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dsmutp · 3 years

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Take a Load Off (C!Quackity X Reader)

Schlatt was yelling at Quackity again.

You could hear it through the wall seperating your office from his - and with all the soundproofing the white house had, it was both terrifying and impressive that you could. It had been happening more and more, and honestly, you felt a little bad for the guy. When he’d signed on as Schlatt’s vice president, you were sure he hadn’t thought this much yelling would be part of the job.

Hell, when you’d signed on as the secretary of the treasury, you hadn’t thought this much yelling would be involved.

The yelling quieted, and for a second, you thought that it was over.

Then you heard a door slam, and the click of Schlatt’s shoes as he passed your door on his tirade down the hall.

You sighed.

At least it wasn’t directed at you this time.

Most of the department had been on the receiving end of one of Schlatt’s shouting matches at this point, and most of them had received the same message - you’re not pulling your weight. It was rough on the esteem, and frankly, made you a little scared to go try and ask him for things when you needed them, worried you would catch him in a bad mood. Out of everyone that worked for Schlatt though, Quackity had gotten shouted at the most.

You honestly felt a little bad for the guy. He was just trying to do his job.

Snapping your briefcase shut, you turned off the lights in your office, opening the door and checking that the hallway was empty of Schlatt before stepping out. You were looking forward to getting home and unwinding - it had been a long day. You started down the hall, steps slowing as you passed Quackity’s door.

It was quiet inside now, but you still hovered. It would be a nice thing to do, to check on him.

Raising your knuckles, you knocked.

“Come in.”

Even through the door, he sounded weary.

You opened his door just a crack, peeking inside. Quackity was flopped over his desk, his face pressed into the paperwork scattered over his desk, beanie tossed aside. His suit jacket hung on the back of his office chair, and the first few buttons of his shirt were popped open, exposing collarbone.

He looked like he had been through the wringer, but he still smiled when he noticed it was you standing in the door. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You returned. “Holding up alright?”

Quackity sighed, sitting himself back up. “Yeah.” He said. “Enough.”

“I, uh, heard Schlatt in here today.” You said.

Quackity pursed his lips. “Yeah.”

“Don’t let him get to you too much, alright?” You said. “Everyone else knows you’re trying your best.”

Quackity said nothing for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. He looked a little like he was going to cry.

Clearing your throat, you smiled again. “Well, I’m heading home for the night, but I’ll see you tomorrow-”

“Are you doing anything?” Quackity blurted out, interrupting you. “Tonight?”

You hovered in his doorway. So it was going to be one of those nights.

---

It had started a few months ago, around the same time Schlatt’s drinking had caused him to really start yelling again. It had been just a drunken fling at first - the aftermath of an office party that had wound up being the perfect way to let off some steam. One night turned into two turned into whenever either of you had a rough day at work - much like tonight.

It was almost routine, as you unbuttoned the rest of the way down Quackity’s shirt, stripping it off his shoulders. “What do we want tonight?”

Quackity sighed, closing his eyes as you massaged his shoulders, melting into the touch. “Just…” He paused. “It would be nice, not to get told I’m doing a good job, for once.”

You hummed, leaning forward to press your lips against his collarbone, leaving a sweet kiss there. “I can do that.”

Quackity let you push him down onto his bed, lifting his hips so that you could slide his work pants and boxers off in one go. As soon as the fabric was down to his thighs, his dick sprang up, already hard. You smiled, patting the side of his leg. “Already huh? Good boy.”

A blush settled high on Quackity’s face as you tossed his pants aside, shucking off your own clothes as well. You didn’t mind that he watched you undress - it was honestly just nice to be free of the collared shirt and blazer that you wore all day. Tossing your own clothes aside, you moved to straddle Quackity’s hips, grabbing the lube that he kept nearby. “Do you want to, or should I?”

Quackity placed his hands on your hips, rubbing at the skin there. “I thought I would watch, if that’s okay.”

“More than okay.” You said, slicking up your fingers before you sank them into yourself, slowly letting yourself get adjusted to the stretch. Quackity’s eyes were so focused on the way your fingers disappeared into you that he didn’t notice you leaning upwards to tuck your head under his chin until you were settling in, sighing headily in his ear.

His hands that had been on your hips wandered down to your ass, palming the flesh there. “I needed this.” He said.

You hummed in agreement. “So did I.”

You let Quackity’s hands wander up and down your body, caressing and pinching at your sensitive spots as you stretched yourself open. The physicality was your favorite part of your little after work endeavors with Quackity - it was nice, to be touched.

Once you were ready, you planted your hands on Quackity’s chest, pushing yourself back up into a sitting position. “Ready darling?”

Quackity shivered at the name - it never failed, no matter how many times you threw it around in the bedroom. “Yeah.”

Lining yourself up, you sank down slowly, letting both Quackity and yourself enjoy the feeling of him filling you up. You let out a breathy sigh, settling down fully. “It’s been too long since the last time we did this.” You said. “I forgot how good you feel.”

Quackity inhaled shakily. “Fuck.” His hips twitched underneath you, bucking up feebly.

You put a stop to that though, moving your hands from his chest to press down on his abdomen, pinning his hips to the bed. “Don’t.” You said. “You had a long day, darling, let me take care of you.”

Quackity all but keened, tipping his head back into the pillows as you began to move up and down his length, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm. You watched as Quackity curled his hands into the soft part of your hips, desperately trying not to move and let you work.

You increased the intensity of your thrusts, angling yourself so that Quackity’s cock hit that sensitive spot inside you, toes curling as you purposefully hit it again and again. You sucked in a breath, ducking your head down in appreciation. “Just like that.” You encouraged. “You’re doing so well, Quackity.”

The praise made him shudder beneath you again, goosebumps rising on his chest. “Please.” He begged, bucking his hips up again. “Keep talking-”

And so you did, just letting your mouth run with feeling, telling Quackity how wonderful he was, how much you looked forward to these encounters, how he didn’t deserve to get yelled at as often as he was, how hard he made you laugh, how good of a friend he was - just showering him in every bit of praise you could conjure up.

Quackity came like he didn’t even have a choice.

You slowed your thrusts as you felt the warm stickiness of his cum begin to drip back out, moving to get off his dick, only to be stopped by a hand on your hip.

“You didn’t finish.” He said.

“Don’t worry about it-”

“No, just let me.” Quackity said, dipping a hand down to jerk you off, moving in tight little circles until you were shaking apart under his touch, pleasure flooding your system and causing you to flop down onto his chest.

For a moment, you just aldi there in silence, tracing over the skin of Quackity’s chest as you caught your breath. “Thank you.”

Quackity said it so quietly, that if you hadn’t been basically tucked under his chin, you wouldn’t have heard it.

“Anytime.” You returned, and you meant it.

#dream smp smut #mcyt smut #quackity smut #quackity x reader #dream smp x reader #dsmp smut #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader

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duskholland · 3 years

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ok but "Why are you getting jealous, baby?. You know I would fingerfuck you right in front of her." with mob!Tom

me reading this request and going !!! lmfao. i love it. nsfw 18+ !!! extended warnings under the cut <3

–it’s mob monday–

extended warnings: jealousy, mentions of alcohol, fingering (fem receiving), slight degradation (calls her a slut once). i like this a lot tho hehe.

–––––

The mansion is decorated to the nines, with glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a temporary bar standing in the centre of the atrium, and a sea of serving staff covering the ground floor. There’s a string quartet in the corner, and there are so many diamonds hanging from necks and wrists that it’d rival the most exclusive boutique in Mayfair.

Tom likes to throw these get-togethers a few times a year. He invites everyone he knows—partners, foes, suppliers. Everyone gathers in your house and mingles cordially over champagne and canapés, pretending that they aren’t all armed with deadly weapons and surrounded by security personnel. It’s always a special occasion, and it’s one of the few times a year that Tom can relax when he’s around these people.

You know he enjoys it, so you always try your best to play your part. You’re in a long, sweeping tulle dress, tinted with your favourite colour and flattering you in a way that Tom adores. Your breasts ache, still tingling with the reminders of the tough lovebites your boyfriend had sucked to their underside when he’d first seen you in the dress. You’d been interrupted before your shenanigans had gone further, and you’ve been aching all night. Your arousal has only been made worse as you’ve watched Tom waltz around all evening, strolling from conversation to conversation with confidence, a broad smile, and an incredibly tight-fitting tux wrapped around his figure.

You’ve been holding back the temptation to jump him all evening, but you fear you won’t be able to hold it in much longer. Your skin prickles with want, the space between your legs throbbing, and you can’t stop yourself from peeling away from your conversation and moving off through the crowds in search of Tom.

It doesn’t take you long to find him, leaning up against the bar, champagne glass in one hand, the other arm resting on the bartop. You find yourself scowling as you recognise who he’s talking with: Monique, the leader of one of the other gangs in London. She’s always cosy with him, always emits an awful aura of intrigue whenever she’s around your boyfriend, and whilst you trust Tom more than anything, you don’t trust her.

You observe them for a few moments, trying to talk yourself down from acting unreasonably, but then she reaches out and rests a hand on Tom’s shoulder, and you can’t stop yourself from strolling over to them. You approach from behind, wrapping a hand around Tom’s waist and feeling him stiffen until you press a quick kiss to the side of his face. You move purposefully, knocking Monique’s hand off his shoulder as you settle at his side, resting your temple on Tom’s shoulder as you look at the other woman.

“Evening,” you say curtly. “You don’t mind if I borrow Tom for a moment, do you, Monique?” You pause for less than half a second before smiling, sickly sweet. “Brilliant. Thanks.”

Tom’s smirking, you can feel it on his face as you take his hand and pull him away from the bar. He catches up to you, murmuring into your ear as he lets you guide him, “that was a bit rude, love.”

You pout, only stopping when you’ve pulled Tom into a hallway. It leads off into three separate rooms, all full of your guests, mingling and laughing, but the hallway itself is vacant. You lean against a wall and tug on the front of Tom’s suit, jerking him closer until he’s pressing up against you and you’re able to bury your hands in his hair.

“Sorry,” you mutter, your jaw set in a hard line. “You know I don’t like her.”

Tom scatters a few soft kisses to the side of your face, slowly wearing down your hardened demeanour. “Why are you getting jealous, baby?” He murmurs, lips held by your ears. He briefly bites your earlobe, causing you to moan. “You know I’d fingerfuck you right in front of her.”

You whimper, pulling on your lower lip as you feel one of his hands stroke over your hip before sinking between your legs.

“Tom,” you say, voice breathless. You look over his shoulder, eyes skimming the vacant hallway. You part your legs. “Someone could walk in.”

“And?” You can feel him smirking against your neck as he bunches the side of your dress up at your waist, giving his hand easy access to slip up to your centre. “Fuck, love, no underwear?” Tom pulls back, eyes glinting almost black. “You’re soaked,” he coos, stroking two fingers through your slit. He teases your entrance until you’re whimpering and bucking your hips down against them, at which point he indulges you by sinking them into you. The discomfort fades as he stretches you out on his slender fingers, adding a third one a few moments later as you moan. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you? Always so desperate for my touch.”

You grab at his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your head back and whimper. Tom’s skilled with his fingers—he’s learnt exactly what he has to do to bring you to your knees, every single time. As his digits nudge up to stroke your g-spot, his thumb wrangles your clit, applying the perfect pressure as his lips mark your neck, leaving bruises on your form as you melt.

“Tom, Tom, fuck, that feels so good. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

“Mmmm, don’t worry.” Tom nibbles at your ear, hot breath fanning across your neck. “Gonna make you gush for me, lovie. Right here, when anyone could walk in. Bet you’d like that though, wouldn’t you..? Bet you’d love everyone here to know how much of a needy slut you are for me.” You moan, shaking against the wall as his words coax you to the edge. “Go on, darling. Get my fingers wet, mm? Cum for me. I want to feel just how desperate you are.”

Your eyes roll back as you do as instructed, unable to keep quiet as you fall into your climax. Tom kisses you, pressing his mouth to yours to muffle your loud noises of enjoyment as your cunt clenches around his fingers and your clit revels in the pleasure being given by his insistent thumb. You gasp as you pull away from him, riding out your high before slumping a little, your figure shaking as you watch Tom remove his hand and suck on his fingers for a few moments. The glint of his Rolex is almost as pronounced as the hungry spark in his eyes.

“Thanks,” you mumble, voice hoarse. “Needed that.”

“I know you did.” Tom pulls your dress down before resting his hands on your waist, slowly dragging his palms up until they’re resting over your boobs. He winks as he gives your breasts a soft squeeze. “Are you going to behave now, or will I need to fuck you too before we go back out there?”

You smirk, drawing your hands over his shoulders before dragging him closer. You kiss him passionately, letting your tongue dip into his mouth and hearing him groan in response. Your hand settles in Tom’s hair as you kiss him a few more times, not wanting to distance yourself completely, craving him.

“I think you know the answer to that question, Tom,” you mumble against him.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re right.” He reaches down for your hand and shoots you a wink. “You’re insatiable, darling. Insatiable.”

You just shrug, letting him pull you towards a vacant room. “Can you blame me?”

Tom looks back, his hungry eyes roaming your figure as he shakes his head. His smirk grows fonder, and you feel your heart clench with love for him as he chuckles.

“No,” he murmurs, pulling you closer to kiss your hand, “because I feel the same way about you.”

#i really like this one :') nothing i would rather have as the last official mob!monday blurb... </3 thank ou #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader smut #tomblurbs #myblurbs #mob!tomblurbs #mob!tomfic #tom.filth #smut #q

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damianosismyking · 3 years

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Roommate

READ IT ON AO3.

Damen and Laurent first met when Laurent was sixteen years old.

He arrived at Damen's apartment too late for it to be considered appropriate or polite on any day, but the fact it was Sunday made everything worse.

Damen had been announcing his vacant room for the best part of the past three months since Nikandros moved out to live with his girlfriend but the response he’s gotten so far was underwhelming, to say the least. It made sense to him: his apartment was too far away from the university for it to be comfortable or spark real interest among tired, overloaded, low-income students with huge debts and likely no car. He had thought, though, that it would spark some interest. It was a constant theme in the conversations he had with Nikandros these days – which always ended up with Nikandros telling him he should just learn how to live with himself anyway, and Damen telling him there was no way he’d do it.

Still, Damen was less than thrilled to be surprised after a long day of sitting in front of thousands of books and twice as many academic papers gathering the ‘solid foundation’ his thesis lacked – in Professor Haemon’s words – by an unsolicited visitor. Damen’s eyes burned, his head pounded, and he longed for nothing more than to open a beer and mindlessly watch the documentary about whales that was on. A call to his intercom had different plans.

It felt like his brain had melted down his ears for when the doorman informed him that his friend, Laurent, whom he never met, had come to talk to him about his rental room, Damen allowed said guy up without a thought to the risks it entailed until after the call was cut.

Damen was left to hope there wasn’t a gun involved and whoever the man was, Damen could take him on a hand-to-hand fight if it came to it.

A kid showed up. Pink across the face, the only uncovered part of him. A few strands of blond hair escaped his beany, moving along the puff of his breath. He strutted inside uninvited the second Damen saw to the door, with the highest nose Damen has ever seen and scorn that did not match his angelic features.

Lazily, the kid – Laurent, his name – said, “I saw you need a new roommate.”

“And you are?”

“Your new roommate.”

“I meant –” Laurent went ahead and took off his coat, as well as his beany, that he tossed over Damen’s diner table. His blond hair shoulder-length and seemingly soft directly under the light, framed his face in waves. It gave him an almost feminine quality, if not for the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw. “I meant have we met before?”

“No. But we have now. I’m Laurent.” He held out his hand. Damen shook it. “And you are Damianos. I go to U.M., you go to U.M. You have a room to rent, I have interest in renting a room. See? We are practically best friends already.”

He sported a young prince demeanor with long, pale fingers laced in front of his body. It was fitting, like the thought of such person being raised in a castle surrounded by luxury and used to having his way his whole life simply made sense. As for his expression: there was none. Laurent’s eyes were a rich blue but carried no warmth in them, unyielding. His gaze never averted Damen’s. It felt like staring at a blank wall.

Damen crossed his arms over his chest, unsure what to do with his hands and everything that currently unfolded in front of him. The carelessness in Laurent’s composure, or maybe the sheer audacity of him, rubbed Damen the wrong way. Under the incisive glare, Damen resisted a shiver.

Damen said, “You notice it’s almost 11 P.M. on a Sunday, don’t you, best friend?”

Laurent leaned against the dining table as though it belonged to him. Would it be acceptable to bodily drag Laurent out of the apartment after being the one to give him the pass to come up in the first place? Laurent appeared painfully young too, so that might be aggravating.

“You put on your flyer you were open to visitation anytime,” Laurent retorted. It started to bother Damen how rarely he blinked. Blank wall.

“I also put on my flyer my contact info to prevent strangers from appearing unannounced at my doorstep,” Damen paused. “On a Sunday. At night.”

“And yet here I am. Your security is horrible by the way, you should probably complain about that to the apartment manager,” Laurent drawled. That alone disqualified him to the vacancy, let aside the fact he passed for a spoiled high schooler with no hint of courtesy.

“So? Aren’t you going to interview me? I make a terrific roommate. I know how to cook and keep a house clean; I stay out of everyone’s business and in change expect everyone out of mine. I’m the most pleasant company you can get around that campus, I guarantee.”

Laurent waited and as he did so, he grabbed one of the decorative glass balls from a bowl on the table and rolled it between his hands mindlessly. When Damen gave no response, he continued, “I’m a bit of a genius, so that might interest you in case you need help with schoolwork or anything else.”

Damen stared at him. It was impossible the kid wouldn’t take the hint. All he had to do was look around, at the scattered materials, Damen’s sleeping clothes, the beer sweating the couch’s fabric, the clock marking 11 p.m. Laurent made a show of standing spitefully where he wasn’t welcomed and it either didn’t bother him or he purposefully ignored it.

“I’m also a good fuck. In case that might interest you.”

It startled Damen out of his enraged disbelief. Not that he magically came up with something to say. “I’m – I – don’t… You’re missing the point.”

“And what is that?”

“I have no idea who the fuck you are, and honestly, you’re not causing a great impression so far.”

“That comes with time.” Laurent waved him off. He wandered around the living room, accessing the quality of his surroundings. Ran a hand over Damen’s TV stand, grabbed portraits to analyze from up close, shuffled through a stack of magazines, opened the window to take a look at the view, and finally settled on the couch where he bounced, testing. Grabbed the remote, shifted through channels. Damen let it unfold only partially out of astonishment – part of him also wondered how far Laurent would go.

“It’s your turn,” Laurent said eerily, like haunted wind coming through the window.

“My turn to what?”

“Introduce yourself, of course. How am I supposed to know you’re not a pervert?” he added, plainly. “Already have enough of those in my life.”

Damen was baffled. It took him a second to find his voice. “I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

Laurent turned to him, pale brows arched. “But you didn’t interview me yet.”

“I don’t intend to. Please leave. Now.” Damen marched to the door to hold it open.

“But –” Laurent stood. Damen could almost see the engines in his mind turning. “Look. I can offer you a blowjob to change your mind. Anything more than that only if you promise I can stay.”

“What are – I do not want to have sex with you,” Damen said, exasperated. Why was this happening to him? Was this what he got after working so hard?

“Why not?” Laurent spoke as if something was out of sorts. “Let me guess, you are straight. I promise you won’t note the difference, it’s like any girl’s mouth when it’s on your cock. I’m highly skilled.”

Damen opened the door wider and gestured. “Out.”

Laurent crossed his arms and made no motion to leave. Very deliberately he leaned against the armrest. “I don’t have a gag reflex, I can take you all the way in,” he spoke with an empty face, “and I swallow, don’t spit.” At the end, he smirked mildly.

Damen flinched. “I will call security.”

“No? Okay.” Laurent leaned on his hands, propping his shoulders up. “Money’s no issue. I can offer you two months of rent in advance.”

“I need you to get the hell out before I make you,” Damen spelled out.

“Fine. Three. But this is my final offer, you have to give me something to work with here.” For how playful Laurent’s words rang, he maintained his monotone. His face couldn’t be more uninterested, without the slightest semblant of shyness.

Damen didn’t respond. Again, he gestured the outside.

Laurent sighed, as if it was Damen tiring him, not the other way around. Perhaps the biggest absurd among all others. Damen might be virtually opposed to hitting kids, but Laurent just might be the exception.

Laurent did not pick up any of his belongings, as required. Rather, he walked to Damen confidently, if slightly bored. The sway of his hips seemed very deliberate as he tied his hair on a ponytail, eyes never dropping Damen’s. His eyes carried deeper richness to the blue of his irises from this close, but somehow were even colder. He stopped few inches away from Damen. If they were the same height, their noses would bump, but as Damen had at least one foot of advantage to him, Laurent’s breath tickled his collar bone.

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, Laurent dropped to his knees, reaching for the ties on Damen’s sweatpants.

“What the fuck.” Damen slapped Laurent’s hands away. Laurent swayed taken aback and retreated, confused. “Stand up,” Damen demanded, “Stand!” at the verge of yelling.

Damen’s stomach had sunk to his feet. Other than the cameras in the corridor, there were no witnesses to what happened. Laurent remained where he was, sitting back on his heels and giving Damen huge icy eyes, through obscenely long lashes as blond as his hair, blooming cheeks, and beautifully plump pink lips. “Please, get up and leave. I won’t ask again.”

Laurent felt the wall behind him to help himself up. “I want to stay.” His voice was no longer a drawl then. It had a hint of raw desperation that had not been there before.

Damen shook his head. “That’s too bad kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he barked, words lacking the previous indifference. “Let me stay.”

“No.”

“Please.”

A beat passed. A long ‘hear-the-ticks-on-the-clock-slow-down’ kind of beat. Laurent’s stance remained mighty and unshakable, searching Damen’s face.

“How old are you?” Damen asked and again when Laurent refused to respond.

As Damen pressed further, he finally said, through gritted teeth, “Sixteen.” In spite of the aversion for the word, Laurent expression was challenging, daring Damen to say anything about it.

Damen did. “Sixteen. You can’t just get to a stranger’s house, impose on them, and expect to be welcomed,” he said, “that’s not how these things work. Kid.”

Laurent went paler a shade, previously rosy cheeks suddenly drawn out of color. His feet kicked the carpet, and his sole focus was on that. “Do you understand? You can’t walk into strangers’ houses, period. And if you wanted a real shot at getting the room you should have called me and scheduled a date to come and talk to me at a normal hour on a normal day like everyone else. And probably have your parents to call me too, considering. Now, please get out of my apartment.”

It took him a minute, but Laurent finally listened to reason and gathered his stuff. On his way out, though, as Damen already breathed relieved that this unnerving event was over (and began to formulate in mind the text he was going to send Nikandros), Laurent stopped again, white as a sheet, barely a foot away from the door Damen had been holding open for too long.

“Let me stay.”

Neither Laurent’s voice nor his posture were anything of what they had been. It was like watching him come undone. His shoulders tensed and his feet were dragging rather than pacing. “I have the money. You won’t even know I’m here. Please.” Damen shook his head sluggishly. Laurent looked out the door and then slowly cast his eyes back to Damen. “Tonight then. I can pay you for the stay and I’ll be gone in the morning before you know it.”

Damen’s resolve faltered, then cracked, then crumbled. It finally occurred to him, “Why did you come here?”

Laurent frowned. “Your flyer…”

“No.” Laurent knew what Damen really asked.

Laurent bit his bottom lip for a long time, then straightened up. “I have nowhere else to go.” His face, though he attempted to remain composed, betrayed him. His bottom lip trembled discreetly.

“You were kicked out?” No response. Damen ran a hand over his face. His grip on the door slacked. “Damn you. Don’t you have… friends? Any family you can run to? Come to a stranger’s apartment… do you have any idea what could happen to you? You’re sixteen.” Laurent stared at him, silent. For a moment, he seemed about to speak but words died on his lips. “How do I know you aren't here to rob me? Or jump me when I’m asleep? Are your cronies waiting for you sign downstairs?”

Laurent said nothing. He balled his fists and waited as if he knew that Damen already changed his mind. It was not like Damen could do anything else anyway. It’s not like he would be able to cast out a homeless kid. Even a kid like Laurent.

Damen scratched his head and slammed the door behind him, eyes closed with a long, heavy sigh. He cursed under his breath. “Just tonight,” Damen said, though he knew he was lying. “You will have to find someplace else tomorrow.”

“Right. Thank you,” Laurent said.

They stared at each other for a moment. Damen, awkward with arms crossed over his chest and Laurent twirling his beany in his hands. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Well then. The bathroom is at the end of the corridor, there are clean towels in the cabinet, and other stuff you might need.” Another awkward moment passed. “Let me show you to your room. The room. Not your room. Where you’ll stay tonight.”

Again, in a low voice, Laurent thanked him.

#My writing #Fic #damen of akielos #damen x laurent #Lamen #Laurent of Vere #Captive prince #Capri #fanfic #Modern AU #And they were roommates #mine #posting so i STOP editing this part

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iloveitwhen · 4 years

Text

What Team? (pt. 2)

(yes, everytime i see “what team?” i think “wildcats!” and i just couldn’t help myself with the title heehee)

I hope this meets all of your expectations! if not then sorry i guess lmao. if there are mistakes or inconsistencies let me know(:

So I got a little carried away and this is much MUCH longer than the first part so... sorry? you’re welcome? idk but turns out the story has not progressed but it basically has so let’s say it did. I also got a little carried away with Alix meeting the waynes... (Also I should add I don't know squat about roller blading)

Part 1

Based on this post by @unmaskedagain

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Alix wasn’t stupid, granted her best friend was Kim and together they were pretty stupid, but Alix was not inherently stupid, Kim just lowered her IQ by a significant amount just by being around him, ok? Not her fault. But anyways, point being, Alix was not stupid, she could see the way Lila's face morphed to disgust when she looked at Marinette and thought no one was watching, or when she sneered at the backs of all of her classmates when they turned around, so of course she knew why Lila really tried to force "Lukanette" down everyone's throats, she wanted to be on top. Alix aslo prided herself in not having problems such as crushes, why bother yourself when clearly people are not… hot, attractive, sexy, ect. Alix didn’t understand how or why people so desperately wanted to kiss each other but not having that urge really brought light to her class’ situation. She had learned from the way Kim used to look at Chloe and the way Max looked at Kim and the way Marinette looked at Adrien, there were plenty more examples, like Mylene and Ivan, anyways, they all had the same look even if they were trying to hide it. Lila looked at Marinette with that same look but hidden under disgust, but then again she also looked at Adrien that way too, without disgust and hate though. But she also hated Marinette, plain and simple. Wait, definitely not simple. As for why she hated Marinette, Alix just hadn't gotten that far yet, but she was sure it had something to do with Adrien. And being a closeted gay.

As for everyone else it was no secret that Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Lila Rossi did NOT like each other but lucky, or unlucky depending on how you look at it, the class simply ignored the both of them when they tried talking about the other.

Marinette, picking up on the fact that she won that battle, stopped trying to tell everyone about Lila’s obvious lies. She knew the girl still had it out for her but she was completely powerless when it came to taking Marinette’s friends away. It was quite exhausting listening to Lila and not being able to say anything that would disprove her lies because no matter how sound her proof was her classmates wouldn’t listen. And Marinette honestly just wanted to sleep.

Lately she didn’t know what was going on, all week people kept whispering and would change the conversation when she arrived. She thought they were talking behind her back but they never gave her dirty looks, in fact they were even more friendly and she got a large increase of “morning Marinette!” and “How are you doing?” which was only slightly confusing. At least they were finally being as friendly and considerate towards her as she was towards them.

“Hey Marinette?” Marinette looked up from her sketchbook as her thoughts scattered to see Juleka nervously tapping on her desk with her nails while Rose stood behind her girlfriend with a look that could only be described as sparkly. Marinette raised an eyebrow but smiled kindly at them.

“Yes?”

“So, umm,” she cleared her throat nervously, “can you help me and Rose make shirts that say “Team Luka” on them?”

“Team lu- uhmm sure?”

Juleka gave her a rare smile and a soft “thanks” before returning to her seat with Rosa who squeaked “you're the best Marinette!” Marinette gave the girl a weak smile and a small nod of appreciation and just stared in confusion at the spot where the two girls stood previously.

What?

The heck?

“What was that all about?” Alya voiced Marinette’s thoughts and slid into her seat, poking Marinette’s arm to break the black haired girl out of her stupor.

“I'm... not sure....” She furrowed her brows in confusion. Who was Luka going against that required Juleka’s support? She hadn't heard of XY making headlines lately and Luka wasn't either, well she wasn’t really online either anyways. “They asked me to help them make Team Luka shirts.” She looked over to her friend and was brought to even more confusion. Alya looked… offended? But she quickly wiped the look off her face and pursed her lips together before turning to face the front saying,

“Interesting....”

After school Marinette, with Juleka and Rose, went to buy supplies before heading to the ship to meet with Luka. Together they made ten teal tie dyed shirts which they had printed “TEAM LUKA” on the center of it. Marinette tried asking what it was for but all three just redirected her so she eventually just dropped it.

As she was leaving Luka stopped her. “Thank you, Marinette,” he said softly, “you really are a wonderful girl, you deserve the world.” Of course that made Marinette blush, what was up with this guy and his cute, mushy words?

“Thanks, Luka. An- and don’t worry about it! Anything for you,” she trailed off for a moment before rushing to add, “and your family of course. Obviously.” She chuckled nervously while Luka just gave her an amused smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Have a wonderful evening, Marinette.” He turned and walked back onto the ship, leaving Marinette weak in the knees. She quickly steeled her nerves then chastised herself while walking away. Stop feeling for multiple boys. Stop feeling for multiple boys. Stop feeling….

---

Alya was not happy to find Juleka and Rose wearing teal tie dyed shirts saying “TEAM LUKA” printed on them. So they want to play THAT game. Ok. She can deal with that. In her desire to plan she missed Marinette’s rambles throughout class and the bell that signaling the start of lunch.

“ALYA!” she snapped her head to the source of the sound to find the one and only Chloe Bourgeois with a hand on her hip and pursed lips. She looked around the room to find it completely empty except for the two of them.

“Chloe!” she scooched over the bench and hopped up, accidentally almost bumping noses with the blonde girl from being too close but Chloe just gave a disgusted face and quickly took a step back. “Just the person I needed! Did you SEE those shirts?” Chloe huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Of course I did, Césaire. That is the only reason you will be spending more time than I am comfortable with in my presence. Come on.” She turned her heel and strutted out of the classroom while Alya scrambled to grab all of her belongings.

---

Not long at all after Marinette saw Juleka and Rose (Ivan quickly following suit) wearing the Team Luka shirts, Alya and Chloe, a pairing Marinette NEVER saw coming, walked in with matching shirts, orange for Alya and yellow for Chloe, with a fancy, clean font spelling out “Team Adrien” on the front and a bold “SUCK IT” on the back. Marinette watched Alya approach her seat with her jaw hanging loose.

WHAT WAS GOING ON???

“What is- you know what? Nevermind. I don’t want to know.” Alya smirked and slid into her seat. “You purposefully came last didn’t you?”

“Yep!” Alya replied happily while pulling her phone out and started typing furiously.

“Babe, where’s my shirt?” Nino had turned around and gave his girlfriend puppy eyes.

“Oh, here you go,” she pulled a green shirt out of her bag and tossed it to him while Adrien watched with interest. A sound of excitement escaped Nino when he caught the shirt and he opened it up to see the front which revealed the back of the shirt to Marinette. She felt the blood drain from her face and she lifted her hand to cover her mouth in horror. The back had a perfect snapshot of Adrien’s side profile from his ad for cologne when he was gliding through the air. Marinette glanced at Adrien and saw that his jaw had dropped and his face started to burn a deep red. Marinette just wanted to cry. Nino flipped it over and Marinette saw “Team Adrien” in the same font of Chloe and Alya’s shirts while Nino let out an unearthly squeal.

“It’s PERFECT! Adrien! Look!” he flipped the shirt over to show Adrien but the blonde boy had already curled in on himself and hid his face in his arms.

“Whyyyyy, Alyaaaaa.” Alya smirked and looked up from her phone.

“Don’t worry Adrien, we’re rooting for you.”

Marinette cried (internally) that night as she prayed to every Kwami she knew to save her soul.

---

Adrien didn’t know what was going on, at first when he saw Luka’s shirts he really wanted one too to show his support of his acquaintance. Adrien didn’t know the boy that well but he was very kind and any team that Luka was on Adrien wanted to be on too heehee. After his friends started wearing Team Adrien shirts he felt… conflicted. And slightly uncomfortable. He was happy his friends were supporting him but it just felt wrong to root for himself. So to counteract this he approached Juleka when the school ended and got his own shirt. The next day he changed into it after getting dropped off at school, obviously because his Father would make him burn the shirt if he ever saw Adrien wearing it, and when he came out of the restroom he found Lila climbing the stairs in her own Team Luka shirt. Her eyes shot up in surprise at the sight of him before a strained smile etched onto her lips.

“Lila! It’s great to see we’re on the same team.” He smiled kindly at her and gave a silent prayer to Plagg that she didn’t think he was flirting with her as she always seemed to assume.

“Indeed, Adrien.”

Everyday for the next week more and more people wore their own team shirts until the class was split in half, save for Nathanial, Marinette, and Alix. Adrien continuously tried to find out what the teams were for but someone always assured him that it was nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t until he saw Chloe’s retweet of Alix’s tweet that he realized that his class was warring over who was the better match, him or Luka, for one of Alix’s friends that apparently the entire class knew besides Nathanial and Marinette as they never picked a side. He wondered if he knew the person that the class was talking about and decided to logout of twitter before anything got out of hand as it usually did whenever Chloe was on twitter.

---

“We have a problem.” Dick stated to his two brothers and adoptive father.

“Ok, what’s new?” Jason asked lazily, polishing his gun.

“Marinette is trending on twitter.”

“What?” Tim pulled his phone out and started going through the app as Dick continued.

“Team Luka, Team Adrien, Lukanette, and Adrinette are trending on twitter. Take a wild guess what that could mean.” Bruce rolled his eyes and started to say,

“Dick we don’t have time for this,” but Dick cut him off mid sentence and spoke over him.

“These boys are getting fought over who would be a better fit for Marinette. OUR Marinette. As in Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Jason stopped polishing his gun and actually looked at Dick while Tim gagged.

“What?” all three voices before him spoke up in unison. Dick was surprised that Bruce spoke up with a little more exasperation.

“No!” Bruce dropped his face into his hands and groaned. He was certainly taking this far worse than Dick thought he would. The older man raised his head and gave Dick a look he usually gave him when he was trusting him with an important mission, “take care of this, make sure none of those boys steal Marinette away from Damian.” Dick nodded his head once.

“Yes, sir.”

---

Marinette and the Waynes go way back, so far back that when Bruce let it slip that he and Alfred used to have a neighbor at a lake house who would repeatedly visit whenever Alfred was there the batboys KNEW they had to find the one and only Gina and meet her ENTIRE family. Marinette was ten at the time and was immediately enraptured by Damian’s “old man” personality and forced him to have fun like a child during his short stay. The Batboys, as much as they were scared of Damian and what he might do, immediately shipped them together, Jason (being the fanfiction writer/reader which he never admitted to anyone) deemed the ship “Daminette” which the others agreed to fervently. But now, five years later and three very determined Daminette shippers later, Damian and his brothers were on a plan to France to meet with Marinette.

“Momma Cheng! Papa Dupain!” Dick swung the bakery door open and sauntered in while the others trailed behind him rolling their eyes, except for Tim, Tim was excited for good coffee.

“Oh Richard!” Sabine walked around the counter and gave all the boys a quick hug and handed them off to her husband who cracked their backs with his monstrous hugs. Sabine reached Damian and pulled him into a hug before he could protest then held him at arm's length. “Oh my have you grown! Tom,” she turned her head to her husband while still holding onto Damian.

Tom set down Tim who stumbled and was caught by Dick before hitting the ground. “Yes, dear?”

“Hasn’t he grown so much? Such a handsome young man,” she let go and pinched his cheek which he pulled away from when suddenly he was lifted into a smoldering hug and felt the cr-rick cra-ack! of his spine. He wiggled in the grip finding he couldn’t get out but when he was placed back down he felt a little lightheaded and refused to stumble like an embarrassment Tim was.

“You fellas can grab some treats, Marinette won’t be home until pretty late but you boys are welcome to stay until she arrives” The boys all nodded in response and said their chorus of thank you’s and went to grab some pastries before heading to the inside of their home.

Jason quickly got restless and Dick followed him to babysit keep an eye on him while Tim pulled out his computer and started typing away. Damian got bored and decided to explore. He knew it was probably inappropriate but he politely asked Sabine if he could go up to Marinette’s balcony knowing she probably kept her garden growing up there when she started it out of spite of him after he insulted her capabilities to take care of another thing, much less herself. He was pleased, and slightly annoyed, to find a beautiful garden with an array of flowers, herbal plants and even a beautiful small tree.

After a while being by himself a ragged looking cat sauntered over to the balcony and Damian quickly made friends with the animal and deemed it sweet and good and no harm would ever come to such an animal under his watch. He decided she was worthy to carry the name Enibas and smiled as she curled up on his chest while they both drifted off to sleep on the deck chair.

---

Alix re-strapped her skates and got back up, ignoring the pain in her badly scraped hip and rolled out her shoulder while skating back uphill to the beginning of her obstacle course. She spun around and narrowed her eyes at the several cones placed strategically in front of her. She had set up her area by the Eiffel Tower and the locals already knew to steer clear as she had been doing this regularly for the past seven years ever since she got her first pair of skates. She blocked everything and anything out of her mind and focused on her breathing and steadied her body, with one more huff of breath she shot out towards the cones.

First: three cones placed closely together in a line and a fourth further behind, she spun in circles and lifted her heel of her right foot and toes of her and glided through the three cones quickly, she then jumped in the air and spun in a circle in midair over the fourth cone in a slight pirouette position before landed on her left foot with her arms out, bent over slightly, and her right leg sticking out behind her.

Second: she was still gliding very fast and twisting her extended leg gave her the momentum to face behind her, there were no cones but she knew what to do. She bent the leg supporting her and cut to the right and expertly landed on her padded hand and using the walled walkway beside her she pushed her left leg out to skate alongside and up the wall. Placing her other hand on the ground she pushed her body up high, higher than anybody should be able to do but given the fact she discovered Fluff gave her a bit of an advantage, she twirled and twisted to land on both feet. Once again Alix was facing downhill and even though she lost a lot of speed with the last move she was gaining again.

Third: there was a little makeshift ramp, Alix huffed again and pushed herself downhill. She would make it this time. Going as fast as she thought was safe, she skated on top of the ramp and keeping her legs straight she let it lift her, Alix let herself fly for a bit letting her legs carry up as her upper body fell before tucking her legs in to quicken the flip. However, instead of flipping too fast like last time, slipping, and slamming onto her shoulder, she went higher than she anticipated and shot her legs out to reach the ground quicker and ungracefully swung her arms about to prevent her from falling backwards again. She thumped onto the ground but before she could celebrate her success of landing on two feet she tripped from the unbalance and yelled “FU**!” before smashing into the ground.

Alix groaned from the pain and thanked the Kwami’s she always wore her helmet, if not she was sure she'd have much more than just a scratched chin.

“Are you okay?” a panicked man’s voice entered her ears and without moving to see who it was she gave a thumbs up.

“Holy sh** that was AWESOME!” another man’s voice invaded her ears again. Great. American tourists.

Alix pushed herself up to see who it was speaking to find, what most would call, a handsome gentleman with black hair and clear blue eyes filled with worry. She looked over at the other man who looked pretty much the same except with a weird strip of white hair and was typing furiously on his phone.

“Oi!” she pointed at the white striped hair dude, “di**head, did you take a video? Where are you sending it?”

“Jason!” the first with the blue eyes looked back at his… partner? “Don’t send that to anyone, alright?” The guy looked between the man in front of Alix then to her before shrugging.

“I wasn’t going to.” Alix still stared at him while he went back to his phone but walked up to the two on the ground.

“Are you sure you're ok, miss?” the man in front of her asked. She looked back at him and raised an eyebrow.

“I've been doing this since I was eight. I’ve had worse.” the guy nodded then smiled brightly.

“That was very impressive though.” He stood up and offered his hand which she took and stood up with him. “Do you mind if I join you? I would love it if I could. I’ve never actually done flips and stuff with skates but I think I can handle it. So can I?” His smile was so big and innocent that Alix laughed at him.

“I’m sorry but this isn’t exactly something you can just pick up and be good at, I’ve fallen enough times I won’t break a bone and while he,” Alix pointed at the other guy, “might be able to take a few crashes you don’t look like you’ve ever been in a serious harm. Like ever. No offence or anything I just don’t want some broken bones blamed on me.” She replied as nicely as she could but the man just started laughing.

“How about I show you what I can do on skates first and if you deem me unworthy I’ll take my leave.” Alix narrowed her eyes at him then gave him a slow nod. “Great!” he whipped out his phone and started texting someone while Alix just turned around and headed for her water bottle. These guys were weird.

Ten minutes later another guy showed up, Tim, as Alix was informed earlier, also had black hair and blue eyes except he seemed younger and was skinnier than the other two, and was carrying three pairs of new skates. Alix gawked at him, those were some of the nicest, most expensive pairs of skates in Paris and he had three. Yup. These were some rich fools.

Dick, as he introduced himself as (Alix laughed at him for such an unfortunate name), squealed and rushed to put on a pair of skates and wheeled around doing impressive jumps and moves that he really had no right doing while Jason yelled “I told you not to get me a pair!” the new boy shrugged and put his own on. Alix sighed and shook her head, accepting that these particular rich fools would be quite stubborn.

“Ok. I’m ready.” Alix turned towards Dick who looked at her expectantly.

“Ok. What are you waiting for, am I supposed to help you with something or…?”

“Oh! Uh… can I do the course? He pointed downhill at her makeshift course and she nodded.

“Sure. Don’t blame me when you crack your head open, you should really get a helmet by the way.”

“Oh don’t worry,” he waved her off and smiled like he wasn’t in actual danger, “I do stuff like this all the time.” He readied himself and went through her course, not as dramatic as she had done but toned down motions and movements and when he got to the ramp he jumped as far up as he could but didn’t flip. He skated back up and went through again adding a little more complicated movements through it. Alix watched with interest as Tim skated up to her side and stuck a hand out.

“Hello, I’m Tim.”

“I know.” Alix accepted his hand shake, “I’m Alix,” she replied before returning to watching Dick go through the course.

“I hope we’re not bothering you too much. I saw the video and I really wanted to meet you and I knew Dick here would love to do some stunts of his own. Did he already tell you what you did wrong with that flip that made you lose your balance?”

“Huh? He’s good but I don’t think he’ll be flipping on skates anytime soon.”

“Oh, actually we all kind of do crazy stunts like this on a daily basis and he specializes in acrobats so I just figured he told you already.”

“Ok! I think I’m ready!” Dick called out after his fourth round skating up the hill.

“No,” Alix breathed out. “He’s not gonna do the backflip is he?”

“Yup,” Tim lightly chuckled. “Sorry we’re all a little crazy.”

“This is for you, Alix.”

“Wait, no-” but Dick ignored her and started through the course again. He skated skillfully around the cones and did a perfect pirouette over the fourth cone as if he’d been doing it for years and did his own little crazy stint with a backflip then raced towards the ramp and with straight legs he let his legs fly up and his head drop much longer than she was comfortable with, then tucked his legs in but not as much as she did and landed perfectly and glided down the hill with his arms raised up like a gymnast.

“What!?” Alix yelled. She was highly peeved. She’s been trying this for the past week and he tries and lands on the first try!? Unfair. So unfair.

“Can I try?” Tim asked. Alix whipped her head to him and scoffed.

“Not you too? You're going to just flip like it's nothing too? No. No no no. Dick!” she yelled out unintentionally calling him the American curse word in the process to the man who turned around and started towards them.

“Yeah?” Alix waited until he stopped in front of her.

“How did you do that?”

“I just waited a bit longer before tucking my knees in. I noticed that you tucked too early and brought your knees too close to your chest which made you over flip. And by waiting a little longer you would have dropped a little further so you wouldn’t have struggled with being too high.” Alix huffed in annoyance.

“Ok… ok…. My turn, I’m going to get it this time.”

Alix went to the beginning of the course and took a deep breath, blocking everything out and shot out. She did her tricks and jumps and when she got to the ramp she felt a rush of adrenaline from the slight fear. She went up as high as she could and her legs went up and her upper body dropped. She waited past her comfort zone and looked down to the approaching ground. Then everything clicked. She tucked her legs in, following Dick’s words, and straightened them out again until they were slightly bent and landed. She whooped and pumped her fists in the air. She’d finally done it! She turned back around to find Jason on the side with his camera out and cheering her on while Tim and Dick did the same but without their phones. She laughed and skated back up the hill.

“I finally got it!”

“Yes!” Tim held out a hand and she high-fived it. “That was awesome! You are amazing!” Alix grinned widely at the praise.

“Thanks! I just have to land at least ten more times in a row,” she said as she readied herself to go again.

“Wait, I can’t go yet?”

“My course, my rules.” Tim smiled and nodded his head.

“Good point.”

For the next two hours Alix skated with the two boys and conversed with Jason when she was taking a break. That’s how she found out they were in Paris because of Marinette and refused to have two boys fighting over Marinette when she was already taken, well not yet but they were determined to get their brother Damian and Marinette together. She then decided she liked Jason, despite him taking unwanted videos though they turned out to be fun to watch (she cringed when she saw herself faceplant in the first video). It was nice to see people like the three of them looking out for Marinette, heaven knows she doesn’t have a guardian angel because she gets into way too much trouble without even trying, though the three of them were also troublemakers and chaos was basically Alix’s occupation. It was 19 hours (7:00) when they had to go but Alix was very excited when they invited her over with them to meet Marinette who they hadn’t seen in several years.

---

Marinette sighed from exhaustion as she pushed the front door of her parent’s bakery open. She had been working nonstop with Jagged Stone on his new stage outfits, she loved the guy but he was a handful sometimes.

“Marinette!” She looked up and gave her mother a tired smile while the woman handed a pastry to a customer. “Have a wonderful day,” she told the customer before walking around the counter as the man left and hugged her daughter. “We have some guests who came to visit you.” Mrs. Cheng smiled brightly at Marinette who scrunched her brows together in confusion.

“Who?” Her mother shook her head and pushed her towards the entrance to their home.

“You’ll see.”

Marinette walked through the door to find Alix wrestling Jason Todd to the ground while the man was pushing her face away with a pillow and Tim Drake watching, but not really watching, as he sipped on something she assumed was coffee, and Dick Grayson who was ignoring them all, laying on the couch watching spongebob in french. She cleared her throat to get their attention but nothing happened.

“Excuse me.” she called out but again, nothing.

“ExCUSE me.” Nothing besides Alix’s ‘hmph’ as Jason flipped her over and stood up, lightly smacking her with the pillow while yelling. “Taste defeat!”

“HEY!” Marinette finally yelled out. All four heads snapped to her and everything was silent for a moment before chaos erupted and all the three boys started shouting and squealing (Dick) and clamoring for hugs.

“Mari!”

“Nettie!”

“MY FAVORITE SISTER!”

Marinette made a strangled noise as they all squeezed the life out of her. Marinette was smiling and laughing with them but was very glad when she was finally back on her own feet.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“What, we can’t visit our little sister?” Jason asked innocently and Marinette crossed her arms and looked at him with disbelief etched in every part of her.

“Ok so we heard about your situation in your class and-”

“Hey!” Alix suddenly cut in and stuttered when all eyes were on her. “I mean, hey, so I was just hanging out with these guys all day and they’re all hungry, let’s fix them something to eat?” She looked at Marinette in question then clapped her hands together and nodded once to confirm it with herself. “Yes.”

Marinette looked at her suspiciously then at her pseudo brothers who suddenly started nodding in confirmation.

“Yes, food.”

“Yup.”

“Hunger is a thing I have.” Jason’s stomach grumbled as if on cue which broke Marinette’s suspicion and she giggled at him.

“Ok, spaghetti it is. Blue Bird, you're on cutting duty, Tim-Tam, you get the ingredients, Jay-Jay…. Alix, keep Jason busy.”

After a few minutes bustling around the kitchen Marinette suddenly remembered something and she turned to Dick, “Where’s the old man?”

After dinner was made Dick bounded into her room claiming Damian was napping on her balcony which Marinette smiled to in triumph but when Damian came downstairs her triumph washed away along with her soul.

Marinette was doing fine all day. She was completely rational and fine. She was fine. Currently she is NOT fine. She is NOT ok. And as for Damian? He was fine alright. Oh boy was he fine. As soon as he walked down from her trapdoor her jaw dropped to the floor.

---

Alix shook her head, she was having quite the time watching Marinette’s reaction to her childhood friend but felt a rush of relief that she didn’t have Marinette Problems.

“Seriously, Marinette? Close your mouth.” The girl snapped her mouth shut and tore her eyes away from Damian to land on the skater.

“Alix,” she hissed, “why is he so damn hot?” Alix smirked at her friend’s rare use of a curse word and watched as Marinette’s face started to pinken and she ducked behind the kitchen counter. Alix leaned over the counter and saw the tip of her friend’s head.

“Relax,” she tried to be reassuring but couldn’t stop grinning. She heard footsteps get closer and whispered, “he’s coming,” before plopping back onto her seat.

Damian walked into Marinette’s view and stopped to look at her on the floor with a scowl that Alix was sure was not helping Marinette’s situation.

“What are you doing on the floor, Dupain-Cheng?” Alix snickered while Marinette shot up on her feet.

“He’s a male Chloe Bourgeois!” she said mostly to herself.

“None of your business. I see you haven’t changed a bit, Old Man.” Damian scoffed.

“Neither have you, it seems, Sunshine Face.” Wow. Bad nickname.

“Oh,” Marinette placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side, “so you still admit my face is pretty?” Oooo, where did Marinette get her game?

“What? No. More like I can’t look at it for too long because-”

Marinette began waving her hands back and forth to get him to stop, “ok ok ok,” where was she getting this confidence? She was literally hiding from him five seconds ago. “When you explain it, it loses the humor, did you learn nothing all those years ago?” Marinette shakes her head and Alix silently agrees, “pity. Anyways, my cooking has improved, as well as everything about me, I have clearly surpassed you, and here is some spaghetti we made while you were napping.” She grabbed a plate and waved her hand towards the food still on the stove while handing it to him, “help yourself.” She walked by him and headed to the couch where Jason and Dick had settled and plopped between them while they played video games. Alix nodded in approval as she watched Marinette walk away. When she turned back she found Damian watching her as well with cheeks slightly tinted pink. Wow. Does every boy she talks to fall for her? Even Kagami, poor soul, had fallen for Marinette as quickly as she could say “Begone, Adrien.”

This is going to be a fun week.

---

Marinette groaned in despair. Nino walked in with a blue shirt with a white outline of Adrien’s face like he was some kind of pop star and a red hat that of course said “Team Adrien”

“What's next,” Marinette mumbled to herself while leaning back and crossing her arms, “Team Damian?” Marinette heard a gasp and turned to see Alix staring at her like she had the greatest idea ever.

Very suddenly things clicked for Marinette. Her classmates were picking sides of who she should date. Adrien or Luka. It was literally the only connection she could find between the two boys, they only had about one or two conversations together in their entire lives and Marinette was definitely terrible at keeping her crushes secret so there was no way that at least Kitty Section would know about it. And thinking about Kitty Section they were the ones who started it. Oh no. Marinette made those shirts. Does Luka know? Probably. Adrien definitely doesn’t. Wwwooowww. Some friends she has.

And now Alix.

That BRAT! She was typing something on her phone… oh no.

“Alix,” Marinette said slowly as if approaching a rabid dog while unraveling her arms from her body. “Alix, no!” She jumped from her seat and lunged for the skater over Mylene who merely leaned back in her seat as if she’d been through this a million times. Alix jumped back while continuing to type then very clearly pressing send. “Noooooo…” Marinette slumped onto Mylene’s lap who patted the top of her head in pity.

She laid there for a moment taking in Mylene’s silent comfort before slowly standing up and ignoring everyone’s stares. She straightened her clothes saying a polite, “thank you, Mylene,” and a nod at her before focusing her gaze on Alix. “You’re dead, Kubdel,” she said then turning around and sitting straight backed on her seat trying desperately to ignore another snapshot of Adrien in a Gabriel line of workout clothes showing off his muscles on the back of Nino’s new shirt.

Marinette was slowly losing her mind.

---

The next day Alix walked in with a black shirt with green bold font saying “TEAM DAMIAN” on the front and she could feel Marinette staring daggers at her. She purposefully exposed her back to the class so they could see the “FIND YOUR OWN GIRL” printed on the back.

Alix ignored the stares while pulling out her school things until she heard Lila’s sickening sweet voice call out to, “who’s Damian?” Alix waited for a beat to make sure everyone was listening before smiling smugly, she couldn’t help it, and shrugging.

“Damian Wayne, obviously.”

---

Marinette would deny it but she felt a sick sort of satisfaction when Lila’s face paled.

BONUS:

“Plagg!” Adrien sounded exasperated and the little god chuckled evilly. It was such fun to tease his holder. The boy hadn’t caught on that his infatuation with Ladybug was just that: infatuation. He couldn’t see that he merely admired the girl, his father saw to it that Adrien was so sheltered that he couldn’t separate his feelings of the different types of love.

“Just saying, I know what you're doing there, “chaton”,” plagg mimicked Luka’s voice perfectly on the last word which instantly made Adrien become very red in the face, “you and I know what team you play for.” He threw the boy a wink and cackled before leaving him to ponder his words as he searched for more Camembert.

---

Felix rolled his eyes at his phone and quickly pressed the unfollow button on his cousin. What an embarrassment. He had absolutely no clue what he was throwing away because of his naïvety.

---

“I can feel your rage from here, Kagami.”

“Sorry, mother.” Kagami’s mother nodded her head as an acceptance of her apology.

“I’ve heard about that pesky little feud Gabriel’s child is in.” She stayed quiet for a moment but Kagami didn’t break the silence. “You are a Tsurugi, Kagami. No hesitation.” Kagami couldn’t stop the little smile that slid onto her face.

“Yes, mother,” she said quietly.

-------

Team Luka:

Lila, Juleka, Rose, Ivan, Sabrina, Adrien

Team Adrien:

Alya, Chloe, Nino, Kim, Max, Mylene

Team Damian:

Alix, Dick, Tim, Jason, Bruce

some long ass notes:

I didn’t add kagami and felix into the mix because it would really complicate things but for clarification in my mind Marinette and everyone is between 14-16 and Marinette doesn’t know it but she does have feelings for kagami but she's focused on the other two boys, she knows she likes boys and doesn't want to think about girls since it would complicate her situation and open a door to many more problems with her poor little teen heart. Kagami knows she likes Marinette though, she took one look at marinette and said “nope. Bye Adrien.”

SO i think it be pretty cool if whoever wants to can reply with their own versions of whatever ships they want and the characters interactions with them. I won’t be actually putting any characters together as to leave the imagination up to the reader but if you want you can go ahead and add yourselves to whatever team you want (:

Part 1

@miracleofadisaster @consumeconstantly @mermaidreject @alenee13 @how-to-fuction-properly @dreamykitty25 @certifiedbidisaster @kris-pines04 @ira-sairain @crystalangelluna @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @our-preciousss @iamabrownfox @susiej1118 @thenillabean @tired-butterfly @fantasyislive @prudencerika @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @clumsy-owl-4178 @notmycupoftea26 @iamablinkmarvelarmy

#adrinette #lukanette #daminette #what team #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #lil bit of lila salt but she's struggling #adrien x marinette #luka x marinette #damian x marinette #ok its too long i dont wanna reread it imma post it

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years

Text

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

chapter summary: The consequences of Sophie’s decision are starting to catch up to her, but she doesn’t know how to handle them.

Chapter 4: The Broken

Word Count: 4.7k

warnings: crying, numbness, avoiding problems, emotional breakdown (that’s the crying part), swearing, let me know if I need to add anything else

taglist: listed at the end, let me know if you want to be added or removed!

everyone ready? here we go!

ao3 link here or read beneath the cut!

Sophie held onto the imparter until the buzzing stopped, having gone to whatever the elven version of voicemail was.

It started ringing again.

And another, behind her.

She turned painfully slow, dread curdling her skin, watching as Fitz pulled out his own imparter, staring down with that eerie gaze as it buzzed in his hand.

Then Biana.

Then Dex.

Then Wylie.

None of them answered.

The imparter in her hand chimed once, then again. They’d stopped trying to hail her--now they were sending messages. She couldn’t concentrate on the words flooding the screen, her fingers trembling too severely to hold it steady.

Before she could think it through, she opened the imparter, purposefully not reading the dozens of messages pouring in--from more than just her parents. She typed out a quick message, sent it off, and turned off the notifications, shoving it back into her bag.

The words burned the back of her throat, the ones she’d never get to say aloud, had left sealed behind with that cover when she made the choice--she made this choice--to leave.

She didn’t see what the others did as she continued moving forward, the grasses shifting from decrepit and decaying to unkempt but thriving, the vines becoming more lush, thicker and snaking and warm and untended to.

But she didn’t hear anyone pick up a call. She kept moving.

The area was...peaceful, if a bit wild. The marks left behind were clear--this area had been cared for, once upon a time. Now moss overgrew the trees, the rocks shaped as though meant to be sat upon, woven baskets left discarded on the grown, now-rotten fruits spilling from each.

“Over here,” Biana called, blinking into sight in the distance. Sophie hadn’t realized she’d disappeared.

Biana stood at the base of one of the thickest trees, towering, curling roots tearing into the soil below, sturdy enough that she stepped atop one like a stair. Biana pointed upwards, to what she’d called them to.

Their panting wasn’t the only sound amongst the trees, the faint chimes of soft bells pealing from above, so quiet she’d almost thought the trees themselves were singing. The sound sucked the air from her lungs, draining her dry as she ran her fingers through the knots of her hair, peeling it from her sweat-soaked neck, twisting it through her hands. Resisting the urge to tear it out.

Once upon a time someone had sung such similar songs to her as they braided her worries away.

Once upon a time she’d sat with them, and cooked with them.

Once upon a time they’d died.

She dropped her hand to her side. Now was not the time.

“Okay...how do we get up there?” Wylie stood at the base of the tree near Biana, hand resting at his chin as he frowned upwards.

Just barely visible through the thick canopy of leaves and vines a rustic, curved base was visible, wrapping and coiling itself around the thick trunk, as if it’d always been there. Greenery covered it, untamed and overgrown, spreading from somewhere unseen up above.

The gnomes abandoned tree-houses.

“We climb.”

Sophie panted softly in the light of the rising sun, palms scraped and aching. It had been higher than she’d thought, no easy way up aside from the branches gracing the trunks--the gnomes had planned it that way. Hadn’t anticipated anything would be able to find a path.

Not that it mattered now.

They stood on a wooden porch, able to clearly see the rest of the homes from here--it was an entire community. She’d known, logically, the scope of the gnomes who’d gone missing. Who’d left. But standing here--there were dozens of elaborate, woven residences clinging sturdy to the forms of these trees, wrapping around them with the trunk jutting through the center.

The chiming of those faint bells reverberated throughout the area, the budding rays of sun peeking through the foliage, reflecting off small gems and pieces of glass scattered throughout the builds.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, spinning slowly, taking it all in.

Linh curled her fingers, and the sound of bubbling water rose from various places throughout the trees, delicate dripping irrigation systems diverting the dew and catching the light. Cascades of warm flowered vines fell from the roofs, curling around the braided edges of the railings on each porch. There was a gap, a gate in each, where a thin path--wood suspended on loose vine--stretched out to the next tree, the next habitat over, some meeting and crossing, each dripping with moss and foliage and morning dew--and gouge marks.

Her stomach turned ice as she tentatively stepped out onto one of the bridges, gingerly fingering the marks. This place was beautiful, yes.

But it was abandoned. Empty.

The people who had woven these bridges, molded themselves into the trees--none of them remained.

The wings at her back shivered, twitching with her despair, and the urge to rend them from her skin nearly consumed her. Monsters had ransacked this place, torn the people from their homes and broken their paradise.

Nothing from below, no.

They’d been attacked by monsters with wings.

“What now, Sophie?” Keefe was looking at her so softly, head cocked to the side, it made her want to rip it from his face. She shook herself internally, dousing the thought with alarm. No. She didn’t want to hurt him. She’d done all this...come all the way out here, just to keep herself from hurting people.

She wouldn’t start now.

She would fight this, whatever was happening to her, whatever was changing within her, as long as she fucking could and she would not let it control her. She’d needed to get out of the underground, couldn’t trust herself to be near them anymore--but neither could they.

“Now…” she paused for a moment, unsure what to do. So many things had gone so wrong so quickly, the ground ripped from beneath her feet. What would they do? “Now, we hurt them back.”

Her resolve was steel against the chill morning air, cutting through the loathing with absolute certainty. At least for now.

Maybe she couldn’t trust herself to be a safe person anymore, but neither could any of them. The wings had come first--and Tam’s eyes had come next. Who knew when--if--it would stop. Where. Maybe it wouldn’t.

They could all be on a collision course, already doomed and just waiting to reach the end of the road. But until then. She was going to do everything she could to hurt back the people who’d taken the safety, the individuality from her friends. From her.

The others felt her thoughts, her determination through their linked minds, and she watched as each of their faces hardened alongside her own.

They couldn’t trust themselves either.

Didn’t matter whether or not they had a dangerous ability, they’d still become an unknown to the people they loved. Still hated not knowing when and if and what would happen and where and if it would stop and whether or not they could trust their own minds.

None of them could, but they were all in it together.

It was a risk. Any of them could lose themselves, turn on each other they way they were afraid they would underground.

But it was a shared fear, a shared future, a shared determination.

But it was all of them, all of them versus themselves.

And that was a risk, a chance, they’d take any fucking day.

The window in Sophie’s space was broken.

It would’ve been beautiful, once upon a time. Gnomish things often were. Curling, intertwining branches curved around each other, climbing up the wall in a haphazard arc, overgrown with flora. The view beyond was somehow better, the tops of the trees bursting with color, dripping dew set ablaze by the early morning sun.

Now glass littered the floor, dusting the panels, scattering themselves across the floor, pieces of different colors of someone else’s life. Faint tendrils of vine clung to the few cracked panes remaining in the frame, as if desperately holding itself together.

She tucked her knees in closer to her chest.

The light flowed through that shattered window, catching on the pieces on the ground, reflecting back up on her face as she sat there atop someone else’s bed, mussed and pressed against the wall, those wings spread behind her as she sat staring through that shattered hole.

She should be sleeping.

The others were.

She wasn’t.

She couldn’t. Not when the last time she’d done so she’d woken to be someone--something--else. Not when her imparter lay beneath her legs, ablaze with messages she may never read.

Those wings shifted behind her and she grimaced, gaze fixed straight ahead.

She hugged her knees closer.

Sophie Foster was

tired.

The wings twitched again, and her breath caught. The trees outside that shattered window grew slightly blurry, and she blinked hard. It wouldn’t go away.

Tear after tear tracked its way through the scrapes and dirt on her face, drifting down her cheeks and dripping their way across the sensitive skin of her neck.

Her nails dug into her skin, trying trying trying to hold those pieces of herself together, hold herself together like that broken window. Those pieces that had been shattered and scattered within moments, flipped around and tossed with abandon.

She couldn’t find that Sophie who’d been so angry, so determined, bursting with fight. Her friends had made a commitment to her and themselves, to get back at the people who’d done...this...to them.

They’d each claimed a home, an old gnomish space.

And when Sophie had walked into hers, chosen it for the wreath of moonflower vines framing the door, the moment her friends’ eyes left her, every bone in her body had turned to stone and her muscles to feathers.

She’d sat before that broken window and she hadn’t moved since.

She couldn’t.

Every time she moved, so did…they.

Just thinking about it sent a jolt through her spine that had them twitching. She hadn’t seen them, hadn’t looked.

She’d seen the stumps in the mirror, had caught glimpses of color and shape in her friends’ minds when she’d crashed into that tree, when she’d jumped from that creature.

Not enough to see them.

There was a part of her, a foolish, hopeless part of her, that thought if she ignored it long enough, it would go away.

If she didn’t look, they weren’t there.

If she didn’t look, they weren’t real.

Seeing them made them real.

She didn’t want them to be real.

She

was

tired.

Sophie’s gaze drifted outside the window, wandering between the different colored leaves and the draping vines and the flowers dangling from the--her--broken window.

Then it caught.

Alongside the bottom of the twisted branches was enough glass left for a splintered reflection to stare back, hollow tear-stained eyes, knotted hair stuck to her skin, curled up like she could disappear if she held herself close enough.

Wings.

They were hard to see in the glass, but they spread behind her, as if reminding her they were there. Her pulse roared in her ear, body overcome with that numbing tingle of pure panic.

Sophie inhaled. And slowly turned to look at them.

They were...real.

Attached at her shoulder blades, they spread from her back, the entirety of them on display. She couldn’t...tell what they were. Her friends, they each had something identifiable. An animal, a creature of some kind. Something distinct.

These...weren’t.

But she could identify the base.

Bumblebee.

That was the shape. The delicate, thin membranes threaded through with veins, and as they beat they made the same buzz. That’s what she’d been hearing earlier, she realized. That hum as she walked through the forest--it had been the wings.

But the color was off. Bees' wings were colorless, maybe a gradient of beige near the body. These were alive with splotches of color, translucent blues fading into purples blending into greys, speckled throughout with blinding white.

Like the endless expanse of the night sky. The hollow echo of the void.

Her eyesight blurred again, and she blinked hard as she followed the veins from the edge of the wing, all the way to where it met with her back. It took her a few moments to understand what she was seeing.

Another way she’d been set apart.

There were...feathers. Small, colored feathers textured through with speckles and swirling white patterns at the very base--only at the base. As if those wings had been unable to decide what they wanted to be, and had decided to be everything.

Sophie reached out, tentatively tracing a finger along the membrane.

She jolted, back arching reflexively, as if someone had tickled the bottoms of her feet.

She pressed out an exhale.

So they were sensitive.

Very

sensitive.

Sophie turned back away, looking out through the window once more, suddenly so so...numb. Her eyelids became lead, trying to succumb to gravity.

No.

Please.

Jerkily, exhaustion-worn, she reached for her imparter, still pressed between her legs. Anything. She’d do anything to keep from falling asleep again.

She thumbed open the messages, the unanswered chats between her and her terrified, desperate, confused parents. She couldn’t read them. The adrenaline trying to sear its path through her veins could’ve been nothing for all she felt.

She knew it was there. But it was doing nothing.

Sophie’s shoulders dropped, imparter slipping from her grasp as the electrical signals in her body stopped working. Her fingertip caught the edge of the screen, sending the conversation scrolling back back back.

Until she could see that one, final message she’d sent her parents.

I’m sorry. I left of my own will. I didn’t want to hurt you. Don’t look for me. I’m sorry. I love you. I always will. I’m so sorry.

And then Sophie Foster collapsed.

She could see herself. She was supposed to, at least. She wasn’t actually there.

There was no her to see.

The mirrors only reflected themselves back on each other again and again, becoming a darkening, sickening shade of green with each faux version of not-her.

The mirrors were empty.

Where was she?

Why couldn’t she see?

She was here, wasn’t she?

Why couldn’t she see herself?

The mirrors weren’t supposed to be empty.

Where had she gone?

Cinnamon and wind pressed against Sophie’s face, and her eyes snapped open, instantly on edge. She jerked up, those wings buzzing with alarm. Her fingers splayed behind in the torn sheets of that bed as all her senses overloaded her mind with too much information all at once.

The sun was still out but it was setting the trees were wet and the fibers of this blanket were individually woven together and the air was rusting the flower petals on the door and--

“Woah, woah, woah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” Fitz was holding his hands out placatingly, like she were some startled animal. Which...she supposed she was.

Sophie took a moment to respond, breathing slowly until all that sensory information became no more than background noise.

“Are you...alright,” he asked, lowering himself onto the bed, sitting diagonal so those wings didn’t get in the way. Those wings. She’d hadn’t looked at them closely yet. Had been too frenzied on adrenaline.

She changed the topic. “Do you know what...kind...those are,” she asked, gesturing towards the wings with her chin.

He grimaced, gazing over his shoulder. “I tried not to think about it, if I’m being honest.”

“But…” Sophie prodded, encouraging him gently with a nod of her head. Her face softened as she scanned him, the rumpled clothes--he’d changed into a new outfit--the unkempt hair, as if he’d pushed it back and forth, torn his fingers through it; the circles and lines beneath his eyes, framing his face like bruises; the scratches lining his knuckles, the way he pulled and fidgeted with his hands as he looked back at her--behind her.

The wings tucked in, resting against her back as she gently nudged him with her arm.

“Well...obviously, I’m assuming a bird of some kind.” He exhaled lightly with faint amusement, rolling his eyes. “You know. Because of the feathers.”

“Can I...may I see?” Her voice was too quiet, should’ve been too quiet. But they both heard her all too clearly. She winced, starting to pull back, lean away. She’d so clearly hidden the ones attached to her, now she was asking him to show off the pair on his back.

His eyes widened slightly as she retreated, and the wings spread slightly. He shifted on the bed, and the full length extended, wrapping up and descending around her, nearly enveloping her.

She couldn't keep the silent gasp from slipping through her lips, mouth falling opening as she saw the full pattern of those wings. Rich brown feathers melded into warm, golden honey, spattered throughout with occasional pops of cream. The feathers were smaller closer to his back, growing steadily longer and sleeker as they reached the outer edges of the wings, nearly the length of her forearm.

“I don’t know what kind of bird they could be,” he admitted, blush staining his cheeks. “There aren’t many with natural, earthy coloring in the Lost Cities.” His voice broke at the end, and he cleared his throat to cover it. The Lost Cities. They truly were lost now, weren’t they. A faux paradise broken into pieces, nothing more than memory. As ruined and haphazard as she was.

Sophie shook herself. Not now. Fitz needed her. She needed him. She cocked her head, looking at the pattern. “They remind me off…” she trailed off, sending her mind back back back. Something was pulling at her, a memory; something from her human life. There. A day at the San Diego zoo, her human mother holding her hand as they looked through the habitats.

“A golden eagle,” she whispered.

Fitz said nothing as she reached out, almost in a daze, running her finger along the edge of those feathers. He didn’t react, so…

“These aren’t sensitive, are they?” It was more statement than question, but he nodded anyway.

“Why? Are yours?”

Something clanged through her at that, jolting through her muscles and sending her thoughts convulsing into the shadows. Hers. She pushed it aside.

“We’re talking about you right now,” she teased, a little too out of breath to be okay. Her fingers fisted in the ragged bed sheets, resisting the urge to pull at her skin, her scalp, anywhere she could get her hands on.

He frowned at her, scrunching his nose a bit. “This isn’t just a me thing, Sophie.” His voice was too gentle, too caring, too too too aware of everything going on inside her and reading her like a book of melodies he could leaf through at his whimsy. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you after everything. But I know you’re trying to hide it. The leader we--all of us, Sophie--want you to be isn’t a person who will hide themselves from us. I know it wasn’t the same for you, the mission, waking up, but that doesn’t mean we’re that different.”

He glanced over her shoulder at both those pairs of wings, bumblebee and golden eagle. “Please don’t push us away. You don’t have to talk to me,” he continued, looking down at her clenched fingers, gently uncurling them and holding her hand in both his own. “But please talk to one of us.”

Fuck.

They sat there for a few moments, just breathing next to each other in heavy silence as Fitz brushed his thumb rhythmically over the back of her hand, ready to wait. To wait as long as it took her to say whatever was boiling brewing curling steaming screaming inside her.

It broke her.

Her fingers tightened in his as her whole body wracked with sobs, shuddering and collapsing in on itself. Her free hand slapped to her mouth, trying to push the noises back into her lungs, the room splotchy and blurred as those tears she’d tried so hard to ignore and to keep to herself and to pretend were only temporary slipped through.

She didn’t scream.

Fitz pulled her into an embrace as she shuddered, crying silently into his shoulder. Her throat was so so thick, so tense, her tongue so heavy in her mouth she couldn’t speak. Nails digging into his shoulder blade, fingertips brushing against the base of those wings, and she cried harder.

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to--. What did she want?

His arms were so warm around her, so steady as he held her, squeezing her closer and waiting waiting waiting for her.

She couldn’t find the willpower to voice it, to speak it aloud.

She didn’t need to.

She didn’t have the strength to speak, but her mind was stronger than her body.

I don’t want to become a monster.

That was what she was running from, hiding from. This possibility. The chance that the wings weren’t the end, that maybe this was where the first monsters had come from, all those months ago. And she was next. She’d have to sit inside her body and watch it rot, becoming the very thing she hated, despised, so dearly. Something with nothing inside it, something bloodthirsty who frothed at the opportunity to attack, no thought behind her actions, a danger to anyone near.

And that had driven her away from some of the most important people in her life. Looking back, it was still safest for her to be as far from her family as possible, but it still hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt.

She hadn’t been able to read the messages from her parents, whatever they’d said to her in terror, desperation, fear for her.

Maybe one day it would be fear of her.

She hated what she’d done to them, but she couldn’t fix it. Not when she was like...this. An unknown assuming the worst.

I know. Fitz inhaled shakily next to her ear, and she realized he was crying too. I know...exactly what you’re feeling. His mind was whirling beside hers, both their mental shields lowered as they sat beside one another.

His thoughts were slow but oh so tragic. Each one a nightmare, his body ruined and decaying, a monster that had once been him crawling its way into the underground, tearing the stones from the walls, gouging into the unprotected below.

Ripping his mother’s heart from her chest.

His arms clenched around her and she held him closer too.

Hey. Hey. Hey, she consoled, gently rocking the two of them back and forth. You...You’re not a monster, she finally whispered, and he sagged in her grasp, burying his face in her neck. I don’t think you could be. You’re too...good.

He laughed hollowly against her skin as she released her death grip on his shoulder blades, a hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, fingers running through his hair.

She’d tried to distract herself from the wings on her back by asking about the ones on his...but he’d also tried to distract himself from his quiet nightmares by asking about her own. What a pair they were.

What a group.

This was the two of them, but they were not solitary lights. They were fragments of stars amongst the constellations of people they had chosen to love.

Eight of them living through the exact same waking nightmare, only a few doors away.

“We’ll fix this,” she promised, voice hoarse from her tears. “I don’t know...I don’t know what fixed will be. Maybe we’ll be out here for the rest of our lives. Maybe we’ll go back to the underground eventually. Maybe...maybe we’ll even go home.” Her voice broke on the last word, but his breathing had slowed. He was listening. “But whatever it will be, we’ll find it. We’ll make it. All of us. We work best when we work together. If anyone can fix this...it’s us.”

Fitz leaned back, his palms running down her arms and coming to rest in their laps.

“Yeah,” he whispered, staring down at their interlaced fingers, eyes red and vacant. And it was so so natural to reach forward, brush his tears away with her thumbs, hold his face in her hands for a moment before picking up his own once more.

He looked up at her at that, opening his mouth as if to continue, but he paused, head cocking to the side and a slight smile spreading across his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just...are you--” he cut out, looking down at his palms, laughing slightly as he angled them towards her, so she could see.

The skin of his palms was dusted in a faint layer of light powder, almost a translucent silver. He pointed to her own arms, and she followed his gesture.

“What are you--oh.” All thoughts left her mind, leaving her with just a what? Every inch of her exposed limbs was brushed with a fine layer of powder, clinging to the surface of her skin and catching the sunlight streaming in through that broken window.

Sophie scooted back on the bed, shaking out her arms, a shower of light dust raining down. She wasn’t even angry about it, there was only pure dumbfounded bafflement as she brushed the powder off again and again and again, mostly of it falling to the sheets, but enough clinging to her skin that she was sure she’d never be rid of it.

Fitz laughed louder at her perplexed expression, glancing at him as she shook out her hands again, his voice cracking slightly as he stood, bounding to the broken window and eagerly leaning out, looking around.

“What are you doing? This is a very serious situation Fitzroy,” she said, scrunching her nose at him lightheartedly. Sure, she was confused. But she could handle that if it got rid of that horrid numbness shadowing his face. Whatever it was sent a sweet scent wafting from him, and she smiled slightly herself. He was...genuinely amused. But what was he doing?

He turned towards her and grinned, pointing to one of the flowers framing the glass, a soft periwinkle encrusted with speckles of grey, drooping from the vines. “Look.” Flower between his fingers, he tapped it a few times, a shower of that fine powder falling from the center.

“...and?” She wasn’t following.

“You’re a bumblebee,” he laughed slightly. “It’s pollen.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” she sighed, pressing her hands into her cheeks, squishing her face as she turned to look at him. “Our homes being overrun by mindless bloodthirsty creatures: I can handle. Living underground for months: I can handle. Running away from our families: I can handle that. Growing fucking wings? I can handle it. But this pollen. I just don’t think I can take it. I think this, right here, this will bee my breaking point.”

Fitz full on snorted at that, her little pun, and she found herself grinning back at him.

His smile faded after a moment and he titled his head to look at her, the movement inhuman. “You can handle it, huh?”

She dropped her hands down to her lap, thinking it over. She’d been joking around, wanting to make him laugh, ease the weight off both the shoulders the way Keefe did so effortlessly, but...the words hadn’t come out of nowhere.

“Yeah,” she answered finally. “I think we can.”

Maybe not now. This would hurt, this would linger for a while yet, but she’d get there. There was a while yet to go, but it would be manageable someday.

She’d have to remind herself of that.

He nodded to himself, briefly meeting her gaze, and she was put off for a moment at the intensity of his stare. He nodded again, and something shifted in his stance. His muscles eased and a sturdy calm washed over him, like he’d seen something in her that’d given him confidence.

“I guess then we’ll--” he cut off as both their heads snapped towards the door.

The sound.

Light footsteps pounded erratically against wood, losing their balance several times as they skidded right onto that patio outside. Something pinged in the back of the mindbubble.

Something’s wrong.

They each flinched as the door burst open, Biana’s hair frazzled, eyes wide with pure panic, the scent of damp terror permeating the space. She leaned in just long enough to say two awful words.

“It’s Dex.”

Taglist: @loudnerdfest @rainbowtay-11 @cadence-talle @pyrokinetic-loser @ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog @itstiger720 @loverofallthingssmart @cowboypossume @jolieharkness @wings-of-hell-and-beyond @shellyseashell @blossomjennie @akotlcblog @imaramennoodle @booknerdddddd

#I do not feel bad at all #I have been planning this since the very very beginning #the cliffhanger I mean #one of the og parts of my outline #anyways please share your thoughts #I have many of them #I will talk about this au forever #also it just keeps getting longer #anyways #there are little details in here I'd love to talk about if you just ask #because I'm worried you won't pick them up #kotlc #kotlc fanfic #kotlc fic #kotlc wings au #shattered upside down #my writing <3 #keeper of the lost cities

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bqstqnbruin · 3 years

Note

20 with Vince?

20. *walks in* Hey guys. What the- okay. *walks out*

Happy blurb weekend y’all

You were never a fan of your birthday. There was no real reason, it was just a day you would rather spend following your normal monotonous routine rather than making a big fuss about it. You were past the age of major milestones like 13, 16, 18, or 21, so why should you make a big deal out of another day? Vince tried to convince you to do something the last three years you were together, failing to do anything other than letting him take you out to dinner, something he already did frequently since his cooking was awful. This year, he didn’t even bring any plans up, just kissing you good morning and again when you left for work.

You go through the normal routine, going to work, doing your job, having lunch. After lunch, you find a box on your desk, Vince’s handwriting on the note attached. ‘I know you don’t want to make a big deal, but happy birthday. Love you, Angel - Sunshine.’ You smile at the box, rolling your eyes at the present thinking it was going to be some sort of gag gift. Opening it, you find a gold necklace, the chain purposefully twisted. The charm was an angel, the body a teardrop cut of your birthstone, the head and wings small diamonds. You gasp at the sight of it, putting it on immediately.

“Wow,” your coworker, Jen says, seeing the jewelry around your neck. “That’s stunning.”

“It’s from Vince, for my birthday.”

“Wait! Today’s your birthday! Happy birthday, why didn’t I know?” she starts yelling, you desperately trying to shut her down form causing a scene.

“I never make a big deal about it, Vince I guess just wanted to get me something,” you brush it off, praying that she doesn’t do any more than just wishing you a good day.

Instead, she sits down on your desk, knocking off some of the papers in the process. “What does he have planned for tonight?”

You shrug, picking up the scattered papers, “I’m assuming other than the necklace, nothing.”

“What?” she shrieks, ignoring the shushing that you keep doing. “He’s doing nothing?”

“I don’t want him to.”

“But it’s your birthday,” she whines.

“It’s just a day.”

The two of you start bickering, going back and forth about whether or not Vince needed to be doing something for today. You’re interrupted by a delivery person standing over you, a bouquet of your favorite flowers with our name on them. ‘Don’t come home until 5 pm - Sunshine’

“Who’s Sunshine?” Jen asks, reading over your shoulder.

“Vince. Can I please work now? I need something to do until I’m allowed to go home.

She leaves you at your desk, finally some peace for you to panic over what he could possibly be planning for the night. You weren’t keen on surprises, and knowing Vince, that was exactly what he had planned.

Close to five, leaving the office, you call Vince. “Whoever is in our home better leave before I get there.”

“I can’t believe you’re kicking me out of our home when I didn’t do anything wrong this time.”

“Vince,” you whine, getting in your car.

“Can’t you just trust me?” he asks. You swear you heard someone shush someone else in the background, groaning at the idea of the surprise party he was clearly throwing you. He probably invited his teammates, they would get drunk, and then you would be left cleaning up the next morning before work while Vince stayed in bed hung over.

“I guess,” you say, “I’m a few minutes away.”

“Love you, Angel,” he says.

“Love you, Sunshine.”

You pull up to your home, Sammy’s car parked a little bit down the street, Jen’s not far behind his. Both of them had to be there. This was a surprise party. It had to be. Vince was so bad at planning things well that he couldn’t even plan a simple surprise party without you figuring it out from the slightest tip. You gather your stuff from your back seat, going up. You take a deep breath, unlocking the door. “Hey, Vince,” you say, only to be interrupted by some of yours and Vince’s friends yelling surprise, Vince appearing sheepishly from behind the door. “What the- okay,” you say, turning around to leave.

“No, no, no, come on. It’s small,” Vince says, taking your stuff from you and bringing you back inside. “It’s the people you care about the most, and all we’re doing is eating dinner together. Please stay?” he pouts, his lip sticking out as he wraps his arms around your waist, “You deserve one night where everyone you love celebrates you.”

You sigh, looking at your closest friends standing in the living room, glasses of wine in everyone’s hand, the most incredible smell coming from the kitchen which told you Vince ordered dinner from somewhere he probably knows you love. “Fine,” you say, him pressing a kiss to your cheek, “This is the only birthday you’re allowed to do this for, though.”

“Works for me!” he says, leading you to the table that was covered in your favorite foods. Your friends had all brought small presents, Jen buying you your favorite wine because Vince apparently didn’t think to tell her about the party until earlier that day, after your conversation at your desk, Sammy got you a shirsy they had Blais written on the back to spite Vince, along with a gift card so you and Vince could have dinner at your favorite restaurant, John getting you a signed copy of one of Chrissy Teigen’s cookbook, Natalie got you tickets to see the Cardinals play the Yankees, your favorite team against the team that your dad’s family loved.

Last was Vince, even though he already bought you flowers and the necklace, he slid one last box in front of you. A small, velvet box that held a diamond ring, the diamond bigger than the ones in the necklace. “What is this?”

“I wanted a way to make your birthday a little more enjoyable, so what better way than asking you to marry me in front of those who loved you most.”

“You’re proposing?” you ask, completely shocked.

“I thought I was the dumb one,” he laughs, earning a swat on the hand from you while he holds up the ring in front of you, “What do you say?”

“Of course,” you tell him, your friends screaming as Vince slides the ring on your finger.

#vince dunn #vince dunn imagines #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines

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brighteyewrites · 3 years

Text

Scarred (Mind and Body)

You claim, “it’s fine” But the heart reveals What smiles betray Your sad sad eyes Gave you away - The Strength to Go On [Rise Against] Angstember Day 10 | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

There were no physical wounds left from her time in that cell, though she would have to meet with Dr. Port very soon to deal with the emotional ones. Gloria had quietly confirmed that she wasn’t pregnant during a brief moment when it had just been the two of them; Angela was grateful for the information, even as the reminder made her feel nauseous. With nothing left to keep her with, Gloria had released Angela from the infirmary. Angela was under no illusions that she wouldn’t be heavily watched, to ensure she remained healthy; considering how poorly she had cared for herself before her capture, she could only imagine how much more overbearing they would all become. She could feel their eyes on her even now, as she quickly made her way out of the infirmary. A month ago, Angela would have disappeared into her office for hours until someone dragged her away from her work. The Angela of today made her way to the elevator. It had been hard to stand in the small box as it ascended; being alone, which had once allowed her to work unhindered and to great success, now rendered her breathless and anxious. She abused her position and used her override key to ensure no one joined her - while the presence of another would have relieved her anxiety, she couldn’t bear anyone else to see her so distraught. She let herself into her rooms, her chest tightening painfully as the door shut behind her. Angela knew she was safe. Here, in her rooms, nothing and no one would hurt her - Jack and Gabriel would never allow it. Angela took in a shuddering breath, arms wrapped around her chest, as she tried to calm herself down. Despite her efforts, her anxiety mounted. Even though the room looked nothing like the one she had been held in, being alone had always been the best - and the worst. Never knowing what they were going to do to her next, or even when they were going to do it, had been a hell she would never wish upon anyone. The door had to be dealt with; there was no way she could bear to feel this was for long. Everyone on this floor would have known about her capture; they would have been the ones to help plan her rescue. They also knew these were her rooms, so she wasn’t worried that one of them would wander in unannounced - or even at all, since she wasn’t one for entertaining guests in her rooms. Secure in that knowledge, she’d wedged a book into the door jamb to keep it from closing; it was an unfortunate use for the book, but it forced the door to remain open and relieved the mounting tension in her chest. Angela knew, eventually, she would have to deal with the door in a more appropriate manner, but for now she left it wide open. The sight of a ready escape helped to release the vice around her lungs. But, with the immediate stressor addressed, she discovered another: the silence. No one was on this floor at this hour, so even with the door propped wide open it was overwhelmingly silent. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was back in that room - though, at least, she wasn’t bound into a painful position. Without the EKG’s familiar beeping - or even a radio to play static - there was nothing to distract her mind. Angela found a compromise in her bathroom sink; the rush of water was just enough to dispel the oppressive silence that was consuming her. Now she was before her bathroom mirror, twisting to look at herself. She had stripped, her bare skin on display under the cold lights. Her wrists and ankles had matching bands from where the manacles had bit too deep for weeks. Her back was a mess of scars; some were raised flesh while others were simply white lines. The scarring could be worse - she knew that, objectively. If the wounds had been allowed to heal naturally, without the assistance of her healing technology applied by Gloria and her medical staff, her back would have more raised and ropey scars than the less horrific white lines. Angela didn’t know how long she stood there, staring in horror at the permanent reminders of her capture, before Gabriel appeared in the bathroom doorway. Her eyes widened and her arms crossed over her chest reflexively as she turned away, giving him a better view of her back than he’d had before. “Get out,” she choked out - as if he hadn’t seen every inch of her countless times before. As if he hadn’t seen exactly what had happened to her. As if he hadn’t been the one to carry her out of that room. He seemed frozen, eyes wide in surprise. “Please,” Angela whispered shakily. The desperation seemed to break through his shock and he quickly turned away, though he remained where he was in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Angela,” he said. “I thought you were sleeping - I should have let you know I was here.” Quickly, Angela pulled the scrubs that Gloria had given her earlier that day on with trembling hands. Once dressed, she regarded Gabriel’s back warily. “Will--” Angela cleared her throat. “Will you let me out?” He wasn’t quite blocking the door, but she wasn’t ready for that much body contact - didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for such a thing again. “Yes, of course. Sorry.” He took a few steps into the bedroom, standing near the bed to make space for her. The sight gave her pause; clearly he had been sleeping here, based on the rumpled sheets and scattered pillows. Before, that wouldn’t be a problem, but... “Gabriel-- I--” She shifted uncomfortably, arms wrapping around herself as she leaned against the doorframe. “You can’t sleep here.” Angela didn’t look up at him, unable to handle his emotions on top of her declaration. “That’s okay,” he assured her; absurdly, his easy surrender disappointed her. Realistically, Angela expected nothing less: he’d never pushed her before and she knew he wouldn’t now, not after what had happened. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” Gabriel asked. “Or do you want me somewhere else completely?” Angela opened her mouth - and then paused. He’d stayed with her last night, nearby but distant, and it had been okay. The EKG had held off the silence, and he’d made sure she wasn’t alone - something she wasn’t sure she could ever comfortably be again. “The couch? If... if that’s okay?” She asked hesitantly, then mentally berated herself; Angela hated this person she’d become. She was supposed to be - had been - a strong person, unflappable and confident. Now, fear overwhelmed her until it stripped away everything she had built over the last decade. “Of course it’s okay.” Gabriel assured her in a gentle voice. “I don’t mind.” He didn’t say he’d stay as long as she needed, because they’d both know it would be a lie. He didn’t belong in Zürich with Overwatch any longer; his duties were in Rome, to Blackwatch. Angela knew it was borrowed time and hated that what had happened to her was the cause of it all. “I...” Angela searched for something to say. She might not have started this conversation - hadn’t even expected it, didn’t really want it - but she would keep it going. It was what the old Angela would do; this new Angela would follow in her wake, to pick up the scattered pieces while pretending she wasn’t broken. She wasn’t. She wasn’t. “How long can you stay?” She settled on finally. There was nothing she could think to say that didn’t circle back to her kidnapping. The sleeping arrangements, his stay, even the small distance between them: all of it was because of the assault. Angela had nothing to say, nothing to give, that wasn’t rooted in her terror and pain - and, although she had hated them in that room, she didn’t want to burden them with that guilt, too. “A few days,” he admitted, clearly unhappy with the length of time. “Maybe a week, but then...” Angela nodded, teeth catching her lower lip as she stared at the ground between them. She found it hard to look at him. It wasn’t from her lingering anger or hatred; no, she didn’t want to see the guilt - or worse, the pity - in his eyes, in his body language. “It... It will be okay, Gabriel,” she said, saying the words that the old Angela would have said despite how they cut at her. It wouldn’t be okay - nothing would be okay ever again - but the old Angela wouldn’t have tried to hold him back or make his life any harder than it had to be. “Nothing about this is okay,” Gabriel snapped. His angry words had her retreating a few steps, back into the bathroom, before she realized she’d even moved. He swore softly under his breath. “Angela, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you.” Angela glanced towards him briefly, measuring his words against his body language without even intending to; this was Gabriel, not her captor. “I’m not going to hurt you, cariño.” He must have caught the terrified look; of course he did. He always seemed to know what she was thinking and feeling, long before she ever admitted it to him. “You’re safe here. You know that, right?” Angela nodded jerkily; she knew that, at least in the base, no one would hurt her - on purpose, at least. “I--Sorry,” Angela mumbled to the ground as she forced herself to go back to the doorway, to lean against it as she had before he’d frightened her. Gabriel made a harsh noise that had her shrinking down - but not stepping back - defensively. After a moment, which, despite staring at the floor, she knew he had spent running his hands over his head and face, Gabriel managed to compose himself. “Angela,” he started, voice low and rough with his roiling emotions. “Angela, cariño, look at me.” When she hesitated, he added a gentle, “please?” Angela forced her shoulders to relax even as her arms rose to cross over her chest, eyes raising slowly. She took in his stance - purposefully relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets - before meeting his eyes. “Don’t apologize to me, Angela,” he said firmly, once she finally raised her eyes to meet his. It was his eyes that gave him away; he might be trying to put her at ease by looking calm, but his eyes were sharp with anger - not at her, she knew, but what she had been through. “You have nothing to be sorry for, do you hear me?” Angela swallowed hard before nodding once, sharply. That was something else she knew, objectively, but it was so much harder to believe when faced with reality. Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft rush of water to her left. “I have to get back downstairs,” Gabriel said finally, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Like I said earlier, I thought you were sleeping and was just coming to check on you.” Angela wasn’t sure if it was the truth or if he was just trying to escape the tension that was building between them. Considering it was the middle of the day, he probably did have some obligations that needed to be fulfilled. “That... I understand,” Angela nodded. She, too, had obligations downstairs - but she couldn’t bear to face them as she was now. Her medical work was what had lured her into the trap that had cost her - cost them all - far too much. Angela wouldn’t be able to withstand the sidelong looks and the whispers when she moved just out of earshot on top of it all. “I’ll come back soon,” he promised, slowly edging past the bathroom door so that he could exit the room. “I can bring you something to eat?” He offered, pausing briefly. “That would be nice,” Angela said, trying to be reassuring. She didn’t think she was successful, but he accepted the words all the same. “Alright. Call me if you need anything at all, okay?” Gabriel didn’t move until she nodded her head in silent acknowledgment, if not acceptance. Then, he was reluctantly moving through the open doorways that would lead him back to the elevators, leaving her alone once more. Angela wished he hadn’t left, despite the horrible tension that had built between them - made worse by her reaction to his angry words. Anything was better than being alone. Well, almost anything.

Self Sacrifice | An Angel's Ransom | Broken Chains | Scarrred (Mind and Body)

#overwatch #fanfiction #angela ziegler #gabriel reyes #mercykill #angstember2021 #writing challenge #writing prompt #angst #tw scars #tw past trauma #tw dark themes #angels ransom series

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Lost and Found (Fifteen)

Tony planning for the inevitable and finally finding some answers. *cue the music and make it pearl clutchingly dramatic*. I have about a thousand reasons why I love this chapter, but I’ll put those in the notes at the bottom!

Super brief mention of past drug use in this one, as well as verse typical anxiety/mania

MASTERLIST

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

64%

“JARVIS.” Tony tossed the monitor into the desk drawer and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Where’d we get with the facial recognition program for James with the addition of the Pierce angle?”

“Nowhere at all, sir.”

“Right. Right I knew that.” Tony did know that, he remembered having this discussion yesterday-- the day before?-- and being just as frustrated as he was right now. “Okay listen, scrap that search and start another.”

“Parameters?”

“Narrow it down to the Tri-State area, specifically Brooklyn.” Dum-E beeped over with one of his shakes in a horrifying seventy-two ounce amount, and Tony sighed and patted the robot in a fond-if-not-begrudging thank you. “Get out of the military branches and start searching for family members. I’m not looking for James anymore, I’m looking for someone related to James. Next of kin, anything like that.”

“Yes sir.”

“Expand it outside of male, let’s find a sister, maybe his mom.” Tony unscrewed the lid and gulped at the horrible stuff. “I’d settle for a cousin and a long lost Auntie. Dial back the points on the recognition software so it’s not quite so specific. Sometimes siblings look a lot alike, sometimes they don’t. If it’s a half sibling, they might only share a common nose or both got Dad’s unfortunate ears.”

“You consider James’s ears unfortunate, sir?”

“Nothing about that man is unfortunate.”

JARVIS did one of those purposefully long silences followed by an almost impatient sounding click, and Tony smiled. He’d done the right thing modeling the AI after the unflappably loyal butler/driver/body guard that had been his constant childhood companion. The real Jarvis would have responded exactly the same-- a purposefully long silence, and then a click of his tongue before changing the subject and suddenly Tony missed the old butler enough to make his chest hurt.

“Run program for James and while you’re at it, look up Edwin Jarvis relatives and let me know if they’re doing okay. If he’s got a direct grandkid going to college or something, let’s make it happen. Pretty sure Jarvis is the only reason I survived long enough to make it to college, least I could do is return the favor.”

“Yes sir.”

“Thank you.” Tony drummed his fingers on the desk absentmindedly. “Did we ever get bank accounts created for James?”

“Ms. Potts saw to their creation when you first arrived back in Malibu from D.C.”

“Run the Ghost Protocol file list and double check everything.” Tony held up his hand towards Dum-E and the robot rushed forward to bump into him affectionately, nearly pushing Tony right out of chair. “How are you simultaneously the worst robot and funniest dog in the world?” he asked the machine and Dum-E only beeped and waved at him. “Right. My fault cos I programmed you. What was I thinking?”

“Ghost Protocol file list ready, sir.”

“Set up recurring payments into James’s account from one of my trust funds.” Tony instructed. “I don’t care which fund it comes from, just make it irrevocable. We also need to make sure he’s on the company insurance plan so he has access to our doctors.”

“Of course.”

“Did we give Happy a raise?” Tony grit his teeth and took another drink. “What about his pension plan? Is it set up okay?”

“Both Mr. Hogan and Ms. Potts have a pension plan even the president would be jealous of.”

“That’s good.” Tony smiled again. “No, that’s-- that’s good. I want to make sure they’re taken care of. Rhodey too? What about Mama Rhodes, have we been keeping up on her money in case anything happens to him?”

“Within the files of Ghost Protocol, you have taken the necessary steps to ensure each of your loved ones are well taken care of in the event of anything catastrophic.”

“I won’t let this be catastrophic.” Tony muttered grimly, pushing at the reactor where it sat heavy in his chest. “I’m not going to let this thing be catastrophic.”

“And how do you plan to do ensure that, sir?”

“You let me worry about that.” He pulled up the specs of James’s new arm so he had something to look at while drinking the green sludge. “Close Ghost Protocol. Open new file. Have you been running continuous diagnostics on James’s arm?”

“Honestly, sometimes I think you doubt the abilities you hand coded into my system.”

“Right yeah that’s--” Tony scrubbed at his face wearily. “Of course you’re on it. Wish I could write you a retirement plan, J. You deserve something good after all this. Maybe I’ll download you into NASA, wouldn’t that be fun? Controlling space ships and all that sort of thing?”

“The only reason for me to go to space would be to guide you on your way, sir and it would be an honor to do so.”

“...Thanks, J.”

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

Tony didn’t mean to fall asleep on the desk. It was certainly the least comfortable spot he’d fallen asleep at recently, the cold metal was no match for James’s arms or even the solid line of the soldier’s chest. His neck would hurt when he woke up, his back would twinge from being slumped over in the chair and his face would no doubt have unattractive creases from his shirt sleeve but Tony fell asleep all the same.

He was exhausted. Always always exhausted. The whirlwind round of sight seeing he’d done with James over the last week or so had been physically as well as mentally taxing, the nagging feeling that he was ignoring more important things like world peace and suit upgrades was wearing on his mind. The numbers on the monitor certainly didn’t help anything and neither did the increasingly often, increasingly intense rounds of...of making love...

...there it was. No other word for it. Far past hooking up, far past just sex. The way they moved together was making love, the way James held him close and gasped his name was making love. The way Tony felt afterwards when James pressed soft kisses to his scars and he did the same to the mottled skin where prosthesis met flesh…

Christ, Tony hadn’t known it would ever be like this.

He hadn’t known it could be like this.

Twenty five years Tony had been waiting to find the courage to even try and now every step forward with James was a step closer to running out of time.

So he slept, hunched over and uncomfortable and exhausted on the desk in the lab because all the best things he’d been doing lately were more than likely killing him faster.

C’est la vie.

Que sera, sera.

It was quiet in the house.

James was out with Happy cos somehow the ex soldier and driver/bodyguard had struck up something of a friendship that revolved around food and Happy cheating at mini golf. James had tipped Tony’s chin up and smiled down at him before leaving, “I could ditch Happy and you and me could go get lost together, sugar.” and Tony had wrapped his hand around the immovable left wrist and forced back a plea to stay and joked instead, “Getting lost with you sounds fun, but you do not want Happy coming after you with a putt-putt nine iron for standing him up.”

James’s goodbye kiss had been soft and sweet and packed full of promises Tony desperately wished he would have time to cash in on, but even as he waved his soldier and Happy down the driveway, the kiss faded from his lips and just left him cold. He was getting worse and he knew it, if the numbers on the monitor didn’t prove it, the increasing fatigue and bone deep pain certainly did. God Tony would love to get lost with James and see all the things they could find together, but he had things to check off his list before it was too late and that’s why he was in the lab alone working on the Ghost Protocol.

He had to finish before it was too late.

Besides, the quiet was sort of nice.

Pepper was out doing whatever she did that made sure Stark Industries didn’t collapse, being powerful and beautiful and so much more competent than Tony had ever been simply because she cared. Tony knew what they were saying about Pepper, about how she wasn’t qualified to run Stark Industries and how there could only be one reason why she got the job... and yes, there was only one reason why Pepper got the job. She was the only person in the entire world Tony knew could do it perfectly.

Plus, she deserved it. Pepper deserved the company and all the money and prestige that came along with it because she had helped carry him through some of the darkest moments possible and that was something Tony could never repay her for.

Just like he could never repay Rhodey, who was off being the world’s greatest hero, or Happy who had been Tony’s confidant on many many drunken nights when all his walls came down and he sobbed his heartbreak out all over the backseat of the limo.

Tony couldn’t repay the people he loved so much, but he could make sure they were okay after he was gone and that’s what Ghost Protocol was all about.

So Tony drifted while the world went on around him, dozed in the quiet while JARVIS uploaded the most recent design changes to what would be Rhodey’s suit while simultaneously running programs to see if there was any hope of finding even a distant relative of James so he wouldn’t be left alone.

Tony didn’t want James to ever be alone, not again, not after they’d found--

*beep beep*

“JARVIS.” Tony's head jerked up, mind skittering and scrambling trying to land on exactly what the noise meant. There were so many noises and alarms set in his lab. Was a project done? Was it time to check his blood? To take another drink? What was he supposed to be doing?

It felt like the times he’d done coke in his college days, where everyone else swore the drug focused them but all it did to Tony’s already high functioning mind was crash and burn and scatter his most basic thought processes. It was like a train wreck and Tony was wavering between tired enough to pass out and edging towards manic with the need to keep going keep going keep going and it just wasn’t working.

“What is that--that is-- we are--the noise--- fuck!” Tony crashed his hand down on the desk and swore out loud. “Damn it, JARVIS. Please tell me what’s going on. I can’t--” he forced out a breath. “I can’t do it. Help me.”

“Allow me, sir.” JARVIS interrupted smoothly, and Tony rubbed at his eyes in frustration because he just couldn’t concentrate. “It would seem we have found a match within our search for James’s identity.”

“Wait.” That certainly brought his mind into laser sharp focus. “What? Already?”

“Apparently the new parameters proved far more fruitful than our original endeavors.”

A picture popped up on the fold down screen of a young man with glasses, a neatly trimmed beard and a pair of unmistakably piercing, pale eyes that were all the more startling against his olive skin.

“Oh my god.” Tony zoomed in on the picture, stared deep into the same gaze he saw every morning. “Find a lineage. Mom, Dad, I don’t care. Trace it until we find James.”

“Searching, sir.”

*ping* “Last name Adams, first name Scott. Maternal name leads to a divorce, maiden name Proctor.”

“Proctor.” Tony repeated. “Switch to a new screen and search under Scott Proctor. He looks the right age to be James’s brother or cousin.”

*ping* “Proctor, Scott, age twenty seven. Maternal line leads to Ramon, paternal line continues Proctor.”

“Continue searching Proctor, we should be getting close.” Tony’s skin was nearly crawling with anticipation, his mind stuttering as it leapt from fact to conclusion, fact to conclusion. Finding someone who was so clearly related to James-- no way those eyes belonged to anyone else-- and was the right age to only be a sibling or a cousin. They were getting close.

This was good, this was good because now there would be family, someone to help James after Tony was gone, someone to soften the blow of loss.

--if it was loss, that is. If James considered not having Tony anymore to be a loss and Tony wasn’t-- he wasn’t entirely sure. Yes, he’d gotten to the point where he couldn’t kid himself about his own feelings anymore. And yes, he and James had been working on being vulnerable and being open but Tony knew he’d never be vulnerable and open enough to ask for love.

Not-- not love. Not for him. Not after only a few months, not when asking for love when James barely knew himself would almost be cruel, not when Tony would always wonder if James would say yes because it was true or because he knew something was wrong with Tony and figured he wouldn’t have to make good on that particular promise.

No, not love. Tony couldn’t ask for that.

He wasn’t brave enough for that.

And he knew James knew something was wrong and that Tony was lying every time he said “It’s okay.” James knew he was lying just like Pepper and Rhodey and Happy knew he was lying but that was okay. It was. Tony wasn’t going to let goodbye be awful for them, wasn’t going to let it be catastrophic, so he would keep right on lying and right on not asking for love up until everyone figured out the real truth.

I won’t let this be catastrophic.

*ping* “Proctor, James--”

“Holy shit, here we go.”

“-- deceased. Passed away of natural causes in 1991, survived by his ex wife and his son, Scott Proctor.”

“What?” Tony frowned and shook his head. “No, that’s not right. Okay, James isn’t immediate family with the Proctors. Keep expanding the search but keep them up on this screen, there has to be something here. No way that kid looks so much like James for no good reason.”

*ping* Proctor James, child of Rebecca P. Proctor nee Barnes, deceased--”

“--that’s going back too far, J. I need something from this century please.”

“--1964, survived by her son James and an unnamed daughter, grandson Scott Proctor. Also of note--”

“J, this is a waste of time!” Tony threw up his hands in exasperation. “I don’t want to hear about people who died before I was born! I said expand the search not deepen the search! Maybe it’s an adoption or a couple divorces down the line but please keep it with in the last forty years, I need something concrete! I need something real! James can’t be left alone after I--”

“--Rebecca Proctor Barnes was ALSO assumed survived by her brother, former Sergeant in the United States Army James Buchanan Barnes, who went missing in action--”

“-- in March of 1945 after he fell off a Hydra owned train while on a mission with Captain Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America. Sergeant Barnes is the only one of the Howling Commandos to not return home at the end of the war and is listed as missing, presumed killed in action.”

Tony recited the fact before he caught himself, the information rattling off his tongue like it had done so many times before when he’d visited the Smithsonian as a kid and learned all about the Howling Commandos and Captain America and the intrepid...Sergeant… Barnes…

...too late, Tony’s mind finally caught up, crashed into a wall of facts and splintered into an unbelievable realization.

No no no.

“J?” No. “A picture of Sergeant Barnes please?”

An enlistment photo of mid twenties James Buchanan Barnes, blue eyes and dark hair and the hint of a devilish smirk that promised the soon to be Sergeant was going to change the world.

“Christ.” Tony’s mouth went dry, his fingers white on the table. “And-- and up against a picture of James?”

Another photo, one from the redwoods where Tony had caught James looking up at the trees in awe. The soldier had turned at the last minute to stare into the camera, striking blue eyes and shoulder length dark hair and the hint of a devilish smirk that promised he was going to change Tony’s world.

No.

It wasn’t possible.

“The footage from my racing helmet in Monaco. Give me anything from the dash cam as well and from the suit. CC TV, anything possible. Compile it all, now.”

It came in pieces as JARVIS tapped the Grand Prix security footage, as he searched the vault of Iron Man helmet recordings and the downloaded information from the car’s camera and each image went up besides the photo of Sergeant Barnes for comparison.

-- James vaulting the twelve foot fence like it was nothing and denting the concrete when he landed.

--James racing down the road almost too fast to be tracked as he ran to save Tony.

--James taking the brunt of Vanko’s rage and pushing Tony behind him.

--James taking an electrified whip to his left arm and shaking with the pain.

--James grabbing the whip with his right hand and yanking Vanko towards him for a nose shattering punch.

--James later in the crowd with no marks or scars or burns to be seen.

James.

Sergeant Barnes.

Bucky.

“Search my Dad’s files, anything I’ve uploaded, all the server dumps I did when we moved the last of it from the New York apartment.”

For the first time in months, Tony’s mind was operating at lightning speed, data snapping together click click click even if he couldn’t quite comprehend it all yet. Almost manic, almost overwhelming but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, had to know everything right now.

“I want everything about Project Rebirth, everything about the illegal mission Dad flew to Azzano to drop Big Blonde and Stupid off behind enemy lines. Everything.”

“Downloading, sir.”

Page after page flitted across the screens, the official reports of Project Rebirth, the confidential mostly redacted pages and the un official reports of anyone gathered that fateful day Steven Grant Rogers went from a scrawny Brooklyn punk to the red white and gorgeous hunk of patriotism they turned him into.

Official reports of the Azzano rescue detailing soldiers lost and wounded, the number returned home, how many days it had taken to bring them back. A furious letter from Colonel Phillips about the sheer disrespect of the man in tights had shown him and the Army in general.

A note from Auntie Peggy about how it had been entirely her fault to steal the plane and not Stark’s no matter how he bragged, and honestly how could she expected to say no to someone with a smile like Captain Rogers?

Howard’s admission of guilt for helping take the plane and dropping the Captain off behind enemy lines and yes, he’d tried to also take the plane somewhere to get fondue.

The unofficial report of Azzano written in Captain Rogers’ own hand about how he’d found Sergeant Barnes strapped down to a table in a rudimentary lab. About the empty vials and the puncture marks in Bucky’s skin. How he was positive Sergeant Barnes had snapped a rifle in half in his hands but in the heat of the moment he couldn't be sure, he highly recommended they run additional tests to see if the Sergeant had been injected with anything. Johann Schmidt had access to the super soldier serum, was there any possible they were using a version to experiment on prisoners of war...?

“Jesus.”

It was too much information.

Mission dossiers, the incredible feats the Commandos had accomplished with Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes leading them into battle. Victories attributed to the super soldier serum that made Steve Rogers Captain America, but at second glance maybe it wasn’t just Captain America.

The Sergeant racked up an incredible amount of kills-- sniper shots made with nothing more than a simple rifle that professional snipers today had trouble matching. Hand to hand combat where he was bested only by the Captain. The ability to seemingly go for days without rest and that’s why the Commandos were an unstoppable force. Who needed sleep? Not Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers apparently.

Too much information.

The fateful fall from the Schnellzug EB912 train and how Captain Rogers had searched for days for a sign of Bucky only to find nothing but blood and drag marks. Then the Valkyrie had gone under and the world had moved on…

….and somehow Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes had ended up in a diner in Washington D.C. eating breakfast on the same day Tony had been mid-nervous breakdown.

Click click click.

Too much information.

Monaco. The bruises James left even when he was careful. The way the metal arm had been calibrated to some insane number to match strength with the other one. The old timey music and dancing. The Brooklyn accent. The quick shift to violent and the lightning fast reflexes. The way James had to catalogue everything in a room before he could breathe. The PTSD and memory issues.

“James said Iron Man wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d ever seen.” Tony whispered woodenly. “No shit, his best friend was Captain America”

Click click click.

Too much information.

Tony had seen so many little pieces that he’d missed the whole picture, he’d been so overwhelmed by the unimportant details like being called sweet thing that he never remembered to care about James not knowing even basic history or understanding every day things that wouldn’t have been affected by trauma induced amnesia.

“JARVIS.” Tony had memorized his Dad’s notes long ago. As a child he’d been angry Howard focused so much on the near mythical Captain Rogers and tragic Sergeant Barnes. As a teenager, Tony had studied and focused on the stories as well just so he had something to talk to Howard about. After graduating college, he’d packed everything away in storage and hadn’t thought about it again because if summe cum laude didn’t make Howard proud, nothing would.

And then December 1991 had happened and Tony stopped thinking about anything other than his next drink for a long long time.

But now it was all coming back.

Click click click.

Too much information.

“JARVIS. In the files of Howard’s journals there are some notes from the early seventies. He was chasing down a theory that made sure he wasn’t at the hospital the day I was born. Someone died, some Prince from Saudi, not the royal family but someone lower. It was a quiet kill, didn’t make the newspapers but Dad had piles of notes about it for some reason. Find those.”

“Searching, sir.”

Tony drained the last of the smoothie, then leaned his head back down on the cool table and tried to corral his thoughts. There was something something something right there at the back of his mind, something he wasn’t putting together. There was too much information and he was too exhausted to process it, a year ago he’d have this done already but today he was moving slow and taking more time, and good God was this what normal people felt their whole lives? Slow and tired and unable to focus on a single thing at a time?

“J?” Something else peeking through the fog of weariness and the sting of growing shock Tony was trying and failing to keep away. Now was not the time to break down, not when he was so close to answers, not when he was about to find out something big, he knew it was going to be something big--

--and it would ruin James’s life but then again maybe it wouldn’t, maybe this would be the perfect thing to do, if Tony was out the picture but there was someone else there to walk James--Bucky-- Sergeant Barnes--through it all.

“J, my Auntie Peggy’s notes from around the same time when she was stationed at Lehigh. There was a thing--” he snapped his fingers impatiently. “--A thing about how it had been twenty five years since Captain Rogers went into the ice and then a thing about how they’d re-doubled their efforts searching for him and while they were at it, they looked back into the information about Sergeant Barnes for some reason. Find those.”

“Found, sir. Shall I read them to you?” JARVIS didn’t wait for answer, the AI’s systems registering Tony’s alarmingly raised vitals and clear frustration. “As per Ms. Carter’s personal writings, dated April 7, 1970.”

“When we lost Sgt Barnes off the train, we told the world he was missing presumed killed in action, but among ourselves and those who had been at Azzano, it was widely accepted that if he hadn’t died, Stg Barnes had been taken by Hydra’s men to continue whatever they had done to him at Azzano. Captain Rogers always worried there was a spy among us, not in the Commandos itself but among the ranks of the very beginning of SHIELD and the seemingly instant disappearance of the Sgt lends itself to the fact that someone knew the Commandos were coming, knew where they would be, and were poised and in place to take prisoners.”

“Yeah, I know all that.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and pursed his lips. “Keep going. Past that.”

“There have been rumours of a master assassin in Eastern Europe, though we have yet to find evidence of him here in the West. Reports come in of superhuman speed and reflexes, the bearing of a soldier but movement like a ghost and shining silver in the light as if he is half man, half robot. They call him the Winter Soldier and Howard is afraid--”

“It’s Captain Rogers.” Tony finished, because he did know all this. He remembered finding these notes when he was fourteen and taking them to Howard and Maria to ask if Captain America had really escaped the ice and gone on to be a master assassin. Howard had got up and left the room, Maria had only smiled sadly and taken the journal away and nothing else had ever been said. “Dad was afraid it was Captain Rogers exacting some sort of over patriotic brand of super soldier revenge. Keep reading.”

“However, I am afraid the answer may be worse than we feared. I am sure Captain Rogers went into the ice and never made it home, a fella wouldn’t stand me up for a dance for no good reason.”

“Jesus, Auntie.” Tony closed his eyes tight, heart breaking for his sweet Auntie who had loved exactly one man her entire life.

“I am afraid we are looking at the newest generation of super soldiers, a project taken from Schmidt’s attempts at the serum and handed over to the wrong people, perhaps the same work done on Sgt Barnes at Azzano and maybe even perfected if Hydra managed to take him again after the train. I cannot fathom the horror of a soldier changed into a monster and used for unspeakable deeds, but I suppose our work with Captain Rogers looks the same to the other side-- an innocent boy turned into a killing machine. The prospect is much scarier when it is we who are unprepared and facing a super-human we have no hope of stopping.”

“Howard has been given the task of recreating the super soldier serum we used on Captain Rogers, but it has been twenty five years since we lost the original formula so he will have to start from scratch. It may well take another twenty years to finalize it and I’m not sure if we should even try. The sins of the war should stay buried where they lay in the ground, and beneath the ice.”

“Half man, half robot.” Tony’s gaze cut over to the schematics for the new arm he’d built James. “This cannot be happening. How did I not put this together?”

“To be fair, sir. No one could have possibly drawn a connection between a soldier of legend in American history from seventy years ago, to a few shadowy accounts of an assassin detailed in Ms. Carter’s notes over forty years ago, to a modern day former soldier. Even if your most alert form, there is no possible way to have achieved this conclusion.”

“This cannot be happening.” Tony ignored JARVIS’s well meaning and entirely correct comfort and asked, “Alright, if Sergeant Barnes really was taken by Hydra again and used as an assassin for decades, how would they have accomplished that? The super serum slowed down aging by the process of speeding up healing, but seventy years would age anyone. James doesn’t look more than a couple of years older than his enlistment photo.”

“Cryogenic freeze, perhaps?” Several articles pulled up and across Tony’s screens. “Scientists have been aware of the process since the eighteen hundreds, and it is not a stretch to assume the same scientists that could create a super human could also master ways with which to preserve the specimen.”

“The specimen.” Tony muttered. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Alright, cryo-freeze. Fine. If I can believe in a tiny kid from Brooklyn lifting motorcycles over his head while wearing tights and punching out Adolf, I can get on board with cryo freeze. But after the war, Hydra was dismantled. We took the best scientists and killed everyone else. Who would have the money and power necessary to not only keep a super soldier on ice undetected, but also to thaw him out and unleash him on the world every so often?”

Later, later Tony would be sick to his stomach thinking about what James might have gone through at the hands of some insane Nazi scientist. Later he would deal with the head splitting migraine because out of all the things he knew, he never thought he’d ever know a century old super soldier who didn’t remember anything other than his name. Later Tony would break down and let himself cry because the closest thing he’d ever found to love wasn’t meant for him at all, a resurrected and re-found American Hero and long term Prisoner of War Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes wasn’t meant for him.

Tony would do that later.

Right now he needed know only one thing-- “Who, J?”

“Ms. Carter feared a spy in the organization that became SHIELD. Perhaps you should start there.”

-- and then he needed to make a call.

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

Ring-ring.

Tony’s heart sank even as he listened to the waiting tone. He’d been hoping to find someone for James, but he hadn’t thought it would be this soon. He hadn’t thought it would be someone so perfect for James that Tony’s inevitable leaving wouldn’t even register with the soldier.

He hadn’t wanted good-bye to be catastrophic, but he knew when the phone picked up and the call connected that this was only the first step in James moving on from him completely. A couple months was nothing in the face of years of history, shared trauma nothing in the path of entwined lives.

He hadn’t wanted good-bye to be catastrophic, but hell Tony had thought he’d have more time before he broke his own heart trying to do the right thing.

Ring-ring.

And this was the right thing. It was the right thing. For James and for everyone else involved. Tony couldn’t in good conscience hide what he knew, he couldn’t even store it away for later after he’d had just a little more time with James because what if later was too late?

What if his numbers climbed too high, too fast and he never made it to later and good-bye came without James knowing?

This was the right thing to do, the first step in Ghost Protocol and really the most important step because Tony knew Happy and Rhodey and Pepper would be okay with out him and now he knew James would be okay.

It was the right thing to do, the first step in the Protocol Tony had began working on the day he came home from Afghanistan so why did it feel like it was the first step off a cliff?

Ring-ring.

I’m not ready to say goodbye.

I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do--

Ring-ring-click.

“Hello.”

“Director Fury.” Tony closed his eyes tight and forced himself to breathe. “This is Tony Stark.”

“Well well well, it’s not every day I get a billionaire calling my personal cell phone number that is in no way available without some high tech and definitely illegal hacking of sealed files. What can I do for you Mr. Stark?”

“...You know that thing that you think you’re keeping secret, but I definitely have been aware of since you pulled it from the ice three years ago?”

“Nope. No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right, because you’ve got entire libraries full of secrets, I guess I’ll have to be a little more specific.” Tony pried his eyes open so he could look up at the picture of Sergeant Barnes and Captain Steve Rogers on his screens, the famous one the Smithsonian always kept up at their Howling Commandos display. “Let’s talk about Project Resurrection. I’d like to meet the star of the show.”

“Absolutely not. Not an option.”

“Director Fury, I want to meet him.” Tony set his jaw and straightened his shoulders and let a layer of that Stark iron harden his voice. “And based on the lack of surprise in your voice, I’m assuming you know what this is about and we can talk later about how tired I am of people keeping secrets from me.”

Something bitter like betrayal in the back of Tony’s throat-- would he ever get used to people keeping things from him? How long had Fury known about James?

“So Director Fury, this will be the only time I ask nicely. I want to meet him.”

Silence.

“...How soon can you get to D.C.?”

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

Chapter Notes:

I really really love Tony’s mind set here. He is all over the place and unable to concentrate but still, his priorities are fully in line-- taking care of the people he loves and still trying to find answers for James and when he finds those answers, he forces himself to do the right thing.

The picture J brings up of Scott Proctor is actually a reference to that one tumblr post about how Michael Pena (Luis, Ant Man) sort of looks like Seb Stan in some pictures? Like if Luis was Rebecca Barnes’s grandson? I can’t find the exact post but look HERE and HERE and I love the similarities so much!

If you’ve read my ‘Time Falls Away’ time travel series, you might recognize some of the conspiracy theories in this chapter! And ever since writing that fic I always want Auntie Peggy Carter to save the day for Tony. Love her.

April 7, 1970 is the day Stony goes to Lehigh in Endgame.

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

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

@quietgayguy @bluedreamdino @akimi-youngblood @blackstar1602 @dixiehellcat @travellover1245 @capnstarkey @the-awkward-teenaged-one @thanossucks @peteryoulittleshit @tony-and-steeeb @striving-artist @roe-sesandthorns @coolsidedpillow @i-am-worth-it-25 @firelightmystic @maligatorthealigator @simsccsol @a-tardis-in-221b @happyendingrequired @everygoodoneistaken11 @pootie-and-the-snoots @megahuffledor @xkissmeimirishx @crystalskrull @hazelbeatsturtle @wecollectnightmares @endrega23 @saganarojanaolt @the-crazy-house @ravynfyre @yomama-umbridge @lovely--tony @gayspacesprinkles @elliotkaingrey @warmachinesocks @glitternotgold73

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @livewire28 @tulipsnbigcats @kimstark @alex-stark-rogers @bibbarnes @heeeyitskay @goindownshipping @justaniche @actual-demon-belial

#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #nick fury

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five-hxrgreeves · 3 years

Text

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 1,982

You can stand me up at the gates of hell But I won't back down I'm gonna stand my ground Won't be turned around And I'll keep this world from dragging me down

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Pt. 3- Monday, April 1, 2019

The morning of the first dawned with a bright blue sky and perfect spring temperatures, almost in mocking irony of the fate it would meet later on that same day. Suspecting nothing amiss, Lola began her usual morning routine of getting ready for school. After brushing her teeth, she went to her closet and decided on a pair of jeans, a white, long-sleeved v-necked shirt with black polka-dots and after brushing her hair, hesitated over a choice of hats that she owned. While there was no strict dress code at her school, she did like to make a good first impression on Mondays. The rest of the week was up for grabs.

Coming to a decision, she reached for a yellow hat with a navy-blue ribbon around the crown that was tied in a bow and placed it jauntily on her head. The brunette was somewhat known around school for her unique accessories so she’d only been indecisive over which style she’d wanted, not actually whether or not to wear a hat. She then pulled on a pair of riding-styled boots and picked up her backpack, sliding her deck of cards into the back pocket of her jeans. Lunchtime was usually a boring affair so it was often when she would practice her magic- sometimes with a crowd to entertain.

On her route to school, Lola passed the familiar Umbrella Academy house and wondered what transpired within the walls, remembering the strange man she’d met the previous week. She wondered how long it had been since all of the siblings had seen each other since from Vanya’s book, it hadn’t seemed like they’d lived under the same roof for a long, long time. A smile flickered across her face as she thought of grown-up superheroes attempting to act like real siblings and the interesting, chaotic bickering that might ensue.

(Of course, she had no idea that such arguments might result in the end of life on earth.)

After that, the day passed as it usually did, with millions and billions of people completely unaware of what the night would bring.

Once dinner was over, Lola scraped her plate clean and set it in the dishwasher before turning it on to run, blatantly unaware that this would be the last time she did such a mundane action for a long, long time. Then, she made her way into the family room where her mother, father and uncle were sitting on the couch about to watch TV. Both men had their traditional after-dinner drink of two fingers of whiskey while her mother sipped on spiked hot coffee.

“Mom?” Lola asked.

“Yes, dear?”

“I’m going to the basement now, all of the dinner dishes are cleaned up.”

Her mother’s blue eyes- the ones she’d inherited- flicked to the younger girl, “alright, but don’t stay up too late. It’s a school night, you know.”

Her uncle grinned, “yeah,” he said, breaking to take a sip from his glass, “wouldn’t want you to show up all grumpy for school tomorrow.”

Lola sighed and nodded in acceptance, “alright, I’ll do my best,” she said, knowing it was more than likely she’d lose track of time anyway.

Moving first towards her mother, then father and finally her uncle, she gave them each a goodnight hug and exchanged their daily I love yous.

(She would be grateful that these were the last words she’d ever said to her family. At least she wouldn’t have to live wondering if her family had known she’d loved them.)

Then, she went to the basement.

Not even a mile away, the beginnings of an altercation were occurring at the house the size of a single block where the seventh, disregarded member of the family of superheroes was receiving a hostile welcome at the introduction of her new boyfriend, Leonard Peabody.

Lola liked her basement. It wasn’t terribly large but it wasn’t terribly small, either. Half of it was unfinished and the other half was lived-in, creating a perfect balance. In the unfinished side, metal shelves that one might see in a hardware store stood floor-to-ceiling with various tools and stored holiday items. Paint cans, electric machinery, extension cords and other items one would normally find in a shed were scattered haphazardly along the shelves.

In the other half, a carpeted floor of some green color stretched from the back wall to right before Lola’s writing desk. On top of it sat an old, brown-leather couch, a black wooden coffee table from IKEA and a TV hung mounted on the wall. After the carpet ended, removable foam-padded tiles formed the floor. This was the area where Lola’s desk sat which was a large, white table. The desktop itself was almost empty except for her half-filled notebook, three different-sized candles, a pencil sharpener and a pencil holder. Her papers- both for school and other things- were stored in a hand-me-down brown file cabinet that stood to the left of her workspace.

Before sitting down to write, the brunette carried out her ritual warm-up: lighting the candles, flipping to the next available page, sharpening her pencil and placing her reference books on her desk- The Book Thief, of course, and her new book from Vanya Hargreeves. Then, she pulled her deck of cards from her back pocket and placed the rectangular box carefully on the lower-left corner of her desk, making sure to match up the corners of the box with the outlined shape created by the corner. She wasn’t sure why she did this, it just was something she absolutely had to do before she finally sat down.

Once finished, Lola made sure to flip the electric lights off and returned to her seat which was a rolly-chair with one broken wheel. She began to write surrounded by her small pool of glowing, flickering light.

Today’s memory is from when I was six. (Note to self: find a better opening.) It was my first time at the store for hours on end. Usually, a babysitter would come by and pick me up but I suppose she cancelled. (NtS: get more details. Just kidding, nobody cares about that.) Anyway, I was super bored and since I was little, I didn’t have any schoolwork to do. I wandered around the store for a bit, probably causing mischief. Anyway (you already said that, dummy) the funny part is that I sat down at a group of mannequins because there weren’t any other seats and I must’ve sat so still that everyone thought I was one because when I finally stood up, a woman screamed. I didn’t know why at the time but it happened again when I was older. Then I started doing it for my own amusement. It was funny to see people think that I was a fake, plastic doll only to realize I was actually real. Sometimes, I even went to the back and dressed in clothes that would soon be modeled by the mannequins- although I think the effect was ruined because I didn’t fit them.

A story up and a block over, the altercation had grown to a full-blown verbal assault, the main four members of the family heatedly questioning the new boyfriend’s insistence on them coming to their sister’s concert. The seventh member, feeling hurt and angry that her family wouldn’t, just once support her, felt the tension build up within her, her emotions unusually high from the lack of medication she’d consistently taken for years until this week.

The spot was also great for people-watching. While Gimbel Brothers has mostly ordinary clients, there are some cases that are more noteworthy (NtS: fix wording, sounds awkward). There are many people who bring children to the store as well. On Mondays, there is an average of twelve children, usually after school. The number varies throughout the week until Saturday where there are usually fifteen or twenty. One time, as an outlier during the holidays, there were twenty-five. I know this because I counted them. I don’t usually do it intentionally and I’m sure I miss some customers but for some reason, all the numbers stick in my head. The funny thing is, I’m terrible at math. I’m also really good at cards, though. I’ve never lost a game of War or Go Fish. My uncle says I’m a counter, which I suppose is true. I’ve also counted all the sequins on one of our formal dresses, just for fun. There were two-hundred and eighty-six.

As the sky grew dark outside, the argument in the large house had reached an all-time high with Leonard Peabody outwardly insulting his girlfriend’s largest brother, inciting his anger and riling him up purposefully, causing him to throw the first punch. The seventh member of the family desperately tried to pull her boyfriend away, to save him from an assault that he would surely not survive. She was right about that, but there was nothing she could do. There was only one person Number One listened to and it wasn’t her.

Anyway, back to people-watching. There was once a rich woman who came to our store. No one could figure out why; we’re not exactly the high-end type. She brought her daughter with her, a pretty, blonde girl with bright blue eyes. Almost like mine, I think, but they looked better on her. I heard her tell Brittany that she wanted to get her granddaughter ‘normal clothes,’ except she said it like an insult. I figure that when her granddaughter came to visit, all she provided were expensive outfits and the girl spilled on them, teaching her the lesson of buying cheaper clothes for little kids. She didn’t say all of that but I made up the story to go along with her request.

Standing over Leonard’s body, the seventh member of the Hargeeves turned on her brother, eyes shining white against her pale face. In his hand, he held a bloody, glass eyeball. Her siblings crowded together, trying to calm her, but she spent all of her life being calm and she was tired of it. Turning her gaze to the academy, the building shook under a ten-point-zero earthquake, the bricks and concrete falling down in rapid succession. Tearing her gaze away from the sight of her childhood hell, she let sound waves resonate through the street, knocking over buildings and causing them to collapse, burying her siblings in rubble. Carelessly, she walked away as anger, sadness and hatred fueled her steps to her apartment where she changed and gathered up her violin for the world’s last performance.

She was very posh too, with fur and everything. She stood still long enough that I could study her coat, which had thirty spots. I’m not sure if it was real fur (if it was, she’s a horrible person), but she certainly acted very high-class, even speaking a little nasally and tilting her head up to look down on Brittany. I think it might’ve been because of Brittany’s skin color. The woman didn’t seem to be very accepting of hard-working people that looked different from her.

At ten o’clock pm, the close of the concert, sound waves so large they felled the building and many blocks over swept through the city. A short, dark-haired woman with a glowing white light in the center of her chest rose above the destruction, sending out pulses of sound to the far-reaching corners of the world. With no one to stop her, no one to shoot a gun next to her ear, the bottled power exploded from her chest sharing with everyone the feelings of hurt and neglect that she’d been forced to endure throughout her childhood. One person alone survived in a basement not much deeper than the fictional character’s she admired, writing away and completely unaware that the world above had changed beyond recognition.

#The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x dolores #five hargreeves x oc #five hargreeves x reader #Five x oc #five x dolores #tua five #5 #human dolores #pre-tua #apocalypse #hargreeves #dolores isn't a mannequin #vanya hargreeves

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maxfieldparrishes · 4 years

Text

sweet thing

Pip/Seras. Absolutely not for the kiddos.

[read on AO3]

Underneath him, Seras twists, and Pip can’t help but smile. Yes, he is bound to her, bound to obey her above all things–and glad of it. Being part of her, sharing her existence… it really isn’t so bad, he thinks, if this is something he gets the privilege to experience.

It’s a far better afterlife than the one he’d envisioned for himself, during his fleeting moments of belief. Certainly a better one than he deserved.

Below him, Seras grabs at his wrist as he thrusts his fingers inside her, his loose hair pooling in spirals on her abdomen, her teeth clenched against her groans. Her left arm shimmers faintly, so faintly that to the unknowing, human eye it would look like any normal limb, but Pip knows better. It’s the wound she took for him and his, and even this–his eternal servitude to her–isn’t enough to repay her for what she’s done.

She’s beautiful like this, he thinks, with her fair hair splayed out on the pillow of the bed she’d insisted on bringing into her dungeon chamber, for purposes of ostensible normalcy. Her idea had been that her coffin could be quickly disguised as a table, so any unknowing humans wouldn’t be alarmed (as if many would be walking down to her bedroom to begin with), and the bed was just for show. Pip had just snorted. If Seras thought she was fooling anyone with her lame excuse, she was clearly delusional–everyone and their mother could see that the bed was clearly there so he could fuck her in it.

He isn’t complaining, though. It is far easier to fuck her in the bed than having to hold her up against the wall, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Pip thrusts his fingers into her again and she mewls, hips bucking, thighs slipping over his as she chases the pleasure, desperate for more of his touch. He watches her out of his eye critically, analyzing her, evaluating just how needy she is and just how needy she needs to be for him to allow her to come.

She could be needier, but she’s been such a good girl… Maybe he’ll take pity on her.

Pip applies his thumb to her clit, still fucking her with his fingers, and she moans. Her grip on his wrist turns punishing, hard enough to break it had he still been human, but all he feels is a pleasant squeeze. Her other hand reaches above her head to grip the pillow hard enough that her knuckles turn even whiter, and he grins.

It takes only a few moments for the movement of her hips to become erratic and jerky, for her moans to turn to cries, and it will be soon, he knows it. “That’s it, Seras–” he pants encouragingly, breathless even though neither of them need to breathe, “–that’s it; come on,” and, for the (un)life of him, she does. Her walls clench his fingers so tightly that guiding her through the aftershocks becomes a struggle, and he feels her wail echo all the way through him–his ears, his hands, his cock…

It’s a strong climax, pleasant enough, he’s sure, but Pip wants more from her. He wants her driven mad with it, wants her swollen and dripping and deliriously content. So he doesn’t stop once her residual tremors fade, doesn’t let her rest, not that she really needs to; he keeps the pace up and tries not to get distracted by her half-lidded oxblood eyes and open-mouthed moans and the near-pained expression on her face.

Seras looks up at him, curiosity and arousal mixing in her gaze, meeting his fingers with every rock of her hips. When he starts to rub her clit again in quick, vicious circles, though, any languorousness in her vanishes, replaced by heat and tension and something akin to alarm.

“You can do better,” he says, suddenly acutely aware of how hard he is, wanting her to fall over the edge so they can move on to something a bit more… substantial. “Come on, Seras. Give me another one. A bigger one. Show me how much better you can do.”

She’s gyrating beneath him, writhing, both hands gripping the pillow above her head with such force it’s a wonder it hasn’t torn under her grip. Her movements are entirely out of her control, he’s pleased to note, her hips moving helplessly from the overstimulation against his hand, chest heaving, and Pip thinks it might be the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

A few more thrusts and circles have Seras tumbling over, the side of her face pressed deeply into the pillow, eyes closed and mouth open in a cry of pleasure, her back arching off the bed. Her legs tighten involuntarily around his hips and he falls flush against her, still making sure to work her through her fading quakes, his head nestled in the crook of her neck and shoulder.

This time, he lets her enjoy the afterglow. They lay chest-to-chest in silence, cooling in the dark, until he feels her start to shift around, in hesitant, minute increments that brush those beautiful tits of hers against him. Pip pretends not to notice her movements, instead pressing open-mouthed, lazy kisses to the side of her neck where her scar sits, and waits to see what she’ll do.

All she does is wiggle underneath his weight, tiny grunts here and there the only sign that she might still be feeling a little… unfulfilled, so Pip forces her hand. He purposefully angles himself so that, the next time she moves, her stiff little nipples drag across his skin, and her breathy “Oh!” is all the confirmation he needs.

Pushing himself up onto his hands, he grins triumphantly down at Seras, who determinedly avoids his gaze. Her face is almost as red as her eyes, and Pip chuckles as he leans down to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

“Do you need something?” he asks as his hands come to fondle her breasts. He sucks a kiss into the underside of her jaw, nipping down her neck to her collarbone, laving each small bite with his tongue. “Is something wrong, Seras?”

“N-no,” she answers, gasping when he pinches her nipple, blushing even harder. “N-no, n-nothing’s… wrong…”

“Hm.” Pip nibbles at her clavicle before kissing a wandering trail across the top of her chest, not blind to the way her hands come up to tangle themselves in his hair. “See, I think you’re lying, Seras.” He licks and sucks and kisses his way to the valley between her breasts, tickling the side of each one with his nose. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

Her hands tighten, tugging at the strands. “N-no, of course not,” she says, as he scatters soft kisses across her flesh, taking purposeful care not to accidentally touch any part of the ruched little peak that’s been tempting him ever since he got her naked.

“So don’t do it.” He licks a circle around the outer edge of her areola with the tip of his tongue, groaning when she pulls, hard, on the locks. “Tell me. You won’t like it if I have to guess.”

“I–” she stammers out, “I want–” and her voice cuts off when he touches his tongue to the tip of her nipple and swirls it around.

He nips sharply at the underside of her breast. “Don’t stop. Keep going, Seras. Tell me.”

“I–” she sputters, her thighs rubbing against his, “touch me–”

“I am touching you, Seras.” But… technically she did answer him, so he rewards her with a long, lingering lick across her peak, one that would have had him one sharp yank on his scalp away from being bald, had he needed to worry about it. “Is that it? Was I not touching you where you needed it?”

Oh. Her face couldn’t possibly get any redder. But Pip is determined to see this little interrogation of his through, so he stays the course, even though he’s so hard at this point that he’d much rather sling her legs over his shoulders and go for broke.

“I–”

“Answer me, little girl,” he murmurs. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

Seras can’t even look him in the face, much less answer him, she’s so embarrassed, but he gives her some incentive in the form of a hard suck on her nipple and, sure enough, the words come tumbling out.

“I–in–” she babbles, and Pip worries the tender little bud gently between his teeth, delighted with the sound of her moans and the sharp jerk of her hips against his. “Please!”

“Where, Seras? Is it here?” he asks, licking her peak with the flat of his tongue, hand snaking down between their bodies to dip between her legs. “Maybe here?” He uses the pad of his middle finger to rub a feather-light circle on the top of her clit, grinning when she grabs at his hand and guides his fingers inside her, her mouth opening when he flexes them experimentally.

He tsks. Seras is trying to control his hand, scooting and wriggling around while she pushes and pulls and presses on his fingers in all sorts of ways–Pip knows what she wants and what she’s looking for. He also knows that he won’t be using his fingers to give it to her, and it takes everything in him not to smile at the thought of what’s coming next.

He withdraws, pulling his wrist from her grasp, and she gives a plaintive whine when the last knuckle slips out of her.

“I–had it–” she pants. “Felt it–” and then her head falls back onto the pillow and she groans, loudly, in frustration, gripping the sheets in her white-knuckled hands.

Pip runs a soothing hand up and down her side. “Hush now. I know what you need,” he whispers before sitting back and rolling her onto her stomach, settling himself between her legs. He circles her opening before easing a single finger into her, because he knows it won’t be anywhere near enough to get her off, and he still has more to say. “It’s here, right, Seras? That one spot inside…”

She nods frantically, looking back over her shoulder at him, eyes wide. “Yes!”

He removes the digit to take large, lingering handfuls of her plump ass, squeezing it rhythmically, caressing the skin with his thumbs. Seras gasps and tries to work herself upright, but he lets one cheek go to push her gently back down with a hand between her shoulder blades.

“Poor thing.” He nuzzles her shoulder, the nape of her neck. “Does it ache? Make you feel empty?”

“Yes…” Oh, she sounds so pitiful. He loves it.

“I can help with that,” he croons, lifting her onto all fours, positioning himself behind her. “I can fill you up. Only… Seras…” and he pushes the head of his cock into her, sinking into her slowly, centimeter by centimeter. “… it needs a little rub, doesn’t it? That’s what it wants, what you want… it’s only… it’s only that it’s deep, so deep in you, Seras,” he sighs, finally bottoming out, reveling in the feeling of her hot, wet cunt surrounding him, “that it makes it hard… Can you take it? Can you take me this deep?”

“Yes!” She practically shouts it, and he almost covers her mouth out of reflex. But they are in the basement of the manor, her terrifying eldritch demon of a mentor is away, and anyone who matters to them already knows. Let her scream her pretty little head off. He’ll make damn sure that she does.

“Good,” he says, rocking into her with slow, deliberate thrusts, adjusting the angle at which she’s bent to make it even deeper. “Take it, Seras. I know you can.”

Seras is pent up enough that she slams herself back against him with such force that, had he been human, would have sent him flying through the wall, but as he is now he just catches her against him and laughs. Pip keeps his hands on her hips, controlling her movements, directing the way she grinds back and down on his cock, trying not to lose himself in the way she stretches and ripples around him.

It takes a few moments but he finds the rhythm easily enough: smooth, direct thrusts finished off with a slow grind that has both of them moaning, Seras with an upward lilt that belies her rising tension and Pip with his teeth grazing the nape of her neck. The angle means that the tip of him hits that spot inside her with every forward stroke, the grind massages it, and the head of his cock drags against it whenever he withdraws, leaving Seras clutching the bedsheets in her fist.

The way they move together borders on perfect and he never wants it to end, but he can see that Seras is starting to tremble and knows it won’t take long before she comes again. Equally urgent, he’s harder than steel and already leaking, but his pride won’t allow him to finish before her, so he decides to speed it up.

He moves faster and faster, driving harder and harder into her until he’s almost dizzy with it, not caring that Seras is shouting loud enough to wake the dead with each movement and that her hips are snapping back artlessly against his own. Her arms and shoulders quiver and god it’s so good, but he wants her to come absolutely undone from it, and he knows that she needs more to push her into such manic territory.

Pip bends onto her, letting her take his weight while one hand circles around to her front. He settles his palm flat between her pelvic bones and, the next time he enters her, presses down hard. The motion grinds the head of his cock relentlessly straight against the little knot that’s been causing her so much trouble, and Seras screams when he doesn’t let up.

He has one more trick in store for her. She’s close to the edge, only a hair’s breadth away and a few more seconds of this would be all she needs, but he wants to make her come. The hand not pressed against her belly comes to rub furiously at her clit, and that’s what ends her.

Seras is always beautiful, but she is exceptionally so whenever she climaxes. Her hips slam back into his, suddenly going motionless, and then she writhes and bucks and moans so wildly that the small pieces of human still left in him fears she’ll hurt herself, clenching around him so tightly that London itself could still be burning outside and neither of them even would notice.

“That’s it, Seras,” he whispers huskily as her climax overtakes her, “that’s it.” He is the one who is close now, gritting his teeth as he continues to work her with his fingers, trying to wring out every little bit he can from her before he finally, finally gets relief. He catches her again on the downstroke one last time, still mercilessly touching her, and her spasms start all over again. “Yes, just like that, Seras,” he groans as his peak reaches him, taking in the look of exhausted bliss on her face as she continues to flutter and shake around his cock. “Just like that.”

Pip comes inside her with a low roar and a muffled curse into her shoulder, easing them both through the aftershocks with gentle rolls of his hips, until her tremors die down at last and he withdraws to lie, panting, on the bed next to her.

He gropes in the bedside table for the carton of Lucky Strikes that he knows she keeps in there specifically for him because, as he’s repeatedly told her, there’s nothing better than a good smoke after a good fuck.

(Seras hasn’t picked up on it yet, but he always smokes when they’re done.)

He flicks the lighter closed, sighing when the nicotine hits him. He has a good smoke, one hell of an afterglow, and his woman lying exhausted and well-loved next to him. A better afterlife than he deserves, indeed. Pip’s not quite sure what he’s done to earn it, but he won’t ask questions he doesn’t want to know the answer to.

Seras is still face down on the mattress, though, unmoving, so he gently shakes her shoulder and asks, “Hey. You still alive?”

She opens her eyes blearily, with a groan and a pout, and he’s so charmed by it that he just stares at her, mouth open, like an idiot. “Mm… I’m alive,” she answers, rolling onto her back to stretch her arms above her head. “You wore me out, though.”

“Good,” he says, and pulls her into his embrace. “The day I don’t is the day you know you need to put me down like a sick old dog.” Seras jerks and stiffens at that–she never likes to broach that subject–but Pip just chuckles, running his fingers over her skin.

They lay together that way–Pip idly tracing nonsense patterns on her lower back, Seras playing softly with his hair. This is the only sort of silence the two of them have ever found any comfort in, and neither one desires to break it.

But Seras does, though, when she ducks her head and asks him, in a shy voice, “It was… good, right?”

He stares at her, dumbfounded and incredulous, his cigarette burning down to the filter. Was it good? What the hell sort of question is that? He’s about to say something snarky and no doubt stupid when he softens–he remembers that Seras is still young at heart, sunnier than any person has a right to be despite all that’s happened to her, and it’s the one thing about her that he always finds a bit gutwrenching.

Good, his ass. It was better than good.

“Oh, you sweet thing.” She is too much, he decides, but her need for validation pleases him anyway. Turning to lie on his back, he takes her with him, cradling her with one arm and flicking the burnt-out cigarette into the ashtray with the other. “Yeah, it was good,” he says, brushing her hair back with one hand. “I don’t blow my load like that for just anyone, you know.”

Seras blushes at his crudeness but smiles nonetheless, turning her face up obediently so he can kiss her, sweetly, on the mouth. She settles against him, her eyes drifting closed–she does not need to sleep but, like most people, she does enjoy a nap every now and then. She cannot sleep in the bed for more than an hour or two at a time–all of her rest must be done in her coffin, and neither of them are ready for him to go back inside her yet–and she’ll probably need to feed when she wakes, but for now…

Pip lights another cigarette, pulls Seras even closer, and closes his eyes.

#hellsing #seras x pip #pip x seras #seras victoria #pip bernadotte #hellsing fanfiction #guess who's now total trash for these two???#i would recommend reading on ao3; the formatting held better over there lmao

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writingfromkitchenator · 4 years

Text

Small Spaces

Thorin x OFC

Based on an imagine found here from @imaginexhobbit

Words: 2,637

Warnings: Arguing, deceit, small spaces (locked in a broom closet), smut (no under 18’s please)

As always, feedback is highly appreciated.

“Are they really that oblivious?”

“It would seem so laddie.”

“It’s utterly infuriating; I thought the quest would’ve made them realise how they felt, but if anything, it’s made their fighting and denial worse!”

“This is for the two of them to work out, as much as it would be nice to be able to push them together, it is not for us to do.”

The door of the inn slams open, causing Balin, Fili and Kili to look up as Dwalin storms over, his gaze dark as he sits heavily and grabs the nearest drink, downing it in one go.

Balin’s expression is grim. “They’ve been at it again?”

Dwalin grunts. “That’s putting it lightly. When I tried to get involved they both turned on me and made out as if it was my fault that they were fighting in the first place. If they weren’t my friends, then I swear that…” He grumbled off, clearly not wanting to say the words out loud.

Fili frowns and looks at Balin. “We need to do something, we can’t keep having this happen. I’m amazed that the council hasn’t gotten involved, especially when she speaks so openly against the King.”

Sighing, Balin shakes his head. “Olena is just as respected as the rest of us, it is something that they are willing to deal with.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “They also know that it keeps Thorin somewhat in line, her words aren’t unreasonable all the time.”

“I don’t care,” Dwalin grumbles. “We can’t be absent in this anymore Balin. This needs to be fixed. Now.”

“I agree,” Kili said before Balin can say anymore. “They both took it out on me the other day, resulting in them both agreeing that I needed to find a wife, only getting worse when I said that neither of them were married either.”

Fili grimaced. “I had much the same conversation. If I’m not mistaken, they’re already organising a ball.”

Kili screws up his nose, even as Balin gives a small chuckle, shaking his head, but Dwalin suddenly had a gleam in his eye. “That’s perfect.”

They all stared at him.

“It’s the perfect distraction.” He said, looking between them. “They’ll both be distracted by keeping things running, if we can get the two of them alone somewhere…”

Fili and Kili looked horrified. “We don’t want a ball to find someone to marry.”

“It’s a minor thing to deal with if this works.” Dwalin said, frowning at them. “Two of us can get Thorin away and the other two can get Olena. We’ll find somewhere where we can lock the two of them in and then not let them out until they’ve made an agreement.”

“That could take years.” Kili mumbles.

Fili nods, but looks at the seriousness in Dwalin’s expression. “I agree Dwalin, they shouldn’t suspect anything because the focus will be on Kili and I, but that means that the two of us will have to keep occupied at the ball, leaving you and Balin to get them alone together.”

Dwalin looks at Balin, who sighs, resigning to the fact that he was going to be outnumbered in leaving the two of them be. “Alright, and believe it or not, I may have the perfect spot.”

There was an excitement in the air as the ball approached, much to Fili and Kili’s annoyance. They’d argued all they could, Dis having the final word on it going ahead, saying that this was expected of them as the heirs to the throne. Kili almost blew their story by making a smart comment about Thorin should just get with Olena, but Fili was quick to cover it over at the suspicious look, saying that they knew they cared deeply for each other, something that just made Dis sigh.

The night approached quickly and it eased the tension momentarily between Thorin and Olena, distracted by getting things up and running.

There was no missing Thorin’s look at Olena when she entered the hall that night, openly staring as she smiles, greeting several nobles with a courteous bow. If it wasn’t for the fact that Fili and Kili almost entered at the same time, then the few that noticed knew that it would’ve taken a long time to draw Thorin’s gaze away.

Things went quickly into motion, dancing and drinking soon well under way. Fili and Kili reluctantly took to the floor, going through multiple partners while also keeping an eye on Balin and Dwalin, who eventually stood together, quiet words being said.

Dwalin approached Olena first, quickly earning Thorin’s gaze as Dwalin took her hand, leading her to the dance floor. There was no missing a few snickers from some of the dwarves, both a mix of seeing Dwalin dancing, and because some knew how the King felt.

Balin drew Thorin’s gaze away from the pair, having a heavy discussion with him and Fili and Kili can’t help but grin as they see Dwalin lead Olena away, the first part of the plan working.

When Thorin realised she’d disappeared, that was when Balin lead him away, allowing Fili and Kili to breath a sigh of relief.

Thorin was more than confused as Balin lead him through the halls, away from the ball, his mind a whirl of possibilities as he thought about what Balin had said, about wanting to show him something about Olena.

It was only because of her that he was following.

He couldn’t shake the sight of seeing her dance with Dwalin, an anger curling in his stomach that he hadn’t felt before, and if wasn’t for the fact that he kept assuring himself that he knew they were just friends, he wouldn’t have listened to Balin at all.

Balin led him to a door and Thorin frowned when he said that what he wanted was inside.

“This is a broom closet.”

“Hidden out of the way.”

Thorin opened his mouth, thought better of it, and went through the door.

With a shove, a startled yelp and his body colliding with someone else, the door was closed resoundly behind him. There was a brief moment of confusion as he tried to untangle himself from whoever had already been in the room and they finally managed to part in the small space.

“Olena?” Thorin asked, his eyes adjusting to dim lightly as she stares at him, looking more than a little frustrated.

“Thorin,” Olena straightened her dress out. “Why do I have a feeling that this has been planned?”

Thorin frowned and turned to the door, trying it, but finding it well and truly locked, making him sigh heavily. “I would expect this from Fili and Kili, not Balin and Dwalin.”

“Well, it certainly has your nephews written all over it,” Olena grumbled. “Dwalin caught me completely off guard.”

“Do I even want to know what he told you to make you follow him?”

“He said that he wanted to tell me something about you,” She holds his gaze as he looked back at her. “Then he shoved me unceremoniously in here and locked the door. I had a feeling that you wouldn’t be too far behind, so I didn’t try and get out, intending to take the chance when the door opened again. I guess they were too quick with it.”

Thorin sighs and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What is their intention of this?”

Olena looked at him a little annoyed. “Really Thorin?”

“What?”

She rolls her eyes. “How long are you going to keep avoiding this?”

Heat crept up Thorin’s neck and he purposefully draws his eyes away from her. “You know we can’t.”

“I know you’re scared.” She said bluntly. “I also know I’m scared too, but there isn’t any reason why we can’t.”

“The journey here proved-”

“That we work well together?” She cut him off. “That we can come through thick and thin? That we can make important decisions?”

“That I am capable of hurting you.” Thorin’s voice was quiet. “That I am capable of cruel words and vile sayings that broke your heart.”

Olena closed the small distance between them, her hand carefully reaching up to cup his cheek, bringing his gaze back to hers. “I still stayed beside you, did I not? I have not gone anywhere, despite the fights, despite the arguments, I’m still here. That was not you back then Thorin, I accepted that long ago and I have told you that many times.”

His eyes look between hers. “And everything since? Can we just ignore that too?”

She smiles at him. “You’re a pain in the arse Thorin, but you’re my pain in the arse, and nothing is ever going to change that.”

Thorin can’t help but give a quiet chuckle at this, pressing his hand to hers, kissing her palm. “Well, I’m glad I can be useful for something.”

Olena shakes her head, still smiling. “What? Riling me up?”

His gaze flickers to her lips for a brief moment. “I’m pretty sure that’s how we’ve ended up in here.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s because you-” Thorin cuts her off with a tentative kiss, her eyes going a little wide as she stares at him, Thorin giving a sheepish grin.

A silence dragged out between the two of them, feeling deafening in the small space.

They moved at the same time, teeth clicking together painfully before lips crashed together, hands gripping tight at the other, years of pent up emotions pouring into the kiss.

Thorin took control and backed Olena into a wall, a moan leaving her as the air in the room changed, everything suddenly feeling desperate, hands tugging at hair and clothes.

Olena broke away from the kiss, breathing hard, arching into Thorin as he barely broke away, trailing down her jaw and throat, making her shiver. “This…would be better…in a bed…”

He grins against her throat. “We’re locked in here, might as well take advantage of it.”

“But…”

“And everyone else is at the ball.” Thorin nuzzles into her throat. “And I’m not just going to sit in this room quietly with you, I’ve waited far too long for this.”

Olena groaned and grabbed him, bringing his lips back to hers, moments later, Thorin’s crown scattering to the floor as her hands bury into his hair, making him growl, scooping her up, her legs wrapping around him, pressing her firmly against the wall.

Fingers fumbled with clothing, breathing growing harder, exploring what they could reach. A load moan fills the space as Olena’s hand wraps around his shaft, barely keeping himself still as she stroked him.

Thorin’s teeth scrape along her throat, making her draw in a sharp breath. “Need you Olena…” He draws in a sharp breath as she runs her thumb over his head. “Fuck…”

“Then what are you waiting for my King?” Olena breathed, his gaze meeting hers. “I’m right here.”

A growl rolls through his chest as he rests her forehead against hers, his hands digging into her thighs. “Should be taking my time.”

“We can do that later, I think we’ve both waited long enough,” She purred, brushing her lips against his. “Now, unless you want Balin or Dwalin walking in here to see what’s wrong, I suggest you do what you want.”

Thorin crushed his lips to hers, his fingers finding her core, making her arch into him, a moan caught in her throat, clinging to him tightly. He wastes little time teasing though, guiding himself into her.

Olena’s head falls break, hitting the wall, as Thorin lets out a low groan, resting his head against her shoulder, the two of them taking a moment to just breathe, legs shaking a little.

She lets out a small whimper. “Need…need you to move.”

Thorin grins against her shoulder, placing light kisses along it. “Desperate are we my love?”

Her hand wraps into his hair and tugs him back, making him groan as she hovers her lips over his. “Desperate doesn’t come anywhere close Thorin, and if you’re going to insist on being a pain right now, then I’m going to make sure that you are just as desperate before I give you any relief.”

A chuckle leaves him but he closes the distant between their lips, kissing her deeply before she can say anything else, starting a slow pace that has them both moaning.

Steadily, fingers pressed harder into each other, the kisses grow more desperate, panting filling the small room. With a sharp tug, the bodice of her dress comes free a little, and Thorin takes full advantage, mouthing over exposed breasts.

“You better hope I can fix that,” Olena pants, running her fingers through his hair. “Can hardly get out of here all exposed.”

Thorin nips at her skin and grins. “I wouldn’t mind.”

She huffs. “And here I was thinking that you’d want to keep that view for yourself.”

A growl rumbles through him after a moment, making her gasp as he increases his pace, pinning her harder against the wall, his lips moving to her ear. “Must you enjoy being right all the time?”

Olena can’t help but laugh, even as she wraps her legs tighter around him. “Only to you, my King.”

Thorin kisses his way to her lips before pulling back enough to meet her gaze, his eyes filled with desire and adoration. “Then be my Queen, at least then you’ll have a better excuse.”

She cups his cheeks between her hands, her gaze matching his as she pecks his lips softly. “Nothing would give me greater honour Thorin.”

He moans and crashes his lips to hers, the fight between each other over.

It had been several hours when Balin and Dwalin decided to go and check on the two of them, tentatively knocking on the door.

“Finally come to unlock it have we?” Olena’s voice bit out.

“Well, that depends,” Dwalin said quickly. “Have the two of you come to an agreement yet?”

“An agreement between each other, yes,” Thorin spoke this time. “An agreement on how the four of you should be punished, no, we’re still debating that one.”

Balin and Dwalin share a look before Balin moves forward and unlocks the door.

Thorin and Olena sit on the floor together, Thorin’s coat wrapped around Olena’s shoulders, secured over her bodice. They looked sated and a little dishevelled, but tired, Thorin the first to stand and help Olena to her feet, who looked a little unsteady on her legs.

“It’s about time,” Thorin said gruffly. “We’re starving.”

“You had to know that this was necessary Thorin,” Balin said quickly. “The way the two of you were-” But he cuts himself off, his eyes spotting a new bead in Thorin’s hair and then quickly finding one in Olena’s.

Olena walks past, waving her hand. “We can discuss this further later, for now, food, then Fili and Kili better hope that they can run faster than me.”

Balin starts to laugh, Dwalin giving him a confused look even as Thorin smirks and follows after her.

“Don’t worry Dwalin,” Thorin calls back over his shoulder. “She’s left you and Balin to me.”

Dwalin’s face pales as Thorin disappears around the corner, but Balin continues to laugh. “What is so funny brother?”

Balin wipes a tear away from his eye. “It seems our task was successful.”

“What?” Dwalin frowns at him. “We’re going to face their wrath and you call that successful?”

“No,” Balin shakes his head. “It won’t be bad, trust me, at least, maybe not for us. I can’t say with certainty what the new queen will do to her nephews.”

Balin follows after Thorin, still chuckling, leaving Dwalin staring after him for a moment as his words cotton on.

“What!” Dwalin shouts and then hurries after him. “Balin!”

#the hobbit #thorin #thorin oakenshield #thorin x ofc #short #drabbles #smut #fluff #post bofta

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imma-lil-teapot · 4 years

Text

TMNT 2003/2k3 Headcanon: Crying - (Leonardo)

Feel free to scroll past this first part if you’re not interested in my silly rambling and nonsense. I won’t mind. Promise. ;)

Okey-dokey then, with the global epidemic that is the Coronavirus well in action and most of the world stuck in lockdown (starting this Friday for us too), felt like getting the ‘ol creative juices flowing with a little headcanon-y thingy in preparation for -possibly- more fandom writings to keep myself busy during the house arrest (well... it kinda is!) and hopefully my mind off all the bad news. :(

Also, this is totally my first one on the blog! WOOT! Please bear in mind that I’m SUPER rusty! Haven’t written in ages so there are bound to be typos and all matter of general errors scattered throughout the post. Don’t pet them! They bite!

Anyhoo~ Despite attempting to create and share with the goal in mind to uplift spirits, I decided to start on a rather upsetting subject (PLEASE DON’T LEAVE! They end on happy notes ;) ) because, Imma just come and say it, I enjoy seeing my favourite characters shed tears (not for just any old reason -their personality plays a huge role in this- and CERTAINLY not for sadistic reasons, land sakes no! But... well, you’ll see~ ;) ) It makes me all gooey and fuzzy inside to see them display such raw emotion and I just wanna leap into the TV screen to hug and console them. I dunno why. Maybe I’m nuts like that. (Remembers Raph crying at the farm when Leo was badly injured and wishes she could just hug them all and take away the pain) Oh well, if you enjoy visualizing the same, then *High Fives*. :)

So yeah, if you read the title, you’ll know this is based on the 2003/2k3 series (my favs). Hope you all enjoy~ :D Grab tissues cause sad turts ahead! :’(

Jibber jabber stops here~

TURTLES~

LEONARDO - You are here

RAPHAEL

DONATELLO - Coming soon

MICHELANGELO - Coming soon

WARNING(S): Because of the subject, Angst and Hurt/Comfort will be present.

RATING: G (General)

WORD COUNT: Don’t have the foggiest.

ANYTHING ELSE TO ADD:

And apparently gifs too, so without further ado: (Completely unintentional but in actuality, totally intentional rhyming)...

TO THE HEADCANONS~~~~

~LEONARDO~

-- It’s no easy feat to make the leader in blue turn on the waterworks. Leo won’t cry for any old reason. It’s not because he has no emotions, far from it, but being the leader of a small ninja clan -who happen to be family as well- is no easy task in itself: he has a lot on his young shoulders and deals with many issues on a daily basis few his age ever have to.

-- It’s because of these reasons that Leo doesn’t cry often. One of the lesser likely to out of the four brothers. But when he does, it’s an emotionally distressing sight to behold.

-- Leo tends to cry whenever those closest to him -namely his brothers, his father/master and truest friends- are severely injured or are in a dire situation. Remember his angry/moody arc? The thought of losing any of them causes him great pain and distress, especially if he were the cause of any of it, and when that happens, he can’t stop the dampness that forms around his eyes and soaks into his mask.

-- He’s not fond of crying, especially in front of others, even though he fully comprehends its normalcy. He feels he needs to be everyone’s rock, their fortress of physical and emotional stability to turn to for strength when things get rough... So when the tears start to fall, he feels he can’t show them, can’t allow them to watch him crumble under the gripling weight of helplessness and anguish.

-- He frantically wipes at his eyes and desperately attempts not to sniffle, but it’s a hopeless battle, for his tears are already a steady stream.

-- He’ll try to hide when possible, usually retreating to his room to allow the worst of the emotions to spill over before returning to the others... Though he may be in there a while: when Leo lets his emotions go, it can be just as powerful as his red-banded brother’s rage.

-- He spares no time in making sure the coast is clear for the tears are already streaming by the time he reaches his futon, and there’s no stopping them now as he lets himself drop to his knees, only halfway onto the mattress. He purposefully leaves the room unlit, cloaking his form in the darkness.

-- He sniffs a few times as he shuffles up against the wall, sitting upright against it, bringing his legs up and hugging them loosely and droops his head against a single knee pad.

-- His voice desperately wishes to escape. To express its misery. But he won’t allow it to, often placing one hand over his face in a bid to quell the sadness and remain silent in the battle against his own inner turmoil. He refuses to let anyone see him in that state of utter sorrow and vulnerability.

-- He whimpers ever so slightly and coughs a few times as breathing becomes difficult. He knows this episode won’t be over any time soon. Fortunately, he keeps some tissues next to his bed for such rare occasions and tries not to blow too loudly. He thinks back to the last time he cried so hard... It’s been a while. It felt like a build up.

-- Time has been forgotten as he’s lost in deep thought. By the time he slips a hand across his eyes, only the material of his mask is still slightly damp. He clears his nostrils a couple of times before considering whether he was ready to return to his family. He’d of course straighten up his bedding beforehand, and would also require a trip to the bathroom to wash his face. A true ninja leaves no evidence.

-- Leo tries to put the horrifying images out of head before leaving his quarters. He doesn’t wish to be weighed down again and thus maybe cause his emotions to come out a second time. He knew someone would catch on that time. Instead, he holds his head up high, focusing on the there and now to carry him forward.

BONUS EXTRA~

-- Failure is also one of his greatest foes. Leo despises it, but not in the irrational sense; he fully comprehends that in order to grow, one has to lose in order to learn and thus, succeed in turn, and while it can frustrate him when he’s unsuccessful at mastering a martial arts technique for example, he understanders it’s part of the process and that no one’s perfect.

-- It’s when his slipups could spell casualties or death to his family and/or friends is when it weighs down on him like a boulder strapped to his shell.

-- A really big one.

-- And it hurts. So much so that it causes him to become despondent and often teary-eyed when no one’s looking.

-- Boi Bloo might also cry from especially sad movie scenes. He gets seriously into the story, and when the scene is just right -perfect music, perfect timing etc.- you may just catch Fearless with watery eyes.

-- He can’t help it. After all, he’s a leader, and very caring and kind-hearted individual, so movies showing children or anyone/anything defenceless getting hurt has him not only visibly upset, but also angry at the cause. He’s a softie like that.

-- He won’t have a meltdown, of course, but the tears are definitely there. Just don’t tease him too much; he’s easily embarrassed by it. ;)

BONUS EXTRA EXTRA FEMALE READER OR S/O EDITION~ (Can also use an OC/FC insert if you wish, up to you)

You had figured something was up by the time you’d finished greeting everyone in the Splinterson household except for the Turtle you’d long to see most and he hadn’t made his presence yet known.

The idea that he must’ve been practicing or meditating swiftly vanished when Mikey told you he’d been in his room in the dark for the past few hours. “The guy hardly ever naps, and even so, never this long.” He’d told you. “I dunno, (Y/N), we were about to check on ‘im when you arrived, but maybe you should be the one to. Think he’d really appreciate it.” And there was absolutely no argument from your side as you were already making your way up to the room.

You didn’t know what to expect as you neared the doorway. Could he possibly still just be sleeping? Meditating in the dark instead of his usual spot by the training area? Or... was he sick? The latter now had you concerned and you picked up your pace... Only to pause mid step when an unmistakable sound reached your ears: a sniffle.

Had it come from within his room? It was the only logical explanation as everyone else was downstairs. You were truly perturbed now as you stood outside the doorway and called out the ‘eldest’ Turtle’s name.

There was some shuffling to be heard but you were unable to tell for sure what he was doing -probably trying to neaten up his bed- “(Y/N)? Just a second, okay?” he responded in a rather awkward verging on frantic tone, and you were certain you heard another sniffle escape him.

That, along with the way he’d replied really didn’t help to put your mind at ease. “Leo, are you alright?” Nor was the pitch blackness in which he remained concealed in.

“Yeah, just... l-looking for something.” There was some more shuffling as if to prove his point, but you were having none of it.

“Then maybe this,” you began, turning around to flick the light switch, “will help?”

“No! Wait!” But it was a split second too late for as soon the brightness illuminated the entire room, you had caught the telltale signs of an emotional meltdown in progress plastered on his face before he quickly turned away and briskly wiped an arm across his face, attempting to hide the shame... or perhaps embarrassment?

“Leo...?” your heart and voice softened, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You automatically walked to him, closing the gap he was now trying to form.

“Nothing,” he lied, and acknowledged it was a fruitless attempt but still couldn’t stop himself. Autopilot panic mode was enabled now. “It’s nothing.”

Unfortunately for him, autopilot mother hen mode was activated for you as you reached with both hands to his carapace and shoulder, gently turning him to face you. “I can see that it’s something.” Your words were gentle, and you wanted nothing more than to take away his pain. “Look at me, Honey.” His body was turned but his head remained to the side. It was clear he didn’t want his obvious distress on display, even to you. “Please, Leo?” You tried again, and slowly but surely, his eyes met yours, and you felt your heart sink further.

The fabric of his mask was wet and eyes were still red with fresh tears that threatened to fall. He appeared so broken and helpless as he stared at you, and even though he uttered no words, you could practically hear him despairingly ask “Is this what you wanted? To see me at my lowest?” from his expression alone.

Never had you witnessed the leader of this band of mutant brothers cry. At times you had wondered if he ever did, and yet here he was; the incredible pillar of strength and dignity you had come to know and adore, in tears and so dejected that you couldn’t stop your own eyes from becoming damp the more you gazed at him. “Oh, Sweety...” You whispered as you felt your soul shatter. It was too much to bear. You slowly wrapped your arms around him, one around the midsection and the other over his shoulder, and buried your face into his leathery neck, offering every ounce of comfort you could muster.

It didn’t take him long at all to sink into the embrace and return the action. Beyond the point of concerning himself with showing the pain he felt -or the wetness now soaking into your shoulder when he placed his forehead against it- he sniffed and finally allowed the tears to fall once again as fresh waves of emotion surged throughout his body.

And this time, he couldn’t keep the whimpering to himself.

“Shh~ It’s okay, it’s okay,” you soothed, lightly patting and rubbing along the scutes of his shell as he weakly sobbed, finally letting go of all the sadness that gripped him.

You weren’t even aware of what was wrong, and you most likely wouldn’t find out til later once he calmed down, but right now, he just needed you to hold him. Hold him until the hurt was gone... And so you would.

AND THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE!

ALL THE FEELS!! I EMBARRASS!!

OMGosh, this turned into a monster! The mother of all HCs!! :O No seriously, this wasn’t meant to be this long! I was suppose to squish all four into one itty bitty little post, but then it just grew... and grew... and GREW! Personally, I blame the Reader Bonus but I’d be damned if I didn’t enjoy writing it! ;P You guys here on Tumblr got me slightly addicted to them and have wanted to attempt some myself so... Anyhoo~ I can’t really say if I’m entirely content with the whole thing, I dunno. I feel some parts are better than others (writing style-wise) but yeah, I really need to get back into the swing of things...

Speaking of which, I DO plan on adding my two cents on the other bois as well, but judging by how this one turned out, they’ll most likely all be this length, more or less, so each Turt will get his own post so I can really jot down those details with all the freedom in the world! That being said, I can’t say when they’ll be added but hopefully soon-ish. :) Raph's next on the list!

Thank you all so much for the read and hope you enjoyed~ :D

~Drag0n Mistr3ss’ Random Fandoms*

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obsessedwithbbandsuju · 4 years

Text

Forever

*Dialogue Prompt #3 for @2ya2yao‘s Super Junior Prompt Fic Challenge

Well. If someone asked him, he would insist that it wasn’t mischief. It was for science, and his girlfriend was the subject.

Pairing: Park Jungsoo/Son Taeyeon

jagi: a Korean word that can be used to refer to one’s significant other

___

The name Leeteuk wasn’t really associated with mischief in the idol world. Leeteuk was supposed to be the responsible leader of Super Junior, the tired mother who did his very best to keep a merry gang of crazy men sufficiently under control. And in some ways, Jungsoo knew, that was who Leeteuk was. But Leeteuk could also be mischievous, and right now Jungsoo was up to some mischief.

Well. If someone asked him, he would insist that it wasn’t mischief. It was for science, and his girlfriend was the subject.

Taeyeon was notorious for being good at, well… everything. Not only musically – though certainly that too – but athletically, linguistically, academically, practically, socially – he didn’t have the time on his hands to name it all. Not once had he seen her fail, or even so much as rattled.

And Jungsoo loved how capable she was. He did. But she had to have some weakness, right? It just wasn’t plausible that a human being could be such a natural in every field. There had to be something, and he was determined to find out what it was.

“Come on, jagi,” he whined into the cell phone, throwing in the jagi, a word he rarely used, to let her know how desperate he was. “I have to go soon, and Shimkoong is absolutely refusing to go where I usually leave her when I’m away. I don’t know who else to count on. Please?”

“Okay, okay. You always know how to get what you want.” On the other end of the line, there was amusement in Taeyeon’s voice as she accepted his request. Jungsoo gave a mental shout of triumph. “Thanks, Taeyeon. I’ll have her over soon. I love you.”

“I love you too.” The sincerity that rang when she said those words warmed his heart, distracting him from his plotting, even for just that second.

Once she’d hung up, he scooped his dog into his arms and gotten into his manager’s car, asking him to head quickly to Taeyeon’s apartment before they arrived at the filming location. Usually they stayed together in his place, but with both of their schedules packed for most of the days of the current month, they’d decided it might be more convenient to stay apart from some time so the all the chaos didn’t clash in one apartment.

At his girlfriend’s place, Jungsoo watched Shimkoong intently as he handed her over to Taeyeon, who stroked the dog’s head and cooed. Shimkoong tended to get rather cranky in unfamiliar places, especially when he wasn’t around, and when she got cranky she could keep it up for several days at time, running around and barking and refusing to listen – which was what he was counting on. He thanked Taeyeon one more time with a kiss on the forehead, to which she laughed and swatted him away playfully. Before he left for the broadcast he was filming that day, though, she still sent him off with a kiss on the lips (since he insisted) and a “good luck”.

The filming took the better part of the day, and they paused in between only for a thirty-minute lunch break and forty-five-minute dinner break. By the time he was finished, Jungsoo was exhausted, but there was one thought that kept energy coursing through his body. He headed over to Taeyeon’s apartment, fully expecting to arrive to a relentless Shimkoong scampering around, barking up a storm, and an annoyed girlfriend. But when he walked in through the door, he saw his dog running up to him happily, wagging her tail. Trailing behind her came Taeyeon, looking calm and collected as ever. She shot him a smile, almost like she knew what his scheme was.

Jungsoo pouted.

Jungsoo stared at the instruction booklet in his hand and then back at the scattered parts of the new computer he had bought and was trying to assemble. He’d made some progress, but the pieces were still far from a working device, and he couldn’t help feeling that this was his limit; he had had yet another filming for another variety show earlier that day, he was tired and hungry, and the fact that the instruction manual’s font size was probably about five wasn’t helping matters. Huffing through his nose in frustration, he set the booklet down, glaring at the parts in front of him. And then an idea came.

“Taeyeon?” he called. He heard footsteps, and then she appeared from the hallway, her hair tied back messily in a ponytail.

“What is it?” she asked, kneeling next to him and rubbing his back soothingly. Jungsoo was silent for a second, melting into the sensation of her slim fingers against his skin through the thin T-shirt he wore.

Gathering himself, he turned to her with puppy eyes that he reserved only for her sight, probably because they wouldn’t have the slightest millimeter of an effect on the other members. “Do you think you could help me with this?”

Taeyeon glanced down at the mechanical parts strewn across the floor, then at the instruction manual that Jungsoo was still holding. To his surprise, she flashed him a small smile.

“Of course.”

A little restless with anticipation, Jungsoo handed her the manual. She squinted at its text, read one of the lines, stared down at the pieces for a moment, and then got to work.

About an hour later, the computer was put together nicely, its polished black plastic and metal practically glinting under the lights. Jungsoo held down on the power button, and the newly-assembled device turned on without a hitch.

He huffed.

When he’d suggested a walk to his girlfriend, this was not what he’d had in mind. He had just wanted a peaceful stroll in the moonlight with Taeyeon and Shimkoong, a chance to unwind after all the hecticness of the past two months. It didn’t seem like much of a request, but apparently the universe had deemed that it was.

Because they’d run into three of the many juvenile delinquents that often roamed the streets of Seoul at night while under the impression that they were grown and could do whatever they wanted. (It was a phase everyone went through in their late teens, though thankfully the majority didn’t let it get so out of hand that they began committing borderline illegal acts.) The kids couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen, maybe twenty tops, but they sure had strutted right up to Jungsoo and Taeyeon like they were professional criminals.

Jungsoo calculated in his head the risks. He didn’t really want to run; it would feel silly fleeing from practically children, but getting in a fight didn’t seem very appealing either. Both of them were wearing caps to partially conceal their faces, and the dark was helping, too, but still, the consequences of a celebrity getting in a fight… no, they weren’t worth it.

On her leash, Shimkoong was snarling and barking.

“Cute dog, mister,” the kid in the front, a tall but thin boy with ripped jeans and a black jacket, smirked as he eyed Shimkoong blatantly. Nerves flaring, Jungsoo fought the urge to glare. His eyes flicked sideways toward Taeyeon who had just been standing next to him a second ago, but now she wasn’t there anymore. She’d stepped forward in the path of the delinquents, posture unnervingly relaxed. If Jungsoo was just a passerby he would have thought she was someone who often picked fights on the street, too.

“We’re trying to take a walk, so it would be nice of you to go on your merry way,” she said calmly.

The atmosphere was full of uneasiness; Jungsoo’s muscles were tense, Shimkoong’s fur stood on end, and there was visible aggression in the delinquent’s stare as he looked down at Taeyeon.

Eventually, though, he spat sideways in an attempted show of dominance, saliva flying from his mouth and landing with a splat on the street. Jungsoo fought the urge to wrinkle his nose, and Shimkoong gave a very soft growl. Taeyeon didn’t move.

“Tsk. Whatever, slut.” The delinquent’s voice was somewhere between sullen and purposefully dismissive, like he was trying overly hard to sound though. “Come on, guys. Let’s not waste time on this cuck and his bitch.”

Without another word, the three kids stalked off, glancing back occasionally at Jungsoo and Taeyeon with slight unease as if they were afraid they were going to attack them from behind. Jungsoo couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit of pity; he knew that brash hotheadedness mixed with crippling insecurity and nearly animalistic desire to prove yourself of early adulthood, and it was a no pleasant feeling. But he couldn’t feel any kindlier towards them than that, on account of the slurs their leader had used to refer to Taeyeon. Only once the three of them had vanished from sight from several seconds did he relax.

The entire time, though, Taeyeon hadn’t blinked an eye once (figuratively speaking). Slightly awed at his girlfriend’s composure, Jungsoo threaded his fingers through hers, squeezing. She glanced at him, and it somehow wasn’t a surprise to see her instantly smiling again.

“Doesn’t anything scare you?” He was half-chiding, because he would feel better if she was more cautious, but half-asking, because she legitimately had not seemed fazed.

Taeyeon squeezed his hand back with a shrug. “Plenty of things do, but not a few delinquent kids.”

Hyukjae, Donghae, and Ryeowook were fighting. About what, Jungsoo didn’t know. All he knew, or cared to know, was that he, eyelids practically drooping from filming since seven A.M. that morning, was just trying to sleep early for once when he’d been interrupted in his preparations to crash by the sound of the three members’ raised voices.

All of them had moved temporarily back into the dorm recently because they had several group schedules coming up that required long hours of driving and decided it would be more convenient to just go at the same time, rather than every member setting off and arriving at different hours depending on the traffic in their area. On one hand, it was nice because it was nostalgic; it took him back to the time when they were young and vigorous and the burden of their fame hadn’t quite caught up to them yet. On the other hand, Jungsoo felt like he was fucking dying. He’d forgotten how uncontrollable it could get with all of them living in the same space.

A few hours ago, Taeyeon had come over and spent the night at the dorm, eating dinner with them while rolling her eyes several times at the teasing from the other members to keep things private in the bedroom. They did not, in fact, have any intention of doing anything that night, for the sake of being courteous of everyone else, and it would be more than nice enough to fall asleep next to her.

Jungsoo just wished he’d get to lay down in peace.

“What do you mean, me? You’re the one who’s at fault here!” Ryeowook’s shrill voice rang through the dorm. Jungsoo groaned, suppressing the urge to shriek into the pillow. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with this.

Taeyeon must have seen the will to live fading from his eyes, because she sympathetically patted his shoulder. “You okay?”

Jungsoo took another calming breath. “Yeah. I’m just tired.” That was one way to put it. A more accurate way would be “I’m just done with this bullshit” or something along those lines, but he restrained himself.

“That’s understandable. Go and sleep, I’ll sort everything out,” Taeyeon suggested, giving him a light push toward the bed. Jungsoo sat down on the mattress, pointedly ignoring another bout of loud arguing from outside. “Are you sure?” She should know better than anyone how difficult his members were to deal with.

“It’s not like I’m unfamiliar with how Super Junior works,” she reassured him, amusement in her voice. “I’m still hanging around you people, which means I’m picking up some of your insanity – since that’s the only way to survive around this group.” She wasn’t exactly wrong. Maybe none of them had been exactly normal since the beginning, but being around each other had only amplified the chaos over the years.

“Okay, I’m counting on you then,” Jungsoo said, laying down with a sigh of bliss. She patted his head and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before leaving the room, flicking the light switch off as she did and closing the door tightly. Jungsoo stared after her, wondering how well she would fare.

Miraculously, he drifted off, but the concern over what had become of the argument must have been eating at him more than he realized, because only two hours later, he found himself blinking up into the darkness. It was quiet outside, but a quick glance at the door showed him that the lights of the living room were still on, which meant at least some of the other members were still awake. Taeyeon wasn’t back, either.

Rubbing his eyes, he got up out of the bed and peeked out into the hallway. The way his door was positioned, he had a fairly good view of Hyukjae, Donghae, and Ryeowook sitting together on the sofa, talking quietly but cheerfully. Clearly, they had made up. Perched just a little distance away, watching the three with the expression of a satisfied mother, was Taeyeon.

She was even good at mediating arguments.

I give up. Jungsoo was about to admit that he’d lost. Apparently, his girlfriend was just perfect – good at everything on top of being funny and intelligent and beautiful. He was ready to just accept that he’d been lucky enough to somehow snag a superhuman for a partner.

He couldn’t even find anything bad to say about her cleaning, he noted, as he glanced over his shoulder at her, kneeling in a corner and wiping away dust. They had decided they’d spend the day today tidying up his apartment; something that Jungsoo was used to and liked doing, but there was a new kind of enjoyment in it when his girlfriend was there doing it with him.

He was engrossed in wiping down some of the drawers when Taeyeon shrieked – a terrified, shocked, shrill, and entirely alien noise. Alarmed, Jungsoo spun around in her direction to find her staring underneath one of the windowsills with horror in her eyes before she distanced herself from it at the speed of light. Bewildered, he abandoned what he was doing hurried over, wondering what it possibly could be that she’d seen. He had never heard her sound so frightened; she’d hardly even flinched when they were watching The Wailing together, so what could have scared her so badly now, especially in his apartment?

“What is it? Is there something there?”

Taeyeon looked over at him, disgust marring her greyish-hazel eyes. “There’s a spider!”

Jungsoo stopped in his tracks, dumfounded. A spider?

Approaching the windowsill and looking under it, he saw that she was right – there indeed was a tiny, light brown spider there, settled among its webs.

He glanced back at Taeyeon, whose gaze was still fixed under the windowsill like residing there the most monstrous abomination that had ever existed. “Jagi, it’s just a spider.”

“Just a spider?” She sounded practically furious that he’d dared use the word just in reference to a spider; in fact, this might be the most rattled he had ever seen her. “Kill it already!”

Jungsoo chuckled. He couldn’t help it. After all the ridiculous antics he’d done to try and pinpoint anything that might faze his girlfriend, this was it? A tiny spider? Sure, he might not be fond of arachnids, but her visceral reaction was on another level.

“Not funny,” Taeyeon muttered from behind him, flicking him on the back of the head as punishment for his amusement. Jungsoo turned around to face her, unable to stop smiling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just… I didn’t think a spider would be the thing to crack your composure.”

“Oh, shut up and get rid of it,” she hissed, furrowing her brows at him in displeasure. Obediently, Jungsoo knelt in front of the windowsill and disposed of the spider with a piece of toilet paper. As he stood, he noticed Taeyeon backing up, eyeing the crumpled paper in his hand warily.

“You know a tiny spider can’t hurt you. Especially if it’s dead,” he pointed out.

“It’s not about hurting me,” Taeyeon admitted, her nose wrinkled. “I just hate spiders. They’re… disgusting. Now will you please throw that away?” She had inched further away from him. Well, not him specifically; it was the toilet paper with the squashed spider that held all her animosity.

Ever the dutiful boyfriend, Jungsoo obeyed and made his way to the bathroom, where he flushed the arachnid. As he washed his hands, he glanced at Taeyeon, who had been peeking in to confirm with her own eyes that the spider was long gone. “Better?” he asked, amused.

“Better,” she huffed. “You think this is real amusing, don’t you?” The words were an accusation, but, now that the spider was completely gone, she seemed to have relaxed. There was playfulness in her tone, and she was smiling faintly.

Washing his hands as he formulated a response, Jungsoo decided there was no point in hiding it – she’d already caught on. “It’s just… you always seem to be a natural at everything. For a spider of all things to freak you out so much is funny.”

“Well. I never thought you’d have such a cleaning obsession when I first met you, either,” Taeyeon retorted, but her voice was mild.

“Ouch, low blow. What did you think I’d be like?” Jungsoo challenged as he wiped his hands with the towel. He was genuinely curious; by her own admission she’d been a Super Junior fan since their debut, which meant that she must have known something about him even before they met for the first time during a broadcast. He forgot which one – they’d seen each other several times for business over the years, although it was only in 2014 when she worked with Super Junior for their MAMACITA album that they’d become closer than just acquaintances.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I thought you’d be more naturally witty. I thought you wouldn’t complain and nag as much as you actually do. I thought you wouldn’t be so awkward when you flirt. I thought you’d give me less cheesy pickup lines.”

“Jagi…” Jungsoo complained.

Smiling, Taeyeon closed the gap between them with a light hop and reached up to take his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his in a chaste kiss. When she pulled away, Jungsoo flushed, not having expected the sudden display of affection. There were times when his girlfriend could seem slightly detached, but other times, she was touchy-feely like this.

“I love you, Jungsoo,” Taeyeon said simply, dropping all honorifics from his real name in the way that made him shudder a little under her hands. “I love everything that you are. Cheesy pickup lines and all.”

She went to move away, but Jungsoo grasped her shoulders and pulled her to him so their foreheads were touching. She was significantly shorter than him, but the height difference was just suited so that he could look directly into her eyes like this. God, she was beautiful. Almost unconsciously, he brushed his thumb over the soft skin of her face.

“I love you too.” The words were barely a whisper.

With a smile, Taeyeon cupped his face in her hands. “I don’t say this often, but I want to right now,” she said. “I love you, and I’m going to protect you from anything.”

The rush that flooded him made Jungsoo heady and breathless, his veins burning like he was being scorched from the inside out with the heat of his emotion. “For how long?” he murmured, stroking his fingers across her cheek.

“Forever.” She kissed him.

#super junior scenarios #super junior reactions #super junior imagines #super junior #leeteuk scenarios #leeteuk reactions #leeteuk imagines #leeteuk #park jeongsu #my writing

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meet-me-in-the-kitchen · 5 years

Note

the reader passes out as soon as boyfriend!harry comes home from tour because she has been studying day and night to finish all her assignments before harry returns

EXHAUSTEDLY IN LOVE

It had been months since Harry had come home. Months spent sleeping on his side of the bed, burying her face in one of his pillows to catch his scent. Nights spent wearing his shirts, waiting for his calls, and settling with the recording of his voice during the voicemail message, in moments when she especially had missed him.

The point was, it had been ages since she’d seen her boyfriend, and Y/N is determined not to let coursework take away more time spent with him.

So, she scrambled to get it all done, in order to have more time for Harry’s kisses, cuddles, and love. She hadn’t felt him in so long, so without hesitation she’d buried herself under assignments, final projects, and studying for major examinations that would take place the following weeks. She started a few days before Harry was to get off the plane, starting with basic reviewing and taking creative breaks by writing and proofreading final essays and projects.

Somewhere along the way, she’d traded meals (the ones Harry had made with his own hands and left frozen for her in the fridge, because she can’t cook for shit and he’s too fond of her to let her become sick by eating burnt toast) for processed food, muffins and coffee. She stayed in their living room, where she had spread all of the work so it lid in unorganized heaps and papers scattered on the ground she could somehow navigate through. One half haphazardly crumpled and tossed ball of foil paper she’d eaten a muffin from had quickly turned to a couple, a dozen, and then bred to the point where it had escalated north to a much greater number. Wrappers littered the floor, despite her prior hate for disgusting messes rather than comfortable messes, she didn’t care. Coffee cups lay strewn aside, muffins half eaten, eyes bleary and nose sniffling a little from congestion.

The messiness crept up on her. Parts of her life began falling off, forming an eclectic debris that dribbled gradually into every corner. Empty sushi containers, Diet Coke cans, sweaters, sweatshirts (Harry’s), socks, her running shoes...when was the last time she’d washed her hair?

However, she really wanted to see Harry properly and get those assignments finished, so she writes that essay.

There is the thesis, which she painstakingly rewrites in every paragraph or else the teacher will say something like ‘???’. There is her restating the first bit of the thesis statement again, maybe with a different word or two. There’s that one character she does remember vaguely, and a purposefully verbose depiction of them so she can take up as much space as possible.

Transitional sentences she shambled together out of the remains of her hopes and dreams.

A rambling, off-topic sentence which probably should have been deleted but it's four in the morning and she honestly doesn’t care and I need those full ten pages. A drastic shift in the paper where for five seconds she actually thinks she knows what she’s talking about. There’s her analysis of a quote in which she tries to explain why it supports her thesis like explaining to a small child why the wind blows. It just does, okay, but I'm only going to be able to express this in really confused and circular speech. Here's her mentioning that character again, but this time she’s talking also about a second character. She secretly hopes she never has to take a test on this stuff. Concluding line. Transitional sentence, but with a vague sense of foreboding and dread attached to it. Her sore hands are starting to slow down. She has now grown to resent the two characters she has been talking about, and she sincerely hopes they both die in a fire, because literally nothing interesting happens to them; literally nothing interesting happened in this book whatsoever, but here's the analyzation of a quote dedicated to them.

When she’s sent in the last assignment and reviewed her brain numb, she feels wonder. Such magic. Somewhere in between killed-someone and just-saved-a-baby-dolphin. Euphoric. Such hope that she swears she just felt a rib snap. Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah. She falls back on their bed.

Then, there’s fatigue. Tiredness gnaws at her aching bones, her head heavy, and body feeling unusually cold. A little drowsy, too, because she’d grown alarmed at the distracting dry coughs she was having while reviewing macro economics two, and had downed a bunch of foul smelling (expired?) Tylenol, like taking shots.

Her fingers were blistered from writing down all of the information she remembers from anatomy class for the examination, because it’s been scientifically proven that if you physically write the information down, it’s easier to remember. She’s never been one to like organization, and seeing girls with carefully handwritten tumblr study notes makes her furious, because they’re so slow and her mind works so fast, she’s too impatient and unable to catch her train of thought before it flees the scene, and write in perfect times new roman, size twelve, double spaced and in gel pen shades of fuchsia. It comes to bite her in the ass when she witnesses the disastrous scene of flashcards and sushi and bad handwriting and realizes she must clean it up.

All in all, she wasn’t feeling her best, but Harry was here, and it would definitely pass, right?

—

The night came when Y/N drove to Heathrow airport to pick her boyfriend up, excited and eager to have him back, but also suppressing the low throbbing in her head. It was later at night, so rush hour has passed and traffic was laid back, and the crowd in the airport had significantly dwindled.

We’ll have a few moments privately to ourselves before the press come, she thought, content and dreaming of him.

The time comes when the lights start flashing, and she knows that he’s back.

“Harry,” she breathily laughed, biting her lips, and trying to blink back the welling tears in her eyes as she catches sight of his sparkling forest green eyes from behind the transparent barrier between them. He runs off of the plane, and she runs to him at the same time. It’s like a scene in the movie, before her body collided with his, his comforting, striking scent engulfing her and his strong arms wrapping around her, catching her as she jumped up into his arms. He buries his own face into her neck, breathing in her girlish scent. It’s a scene from a Lifetime movie. They both cry.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more,” he whispered the promise, before sealing their lips in their first kiss in months.

There’s a lot to say behind that kiss. In his head, mainly. Questions and worry that had been intensifying every waking moment to the nights prior to this one, when he had called Y/N and she had responded hours and sometimes days later with a text saying she was fine. It had been so long since they’d had a proper conversation, and it would be a lie if Harry hadn’t thought the distance was affecting them. Causing her to care less. Now, he was confused. In love, definitely, but confused at how the woman who had seemingly avoided him for days was now leaping in his arms, holding on tightly to him like a koala bear and clinging for life.

The screams behind them started growing, cameras clicking, and fans growing desperate. After pushing one last kiss against her lips, Harry smiled at her adoringly, dimples poking out as her eyes fluttered open.

“Come on, it’s time to go, Princess.”

She nodded, and they kept their heads down, security surrounding them methodically as they moved through the gathering crowd. Through the middle of it, however, Y/N begins to feel a bit dazed. No, not now, she thinks to herself, nervously. The flashes and clicks and screams do nothing for her terribly painful headache, and worsen the heavy feeling in her chest. Her legs feel detached from the rest of her body, moving robotically and at a quick pace as they move hand in hand, Harry pulling her closer to his chest in order to protect her from the crowd. Her hands are becoming sweaty, and she wonders if he can feel it.

She’s taking deep breaths, training her expressionless face to the ground, and trying to focus on the steadiness of Harry’s arm around her waist, how it was warm and unwavering. However, this lessens her attention and causes her to forget that one step as Harry and her step into the elevator, hidden by the security who let them pass and keep everyone else out. They’re the only two going inside, when her foot slips into the little crack in the machine, and she lurches forward. Harry’s arms tense around her, pulling her inside the elevator before it shuts on her foot.

“Jesus, you alright, baby?”

She tries to make a confirming noise, but it comes out as more of a groan, and she’s so hungry, her stomach is painfully empty. This strikes his alarm, and so he places his large hands on her shoulders, finger tilting her chin up as he gazes down at her with tentative, cautious green eyes, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Mhm,” she mumbles, not quite wanting to let go of his chest just yet. It was warm and smelled of him, and she was afraid she’d lose her balance if she let go. Instead, she slung her arms around his hips and closed her eyes, face against his chest. Before murmuring: “I just missed you so much, H.”

He relaxes some at this, visibly becoming less tense. His expression softened as he looked over at his girl.

“Sleepy?” He asked softly, a finger stroking her cheek while his other arm wrapped itself around her waist, securing her to him. She hummed, and he kissed her hair.

“You smell nice,” she confessed. “Like.. like... Harry candles.”

“Come on, love,” he laughed lightly, guiding her out of the lift and brushing it off as she stumbled some, again, blaming it on her exhaustion. “Let’s get you home, in bed. Y’very sleepy.”

“No,” she protested, eyes narrowing while she pointed at his chest determinedly as she remembered all the work she had done, waiting for this moment. “I’ve made dinner, and you’re going to eat that, and then I’m going to put on lingerie and look irresistible and you’re going to seduce me into getting into bed with you.”

“I’m going to seduce you, hm?” Harry teased, a signature smirk on his face. He nuzzled his face into her neck and peppered kisses there, after they’d gotten into the car and he had sat in the drivers seat next to the passengers seat, where she sat. “You don’t need lingerie. You’re already irresistible.”

With a weak smile and a killer migraine, she rolled her eyes.

“Shut up and drive, Styles.”

—

The aching in her body would go, and then come back full force as Harry drives, one hand easy on the steering wheel, other grasping hers and rubbing circles into her much smaller palms as he talked of the places he’d traveled and how much he’d missed her, home.

She’d smile and nod, but what was this? She’d spent all of her energy finishing her assignments to spend time with him, but now she spent the time she had feeling sick.

They’d entered into their flat, and Harry had heaved a long sigh, comforted in the private confines of his home. Y/N had instructed him to freshen up, swatted away his lingering hands from her hips, and gotten dinner ready. She’d made his favorite.

She was just setting the wine on the candlelit table, when the all consuming drowsiness for her again, but she breathed in and out and gulped down some cool water, waiting for it to pass and then fixing the table, again.

He’d snuck up behind her, planting his hands on her hips and sponging kisses down her delicate neck when she clenched a bit in surprise, before relaxing slightly, still a bit stiff.

“Wow,” he’d muttered, green eyes sparkling as they ran over what she’d done. She’d pushed him down into a chair. “This is amazing, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she promised, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’ve waited so long. Now, come on! There’s a cake you have to cut.”

There’s an apparent slow burn that situated itself in her ribcage, her stomach twisting in unease as she continued to smile and walk towards the counter, uncovering a big cake she had made for him in his favorite flavour and colours. She grabbed a lighter and quickly lit all the candles, the heat causing her chest to flush uncomfortably, arms prickling due to the unwanted warmth. Her head spun.

Carefully, she had began walking toward Harry with the cake, a faint smile still on her face as he stared at her lovingly. She had placed the cake in front of him.

“Welcome back home, baby,” she’d murmured, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she held him, nuzzling her face into his neck, chest against his back. He lifted his hand to rest where hers did, before exhaling and blowing out the little fires on the candles, smoke billowing past them, as a result.

“I love you.”

She heard the phrase, but it sounded more distorted. The smoke and heat surrounding her becoming too much, migraine worsening, nausea uprising. She became more aware of her fatigue and hunger and dizziness. What was happening?

Harry’s own forehead had creased in concern as he eyed her after she hadn’t responded like she usually did. There was a strange, faraway look in her eyes, as he watched as her face fell with a frown downturning his own cherry lips. Eyes darkening in worry.

“Love?”

The last thing she felt was her own body turning against her, feeling weightless as her eyes closed shut. She collapsed, his arms quickly wrapping around her to break her fall.

—

Y/N felt as if she were nestled in a cloud, entrenched in softness and white and the warmth that could only be from the body heat of someone very close and very familiar. She yawned, stretching beneath the heavenly comforter. How long has it been since I’ve last slept here? Pushing the thought away, she had smiled sleepily. Harry must have changed the sheets into new, fresh ones. He was sweet.

Her eyes snapped wide open.

Harry.

“You’re awake.”

His voice was as gentle as the breeze, but his darkened eyes held emotions she couldn’t figure out, ones that caused her stomach to roll in unease.

“Drink,” he motioned to the glass filled with what looked like foggy water which he had ripped over slightly, nudging her lips. Inwardly grimacing, she parted her lips and he silently tipped the glass further into her mouth. Bleh. It was sugar water. “It’s to get your blood sugar up.”

“I spoke to the doctor,” he said. His voice hard as steel, but he restrained from sounding too firm or saying anything he didn’t mean. She already knew what he’d say.

“Harry,” Y/N whined, she was still tired. How about a rain check? She mused. On this conversation. I want to sleep some more.

“Y/N.”

His voice had a warning edge to it.

“You haven’t been eating,” he stared at her blankly as he stated the facts, but the worry in his eyes was now evident. She felt the urge to look away, but couldn’t. “—sleeping, and the doctor’s said you’ve been looking stressed. What’s going on? Tell me the truth.”

“I wanted to spend time with you..”

“So you deprived yourself of food and sleep?” He asked, disbelief colouring the sentence.

“I had a lot of coursework,” she confessed, looking down to where she fiddled with her fingers, a nervous habit. It all seemed so silly, now. “It’s becoming exam season, and I had a lot of projects and major assignments and reviewing to do.”

“You’re gone for ten months,” she pressed, a little pained. “I didn’t.. I didn’t want to spend the time I have with you doing coursework and stressing over prepositions and definitions, when we could be going places or doing nothing together. It’s been so long, Harry. I missed you.”

His eyes softened at the explanation, but hers were still downturned. She felt vulnerable. Had he missed her as much as she’d missed him?

“I guess, I kind of lost track of time and forgot to eat and stuff during all of the hustling to get things finished. I ate,” she offered with a weak smile, knowing it was futile. “I ate muffins and drank coffee.”

Harry shook his head at that.

“You silly girl,” he laughed wetly, tears springing to his own eyes as he pulled her near him, sponging soft kisses to her hairline and looking down at her sweetly. “I know the feeling. I hate being far from you, too, baby, but. You need to take care of yourself. You can’t be getting sick.”

She snuggled further into his warm chest, content with his familiar scent— of sandalwood and boy and home. His arms wrapped around her, holding her as close as physically possible, feeling every curve and dip he’d missed being against for so long.

“I was so worried,” he whispered. She felt her own heart ache at how he sounded a bit broken. “It was so sudden. One second you were smiling, and the next you’d fainted. I thought you were.. I thought something was wrong. I need you.”

“I’m sorry, H,” she apologized, sighing delicately as her boyfriend ran his fingers under the shirt (his) she was wearing, skin contacting with her warm back and tracing around until his palm lay flat against her bare stomach as he spooned her. “Hey.. did you change my clothes? “

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively: “did you see my new lingerie?”

He rolled his eyes in amusement, before dramatically widening them for exaggerated emphasis. “Loving you,” he poked her nose. “Is exhausting. I’ve lost years off of m’life.”

“Yes, but you get to see me naked. So, you see, it’s all worth it in the end.”

It was. These months apart. The forces that tried to break them apart. Every ache, every second apart was worth it. She was worth it, and so was he.

He laughed, lips stretching into a wide smile as he pulled her closer to him while continuing to smother her squirming self with smacking kisses.

MASTERLIST

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #this was kinda trashy kinda classy whats new

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