. The attempts lessened by the next week with a sudden influx in requests for consultation, and they completely died down when new leads on the escaped serial killers came to light.

They all noticed, however, how their unit chief remained closed off, how he was more single-mindedly focused on the job than he’d ever been before—which was really saying something.

Things almost came to a head two months after the child murder case when they had a married victim who was leaving behind a husband and a stage 4 cancer-ridden child. Hotch had taken the lead in talking to the husband and came out advising that he be surveilled, glaring at the weakly protesting officer until the officer finally conceded and agreed to put him on watch.

The unit chief then completely threw himself into finding the unsub, barely stopping for coffee and bathroom breaks as he analyzed the crimes over and over again, creating and tossing theory after theory. It took Rossi and Luke’s manhandling and JJ’s mothering to get him back to the hotel as the clock ticked towards midnight on Night 1.

Sleep was clearly the last thing on his mind that night, however, as he came back into the station the next morning looking as haggard as ever with what must have been his tenth cup of coffee in the past twenty-four hours held tightly in his hand.

They all breathed an internal sigh of relief when a lucky break in the case led them right to the unsub later that day; they managed to take him into custody and the team was in the air by sunset, all settling in for a quiet flight.

About an hour in, Hotch moved from his seat in the front corner to the back of the plane to take a call. The rest of the team, preoccupied with their relatively quiet poker game, didn’t try to eavesdrop.

The team was pulled out of their focus a few minutes later when out of nowhere, a muffled thump came from the plane bathroom, followed by Hotch brushing past them and sitting heavily in his seat. The profilers exchanged unsure, worried glances—Hotch rarely, if ever, lost his cool—and stared back at the man, who had broken the blank facade he had maintained over the past few months and was hunched over the table, head in his hands.

Feeling the eyes on him, Hotch sighed. “That was Garcia,” he said, rubbing his face before leaning back.

“The kid succumbed to the cancer today, and his father was found in the house,” he swallowed, looking up at the ceiling. “There was a gun in his hand and a bullet entry wound on the roof of his mouth.”

The plane’s machinery became the only noise filling the air. No one moved as each profiler turned inward and digested the information. Their thoughts turned to a sinking realization when they remembered Hotch telling the locals to watch the father—the unit chief must have seen this possibility when he was talking with him.

The rest of the plane ride was spent in subdued silence as they slowly drifted away from the poker group they had formed in the center, turning to their personal methods of self-comfort.

Hotch immediately sent the profilers home for some time off after they landed, ordering them to not think about the BAU for that time. They complied without protest, going home to process and take comfort in what they had.

They wouldn’t learn until much later about how Hotch had stayed behind, trying to do as much in regards to what’s required in the aftermath of a field case for the team as possible. How Rossi had stayed in the office with him, knowing that there was no way that he was going home before he got work done.

How he stayed at Rossi’s place for the next two weeks—even after the team returned to work—because he wasn’t sure if his surrogate son would be making it out of his apartment alive.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #dave rossi #aaron hotchner whump #tw character death #bau #sodone i lost a friend i lost my mind

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