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shysneeze · 4 years

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i solemnly swear i am up to no good (george weasley x reader)

request: what if one night the golden trio is look at the marauders map that the twins gave Harry and they see the reader and George sneaking around hogwarts and they ask George about it the next day? ~ anon

warnings: yo i don’t even think i swear in this one it’s a miracle, can’t think of anything else but Fred’s dramatics

authors note: this is the best porcastination I have ever tasted (fuck chemistry uno?) anyway, I hope this is what you were looking for anon and thank you for the request <3

...

It's a carefully constructed routine, one that George has perfected by now. He's worked out that Lee is always the last to fall asleep, and so the coast is always clear when he begins to snore, that he's safe to slip from his covers and creep down the stairs, by which point the common room is always empty and he's free to leave completely undetected.

He knows the corridors to avoid, the ones with the gossiping portraits and regular prefect patrols. He knows that McGonagall keeps her classroom lit through the night to discourage snooping students and that the ghost will turn a blind eye at most things, unless they're in a particularly bad mood.

He's thought it through perfectly, even if he does say so himself. In fact, he's not had an incident since the first night they met up, when Peeves decided to draw the attention of every sleeping painting in the vicinity, who awoke rather grouchy, and ready to take their complaints straight to Dumbledore until George convinced them he wouldn't let it happen to again.

Now, though, he's sure he's considered everything and he's rather smug with himself when he arrives at the kitchens. (Y/N) smiles at him when he arrives, already perched on one of the counter tops beside two mugs of hot chocolate.

"Still beat ya, Georgie." She grins.

"Right you." He teases. "You have no idea the expedition it is to get here without getting caught."

"Excuses, excus-"

He's kissing her before she can finish, her laughter vibrating against his lips until she recovers from the abruptness of it and is gathering a handful of his jumper and pulling him closer as she does every time.

They've thought of everything to keep it their own, their sacred routine and their special secret. They've eliminated every possible hiccup that could occur, they're sure of it. Everything always goes as plan and their relationship is kept protected in it's own little bubble, the way they like it.

"You're not still obsessing over that map."

The boys by the fireplace jumps at the sound of Hermione's voice, staring wide-eyed as she stands on the bottom of the girl's dorm's staircase with a disappointed frown. Harry clutches the map against his chest, as if it will anyway hide it from her.

"'Mione." Ron exhales. "You gave me a bloody heart attack!"

"What are you doing up?" Harry asks.

"I left my textbook down here." She informs. "You?"

"We're uh, checking to see if Flitwick is still in the hospital wing with the flu." Harry admits shamefully. "So we don't need to the do the homework..."

"Of course you are."

She comes forward with a sigh, dropping into the seat beside them. She can't help but be slightly curious on the matter, even with her already completed homework upstairs. The map is characteristically empty for the time of night, most people's names stationary in their dorms except from the occasional pacing teacher, still up marking, or the prefects on their rounds.

It's what makes the set of footsteps tiptoeing down an empty corridor so noticeable, George Weasley's name so stark on the otherwise empty stretch of enchanted parchment. Hermione frowns at it curiously and points.

"What is George doing?"

"Who knows." Ron shrugs. "Probably just setting up some sort of prank."

Hermione gives him an unconvinced look and drags her finger up to the Gryffindor tower, halting at the boys dorms, where Fred's name lies still where he is sleeping. Ron takes a minute to catch onto the implication.

"Then why is Fred not there either?"

"Maybe he's gone rogue?" Harry suggests.

"I doubt that."

They return to George as his inky footsteps lead further through the castle, looping through hidden corridors and secret passage ways methodically before arriving at the kitchen, where upon realisation, Hermione lets out a chuckle.

"Oh."

"What?" Ron frowns.

"Look who already in the kitchens." She explains.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)." Ron exhales. "What's he meeting up with her for?"

"Think about it, Ronald." Hermione smiles knowingly.

Ron's brows scrunch in confusion, looking expectantly to Harry, who seems to have already clued himself in and is grinning knowingly. Then his eyes begin to widen with realisation and Hermione nods.

"He can't be- with (Y/N)?" Ron gasps. "No..."

"Seems that way." Harry gives an amused smile.

"That smug git." Ron breathes. "I knew he was hiding something!"

Hermione lets out a soft laugh, soon followed by Harry. Thoughts of Flitwick's whereabouts long forgotten at this new information and it's implications. In the kitchens the pair's names have stilled together, oblivious to the secrets they've spilled.

George sips slowly at his coffee, willing it to make up for his late night with a burst of energy. Even through his tiredness, he's grinning to himself at the memories of the night before. His eyes search for (Y/N)'s across the room, finding them quickly, well practiced in the art of doing so. She’s nursing a cup of coffee in a similar way, and gives a knowing smile before dropping her gaze with a slight shake of her head.

Across the table, Ron watches the exchange with insider knowledge and scowls at his elder brother, a mixture of perplexed and impressed. Harry nudges him warningly, but wears a knowing sort of smirk that George catches from the corner of his eyes and causes him to grow slightly uneasy from.

"What?" He asks.

"Nothing." Harry assures, coughing out a laugh. "Nothing, George."

"Alright..."

He attempts to return to his breakfast when he hears Ron snigger, rounding back on them with a frown. Hermione lifts her glass to her lips to hide her smile, only adding to George confusion. Fred's picked up on it too now, watching their little brother and his friends curiously.

"What are you lot so smug about?" Fred asks.

"That's what I'd like to know." George agrees with a frown.

George watches as Ron's eyes drift across the room towards same place as his had a moment ago, to (Y/N). George's jaw slackens ever so slightly, alerting Fred to this new development, also glancing over at the girl. (Y/N) isn't blind to this new attention, lifting her eyes to meet theirs and frowning in concern.

"Shut up." George tells Ron sternly. "Don't say anything."

"What?" Fred frowns. "What are you on about, George?"

George fixes Ron with a glare whilst also trying to figure out how he's come to know this information. He's so sure he'd considered everything, yet his brother is grinning at him like he's just won the lottery for best blackmail material possible.

Then, from the corner of Harry's robes, he recognises the aged parchment that he and Fred gave the boy themselves. He finds himself gulping and his cheeks growing warmer by the second as Harry chuckles at him.

"What the hell is going on?" Fred ask sharply, growing agitated at being left out of the loop. "What has (Y/L/N) got to do with it?"

Ron last two seconds before he's blurting it out despite George's pleading look.

"George met up with (Y/N) in the kitchen's last night."

"Merlin..." George groans.

"What!?" Fred bursts loudly. "You what?"

George groans and drops his head into his hands as Fred stares wide-eyed and betrayed. George should have considered the map, the most damning piece of evidence there could be, that no perfect timing and strategic route planning could save them from.

"You absolute git!" Fred exclaims, punching his twins arms. "You've got yourself a girlfriend and didn't tell me!"

"Ah!" George exclaims, sitting up to rub his arm soothingly. "No need for violence!"

"Uh, yeah there is!" Fred argues. "How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know- a few weeks?" George offers.

"A few week-" Fred gasps. "And Ron knew before me?"

"I didn't exactly plan that." George defends. "Harry's got the bloody map."

"Wow." Fred folds his arms. "You think you know someone."

"Oh come off it, Fred." George groans. "I would've told you eventually."

"Eventually." Fred scoffs. "I'm your brother- your twin! I should have been told the minute it started!"

George runs his finger through his hair with a sigh and gives Fred a sheepish look, although it does nothing to appease his twin's sour look. He's nice enough to feel somewhat guilty for it, even with his brother's dramatics.

"Are you ashamed of your family George?"

That's when George clocks that he's just being a dramatic git. He rolls his eyes at his brother as he starts up with a rant on loyalty and brotherhood, hand on his heart like he's quoting Shakespeare.

"You'll get over it soon enough." George decides flippantly. "We just liked sneaking around."

"That's possibly the most goddamn boring excuse you could come up with." Fred announces disappointedly. "You just ruined my whole thing- I was hoping for something like she thought you were me the whole time and this was actually a case of identity theft."

"Sorry to disappoint." George smirks with a shrug. "But she thinks I'm the better looking twin."

"She's clearly blind."

"Listen, I'm sorry I didn't tell you all." George sighs. "It started as an accident and then we just kind of got used to it."

"Wow, romantic." Fred jokes.

"Shut up." George scoffs. "It's not everyone's idea of a nice date but it's ours and we like it."

Fred smiles quite genuinely at this, the defensiveness in his brother's tone.

"You really like her." He observes. "Huh?"

George's eyes drift unsubtly towards the girl in question, where his smile widens at seeing her with that smile he's so used to feeling on his lips when they kiss. He chuckles to himself before turning back to his brother.

"Yeah, yeah I do."

"Then I'm happy for you." Fred decides, clapping his brother's shoulder. "But ever keep anything like this from me again and your twin status is revoked."

"Noted." George grins. "Oh, and Ron?"

Ron gulps at the change in his brother's tone.

"Yeah?"

"I'd be checking your shoes for spiders for a while mate."

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george x reader #george weasley imagine #Fred and George imagine #george imagine #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #fred weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfics #fred and george

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some-kindofgnome · 3 years

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tastes so bitter (tastes so sweet)

You’re driving back from an out-of-town mission with Hawks when your car breaks down on a very sparsely-populated highway. While you await relief, things get... personal.

characters: takami keigo (hawks) x f!reader

word count: 7.1k

warnings: smut (18+ please!), car sex, pro hero!reader, angst, emotionally unavailable hawks

notes: ta-dah!!! the car sex fic! this turned out way longer and way more feelsy than I ever intended it to be. but I’m grateful for the chance to show you how I play with plot and emotion as well as some good porn. porn with feelings, y’know?

EDIT: The supremely talented @la-saffron has created an absolutely spectacular piece of artwork for this fic! Please go and look at it right here, it’s really quite splendid

Masterlist

The shadowy trees on either side of the highway cast a chill across the pavement as the sky went dark.

It was far from sunset, but the woods were so tall and thick that the light had disappeared from the road a long time ago. The overpriced navigation system laid into the dashboard of Hawks’ luxurious car was no help at all; not when you were taking the only road for miles around.

The highway narrowly passed for two lanes, winding precariously down from the mountains. Dotted with reflective yellow signs- deer crossing, bear crossing, creatures-of-unimaginable-horror crossing. Bigfoot himself could have wandered into your headlights and you barely would’ve flinched.

But that was to be expected, given where you’d come from.

That day’s mission brought you both far, far away from the city. There was a national forest about three hours away- one of the biggest in the country- and you and Hawks had been called in at the crack of fucking dawn to drive all the way out to the woods and investigate some ‘strange reports,’ as the rangers cared to call them.

Most park rangers knew what they were seeing when guests came in from the woods reporting abnormal happenings. Nobody was truly immune to fear, though, when faced with the impossible.

Whether there were paranormal creatures lurking in those woods or not, you couldn’t have been sure. But after spending the day exhausting both your quirks combing every spare inch of those woods, you were relieved of your overnight duties by a group of other, more nature-savvy heroes.

Hawks had been miffed, but too exhausted to argue. He didn’t like to think he’d been overshadowed. You were just thankful to be going home to your own bed.

“Okay,” you sighed, nursing the last of a lukewarm soda from a burger joint at the edge of the only one-horse town you’d passed through. It was a pretty unassuming stop for dinner, but you and Hawks both agreed that the burgers were way too good to be sold to so few patrons.

Keigo was driving, with one palm splayed lazily across the bottom edge of the wheel. His scarlet wings stretched into the backseat, draping over the shoulders of his black leather backrest like some bizarre kind of seat cover.

The fact that his car was so luxurious was not lost on you- although you were more surprised to find out that he had one at all. Hawks seemed like the last person in the world to need a car, after living in a fantastic downtown penthouse. And owning a pair of wings, come to think of it.

He owned it because he could. And because he knew how good he looked in the driver’s seat.

“What?” He turned a curious eye toward you, though he never quite pulled his gaze from the road.

“I know we started this conversation on the way here,” you began, “but… we never exactly finished it.” You swirled what was left of the ice chips in the bottom of your cup, considering the best way to voice your thoughts.

“Alright.” He sounded vaguely amused, slouching a little further down and drawing an idle palm over his feathered hair. “Shoot.”

“Well…” You trailed off. “You’re kind of… a city guy.” You were already starting to talk with your hands. The racket coming from your half-drunk soda was proof enough.

“What makes you say that?”

“You are,” you defended. You let a playful edge creep into your tone. “And the agency’s kind of a city thing.”

“Am I really as one-note as you’re making me out to be?” He was chuckling. Your cheeks were going hot. You weren’t sure how this became a personal conversation, but you were determined to steer it in the proper direction. You course corrected.

“I just mean, we don’t take a lot of jobs outside the city. Like… ever. So, what’s with this one? Why this call?”

He didn’t answer right away. When you glanced across the car, he was licking his lips and appearing to be, very genuinely, thinking.

“Well,” he began. There was an immensely appealing depth that wore around the edges of his voice when he was deep in thought. You hung on tightly, trying your best to hide how intently you listened.

“I was just… bored, I guess.” He gave a lazy little shrug. His eyes were still trained on the windshield, but you could feel the weight of his urges. He wanted to look over. You turned your head, willing him to.

“Probably sounded like bullshit, now that I think about it,” he confessed, “but if there really was somethin’ freaky in those woods… I dunno. I wanted to see it.”

You resisted the urge to snort.

“Maybe you should start a ghost hunting branch at the agency.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he protested. This time, he really did drag his eyes away from the road for a second. They glinted playfully in the dark. You got a flash of pearly canine from the barest hint of a grin, but it was enough to put a stupid smile right across your face.

A sickening thud from beneath the hood zapped any false confidence you’d been building. There was a dull pop, then the engine died.

“What the- shit.” Hawks scrambled to put both hands on the wheel, navigating the car with what momentum remained over to the narrow shoulder. The tires hit gravel and soft mud, rolling pathetically to a stop and settling in damp silence.

“What the hell was that?” You leaned over the dashboard as your pulse came down from near-terminal velocity. There were half a dozen lights blinking away on the dashboard- symbols you couldn’t understand.

“Not sure.” Keigo was doing his best not to sound too perturbed. As a result, he was just perturbed enough.

You knew what those lights implied, though. Service due. Oil change due. Battery maintenance due.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, “when was the last time you took this car in for service? It’s a miracle you even made it out of the goddamn garage.”

Hawks was in the process of mashing the engine start button like an arcade game. When you spoke up, he pushed it down and held. The engine gave a dull, sad sort of sputter, but nothing roared to life.

“Look, look,” he dismissed, waving a hand in your direction as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I don’t drive this thing that often, okay? I’m gonna go check under the hood.”

He climbed out of the driver’s side and slammed the door before giving you the chance to remind him to pop the hood. For a minute, you let him wallow in his mistake, watching gleefully as he pried at the seam of it. Finally, you unbuckled yourself and leaned over, flicking the release for him.

He gave an unamused glance toward the windshield and lifted the hood, obscuring all but the very tips of his drooping wings from view.

After about fifteen seconds, he ducked back into the car with a rush of cold air behind him. He rubbed his palms together as you watched, arms folded over your chest.

“So?” You prompted. He gave a sideways glance in your direction, blowing into his chilled hands.

“So what?”

“Oh my g- what’s wrong with the car?” You tried your best not to let panic set in.

“I don’t know. It’s just a bunch of pipes and wires under there. They didn’t exactly give me a map of the thing when I bought it.”

You’d seen Hawks pull people out of burning buildings before. You’d see him think on his feet, devise a plan and act on it in the blink of an eye. Usually, he was impulsive. Confident. Clever.

Tonight, on the other hand, he was demonstrating a very clear affinity for money over brains.

You flopped into your seat, scrubbing your hands over your face. You were not going to freak out. You refused to. It didn’t matter that Keigo had suddenly become useless in the face of disaster. You were heroes, even if you had to save your damned selves.

“Oh,” he quipped from beside you. “Still got bars. See?” As you peeked over at him through one cracked eyeball, he waved his illuminated phone screen at you. “It could be worse, kid. If this were a horror movie, this thing’d be dead.”

He tapped away on the screen, seeming very pleased with himself. Even his wings gave a little ruffle, draping themselves smoothly over the back of his seat again.

“I’ll call us a tow. We’ll be outta here in no time.”

A few minutes later, you had a map pulled up on your phone while Hawks’ brow creased deeper and deeper.

“Uh-huh.” His voice had taken on that irresistible deepness to it again, but this time it was sending pangs of dread through your gut.

“Right.” He brought a palm up to smooth over his jaw, fingertips bending and pressing idly against the patches of scruff that dusted it. “Y-yep, yeah, I understand. Fifty miles is a long way. I know it’s gonna be a lot to send a truck that far. But-“

As he was abruptly cut off by the other end of the line, those idle fingers slipped up to his temple, pressing inward and rubbing in stiff little circles.

“Okay. Alright. Yeah, I guess we’ll wait, ‘cause there’s not much else we can… I understand. Yes, thank you. Thank you. Okay, we’ll be here. Or within a ten-foot radius. Thanks. B-“

He blinked rapidly at the screen as he pulled it away from his ear. “Have an excellent night, sir,” he muttered under his breath. He let out a deep sigh, lifting a hip to tuck his phone away again.

“They said they would send someone,” he said, “but the depot is, like, fifty miles from here. Could be a couple of hours.”

“A couple hours?” That cold dread was settling into your chest again. So much for sleeping in your own bed.

“Yeah. C’mon, get out.”

“What?” You glanced past him at the frosted driver’s side window. “It looks freezing out there.”

“Well then, you’d better bundle up. C’mon. I’m gonna fly us back to the city.”

“No way. Hawks- Keigo.” You grabbed his arm and squeezed tightly as he made to get out of the car.

“What?” Exasperation was creeping into the edges of his voice. The sides of his gaze, too, as he landed against the seat back with a thud and turned his cheek to look at you.

“You’ve been flying all day. Your wings are shot. You’re not flying anywhere.”

“What? They’re fine.” He gave the appendages in question a defiant flutter and a cloud of expiring feathers floated into the backseat.

You folded your arms across your chest. Hawks gave a frustrated growl.

“What do you suggest, then?” He retorted in fierce opposition to your silence. “Just sit around and fucking… die of old age before the tow truck comes?”

“Oh my god, you’re the number two hero,” you snapped back. “When did you become such a drama queen? Yes, we’re going to wait. Like a normal person would have to.”

“I’m not being dramatic; I’m presenting you with a legitimate solution and you’re ignoring it!”

“If you try to fly us both out of here, you’re gonna hit the ground before we’re halfway home. And then we’ll be really stranded, with no water and no shelter. So, if you’d like to fly back all by yourself, I can’t stop you. But I’m not going to let you kill both of us.”

“Fine!” Hawks’ cheeks were flushed with temper as he kicked the door open and clambered out of the car. He kicked it shut again so hard the whole body rocked, and for a moment you were left, trapped in shocked silence.

He was really going to leave you out here. Alone.

Half a dozen heartbeats passed before his boots crunched on the shoulder and he wrenched the door open again, flopping back into the car with an immense sigh of irritated defeat.

“Fuckin’ freezing out there,” he muttered as quietly as possible.

You wanted to punch him.

“You ready to wait?”

His wings stiffened behind him, then drooped so lowly they seemed to disappear into the backseat. He looked at you from the corner of one tawny eye.

“Yeah.”

For the first hour, you honestly enjoyed yourself. As soon as Keigo accepted his fate, he got much closer to his usual mellow self. You finished off cold fries from dinner, listened to true crime podcasts on your phone, (you listened- he talked over the whole thing) and played a few ruthless games of hangman on a couple of napkins you found in the glove compartment.

You’d spent a lot of time with Hawks in a professional capacity. As partners, you took most of your missions together. You were well-versed in the way that he liked to think, the way he approached a job, a conversation. You worked well with each other and you were drawn to his quick wit and laid-back humour. Even if he was a piece of work at times, you made a strong team. But you didn’t do a whole lot of hanging out.

“Okay, that’s it,” he chided as you added an extravagant top hat to the completed, dressed hangman scrawled onto the inside fold of your last napkin. The word he’d failed to guess was ‘patience,’ and the irony of his struggling was not lost on you.

“Aw, c’mon,” you protested. “You’ve still got gloves and a bow tie left.”

“No, no, no.” He held up a palm, shaking his head. There was a good-natured grin curling his lip as he bowed toward the door. “I’m callin’ it. I gotta take a leak.”

You snatched your soda cup from the drink holder, clutching it protectively against your chest.

“You’re not going in here.”

Next, it was Hawks’ turn to shoot you a deadpan stare.

“How about in the woods? Is that allowed?”

Your cheeks went hot. “It’s pretty dark out there.”

“Aw.” Hawks shoved the door open. There was an unfamiliar glint to his eye as he tossed a mischievous look over his shoulder. “Guess you won’t be able to sneak a peek, then.”

You slammed your fist into his back. “Shut up and go take a piss.”

As the car door clicked shut, you turned the other way out of sheer habit. All you could see in the opposite window was the reflection of your own face. Maybe it was just the dim light, but you looked exhausted. Keigo had seen you caked in blood, streaked by mud and soot before. But you’d both been awake since four o’clock that morning and there was a special kind of ugly feeling that came with overtiredness.

You were dreaming about the first thing you’d do when you got home again when Hawks climbed back into the car. He looked considerably brighter as he ducked inside, and he brought a flush of rich, earthy forest-smell along with him.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t find it in the cold out there,” you quipped. Payback.

But Keigo just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Close the door,” you whined as the frigid air from outside finally reached your bare arms. “It’s already cold enough in here.”

“Aw,” he crooned, tugging the door shut behind him. “You scared of a little cold now, kid? It’s not so bad out there. Feel.”

He lunged at you, ducking rapidly to rub his frigid cheek against your shoulder. You let out a terse yelp and squirmed, trying to shove him back amid a sea of chilled giggles. He got a few passes of his icy skin on yours before you both realized how close you’d gotten.

Hawks cleared his throat and scooted away from you. In the bare light from the shitty overhead lamp, you were starting to see the outline of a flush creeping into his cheeks.

The light abruptly went out, leaving you in darkness again.

“Tell me something,” he mused, grabbing for the abandoned takeout bag and digging a hand into it. He produced a tiny wrapped square and tore it open with his teeth, removing the folded alcohol wipe from inside and gliding it with impossible grace over his fingertips. He eyed you sideways.

“How come we don’t hang out more?”

Your chest went cold. You’d been dreading that question all night. Longer than that, even.

“What d’you mean?” It was a gut response, but you instantly kicked yourself for even attempting to play dumb.

“You know,” he chided, dumping the wipe back into the paper bag once he was finished with it. “We work. We do interviews together. We do those bullshit PR functions together. I’ve known you- what, two years? And we’ve never even been for a drink. What gives, kid? Don’t tell me I grate on you.”

“I get plenty of you on company time,” you retorted. You were starting to panic. You weren’t ready for this conversation, but it didn’t seem like you were going to be rescued by the timely arrival of the tow truck.

“Okay, okay, I’d take that,” he laughed, “if you hadn’t agreed to take this mission with me. C’mon, this wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five gig.”

He paused. “Come out with me this weekend.” He nudged your shoulder with a bony elbow. You tried your best not to snap.

“Stop,” you pressed quietly. “You know why we don’t.”

The smirk slipped from Keigo’s face.

“What? Why?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Wait a second, there’s an actual reason? What the hell is it?”

The confusion was genuine on his face. Hawks could be a smarmy little shit when he wanted to be. But you could tell he wasn’t fucking with you.

“Oh my god.” The words slipped out like a deep breath. Your hand drifted to your mouth as cold shock ran over your skin. “You really don’t remember.”

“No.” His confusion was bordered with fear. He sat back a little, letting his eyes drift over your expression. “No, I really don’t.”

You swallowed hard. You should have known that you’d have to talk about this eventually. But he didn’t even remember the night that had been changing the way you acted around him for nearly a year.

“Last Christmas,” you began. Your breath was so short that it put a desperate hush to your voice that you absolutely hated. You revelled in your ability to act casual around him, but the more probing he got, the harder that composure was slipping.

“At the agency gala. You remember the party, right?”

Hawks rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and I got trashed.” He paused. Realization dawned on his face, and he shot you the deepest, most sincere look of concern you’d ever seen. Even more sincere than the look that crossed his face when you got shot off the roof of a house and broke a rib.

He leaned forward.

“Did I do something?” He swept a palm over his mouth, fingertips dallying at his chin. You knew exactly how he felt in that moment. You’d been there before, too, realizing that you’d lost control. Blacked out. Understanding that you might have done something you were going to regret.

“You really don’t remember a thing?” It was your turn to be horrified. How could something that consumed your every thought stay so damned far from his?

His fingers were still curved around the point of his chin. He’d gone white, and he shook his head as his eyes cast down to his lap.

“You fucking kissed me, okay?” You snarled with a whip of frustration. “There was mistletoe and you kissed me under it and-and Christ, I can’t believe you.”

“What? What?” He demanded as his voice grew defensively sharp.

“I had no idea what you were gonna do. What you were gonna say, what was gonna change between us. I showed up to the agency the next morning and your hungover ass acted like nothing had ever happened.”

“Of course I did,” he defended, “I didn’t think anything did happen. Oh my God, did I really kiss you?” His wings were coming to life all of a sudden, bristling on either side of his seat. There was a dull whisp as one edge of them brushed against the window. They seemed to expand, along with his horror, to fill the entire car.

He pushed further. “Well, did you… did you want me to?”

You could see where his thoughts were taking him. The answer was an impossible dilemma. To lead him further down that path would not only be cruel, it would be untrue. But to tell him the truth- that you had wanted it- would be to shatter the fragile illusion of casual, platonic intimacy that you’d been building over the last two years.

You chewed your lower lip. Hard enough to hurt.

“Oh god, you didn’t,” he gasped. That was enough for you to lift your chin and shoot him a sudden, sad, pathetic little look.

“Jesus,” he gasped again, deeper this time. “You did.”

“Look,” you snapped. “I was never gonna say anything to you. I was never gonna push it. You didn’t feel that way and I knew that and I just wanted to work.”

He told you enough about his personal life as it was. Every date he swung in from on Monday morning, every Friday night he spent preening in the last hours of the workday hurt enough already. If you’d grown close, fallen harder, it would’ve become too much to bear.

“What do you mean, I didn’t feel that way? What way don’t I feel? How could you even know that?” He was beginning to raise his voice back at you and the adrenaline was pushing you way too far to listen.

“Because you never said a fucking word to me about that kiss! You pretended like it never even happened, Kei! What was I supposed to think!”

“If you’d asked me, you woulda known that I didn’t speak up ‘cause I didn’t remember a goddamn thing!” Keigo jammed a finger into his temple. His golden eyes flashed. He was so fucking hot when he was angry, but this was not a fight you ever wanted to have.

Luckily for you, he was having it without you.

“What do you want me to say to that?” He snarled. “Huh? What- you want me to tell you that I’m sorry for not having psychic powers? That I’m sorry I didn’t hire a mind-reader to tell me what the fuck was going on with you?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. You were on the verge of tears.

“I-I never-“ you began, but Keigo beat you to the punch,

“You know, maybe I noticed that you were actin’ funny around me. And maybe I should’ve asked. But maybe if you ask yourself, and if you really, honestly give yourself the truest answer, you’d be able to admit that you knew how I felt about you. That you always knew.”

“Of course I knew!”

Your response echoed raw and deafening in the silence of the car. You’d lost your temper and shouted it at him with every decibel left in your breathless chest. Your fists were clenched atop your frigid thighs as you bent over in your seat, shivering. To your immense embarrassment, warm tears trickled down the sides of your nose.

He was right, after all. Every sideways smile he’d given you was just a little too broad to be friendly. Every time he caught you by the hand, he held it just a little too long. Every time he offered you the crook of his elbow at a stuffy charity gala and every time he poured you into a cab at the end of the night, he promised to take good care of you. Every time he looked at you at all it was with a depth that you had recognized, but never understood.

“But look at us, Kei. Look at what we do to each other.”

You sniffled, scrubbing tears off your cheeks with the heels of your hands. He reached for you, seeking to comfort, but his hands twitched midair and he drew back instead.

“Yeah,” he croaked. You tossed a glance in his direction. He looked more dejected than you’d seen him in a long time. He rested both hands on top of the wheel, the rest of his body sagging against the seat back.

“Except now I’ve told you,” you continued. “And now we both know, so everything’s fucked no matter what.”

You were met with silence. The truth was dawning on you. You hated to even consider it, but it felt like what needed to be done.

“When we get back to the city,” you started. Hawks interrupted you with a low rasp of your name.

“No, when we get back, I’m giving you my resignation.”

“Fuck, stop.”

Keigo lunged, grabbing you by the back of the neck and pulling you toward him. He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. The warmth of his closeness weighed on you like a heavy quilt. You couldn’t even pretend not to be immensely comforted by affection from him.

“I’m not gonna let you do that, kid.”

You were both drawing deep breaths- slow, rolling gulps of air that matched over gradual time. You licked your lips, bracing your chilled palms on his shoulders. Your fingertips brushed the very edges of his feathered hair, dull and soft in the dark.

You’d talked each other down from bigger, badder edges before. But this one had sharp, jagged rocks waiting at the bottom. This one, you were going to have to jump from together.

“I can’t do this,” you pleaded. “I can’t keep myself away from you like this.”

“Don’t.” His voice was hushed and so achingly tender, like he couldn’t take the command himself.

“I can’t-“

“Then, don’t.”

He was firmer this time, and the pad of his thumb brushed the bottom of your lip. He pulled back just a hair, grazing the tip of his nose across yours. The heat of his breath puffed over your lips and his blonde eyelashes threatened to tickle your cheek.

He drew in a slow, calculated breath.

“Lemme kiss you. Lemme try again. I’m not gonna forget it this time, I swear.”

“Keigo, please.”

“Just lemme try. Just once. I’ll never ask you again, if you don’t want me to.” He pulled back the rest of the way and your body keened at the loss, but he looked deeply into your eyes. Deeply like he’d never been allowed to look before.

You licked your lips. Considered it for half a heartbeat. Then you gave a slow little nod.

“Okay.”

To your surprise, he didn’t lunge again. He took his time with you. He cupped your cheeks tenderly between his bare palms, memorizing the curve of your face. He stared, taking you in like this. At his mercy.

Finally, he leaned in and captured your mouth in a soft kiss, heartbreakingly loving. You responded eagerly, blossoming beneath his touch and bracing your hands on the broad plane of his chest. Your fingers curled in the fleece that lined his coat.

You kissed back with near-desperate urgency, shamelessly showing him how touch-starved you’d become. Dating was pointless when Keigo stole your whole heart every time you showed up to work.

The quiet press of his tongue had your jaw going slack in his hands. Your kiss went needy all at once, and he licked into your mouth with a hunger behind his movements that you never anticipated sensing from him.

You broke from him first, turning your cheek to him as your lungs burned. Your mouth was swollen, and you gasped greedily for whatever stale air lingered between you. He grabbed your chin and forced your eyes back to his.

His gaze was fearsome. Ravenous. You were powerless beneath it.

You combed your fingers through his hair like you’d always wanted to, settling your palm at the nape of his neck. Your own voice was nearly unrecognizable, nothing more than a feral growl.

“Get in the back.”

Hawks took one look at the narrow gap between his seat and yours and sat up, nudging the driver’s side door open. He climbed eagerly into the road and then back into the back seat, settling in the center with his legs and wings splayed wide.

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to wiggle out of your boots and pants and slam dunk everything into the foothold of the passenger’s seat. You climbed over the center console in your underwear and settled into his lap.

Even though you had to bow your head against the cushioned ceiling, it was a holy sensation. Your thighs settled perfectly into the crooks of Keigo’s legs, and his hands slid so naturally over the curves of your hips. It was as if you’d done this before.

You kissed him again, using the weight of your newly boosted height to descend hard and loving against his lips. He grabbed you hard by the ass, drawing you smooth and tight against his hips.

“God,” he groaned eagerly into your mouth.

“You’re so. Fucking. Perfect,” you hissed back into his, and he squeezed you harder, breaking his lips from yours to trail a hungry path of kisses along the edge of your jaw. His scruff scratched at your chin just like you imagined it would. You loved him like this- trimmed, unshaven. The rougher, the better.

“Don’t say that,” he purred dangerously close to your ear. “You’ve seen me at my worst.”

You tried not to grin, remembering Keigo barfing over the balcony of the Plaza after one too many charity-benefit martinis. Keigo caked in ooze after cutting open that sludge villain from the inside. Keigo on the verge of tears, just a few minutes ago.

“I still think so,” you pressed, and he smiled against your cheek. His wings, tired and bruised but majestic as ever, stiffened proudly. They were capped firmly by the cramped space that surrounded you, but the feathers that spread across the back seat were sleek and graceful.

You dug your fingertips between his jacket and his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his torso all over. He did his best to shrug it open, but the material was caught up on his wings- no getting it off now.

He wound his hands into the hem of his shirt and tugged it up for you. The skin you could feel by slipping your fingers underneath was all you were going to get.

Not that it mattered to you. It was far more than you’d let yourself so much as picture before. While you felt your way across his heated abdomen, he dipped his head to your pulse point. He scraped the points of his teeth across your tender flesh, making you sigh and shiver. He pressed a hand to the small of your back to keep you close and nibbled all the way down to your neckline, leaving a trail of tiny welts in his wake.

They would fade by morning. Tonight, the feeling was enough.

He glided smooth, tender fingers up your sides. You straightened, letting him wedge your long-sleeved t-shirt up around your shoulders. You had to bend even further and press your forehead awkwardly against his shoulder to wrench it off. Once he peeled the fabric over your head, you tossed it haphazardly toward the front seat. Keigo was already going to work on his fly.

The tender press of his erection had grown apparent by that point, stiff and needing down one thigh of his thick pants. You reached between your legs and palmed it indulgently. There was an answering throb of arousal in the pit of your belly as you felt the shape and thickness of it trapped against his body, and an even stronger one when his hips pressed into your touch and he gave a low rumble of approval.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he crooned. With his pants unfastened, and the bulk of his cock shifted to the stretchy pouch of his undershorts, he slid a fingertip down the plane of your belly and curled two graceful digits between your thighs.

“Are you wet for me yet?” He shot you a deep, lustful stare. You rocked your hips against his fingers, hopeless in resisting the pleasure he offered. Keigo nudged the crotch of your thong easily aside, dipping his middle finger against your slit.

He sucked a sharp breath through clenched teeth as you gave a simultaneous yelp of stimulation. When he looked up at you again, he bore a sly little grin. You’d seen it a thousand times before, but never with such desire. And never all for you.

“You’re drippin’, kid.” He arched his palm, slipping that finger slowly upward and easing it inside you. There was no stretch, but the sensation of intimacy- of being felt in such a way by those hands that you’d never dared to fantasize about- was intoxicating in its own right.

Keigo was, apparently, feeling it, too. His eyes were deeply lidded, glazed completely by his own desire. The tip of his cock had found its way over the waistband of his undershorts, weeping shiny precum against his stomach and the bottom of his shirt.

He curled a blunt fingertip inside you, massaging your tender front wall. The feeling rappelled up the column of your spine and brought deep trembles forward. It brought fresh handfuls of wet slick from your depths, gliding down his palm and between his fingers. He took the hints your body offered and rubbed faster, watching the way your expression morphed from desire to pleasure.

“Stop,” you hushed, leaning forward and pushing your lips to his. He drew his hand back from you immediately, settling it on your thigh. The wet little print it left against your skin wasn’t lost on you.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” you replied. “Just ready for you.”

He gave a low, loving little chuckle and shifted beneath you. “Can’t hold out any longer?”

You smiled into his hair. “Don’t want to.”

“Fair enough.” His smile was even, but the tug in his voice betrayed his fraying nerves. It thrilled you to know that you weren’t the only one putting way too much emotional stock in this. It was immensely validating to discover that he’d been anticipating it, too.

He wiggled and squirmed against the backseat, shucking his pants and underwear down over his thighs and letting his cock pop out. It bobbed against his stomach- thicker than you’d imagined- framed by a trimmed scruff of tawny hair that disappeared under his shirt.

“Fuck,” you sighed in spite of yourself.

“I know, right?” He rasped. He reached for you, cupping your jaw. He brought your forehead down to his, giving a weak laugh. “What the hell have we been waitin’ for?”

“We just needed the bottle episode to shove us together,” you giggled. “C’mon, we’re a walking trope right about now.”

“We’re about to become a different trope if you don’t let me fuck you.” It was his turn to play the desperate card. But the ache between your thighs had not dulled, even a little.

He wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft and you lifted your hips. He gave the heated tip a playful little swipe along your slick slit, but his game backfired when both of you let out tight cries of sensation.

You rocked your hips forward, taking his tip eagerly inside. The sensation was toe-curling, made even better by the way he held you tightly against him, nosing at your ear and kissing any patch of skin he could reach.

He brought his free palm to your ass as soon as you were situated, helping you slide the rest of the way onto his cock. With your knees braced on either side of his lap and your feet pressed tightly against the front seat, you let him bottom out. And for a moment, you just sat there.

“Jesus,” Keigo sighed, lolling his head against the seat behind him. You still had your head deeply bowed, trapped in the space that seemed just an inch too tight.

“I…” Your thighs shuffled. Your hips gave a little squirm. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. Keigo cracked an eye and lifted his chin, sensing a problem.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just…” Your cheeks went hot. You licked your lips. “I can’t move.”

His gaze cast downward, to the place where you were joined. He took in the press of your thighs, the curve of your neck. He snorted.

“No, you can’t. C’mere, kid, I gotcha.” He planted that palm on your ass again, drawing your hips forward and up, as far as you could take them. Your head and neck bowed with the rest of your back as he draped your upper body over his chest and held you tightly against him.

Then he planted his feet and gave one good, deep thrust. Your innards gave a jerk. Oh, fuck.

“That’s it,” you panted into his ear. He nodded tensely.

“Yeah?” He prompted. “That’s workin’ for ya? Alright, alright. We’ve got this, kid, c’mon. Lemme show you somethin’ good, okay?”

One thrust sent you spiralling. But the rhythm that he dove into- steady, tough, fluid- sent every nerve through your body into meltdown. You were entirely incapable of dealing with such pleasure, combined with the emotions that swirled through your lovestruck brain.

It felt as though you had been holding out needlessly for all this time. Like all the hurt and frustration and heartbreak you shed over him would be evaporated, now that you understood that he wanted you like this, too.

Like that was all there was. You, Hawks, and the free love you could now share.

“I’m n-not-“ Keigo stuttered, piping up after a series of breathless pants and airy groans, “n-not gonna last much longer, kid, you’re… really gonna make me feel it.”

“Yeah,” you breathed back. You looped your arms tightly around his neck, tilting your hips forward. You could feel the barest hint of stimulation when your clit brushed his belly, so you leaned into it- aching for your own release.

His rhythm doubled as the intensity of your pleasure spiked dangerously high, and when you gripped him hard and rocked your hips in time with his, there was a low, warning pull that echoed all the way up to your throat. You were close. Very close.

Your head dropped backward and Keigo leaned forward, drawing his mouth up the vulnerable column of your throat. He panted hard and heavy against your pulse point.

“That’s it, kid, that’s fuckin’ it, baby, oh, God, I’m g-gonna f-fucking… I- shit, I- can’t… fffuck!”

Keigo let a vicious roar tear from his throat as he reached his vibrant peak. His erratic thrusts brought you to a tight little climax, too, and you clung to him and whined and rode through the pleasure as he fucked madly up inside you, spurting messy shots of cum into your depths.

Gravity took hold of his pleasure, dripping it onto his shaft and pooling it in a sloppy mess between you. And when it was all finally over, you collapsed against his body and you both stayed, airless and spent, wrapped tightly around one another.

It was the bright flash of headlights on the back of his neck that brought you to the surface, moments later.

The inside of the car was warm and stuffy and damp. Had you just come in from outside, you might have realized that it reeked of sex. Sweat and breath and fluid and feeling. The windows were near-opaque, fogged by the dampness of your lovemaking.

It was a moment you might have loved to capture, if you weren’t about to be so rudely interrupted.

The light in your rear windshield was bright white and flashing orange. Unmistakable.

“The tow truck,” you wheezed, scrambling off of Keigo’s lap. “Oh, fuck.”

“Get dressed,” he muttered weakly, already scrambling to get himself cleaned up and decent. He was far more dressed than you were, so you did your best to climb back into the passenger’s seat and slide back into your own clothes. You banged your shin hard on the center console, and your head on the ceiling as your body flailed in retaliation. You crumpled into the front seat and nearly kneed yourself in the mouth trying to scramble back into your pants.

By the time you climbed out of the car, fully dressed, with a few additional bruises, Hawks was already standing on the shoulder, talking to the driver. The driver was wagering a few guesses on what might be wrong with the car. Hawks’ eyes had already glazed over.

“Hey,” he greeted, as he spotted you emerging over his shoulder. He introduced you quietly to the driver before the ballcap-wearing, bearded man spoke again.

“Yeah,” he gruffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll give you a lift to garage nearby. It’s kinda late, but he keeps weird hours. I bet he’ll take a look for you, it’s prob’ly an easy fix.”

“That sounds great,” you gushed, clasping your palms together. There was a lot of stiffness settling in around your hips and thighs. You couldn’t be sure if it was a result of the compromising position you’d nearly been discovered in or the whole lot of not moving you’d done for hours before that.

Either way, it felt good to stretch your legs.

“You c’n go ahead and hop in the back,” the driver directed, waving the key that Keigo had apparently already given him in indication. “I’ll get you hooked up, no problem.”

Keigo opened the truck door for you, and you climbed over the passenger’s seat into the back. He followed closely behind you, tugging the door shut and slouching into the opposite side.

You sat in silence; hands clasped between your knees. A confusing air settled between you.

You felt vulnerable and raw and moony. You wanted to hold his hand and curl up to him in the back seat. Kiss his cheeks and tell him how good it was, tell him how much you felt.

For you, though, it could never be that simple. There was no free love for heroes like you.

Pay later, always.

Keigo felt the weight of your gaze. He turned to meet your eyes and shot you a thin smile. You’d seen the look that he’d turned to hide from you, though.

The truck driver climbed into the front seat before words could pass between you. But you didn’t need to hear them to know what they were going to be.

You didn’t need a warning to understand what Monday morning at the agency was going to look like.

#hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #boku no hero academia #mha fanfic #my hero academia #bnha fanfic

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sweeethinny · 3 years

Text

Emerald Eyes

Summary: After Lily Evans kisses him, James needs help to figure out what to do in that situation. And who better to help him and Sirius with relationship issues if not his dad?

Notes: I was reading @startanewdream's fanfic Exist Song (For Film) when she wrote about a song that spoke of emerald eyes.

I remembered the song Claudia by Finneas, and needed to write about Jily's first kiss, and somehow get Fleamont involved.

I don't think I've ever read a fanfic where he helps James and Sirius with relationship issues, so I wrote it! I know James only becomes prefect in seventh year, but I needed him to become sixth, to make sense of the story.

sue me

AO3

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James was fine about just being friends with Lily, really, he was up for it and he liked being friends with her. Of course, he still thought about kissing her and, dammit, sometimes dreamed of her with her clothes off and couldn't look her in the eye for the next three days. But overall, he was fine with his old crush.

Everything was fine, it was just a crush, he would get over it.

He liked other girls over the last few years, liked hanging out with them, kissing them, and there was one muggle girl that James really thought was going to be something more serious - he even lost his virginity to her. But things didn't go as it should and life went on. Sirius comforted him that his crush on Lily was probably because he idealized her in a way that it was now difficult for him to like other girls, but that James needed to let go of the 'what ifs' and move on.

James tried, he swears he did.

But when Lily Evans kissed him on the train back to King Cross, after a prefect meeting where James was trying not to sleep, things completely fell apart for him.

When he got back to his friends, James felt very lost, and Remus even asked if he was alright, but all James could do was nod and touch his lips in fear that the feeling of Evans' soft, sweet lips would go away and he realized it was a dream.

As much as he had dreamed very hot things about Lily, they never kissed, so James wasn't prepared for it at all, he was just imagining it was supposed to be good. But it wasn't just good, it was stupidly good.

So good that he spent all the traveling hours remembering. And when they arrived at the station, he could only think of meeting Lily to say that he thought he was in love. Was this possible?

"Mate?" Sirius asked, following him out of the wagon. '’Did something happen at the meeting?'’

"No, I-" James saw her, which automatically made him forget all the words his parents had taught him, suddenly his brain shutting down and only caring about one thing; Lily Evans.

James didn't know what to do, if he was going to talk to her or not, if he waved, if he called her, if he shouted for everyone to hear that she kissed him… James wanted there to be a manual on how to deal with this situation, because he felt so lost and it was stupid.

There was no time to do anything however, the students were hurrying to leave and pushed James who had been standing in the middle of the corridor, while Lily blushed and smiled awkwardly, giving the boys a wave and then getting off the train.

Should that mean something? Why didn't she talk to him?!

''Come on James, I want to go home.'' Peter complained, making him wake up from his reverie and follow them outside, knowing Sirius was watching him with the eyes of an eagle, and that probably Remus too, but very more discreet.

After they said their goodbyes and headed off to find his parents, Sirius whispered, never bending over or making it sound like he was whispering, "You kissed her, didn't you?"

"She did it." James swallowed, still completely shocked. "Best kiss of my life, I must say."

"Fuck, James." Sirius shook his head, walking faster and accepting Euphemia's hug as James greeted his dad with a longing hug.

"Are you two okay?" Monti asked, a hand in James' hair and an all-too-knowing look that made him think his dad had heard, by some miracle, what Sirius had said. Fleamont always seemed to know everything.

"Yes, perfect." Sirius smiled. ‘’Right, James?’’

‘’Yes, more perfect than this impossible.’’

[...]

That night, after Euphemia left for the annual florist dinner she always went to, Fleamont called James and Sirius down to the dungeons, where he had finished brewing another beer. James knew his dad wasn't an idiot and he knew the two of them had already been drinking in hiding there on several occasions, but he liked that they were now considered old enough to be able to go there without having to dodge.

"So, how were things at school this year?" his dad asked, pouring some beer into each of their glasses, sitting on the wooden bench he and Sirius had helped to assemble last summer. "Any news?" Fleamont lingered at James, but then smiled at Sirius and glared at him too.

"Yeah, I think I'm liking someone," Sirius said, and then looked at the glass of beer in front of him on the pine table.

''You think? How can this be? Either you are, or you aren't.” Fleamont didn't seem to judge him, that gentle smile that had James spilling so much of his secrets over the past few years to his dad for help.

"She's a little complicated," Sirius ran a hand through his hair, taking a sip of his beer. ‘’ She says she doesn't want anything, but then she gets mad when I talk to another girl? I don't know, I like her, I just don't know how… you know?’’

"No." James didn't know how Sirius still hadn't learned to never do that to his dad. Fleamont would never say what he thought you meant, even if he was sure what it was, he would always make you talk.

‘’How to tell her.’’ It was funny and almost frightening how Sirius looked like someone else when he arrived at his house. There he didn't have to pretend anything or be an asshole to draw attention, his parents were always willing to listen to him, just like they did with James and that's probably why he always seemed very comfortable telling things to Fleamont, like now.

"Well, I think you two are friends at least?" Sirius nodded. ‘’So, be honest with her. What do you have to lose?''

‘’Her friendship? Humiliate me? Do you hate me, Monti?’’

"Sirius, don't talk like that," Fleamont stood up, a little slower than he used to when James was younger, but still quick for a man of nearly sixty. "When I told Mia I liked her," He floated a pot of potato chips off the top of one of the cupboards, like he did after James had behaved himself and helped him clean the yard. ‘’I felt like I might pass out at any moment, I was in a cold sweat… We were in front of her house, at night, after I took her on a date,’’

''I hope you were respectful Monti, I don't want to be disappointed in you when I found out you took her to a dodgy bar.'' Sirius joked, making James laugh along with him, knowing he'd just done it to make himself feel less nervous.

Sirius did this whenever someone was paying attention to him and actually treating him as an equal, James had noticed this over the years.

"Of course not, we went to a fair near her house," Fleamont sat back down, putting a portion of the potatoes into a smaller pot. ''Anyway, at the end of the night, I knew I needed to tell her that I loved her, which today I think was a silly thing, because I didn't even know what love was yet,'' He shrugged, a smile on his face. "I was young and Mia was, and still is, the most beautiful woman I've ever met, I felt I couldn't let her go without knowing it."

"She said she liked you too?" James asked, and for the first time he was interested in that story. His dad looked at him with that look that said he knew exactly why James was paying attention, but he didn't say anything.

"No, and it made me very angry and humiliated." He glanced at Sirius, who raised his eyebrows as if proving a point. ''But I wasn't fair to her, Mia was just being truthful, but I was too young to understand that sometimes things just don't happen at the right time... A few weeks later, I met her at a family dinner and we talked, and she said she didn't love me, but she liked me.'' He shrugged. "I think she loves me these days, I mean we're married and we have a family." Sirius chuckled.

"How did you know she was the right one?" James asked, looking at his half-finished beer. "I mean, let's assume," Monti nodded, paying attention to what he said as if it were the most interesting thing. ‘’If you had dated other people and so did she, how would you know she was the right person?’’

“Hm… wouldn't know, son.” Fleamont shrugged, pouring himself more beer. ‘’And I didn't know then either. Just happened.''

"I asked Hestia out," Sirius admitted, and not even James knew it, so he turned his head to his friend with an almost incriminating look, but it was gone as soon as he saw the annoyed smile on his lips. ‘’But she didn't want to go, so… I guess she's ashamed of me? I don't know, she's really smart and a good girl, I don't think she wants to be seen with a guy like me.”

“A guy like you?” Fleamont grabbed some chips.

"Monti, no need to pretend you don't know," Sirius rolled his eyes. "I don't have a good family, and you've had to sign a lot of letters because of my detentions."

‘’Hm… yeah, you're right about the detentions, but the family? Sirius, you are not a reflection of your parents' mistakes. Maybe she doesn't want to go out with you right now, and maybe, most likely, you aren't even the problem at all. Who can guarantee us that she… Hestia, right? That Hestia isn't going through a difficult time where she doesn't really know how to deal with this sort of thing, and just needs some time? You're not always the villain in the story, son, actually you never were.'' Sirius looked like he wanted to deny it, James noticed how his brow furrowed, but it eased as Fleamont pushed the pot of chips towards him, a fatherly smile at the lips that seemed to make Sirius' beast fall back to the ground like a trained dog.

James thought of Lily, the things he'd witnessed over the past few months and how she seemed to be dealing with a lot more than that these past few days. He still remembered how sad she looked when she read a letter that had come to her from her mum. James didn't ask what was written, of course, but he tried to make her smile for the rest of the day and during their patrol, hating that her brow was so furrowed.

The war was getting worse, a lot of people were dying, and the mini death eaters were really putting into practice what they had been learning in the last few years. It was frustrating, to say the least, that Dumbledore did nothing to stop sixteen-year-olds from getting their arms marked by Voldemort.

He wished he could help her, not just because now that spark of feeling inside his chest had become a scorch of acres and would leave a huge footprint inside him, but because James really cared about her before anything else.

"Dad, um…" James began, not quite sure how to speak, or what. ‘’Can we install a muggle phone?’’

"Of course," Fleamont smiled, just as he had smiled at Sirius. ‘’And you son, how was school?’’

‘’Well, I… Nothing too important but… it was a good year. There haven't been a lot of detentions this year, so I think it's a win.” He joked, just because it was a little weird talking about it with his dad.

"But he wanted to be dating," Sirius nudged, pouring more beer into his glass.

“Oh, is that that muggle girl?” Fleamont at least looked away, spending more time than necessary picking out some chips to eat. James mentally thanked him.

"No, and Sirius doesn't know what he's talking about." James rolled his eyes, wanting to push him off the stool. ‘’I decided that this year I will dedicate myself to studies.’’

"Oh James, you don't have to lie to your old man so much like that, it's okay, your mum isn't here so come on, tell me, what can I help you with?"

"It's her again, Monti," Sirius reveals, as if he doesn't say much.

James wanted to kill him now.

‘’Evans? Oh, son, are we still in it? When will I meet her? I'm starting to imagine you guys invented her because it's been almost five years since I first heard her name and never saw her.” Sirius and his dad laugh together, watching James blush like a fool. ‘’What happened this time? I thought you had raised a white flag for her… Is it because of her that you want to install the phone?’’

‘’It's just… She has family issues, and I think she's going to be alone this vacation since Marlene has traveled and Hestia too, so… I just thought about trying to call her. She gave me her phone number before classes ended, and I think it might cheer her up, I don't know, we're friends and I don't want to-’’

‘’Mate, you kissed her today, what kind of friendship is this?’’

''I wasn't the one who kissed her, she was the one who came at me, and for Merlin's sake, can't you shut up?!'' Fleamont doesn't intervene in the boys' discussion, seeming to enjoy it, and James almost took back everything he said and ran to his room to hide under the covers, but his dad seemed to notice this and became serious again.

"James," he said, in a warning tone but still with the shadow of a smile on his face. "It's kind of you to worry about her like that, anyway, but I think Sirius is right, I don't believe there are friendships where people kiss."

‘'She didn't even talk to me about it later, she just… ran away, leaving me alone. I don't think she even wanted to do that or I’m a bad kisser.'’

‘’It is a possibility, for sure,’’

"Even more if we think you ate that plum candy before the meeting, which smells disgusting." Sirius grimaced.

"But, you even said, she's having problems at home, and like I told Sirius, it's not all about you. She probably doesn't know what to do or say either, and is afraid of ruining the friendship… The best thing to do is ask her what it means, but knowing that maybe the answer will hurt you. It's a risk you take.” James nodded, looking at the beer kegs near the wall, and then down to his own glass again. "We'll install the phone and you'll call her, maybe that doesn't encourage Sirius to be less fearful and send Hestia a letter." Fleamont smiled. "There's nothing to lose, for either of you, just tell them how you feel."

''Haha! He would die before he did that, you know what he did last month?’’ James grinned vengefully, dodging Sirius' hand that tried to cover his mouth as his dad laughed at them both.

[...]

''OK.''

"Potter, just do it."

"Padfoot, what if she curses me-"

''She is not going.''

‘’ But she can. ’’

‘’Call her for fucking sake!’’

"Quiet or my mum will listen, and she doesn't need to know we can swear." James took a deep breath, the crumpled paper in his hands trembling as he noted the number written there, then looked at the buttons on the phone.

The man who came to install it had explained to them how it worked, but James was so nervous he'd forgotten all about it.

"Just dial!" Sirius cried for the umpteenth time, sitting beside him in the armchair, a Muggle magazine in his hands.

"Mum will kill you if she sees this." James pointed at the five women in bikinis, in very indecent positions for a rock magazine.

''Shut up Potter, and call her or I'll do it.'’ James huffed, rolling his eyes and looking at the numbers again.

Okay, he could do that.

Yes, just do it, James.

"Hello?" Evans' sweet voice sounded from the other end, it didn't sound much like her, it was a little more harsh and hurt than James used to hear, but it was definitely her. He tried to picture her by the phone, probably wearing a T-shirt from some muggle band he didn't know but would try to learn about just to impress her.

"Hello… Lily?"

“James?” Her voice radiated happiness then, as if she were grinning from ear to ear. His stomach turned over. ''Is that you?''

"Yes, yes it's me." Sirius chuckled softly, patting him on the shoulder and walking out of the room, probably so James would feel more comfortable being a lovesick fool. ''How are you?''

‘’I'm fine, I… how did you call me? Did you buy a phone?

"It was something my dad had wanted for a long time, so it was pretty easy to convince him." James grinned. “I just called to…um…just to say I like you, Evans. I really like it, and maybe you don't feel that way, and I know things aren't easy, but I really care about you, and if you don't… like me, that's fine, I'll understand. But ever since you kissed me I… I keep thinking about you, and I keep thinking about kissing you again, so I called just to tell you that… I like you a lot, Lily.'' James took a deep breath, feeling as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

Lily took a while to speak, which made him a little, very, nervous, and James even considered hanging up the phone and never using it again, but he remembered what his dad had said about listening to what she had to say and not rush.

"I…I like you too, James." He could hear her smile, even though her voice was a little quieter now. "I can't stop thinking about you and our kiss, either." His cheeks would tear. ‘’And… would you like to go out with me? For a date?’’

"Evans, I think if you asked me to jump off a bridge right now, I would." She laughed, one of the most beautiful sounds James had ever heard in his life. ''Yes I do.''

‘’Great, I… I need to turn it off now because Petunia is taking a shower and if I take too long the water will be cold and she won't leave me alone anymore, but-’’

"I'll call you later," James said before she even asked. He didn't lie when he said he would do anything for her, and if that meant talking to her on the phone overnight, he would. It was so much better than a letter, it took less time, and there was also the fact that he could hear her voice. It couldn't be better. "See you later, Lily."

"See you, James."

#jily #my fic #james x lily #marauders era #james potter #lily evans

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coulson-is-an-avenger · 3 years

Note

50 or 33 with jmart for the smooch prompt list :mimhonk.emoji:

#33 - An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it, and #50 - A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck. POR QUÉ NO LOS DOS!

thank you tem!!! :D I had a lot of fun with this one, and because of that it also got Long As Fuck so bear with me on that. Set in the safehouse also! Hope you enjoy ^_^

It’s been a very, very good day at the safehouse. The Lonely has been quiet, lurking almost entirely out of sight rather than clinging onto the both of them, and Martin’s been relaxed and open, happy in a way Jon hasn’t honestly seen him in months. The Eye has been quiet as well, and even Jon’s pain levels have been down today - no small miracle given the chilly weather - and it feels like a day for new beginnings, a day for truths.

So, “I missed you,” is what tumbles out over dinner, over beans and soup and tea.

Jon hears Martin’s breath catch before he sees it, before he looks up to see the stunned smile that takes over his face. “I missed you too,” he replies softly, and Jon pretends not to hear the crack in his voice where the unused muscle of emotion splits the air.

Jon holds his gaze for an admirable amount of time, but even he wavers. He’s never been a brave man, and he looks down at the table before speaking. “There were spiders, while you were gone,” Jon begins, tracing a finger along the grain of the table. “God, I really should have gotten more in the business of squishing them.”

“Yeah?” Martin offers, encouraging. The anecdote feels clumsy, foolish, but Martin is laying a hand across the table to show his patience, and Jon is grateful.

“I never quite could make myself do it though, I guess I just-” He trails off, starts a new thread of the story. “They always made me think of you, in a way. You always cared so much about all the little things. Always insisted on carrying them out. Dreadful things that still deserved kindness in your eyes.” Like me, he doesn’t add. “I always admired that about you. So I didn’t squish them as much.” He finishes clumsily, glancing up with a flash of his eyes before looking down at the table again to pick at the grain of the wood.

Martin blinks at him. Stares at him in silence for what Jon can only assume is an eternity, until he has to look up and make sure he’s still there. And then Martin stands, tea forgotten, maneuvers himself around the table, and darts in and presses his lips to Jon’s.

It only lasts for a moment - half a heartbeat of a touch - but it’s warm and vulnerable and a bit awkward and it sends Jon’s eyes flying wide open in shock.

Martin pulls back just as quickly as he had dived in, retreating so fast he bumps into the nearby counter, his eyes widening, and the first thing out of his mouth is “Oh, shit.”

Jon can’t blame him, he’s utterly dumbstruck himself. His head feels pleasantly fuzzy, but confusion swims up to trump every other emotion until the only thing he’s able to push out of his lungs is; “I- excuse me?”

Martin blinks, his panic floundering in confusion. “I- sorry, excuse you for what?”

Jon’s brows furrow together as he tries to piece his thoughts together. “You... don’t,” he says like it’s obvious, and then hesitates. “I-I mean, you- you said... you did, but not... so why-” Jon looks hopelessly out of his depth as he gestures, not making sense. “Why did you do that?”

Martin stares, the tips of his ears burning dark red. “I don’t what, Jon?”

Jon curls in on himself, shame bubbling to the surface. What has he gotten wrong? What has he missed? “I-in the Lonely. You said you loved me.”

Martin’s breath hitches at his own words repeated back at him - words he doesn’t even remember saying. The fog had been so intense, so much and yet so pointless all at once, it had been so hard to keep anything straight, to hold down any memory or emotion. He hardly remembers saying those words, but they draw a wobbly smile out of him anyways. He supposes it makes sense that he would say them, though. Not much could cut through the fog, but Jon did. Jon always did. He still does.

“Did I? I didn’t know I had it in me to share.”

Jon shakes his head, now looking frustrated. “But you didn’t.” He insists. “You don’t... that means you don’t anymore.” His expression stalls for a second, before something akin to horror blooms on his face, and he scrambles to his feet to face him. “Martin, if you think- God, if you think you somehow owe me this after all that, let me be abundantly cl-”

“No!! No, no.” Martin cuts in, sensing Jon’s building distress and moving away from the counter to rest a hand on his shoulder. “No,” he repeats, softer. He takes a deep breath and lets himself run his thumb over the fabric of Jon’s sweater. “I don’t think I owe you. Not in that way. Christ, of course not.”

Jon is silent for several long minutes, before his voice begins working again, and he stutters back into a sentence. “O-okay. Okay. Good.” He clears his throat. “Then why-? I-I-I thought-” He gathers up what brain power he has left to sort his thoughts. Something like hope tinges his voice, and Martin marvels at how deeply Jon seems to have resigned himself to this truth, while still being eager to save his life and run away with him all the way to Scotland. Love is a funny thing. When he speaks again, his voice is so, so quiet. “After the Unknowing, I thought I lost my chance. Thought you’d moved on. N-not that I would have blamed you, I just- but you-”

“Jon,” Martin says softly, ducking his head to catch his eyes. “I wasn’t quite myself in the Lonely. I didn’t mean that as an ending.” He breaks his gaze away, looks down at his own hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I was mourning something I thought I’d lost.”

“Oh,” The word escapes Jon’s lungs in a rush; several years worth of longing filling up his chest and squeezing his throat like smoke, making his eyes sting. “Oh, I’m sorry-”

“No, no,” Martin shakes his head. “That’s over now.”

Jon presses a hand to his eyes, breathing, letting everything settle in.

“Well. That certainly makes me feel foolish.”

Martin laughs, a free, wonderful sound that fills the air with electricity and warms Jon down to his bones. He realizes he’s staring at him, watching how his shoulders move with adoration, watching the joy radiate from him with nothing short of beauty. A moment of insane courage passes through Jon, and he moves his hand to cover the one Martin still has resting on his shoulder.

He steps closer. “Do you want this then? The way that I do?” His voice is eager, and he’s afraid to breathe.

Martin’s expression absolutely melts, and he sways closer. He Saw Jon in the Lonely, in all his hopeless lovestruck worry, so he knows what he means. “Yes,” he answers. “More than anything. I don’t-” he makes a pained face, and looks down, prepares himself for the undressing that comes before the acceptance of love. “I don’t know how okay I am. Don’t know how much of me is still me after everything with Lukas and- and well, everything, but...”

“I know what you mean,” Jon assures him, running his thumbs over his knuckles. “I’m not even human anymore.” He exhales, in the tone of a joke fallen flat.

Martin squeezes his shoulder. “Exactly,” he murmurs. “But I still want to try.”

“Martin,” Jon exhales, his voice thick and his eyes wet. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

Martin tugs Jon’s hand from where it’s resting atop his to press a kiss to his knuckles, and Jon laughs, a quiet little sound, and then he’s moving, leaning back into Martin’s space; his face growing blurry as he gets up close and presses their lips together again. He misses the mark just a bit, the kiss landing a little too high on his mouth, but Martin leans up into it, rearranging their positions, and just like that it’s perfect. Not earth-shattering, not magical, just perfect, in the way that only imperfection can be. Martin lets himself sink into it.

It’s gentle, sweet, and it makes Martin’s head buzz with disbelief. He breaks away to breathe, for a moment, just to wrap his head around what’s happening, and then Jon is tugging him back in, more intentionally this time.

Jon kisses very thoroughly, Martin soon learns with amusement. He furrows his brow and crowds himself into Martin’s space, curling his hands in his shirt, and he moves his mouth in time with Martin’s like he has a purpose to follow, like he’s devoting himself to studying him; focusing on each touch with crystal clarity. He has a single-minded doggedness about the whole thing, and Martin eventually relaxes and just lets himself be kissed, following along with gentle touches and barely held-back smiles.

He raises a hand experimentally to run through his hair, and Jon kisses him deeper in response; open mouthed and wanting, tasting what he can, allowing himself to bite his lip gently. That takes the breath straight out of Martin’s lungs, and the bitten-off sound he makes apparently encourages Jon even more, as he breaks away and kisses him down across his jaw, under his chin, and down the side of his throat.

It’s frantic at first, a desperate attempt to map out as much of Martin as he can in the time he has, but the sense of urgency starts to bleed out of him, and he ends up kissing gentler and gentler the longer he lingers, until eventually Jon’s just nuzzling his nose into his skin and wrapping his arms around him for a hug. The sigh that escapes him makes Martin’s heart clench.

“I love you,” he mumbles into Martin’s shoulder, and later the weight of this will settle on their shoulders. Later they will have to sit down and figure this out, this mess of personalities and supernatural entanglement, this terrible future of fear laid out before them, and the path forward they will choose to carve out together. But for now they can sink into this embrace and breathe.

Martin doesn’t say the words back, he’s not quite there yet, but he doesn’t need to. It’s enough, it’s more than enough to just be here, for Martin to press his nose into Jon’s hair, and smile until his face aches from it.

#HELLO GAY PEOPLE THIS IS SO LONG #i may be touch starved!#the magnus archives #jonmartin #tma fic #my writing #fic #kisses prompts #god they talk SO MUCH. i do NOT know how to write Tiny Snippets #mossy speaks #ANYWHO ENJOY

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 5

Masterlist

Shoutout to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my sounding board and beta reader! She's the absolute best a girl could ask for, thanks my love!

Word Count: 3.0k

Recommended song: "The Heart is a Muscle" by Gang of Youths

You woke before the sun, Pierre's bare chest pressed to your back and an arm slung over your middle. You wiggle in his grasp, trying to be sneaky as you turn to face him but ultimately waking him. You run a finger over his lips as they curve upwards before biting lightly. You draw back and he laughs quietly.

"Morning," You whisper, head throbbing slightly. "I feel like I got hit by a train."

"Knocking back four or five shots in a few hours will do that to you." Pierre stretches, arching his back and exposing his neck. The slight mark you left the night before had darkened into a true, unmissable bruise. The reminder of it sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn't resist ghosting your lips over the hurt.

He sighs, cupping your chin and bringing your mouth up to his. The kiss is lazy, both of you still too ensnared by sleep to put any heat into it.

You stayed tangled in him until Yuki called to remind Pierre they had to be at the airport by eight. You helped him pack as slowly as you could manage, a stone settling in your gut. When the time came, Pierre hadn’t wanted to leave, only relenting when Yuki called again to say the jet was waiting on him.

The longing wasn't something that normally hit you this hard when Pierre left. It was new, the edges raw and unhealed when you poked at it. Everything on campus Tuesday reminded you of him, from the sunlight hitting the lab table to the rare cloudless blue of the London sky.

Just when you’d gotten over the sting of his absence, the news broke. Charles sent you the link to the article, simply captioned, 'You will want to read this.'

Gasly snogs mystery girl in London bar, the headline read. And fuck, that was a grainy picture of you standing between his legs, fingers tangled in his hair. You scroll through the article, heart in your throat, praying you weren’t called out by name.

By some small miracle, whoever had taken the photos hadn’t gotten one of your face. Against your better judgement, you checked the comments.

That was where your name came up. Fans had connected the dots. Your hair had been up that night, but it was the exact same shade as the picture. Your instagram had been filled with photosets of London for months, and Pierre had flown out early before Silverstone. Clearly he had been meeting someone. Anyone with half a brain could figure out that you were the one in the photos, even if the article didn't mention you directly.

The first DM didn’t come for a few hours. It was nasty, the user hurling cruel words at you that struck your chest like tiny knives. Plenty more followed, threats and names alike.

Gold digger.

Does she really think she deserves him?

He could do so much better.

You couldn’t bear attending classes. You sent Pierre the link to the damning article and stayed in your apartment and sobbed. The fans- if they could even be called such a thing- pulled no punches. Every DM and comment struck home, until you eventually had to turn your phone off and curl up in bed, defeated.

People are cruel, you thought, wiping the tears that streak down your cheeks.

You kept your phone off for a few hours before you gathered the courage to check it again. You immediately uninstall any and all social media, unwilling to let it affect you further than it already had. But messages pour in, most from Pierre and a few from your brother.

Hell yeah! Was all your brother sent, along with a screenshot of the article. Your mouth twists, the memory of the comments washing over you again.

Pierre’s messages were the ones that broke you. There were close to a dozen of them, accompanied by missed calls and panicked voicemails.

“Are you okay? Please pick up the phone, my love, I need to hear that you’re okay. I love you. Please call me back.”

The last message, time stamped from a half hour earlier, simply said, “I’m getting on a plane.”

A fresh sob wracks your body. You press a hand to your mouth, trying to silence it. God, he was so pure hearted. You knew the comments would hurt him just as much as they hurt you, if not more. He would blame himself, when in reality, it had been a mutual mistake. Either one of you should have recognized the risks of your actions. But you couldn't let him risk his career for it. You could make it through… somehow.

I’m okay, you type, hating that you had to lie. You don’t need to come to London.

I’m already in the air, He informs you, and you curse softly. He would have hell to pay upon returning to Austria, even if he had somehow convinced Tost to let him leave at the last minute.

I'll be there soon

The flight from Vienna to Heathrow was about two and a half hours, which meant you had that long to pull yourself together. You didn’t want Pierre to see you broken. You shower and change into slightly less ragged sweatpants and an oversized shirt. You grab your laptop, quickly emailing your professors to apologize for missing lecture unannounced and informing them you wouldn’t be there the rest of the week either. You'd need time to sort out your head before facing your peers.

Pierre’s knock came far too quickly. You’d barely assembled your face into a mask of resolve before the door opened. Whatever semblance of control you'd managed to construct came crashing down at the sight of him. He looks just as distraught as you, eyes red and cheeks flushed.

Before he says a word, he gathers you in his arms, tucking your head to his chest. Your lip wobbles, and when he whispers “I’m so sorry,” the tears fall in earnest. For less than a week, you’d been on top of the world with Pierre by your side. You’d gotten to enjoy the idea of being his girlfriend for six days before reality stepped in and ruined it.

You clutch at his shirt, fighting hard to piece yourself back together. Now that he was there, the dam had burst and no amount of willpower could keep the sobs back.

Pierre sweeps you up, one arm under your knees and the other keeping you tight to him as he carries you to your bedroom. He climbs into bed, shoes and all, and keeps you in his lap as he strokes your hair. He sniffles, softly enough that you know he's trying to be strong for you. The realization that he's crying too just makes it hurt that much more.

"I'm sorry," He whispers again and again, as if the two syllables were the only ones he remembered. You can't find your voice to tell him you don't blame him or how much his presence means.

Instead, you press your face into the soft cotton of his sweater. He doesn't move except to stroke a calloused hand over your hair. You let his presence wash over you until your breathing turns more even and your fingers stop trembling.

"H-how were you able to leave Austria?" Your voice shakes, but you tilt your head up to face him. He quickly wipes away the wetness on his cheeks with a sleeve.

"I just left. The only one I told was Yuki. He said he'd cover for me. I saw the comments and I couldn't think straight. I didn't want you to believe them." The look he turns on you is an apology. "When I called and it didn't even ring, I had to get to you."

"I don't think you'll be welcomed back with open arms," You point out, and he presses a tender kiss to your brow.

"They can be pissed at me all they want. I don't care. I needed to be here." You wouldn't admit it, but he was right. The fact that he'd risked everything to comfort you helped you ignore what those users had said. Nothing could ever erase the words, but Pierre’s presence dulled their impact.

“I already petitioned for the article to be removed,” Pierre says softly. “Don’t know if it’ll amount to anything, but it’s worth a shot.”

You nod and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “It’s so much worse than I imagined.” Pierre’s cheek comes to a rest atop your head, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your arm. “I get that I’m not the only one that loves you. But it’s like they don’t remember that I’m human.”

“People are bold when they're speaking to a screen instead of another person.”

"It was so much easier before anyone knew," You say, words dipped in longing. Rumors had never swirled when you had kept your distance, you'd made sure of it. But now that the secret was out… Would your life be spent dodging threats and dealing with negativity?

He pauses, thumb stilling. “Do you… Do you want it to go back to the way things were before? When we were... friends?"

Your head whips around. “What?”

“It isn’t fair that you have to go through this because of me,” He explains. “I hate the fact that I’m the one causing you pain. The way you’re being treated is only because I live in the spotlight.”

“It’s not your fault,” You assert, placing a hand on his stubbled cheek. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

“Maybe it would be easier if we-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” You say sternly. You force him to look at you, his eyes storming like the sea. “We’ll figure it out. Our emotions got the best of us last week. We just have to be more careful, keep this behind closed doors. We don’t need to flaunt it, right? Just tell the press that you want to keep your private life private, and I’ll take a break from social media. We can figure it out.”

Pierre nodded in agreement. His voice is scratchy, like he had swallowed gravel. “Alright.”

“It’s us against the world,” You tell him, “And I couldn’t ask for a better teammate.” Your lips ghost against his in an attempt to reassure him. He returns the kiss, firmer and more confident. Your hand slips to the nape of his neck, drawing him in as your tongue glides against his lower lip.

Last week, you’d fucked. But tonight, the sex was something else entirely. It was soft sighs and languid kisses, whispered words of adoration and promises of endless love. Above all, it was an affirmation. Pierre loved you; heart, mind, and soul. In every sense of the word. He would let nothing come between you and himself. Not his career, jealous fans, or the thousands of miles that may sometimes separate you.

Pierre offered you his heart, and you accepted it without question.

**********

The few precious hours Pierre managed to give you were enough to keep you afloat the rest of the week. The break from seemingly endless lectures helped to reset your mind and give you time to focus on yourself.

Pierre called as often as he could, and texted when he couldn’t. You filled him in on the little things you did to keep busy, like how you spent all of Sunday rearranging your tiny apartment so that your bed was as close to his in Austria as you could get it. Monday night, you fell asleep on Facetime with him as you tried and failed to write a term paper for your architectural history class.

Pierre’s visit and subsequent calls had made you feel invincible. But the moment you walk into the lecture hall on Tuesday, everyone’s eyes are on you: the first test of your newly minted confidence. Chin held high, you meet a few of their stares and take your usual seat at the front. The moment you start to question yourself, if you're ready to face the scrutiny, your phone buzzes with a text from Pierre.

Ignore them. Remember that I love you. I’ll call you tonight.

Once again, he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. It amazed you that a handful of carefully selected words could grant you so much strength. But it was proof that Pierre recognized and accepted your fears and was willing to help you work through them.

You take a breath, letting the whispers of your classmates fade until they were nothing more than a faint hum. You turn your focus on the professor as she enters, falling into your usual cadence. Easy. You could ignore the gossip until they got tired of it and left you alone. Their fascination couldn’t last more than a few days.

You made it through the rest of your classes and walked home without incident. No one ran up to you and demanded you explain your relationship with Pierre. Your worst fears had been abated. The stress of it rolls off your shoulders when you make it to your apartment. It was already 7 o’clock, but Pierre hadn’t called yet. Seeing as Austria was an hour ahead, you weren’t sure he would hold to his earlier promise.

Your stomach growls, and you leave your bag next to your bed before heading to the kitchen. Dinner was a box of macaroni and cheese, simple but delicious. You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at your phone every few minutes, hoping to see Pierre’s name on the screen.

Coming to terms with the fact that you probably wouldn't be getting a call, you settle into your favorite chair and crack open your laptop. Term papers didn't write themselves, and you still had a few thousand words to write. You lost yourself in theories and articles for a few hours before your phone breaks your concentration.

You awake?

A smile splits your face. Yeah. Working on this never ending term paper.

I'll leave you to it. Love you, sleep tight.

You laugh quietly. You agree with his 'school first' mentality most of the time, but there were exceptions to every rule. You call him, heart stuttering when he answers.

"You're supposed to be writing."

"Well, nice to hear your voice too," You say playfully. "It was boring me anyway. Who wants to read twenty pages comparing Roman and Greek columns anyway?"

"I'm pretty sure your professor does," He says with a laugh that warms your bones. If only he were standing in front of you so you could feel his chest rumble beneath your fingertips. Wanting to see his face, you switch to a video call.

"I was wondering how long that would take," He teases, smile wide and welcoming.

"I miss you," You say softly, padding to your bed. You'd accomplished enough that you could push off writing more until tomorrow. "I wish I could come to Japan this weekend."

"Me too, my love," He responds, voice tinged with longing. "It's one of the more challenging circuits on the calendar. And you've always wanted to visit Tokyo."

You weren't surprised that he remembered that silly dream of yours. "Send me something that reminds me of you." You flick off the lights before climbing under the covers, pulling them up to your chin. "Something cute and sweet."

"I fly out tomorrow night to meet Charles. I should have some extra time to do some window shopping."

"You and Charles going on a date?" You tease, propping your head on a hand. Now that you were cozy, it was hard to keep your eyes open.

He shakes his head. "He's been… helping me with the press. Tackling it all."

"Oh." The mood sours. You decide not to dwell on it, turning to humor instead. "Give him a kiss for me as a thank you."

"He would love that," Pierre laughs. Comfortable silence blankets you, broken only by Pierre humming softly. It was a song you recognize as one of his favorites; it must have been stuck in his head.

"What time do I have to wake up on Sunday?" You mumble, struggling to stay awake while he was unknowingly serenading you.

"Do you want to watch the prerace stuff?" Papers shuffle softly on the other end as he figures it out for you. "If you do, probably like 3:30. If not, the race would be at five your time, so maybe 4:30."

"That's early. You're lucky I love you enough to sacrifice my beauty sleep."

He didn't hesitate before responding. "Luckily you don't need sleep to be beautiful."

Your mouth curls in a sleepy smile. "When you say things like that, I hate the distance between us even more."

Pierre scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't have a break for another month or so."

"I know."

Silence falls again, both of you lost in your own heads.

"You should sleep," He says finally, and you nod. Your first class was only 6 hours from now. "I'll sing to you if you promise to close your eyes and try to sleep."

Despite your best efforts, you yawn. You often called him for a song when you couldn't sleep and the time difference permitted it. Just hearing his voice was soothing enough, but a song? It was heaven. "Shouldn't be hard to do." Sleep came within minutes, Pierre's soft song your lullaby.

Tagging: @flashcal @sunshinesewis

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naralanis · 3 years

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little bumps in the road (pt. 6)

Previously...

they don't talk for quite a while after crossing the river into tennessee. lena needs some time to process this new information, and kara seems to sense this need. the blonde goes back to staring solely at the road ahead, occasionally tapping little rhythms on the steering wheel and humming little songs under her breath -- though she'll often stop herself, as if she thinks that lena needs complete and utter silence to sort her feelings out.

lena doesn't. she can appreciate the humming, even -- kara has a lovely voice and carries a tune well, and the distraction is a welcome one from the complete mess she's trying to unravel in her mind. it creates a soothing pace to the crops and occasional cows speeding last lena's window, almost lulls her to sleep despite her tangled lines of thought.

it's late afternoon and the sun is going low, low, low in the sky when kara finally says something.

"there's a motel a few miles ahead. we'll stop there for the night," she says, but then she quirks her head towards lena briefly, eyes hopeful. "if that's ok with you, i mean."

lena stops staring through the passenger window for a moment -- she's been looking at miles and miles of crops and farmland as far as the eye can see, and her eyes are beginning to glaze over.

"of course."

she studies kara’s expression, wondering why she’s suddenly giving her any sort of say at all on where they’re going. kara just looks ahead, maybe a little sheepishly.

“ok, then.”

the motel is… well, it’s a motel; it’s not any nicer than any of the other ones they’ve stayed at recently, but it’s also not any worse, either. they check into a single room -- kara rarely has lena out of her sight, minimizes those occasions as much as she possibly can -- but on the way there, the blonde spots a payphone, right by the corner of the building, and shoots lena a look.

“do you mind if i…?” she doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to; she simply cocks her head towards the payphone expectantly.

“go ahead,” lena says, trying to give her a heartfelt smile for… encouragement, maybe? she doesn’t know if she succeeds, but kara smiles back earnestly and turns on her heel to walk briskly to the phone, hand already reaching into the pocket of her jeans for another roll of coins.

the keycard takes a few tries to unlock the door, but eventually the lock clicks and lena practically stumbles in, dropping her worn duffel on the floor, right there by the entrance, onto a rug with some questionable stains. she feels exhausted, mentally and physically drained to a degree she can’t recall ever experiencing before.

it’s been hard, lately, to get her thoughts in order, but lena suspects that’s nothing to be too surprised about. she’s used to compartmentalizing--it’s one of her talents-- but right now the knowledge that alex danvers is the one hunting her fills her with dread. even if alex knows her sister is alive (she was the one to revive kara after all, according to kara herself), she still doesn’t know that kara is essentially harboring a fugitive. she still thinks lena is running out of her own volition.

she still thinks lena meant to kill kara.

that thought doesn’t mix well with the multitude of other worries swimming in her head, at the moment, doesn’t sit well in her chest and makes her stomach curl uncomfortably into knots.

lena’s not so out of it that she misses kara’s fumbling with the lock, but she does almost miss the look of defeat in the blue gaze once kara finally gets the keycard to cooperate.

kara sinks into one of the chairs by the little table in the corner, sighing audibly as her whole body seems to deflate.

“no luck?” lena tries, and kara shakes her head in the negative.

“nope,” she murmurs, popping the ‘p’ as she digs little shapes onto the cheap wood of the table with her nails. “nothing yet.”

lena nods--she’s not sure what to say, here. she’s a little conflicted on how she should feel about kara finally getting in touch with alex--part of her wants answers, but a much bigger part of her is terrified of an agent danvers on the warpath. she knows alex would move heaven and earth for kara, no question about it, but with lena in the picture?

she’s not so certain what the reaction would be. she’s not sure she wants to find out.

“are you hungry?” kara asks, breaking her grimmer trains of thought. “i grabbed a flyer for a pizza place nearby--looks like they do delivery. personally, i think we could use a break from the cup noodles.”

lena smiles a little. “i haven’t had so much instant ramen since college, i think.”

kara laughs, and it sounds so...so free, unreserved, so alien to their current predicament, it’ almost easy for lena to join in, too. it’s not even a funny comment, not a particularly snarky observation, but for some reason they’re both having a small giggle fit and it feels good, cathartic even, to be sharing a laugh with kara again.

“well,” kara quips, yanking the crumpled flyer out of her pocket and smoothing it over the tabletop, “i don’t think tey have that fancy kale monstrosity you liked to order at gino’s, but at least it’ll be better than instant ramen, right?”

“right,” lena chuckles. “just… get me something with at least a vegetable in it, for the love of god.”

kara makes a face, but she’s still smiling as she reaches for the phone. “as you wish, as you wish,” she says dramatically, muttering there’s no accounting for taste, really and tutting under her breath while she dials.

lena smiles--wide and real, she can even feel her eyes crinkling at the corners--as she listens to kara rattle off their order (three large pepper--you know what, better make that four--four large pepperoni pies, wait, no, extra large, and then…) and, unbidden, her mind seems to get stuck on a different time, an entirely different reality, when she and kara would just… order pizza (though kara limited her order to two large pizzas back then), watch movies, and just talk about everything and nothing until the sun came up.

lena misses that peace.

kara seems to be in the same wavelength; she has a wistful look on her face once she hangs up, as if she’s reading lena’s mind, experiencing the same brand of nostalgia in the same moment.

lena has to break it; it’s too painful to wallow in it. “kara? can I ask you a question?”

“Hm?” kara hums distractedly, craning her neck to look at lena’s direction with a little smile. “just one?”

“wel. no, not just one,” lena admits, trying to organize her thought again. there’s just so much she wants to ask, so much she needs to know, and she’s not sure where to start.

kara just waits, her gaze unwavering.

“back in national city,” lena starts, picking a lane and sticking with it, so to speak. “ when you… when you died… when alex brought you back… who exactly brought me to you? it couldn’t have been alex, if she doesn’t know i’m with you.”

kara looks pensive for a moment, steepling her fingers over her thigh. “what do you remember?”

lena has struggled with precisely that for the past couple of weeks. the truth is, the time between watching supergirl drop like a rock from the skies and being shoved into the jeep with a kara that was very much alive is a complete blank.

“pretty much nothing after you fell,” lena answers honestly, and she looks to kara for an explanation for this significant gap in her memory, but finds nothing. “but then… someone took me from somewhere and suddenly… and there you were. who was that?”

for some unfathomable reason, kara looks amused. “oh,” she chuckles like she can’t help it. “that was nia.”

lena can feel her own eyes bugging out. “nia?? are you telling me nia nal put a bag over my head and basically kidnapped me?”

kara snorts. “that’s exactly what i’m telling you.” she turns serious, suddenly, and her lips tighten into a line for a moment. “alex prepared the jeep and a few supplies, but nia had a dream--a vision that she wouldn’t explain. she just told me to take you with me, and I wasn’t about to argue.”

lena can’t lie to herself, she’s a little hurt, but definitely not surprised, that bringing her along had not been kara’s intention. she chooses not to dwell on it -- there’s already far too much to dwell on. “oh,” she says instead, looking for words. “what happened between the time you were… recovering and the time we ran off? was i not…” lena stops, struggling to remember but drawing nothing more than a blank. “was i not arrested or something?”

it occurs to lena that she has no idea how much time it took kara to recover, or what happened to her while alex nursed her sister back to life. she can’t explain how kara survived; she can’t explain what happened between her fall and their escape, she can’t explain how lex hasn’t found them yet.

kara can only shrug her shoulders. “i don’t know. alex sent me to the jeep’s location the minute i was well enough to not need the sunlamps; when i got there, nia was already there with you. didn’t exactly have the time to argue--lex would definitely find out i was alive if i stayed in national city.”

“ain’t that the truth,” lena quips bleakly. a thought occurs to her. “frankly, i’m surprised he doesn’t know. he owns the DEO in this reality.”

“thank rao for small miracles,” kara mutters. “we sure need them, the way things are going.”

another thought occurs to lena--she thinks back to the past few days, but more specifically, to mere minutes ago, when kara was gouging faint little marks on the wood of the table with her nails--something so trivial, something she used to do herself as a child, bored and anxious at boarding school-- and she realizes with sudden clarity that there’s a lot that she can’t explain--but one thing seems to stick out, glaringly.

“kara,” she says, trying to add up the days in her head and not liking what she comes up with at all. “it’s been at least two weeks, right?”

kara nods, looking grim as if she knows exactly what lena is about to ask. “give or take, yeah.”

lena’s question comes out as a statement, and at the exact same time someone knocks on their door, startling them both.

“and you still don’t have your powers.”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

<< Previous || Next >>

#nara's word vomit #supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #fanfic #femslash #BUCKLE UP KIDS #CANON WHOMST #LBitR

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pinknatural · 3 years

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Dean tries, really tries, to think of it as a present. Finally, his dad is letting loose on the ropes a bit, finally letting him hunt on his own. But it’s kinda hard to convince himself when his dad sent him in with the case already figured out, with everything but the manual labor already done.

It’s more like an errand he wants me to complete, Dean thinks resentfully, digging his shovel into the soft dirt. Happy birthday, go dig up two graves. Have fun!

Dean huffs and pivots to the grave beside the other one. According to Dean’s research, the nuns had wanted to be buried together, but when the convent found their bodies they hadn’t really gone for that option. They had been buried next to each other, though, which makes Dean’s job just a little bit easier.

He starts digging, even though he hasn’t finished digging out the first grave. You gotta dig ‘em up at the same time, ‘cause if you gank one then her lover gets angry, and the last thing Dean needs is an angry ghost harassing him while he digs up a grave. He can’t help but think that those other nuns should’ve buried them together. Not just because it would make Dean’s life easier, but because they wanted it. Because they were in love, and they killed themselves, and the convent owed them that much.

Dean inhales, then exhales, his breath escaping in a little white cloud. It’s chilly, ‘cause it’s January, but it’s not too cold. He’s not wearing gloves or anything but he can still feel his hands. He shifts to the other grave and starts digging.

He remembers what Charlie at the last school said about what his dad got him for his seventeenth birthday--a new car. Lindsey got a fancy necklace. Jake’s birthday hadn’t come up yet, but he’d been hoping for a dog. All Dean has is blisters on his fingers and a sore back from when the ghost of Sister Felicity threw him into a bookcase while he was retrieving the prayer book the nuns’d passed notes to each other in. That book, which had notes in the margins of their love, is gone now. Dean burned it.

Tears sting at Dean’s eyes. He must’ve been too soft, about Jake. He must’ve--something must’ve given him away. Why else would he be punished like this?

He knows, Dean thinks. He knows, he knows, he knows. It becomes a mantra, moving in time with his shovel. He switches graves.

It’s just that it’s his birthday. The message--the warning--would’ve gotten across regardless, Dean thinks. But why, of all days, why his birthday? Why can’t Dean have a fucking break for once?

Seventeen sucks, Dean thinks, hitting the first coffin. He climbs out of the hole and switches to the other one. It supremely sucks. Sixteen you get a drivers’ license, eighteen you can, like, vote or whatever, but seventeen is nothing. Just a bunch of shit.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

Dean hits the second coffin and breaks it open. The bones are like the ones in Sister Perpetua’s grave--pale and gross, just like most bones are. Dean doesn’t know why he kind of expected different. He climbs out and throws his shovel aside, picks up the thing of salt. He dumps it on one grave, then the other. Lighter fluid, next. Dean’s done this before. Even if Dad and Sammy are usually here, Dean knows how this goes.

He takes the matchbook from his pocket, strikes one and drops it, then the other. The graves light up, the flame flickering bright and warm, and Dean thinks he hears screaming. He drops to his knees and whispers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He realizes that he’s still crying, that tears have run down his face, and for the first time on this supremely shitty birthday, he’s glad to be alone, kneeling between the graves of two women who were in love, twin fires burning bright on either side of him.

Dean wakes up slowly, as he often does these days. There’s a warm blanket around his shoulders, and under that a heavy arm slung over his waist. Sometimes Dean remembers the days he was too antsy to even get under the covers, ready to jump into action at any minute, and it all seems so absurd.

Light trickles in softly from the window across the room, and the arm around Dean’s waist tightens. Dean turns, slow, smiling already at the sight he knows will greet him.

Cas is kind of awake, squinting at him but smiling, his hair ruffled and sticking out everywhere, and Dean feels sort of like he might burst.

“Mmm,” he says. “Good morning.” He stretches his own arm around Cas’s shoulders and draws the man closer to him, Cas’s arm shifting from it’s loose hold to pull their chests together.

“Happy birthday, Dean,” Cas says, his voice even lower, rough from sleep. Dean grins, tucks his face under Cas’s chin to hide it.

“Every day’s my birthday when I get to wake up to the best present ever laying in my bed,” Dean says, even though that’s ridiculously sappy and also doesn’t make sense.

“I am not a present, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean makes a ‘hmm’ noise.

“I was talking about Miracle, dumbass,” he says, nudging the sleeping dog in question with his toes.

“Of course you were,” Cas says indulgently, like he’s just humoring him. Which is fair, possibly. Dean thinks that Cas spends a lot of time just humoring him.

“Do you know what time it is?” Dean asks, shifting his arm to touch the back of Cas’s neck, right at the spot where his t-shirt meets his skin.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas says, holding him tighter like he thinks Dean will get out of bed, which is quite frankly an absurd idea. It’s a Sunday, and it’s his birthday. Dean has nowhere else to be.

“It might, since Sammy’s coming over today,” Dean says, even though Sam and Eileen are coming over in the late afternoon and it’s definitely still morning.

“Well, it’s not time for them to come yet,” Cas says. “We can get up later.”

Dean definitely agrees, and he snuggles back down into Cas, getting even more comfortable. He’s just thinking about falling back asleep, maybe, deciding that this is his best birthday ever, even though it’s only been like ten minutes, when he remembers his worst birthday and has to pause.

“Dean?” Cas asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Dean noses against him, taking a deep breath. “You read my...my dad’s journal?”

“Yes,” Cas says warily. The journal is usually safe, but Cas can get pissy when John Winchester is mentioned.

“You remember my seventeenth birthday?” Dean asks, and then all of a sudden his angel is trying to squeeze the life out of him. Dean appreciates it, even though he can’t really breathe.

“I remember,” Cas growls, and Dean pats his shoulder.

“I was just thinking about how that was the worst, and this is the best,” Dean says, and Cas relaxes his hold a little. “I, uh...that day felt like a huge warning. And now I’m here, with you, and, uh, it’s pretty awesome, not gonna lie.”

“John Winchester deserves to rot in hell for eternity for what he did to you and Sam,” Cas says. “But I am glad to be here with you, and I agree that it’s pretty awesome.”

“I love you,” Dean says, helpess as he always is in the face of Cas’s protectiveness.

“I love you too,” Cas says, moving a hand to tenderly cradle Dean’s jaw. He begins to guide Dean’s head towards his, and Dean is so sorry to interrupt, but--

“Do you smell pancakes?” he asks, and Cas pauses, considering.

“Yes,” he says finally.

“Well, if I’m here in bed, and you’re here in bed, and Miracle, I’m pretty sure, can’t make pancakes, and is also in bed, then who…”

“Jack,” they say together, and Dean laughs.

“Do we trust Jack with the stove?”

“He is God,” Cas says, but that doesn’t sound like a ‘yes’. They look at each other and then sigh, rolling apart so they can get out of bed.

“We’ll continue this later,” Dean says, pointing at Cas, who nods.

“Of course,” he says, and he reaches out and grabs Dean’s shirt, pulling him in for a sadly-brief kiss. “Happy birthday.”

Dean beams at him, and then they go downstairs to help their son make pancakes without burning the house down, Miracle bounding down the stairs beside them, and Dean can’t help but agree with his earlier assessment--that this is his best birthday ever.

(ao3)

#this is so fluffy byeeee #long post #deancas #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #uhh this is 1.4k words if anyone is like curious

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01solarsmiles · 3 years

Text

synposis: working in a restaurant has its ups and down but working in the neo restaurant really takes the cake. wether it be the dreamies proving their superiority over and over again or the rat-pack band of sorts the head bartender put together, nothing fails to amuse. throw in a soundcloud rapper or two, a couple of new kids on the block, so kindly trained by haechan and taeil, a worn-out manager of sorts paired with two assistant managers, questionable cooks, flirty bartenders and you’re bound to enjoy yourself here. without a doubt, there’s something for everyone here, no matter your preferences; this is the place to be tonight.

tl;dr: the life of a waitress in the vacinity of the neo’s and gang.

genre: sm au, restaurant au, crack, slice of life

pairings: jaehyun x reader, mark x reader (so far)

warnings: swearing; i mean, come on. alcohol mentions!! jungwoo likes getting free wine from johnny and jisung likes to buss it down after a shot of tequila ✊✨

other: red velvet appearances bc i figured it coudn’t all be testosterone. other artists too, rv is just more noticeable. cringey souncloud rapper(s) okay but yangyang is so cute, me and vivi discussed this! grandpa ™️ taeyong bc i figured he can’t keep up with his 22 kids ALL the time (he’s fostered rv for the sake of this fic). literal flirting all the time bc i don’t know how to act therefore yn doesn’t know how to act as s/t/he/y is a product of my brain. haechan wwe fights mark like he’s got paddypower setting the odds on him. yuta is ‘allergic’ to ordering his own ingredients,. sungchan is a certified f-boy (soft tho, he’s just mad he’s a busboy). shotaro is possibly my favourite and gets special treatment. mark makes me cry from laughter. dreamies are partiers (lol check their gc name, shoulda guessed). doyoung is an awful cook and more❗️

updated on whenever i get off work 😄

a/n: i just wanted something fun, possibly short, possibly long. it could be something i add to over time but it could also be something i finish within a month. like a chronicle. yeah. this is fun and the idea came to me after i read about a restaurant au somewhere else. i just figured i could draw off of my own experiences and my own awful humour; i enjoy restaurant type things bc i’ve worked in a couple over the years lol ♡

ask me about work!! like my real-life job besties. it’s loads of fun.

profiles wait staff [x], [x] bartenders & chefs [x] managers & busboys [x]

groupchats chivalry is dead: yn, doyoung, haechan, jungwoo, mark, taeil, yuta front of house b/himbos 💅: yn, jaehyun, johnny, joy, seulgi, taeil, yeri (+shotaro later on!) i’ve got a bad idea 🤩: yn, hendery, kun, lucas, xiaojun, yangyang (+mark later on!) party central: yn, chenle, haechan, jaemin, jeno, jisung, renjun (+sungchan later on!) ✨teamwork makes the dream work✨: yn, haechan, irene, kun, taeyong, ten, yuta

🍳 week one: chivalry is dead 🍳

🍳 part one [we bet shifts]

🍳 part two [i do work miracles] ft. fohb/h on twt

🍳 part three [he’s throwing up in there]

🍳 part four [i was experimenting] ft. fohb/h on twt

🍳 end of week round up [you little minx]

🥞 day off [x] new!

🍳 week two: front of house b/himbos 🍳

🍳 part five [this is what you get]

🍳 part six [you urchin] ft. cid on twt

🍳 part seven [coffee virgin cooler] ft. igabi on twt

🍳 part eight [unsolicited hand pics]

🍳 end of week round up [no man left behind]

🥞 day off [x] new!

🍳 week three: i’ve got a bad idea 🍳

🍳 part nine [poems with a beat] ft. cid new!

🍳 part ten [...]

🍳 part eleven [...]

🍳 part twelve [...]

🍳 end of week round up [x]

🥞 day off [x]

🍳 week four: party central 🍳

🍳 part thirteen [fruit punch]

🍳 part fourteen […]

🍳 part fifteen [...]

🍳 part sixteen [...]

🍳 end of week round up [x]

🥞 day off (quite a few) [x]

🍳 [loading…]

message me/drop an ask if you want to be on the tag list ❣️

tags: @stayinzencity @floraljae @thoreeo @alterlovess

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atmilliways · 3 years

Note

For the smut prompts... either 42 or 43 for hammertooth? (if you feel like it!)

I finished this a couple weeks ago but totally spaced on posting it, oops. I guess it counts towards Rare Pair Month, but I can't decide on which prompt it fits best. Whatever. Here it is!

Prompts: 42) “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.” ; 43) “Don’t you want to play with me?”

To Live For You

Magnus had always thought that falling in love was about being willing to die for someone. That’s what it had always been in movies and books, even when he got old enough for the kinds of entertainment that had sex in them too. So he’d always been sure that love wasn’t anything he was interested in, because he couldn’t imagine ever making that sacrifice for anyone.

“Maaaagnus. Ams you coming to beds?” Toki is sprawled across the sheets, easily taking up the entire mattress—a double, because he’d sworn up and down that a smaller bed is better for cuddling.

If it weren’t for the younger man’s complete and utter nakedness, Magnus would pretend to complain about there not being any room to join him. This sight never fails to leave him momentarily speechless.

Then he had almost died. Almost killed himself, in fact, but not for anyone.

Well. Maybe for himself. That instant when the veil had come off and he’d realized how massively, hugely, collossally he had fucked up had been really fucking harsh, and he hadn’t wanted to face it. Because teaming up with cannibals and murderers? Against actual, literal gods? After being so firm in his conviction that he’d had everything in hand and was totally in the right, he’d just figured there was no coming back.

Toki’s hands wander down his washboard abs, teasing. He wets his lips suggestively and then puts on an impressive pout. “Don’ts you wants to plays with me?”

His hands dip lower. Magnus, watching, swallows hard.

The thing was, he’d come back anyway—or been dragged back, really, and he’d deserved it for trying to duck out of the hard part.

Dying, it turned out, was easy. It was living that was hard.

“Yeah,” Magnus says, finding his voice again. It’s a touch hoarser than it was when he’d last left it. He has no idea what to do with his hands. “Yeah, I’m coming. You starting without me, sweetheart?”

Toki grins in that way he does, like Magnus has made his day just by noticing him. Of course I noticed you, Magnus thinks, have you seen you? It’s far more of a miracle that Toki wants his eyes (well, eye anyway) on him at all.

His gaze catches on the one scar on Toki’s front, the place where his knife had come out the other side. There’s a familiar clench in his gut at the sight—the one that reminds him that he doesn’t deserve this, and the only reason he gets it anyway is purely by the grace of this young god (retired).

It doesn’t send him into a downward spiral quite the way it used to, but the reminder is always there. A cautionary road marker: danger, do not swerve again.

And it had been very, very hard. Magnus didn’t like to think about the early days of his recovery. Between being dragged into some mess of apocalyptic prophecy and coming to terms with the horrible things he’d done, he’d been a menace to anyone who had come within snapping distance. With all the excuses stripped away, he’d stumbled through the painful process of really looking at himself and his choices.

“Well,” Toki says coyly, recapturing his full attention, “I thoughts if you were going to stays up longer over theres I’d just . . . gets off all by myself. . . .”

Magnus is watching his face now, but knows the exact moment Toki takes himself in hand from the way his breathing changes and eyelashes flutter. The show he’s putting on is having its intended effect; Magnus’ fingers twitch reflexively from muscle memory, and getting out of these jeans is an increasingly appealing idea.

He is not lucky. He has not earned this. But still, he has it, and he’s trying to be worthy.

It had taken years, and one world-wide close call with oblivion, barely averted, before Magnus dragged himself in front of Toki to offer amends. He hadn’t expected forgiveness, knowing that he didn’t deserve it—but, as his therapist had told him repeatedly until threatening finally to tattoo it on his arm just so it would finally stick, it wasn’t about deserving anything.

Saying it, apologizing, while looking into the eyes of someone he’d literally stabbed, kidnapped, and held in a basement, had been the final stab in the gut that had really, really driven it home. Everything he’d done laid out before him, laid bare in his own eyes while the ultimate figure of accountability watched him unpack it all, piece by fucking piece. Magnus had done it because he’d earned the pain of it, and afterwards Toki had touched him on the shoulder and said three words that had dragged him back to life.

I forgives you.

“You’re such a fucking flirt,” Magnus mutters, grinning. He’s already fumbling with his belt because, as far as he’s concerned, what Toki wants Toki gets. Once it’s undone he gets his pants, underwear, and boots off in two kicks. His shirt follows, a simple matter of shrugging out of it since the front is, as always, already undone.

Compared to Toki, Magnus is scrawny and wrinkled. He feels self-conscious about this sometimes, but Toki always tells him it ams just how bodies are, and he tries to believe him as best he can. The matching knife scar on his own chest (same knife, same hand) doesn’t bear thinking about.

He perches on the edge of the bed near Toki’s hip, birdlike, still unsure of where to put his hands. Such a shame that everywhere isn’t a practical option; Toki would like that.

Once, Toki had told him that’s what being a god had felt like: millions of hands all reaching out in unison to touch, pray, worship him, more intoxicating than all the drugs and alcohol in the world. He doesn’t talk about it often, worried that Magnus might get jealous or something, but when he does there’s this faraway expression on his face like he misses it. Maybe not enough to go back—if he even could, Magnus has no idea—but a good memory nonetheless.

“I'm here now, see?”

It wasn’t about what he deserved. Sometimes, what he’d done crept up on him and left him feeling so ashamed at the person he had used to be that he could have died all over again—but he didn’t.

Magnus had never thought he’d be worth the work it would take to piece himself back together until he felt like a person again. He still didn’t.

Toki always told him that he was worth it because he didn’t feel like he was but still tried anyway. For Toki.

“I sees you,” Toki sighs, and reaches for Magnus’ hands. He guides one to his half-hard cock, wrapping it around and guiding it to move with his, and the other to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. His breath and lips are hot against Magnus’ skin. “Wants to feels you, toos.”

“Is that so.” Magnus leans over him to steal a quick kiss, then shifts around so he isn’t reaching at a weird angle, and settles with one knee between the other man’s toned, tan legs.

He has, on other occasions, explored every inch of those legs with his hands and mouth. Other parts of him too. All of him. And he will likely do so again, many times, before the next time death comes for him. For now, Magnus follows the guidance of his lover’s hands. He watches as Toki draws his fingers into his mouth like a sucking candy, overwhelmed—first one, then a second, then a third—and sits up obediently when Toki urges him to.

“Wants you,” Toki moans again, biting his lip, urging the pace faster and giving Magnus his fingers back to prepare with.

So he does, eagerly, and before long he’s lining up, teasing against Toki’s weeping head until hands grip his hips tightly but firmly and pull him down like gravity.

Toki’s eyes are shining, starlike. “Loves you, Magnus,” he says breathlessly.

For Toki.

Magnus wonders if that really is starlight, some sort of cosmic leftover from whatever it was exactly that Dethklok went off to do as gods when they saved the world, or if it’s something else. He’d always assumed that love was about being willing to walk through fire, but maybe—and this is based both on himself and what he knows of Toki’s shitty childhood—it’s the willingness to crawl towards the light.

“I love you too.”

#metalocalypse fic #my fanfic #mtlrarepair2021 #hammertooth #toki wartooth #magnus hammersmith #i guess you could call this post-godklok #rated lime

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imaginesbymk · 3 years

Text

“Find Me Under The Giant Rabbit.”

Reservoir Dogs/Pulp Fiction One Shot

SUMMARY: I read a Reddit fan theory that Mr. Pink survived, escaped the cops, got arrested and was then put on parole - leaving behind his old life and lying low as a waiter at Jack Rabbit Slims. What happens when you show up to the restaurant one night?

PAIRING: Mr. Pink/Buddy Holly waiter x Reader

TAGS: swearing, smoking + mentions of basically everything that happened in reservoir dogs which is the heist, violence, etc

NON REQUESTED

WORD COUNT: 2,870 (it’s long i’m sorry)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is probably the cheesiest thing i’ve ever written, and it’s nothing tarantino would ever put in his films, also there’s no way PF and RS can legitimately tie in together 100% even though there are some factors to support otherwise, but i wanted to write this and see something lol :( leave a like/reblog + feedback!!!

[gif credit]

YOU put your car in park, shutting off the engine, and observed it from afar. It was one hell of a big restaurant, almost a bit too cartoon-like. There was a giant anthropomorphic rabbit on top, and the lights claiming the name were glowing a bright red and yellow. Mind you, this was in Los Angeles, so who wouldn’t blame you if you took one look at Jack Rabbit Slim’s, and mistake it for a restaurant at Six Flags?

Dozens of bikers came in with their motorcycles, yet their engines couldn’t even overpower the chatter coming from newcomers left and right. You ignored a heavy tattooed biker dressed in all leather and denim catcalling you from afar, and you reached the front desk.

A man dressed in uniform, most definitely in character, tipped his hat at you and led you to a table with only two chairs. You weren’t expecting anyone to join you in the other seat across. So what if you went for dinner by yourself? You didn’t bother asking anyone to join you for that matter. Not anyone you could think of at the top of your head would be any less boring.

You began tracing your fingers around the rim of the ketchup bottle when not even five seconds after sitting down, a lady approached your table with ruby red lips.

Of course, you thought. Servers were dressed up as icons from the 50s era.

“Marilyn,” you say in awe.

“Close enough,” Instead of being seated in the Marilyn Monroe section being served by a Marilyn Monroe-looking Marilyn Monroe, you were greeted with a tall Mamie Van Doren, who is just as breathtaking as Marilyn refilling everyone’s coffee mugs from the other side of the restaurant. “How about I get you started with drinks?”

Ricky Nelson’s performance on stage came to an end when Mamie arrived with your food. You looked around the place while eating. People weren’t eating by themselves. Families, friends, dates, all of them occupied their seats. Now that you’ve noticed, you sort of wished you brought someone with you, otherwise the seat across from you is used as a footrest.

So there, you propped your feet on top, and relaxed… then you sat upright. Your eyes fixated on the waiter in his section, which were the cars back in the 50s used as booths. You watch him walk towards one of them. The couple was a young woman in a blunt bob cut with bangs, and a man wearing a black suit with long black hair tied back.

You squint your eyes. It couldn’t be...

“Hi, I’m Buddy. What can I get ya?”

You blinked, dropping the half bitten French fry from your mouth. Holy fucking shit.

It was all coming back to you. The news broke out about the heist going wrong at the wholesale, all dead except for one, a cop who laid dead on the ramp inside the rendezvous was identified as Mr. Orange. Since he wasn’t supposed to know where you were from, Mr. Pink never turned up to your door as an emergency hideout, or to drag you with him on his getaway because he never had one. You never heard of him ever since.

Here he was, Mr. Pink, alive and well, wearing glasses. What the hell happened? How long has he been working here? Is he supposed to be Buddy Holly?

“How do you want that cooked? Burnt to a crisp or bloody as hell?” you hear him ask the man in the suit who ordered a steak.

“Bloody as hell, and oh, yeah, look at this- vanilla coke.”

You noticed the irony. He left you in a black suit - and he comes back in white. Like he’d ever want to be caught dead in white, or pink.

“What about you, Peggy Sue?” he asks the woman, jotting in his notepad. You recognized the pun.

“I’ll have the Durwood Kirby burger, bloody. And… the five dollar shake.”

Were you about to laugh? Call out his name? That was enough for you to get antsy in your seat, but you didn’t want to draw attention. You saw him again while finishing up half of your meal, giving the couple their drinks and disappearing back into the kitchen. He was doing his job, but it wasn’t like he was giving his one hundred percent. For someone who preached to the Gods about professionalism, Mr. Pink sure lacked work ethic. Every employee was on point with their character impersonations as if you had travelled back in time. Meanwhile, he acted like himself and seemed bored while wearing an emotionless face, as if he hated his job and epitome of his existence. It was never a dull moment for him whenever he was with you, though.

You got up to use the restroom.

“We’re lucky we got anything at all. I don’t think Buddy Holly’s much of a waiter,” you heard the man at the booth tell the woman as you walk past them, spotting their food from the corner of your eye. It’s no surprise hearing that. Mr. Pink never looked like the type to work at a job like this.

You sat back down and soon, Mr. Pink reappeared, standing over to the side and watched the announcement of the twisting contest, smoking a cigarette. You see him eyeing two pretty blonde women walking past him, and he looked back his way, now in your direction.

He finally did what you wanted him to do, and he stares at you for nearly a solid minute.

You waved awkwardly.

Mr. Pink tosses the cigarette in a random person’s ashtray and disappears behind the door once again. You darted out of your chair, and marched your way to where he headed, just as the couple he served got up on stage to participate in the twisting contest.

A Zorro waiter jumps in front of you. “Stop right there, mi amor!” his eyes darted at you through the cheap black mask he was wearing. “I believe the bathroom’s on the other side of the bar.”

“Where’s Buddy?” you ask Zorro.

“I’m afraid Mr. Holly is taking a quick break from unenthusiastically serving love birds in their cars.”

“Can you tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Once I see him.” Zorro then took out his sword and pointed it at you, a grin plastered on his face. “Now, shall I escort you back to your dining spot?”

Although you were aware this guy was only in character, you didn’t wanna risk getting kicked out, or having a realistic looking sword ripped through your body. You sighed and turned around, heading back. You noticed at your table a folded napkin beside your empty plate. Mamie Van Doren was last seen there, her back facing you with her heels clicking away on the tiles.

“Excuse me!” you called after the waitress. She ignores you, smiling down at new customers at an umbrella table.

Cocking an eyebrow, you used your finger to flatten the crease and read the note in bold handwriting.

FIND ME UNDER THE GIANT RABBIT. - BUDDY

You threw the door open and ran outside, precisely under the giant rabbit of the Jack Rabbit Slim’s sign, just like he said on the napkin. You felt like an idiot checking every direction to find no one. Not a lot of the bikers were seen riding or hanging out around the parking lot, some people were coming and going, but you couldn’t find Buddy Holly.

Defeated, you turn to walk back inside.

Mr. Pink rushed out the door and caught his breath. It looked like he was chasing you down before you could take off. A song used for the twisting contest kept playing from inside.

You didn’t run up to him and jumped in his arms or anything dramatic in that matter. You both stared at each other.

A few days before the heist you two stood across each other waiting for Mr. Brown and Mr. White inside the hideout. It was a quiet moment, not an awkward one. He just took that opportunity to study you, as you did him. It took him that moment to realize he was warming up to you.

“Well hello there, Buddy,” you smile smugly.

YOU and Pink loitered at the side of the eatery, where the back door to the kitchen was located. He had taken off his fake glasses, showing his full frame.

“Okay,” you watch him lean against the wall, lighting his cigarette. “Talk to me. What happened to you?”

“What the hell do you think? Cops tagged me when I tried driving away. I was put behind bars, and by some fucking miracle this place took me in when I needed money.”

“You didn’t know any other crime bosses looking for a lanky dude?” Pink rolls his eyes at your joke. “I know the heist went terribly wrong, I saw the news. Everyone’s dead as Dillinger.”

“That briefcase had a shit load of two million dollars worth of stones,” Pink blew smoke out. “I swear, if that asshole undercover cop was never sent to set us up, I could have been enjoying a cocktail in Santorini. You’re lucky you called in sick that day.”

You shuddered, remembering how god-awful the illness was. “Never again. I felt like I was being hot glued to a sauna.”

You remembered the day of the heist. In fact, you mentally prepared yourself for something that you’ve never done before. You braced for what was supposed to go smoothly as Joe promised. Instead, you were woken up by the worst case scenario above 38 degrees. You were thankful Joe took it easy on you and promised another job next time.

“All right, your turn. What did you do after that shit show went down?” Pink asks you.

“Just did my own thing. I wasn’t there so the cops never searched for me.” Pink took a slow drag, staring at nothing. He didn’t really look the same as before. Still lanky, except his hair was a bit more darkened and styled in curls, possibly because Buddy Holly had it permed that way. But his face read that he had been through a lot. Normally you felt zero pity for assholes like him, but you managed to blurt out, “I missed you.”

Pink, blowing out smoke in the air, eyed you up and down and furrowed his brows. “Likewise.”

Not only did it suck not being able to make money, you also couldn’t do it with Mr. Pink. As much as he kept his professionalism to a T, he squeezed in time to get along with you. It was no wonder Joe hired you - you were different than the guys, you moved differently and never felt small. Mr. Pink was drawn to that.

Maybe that was just an understatement. He grew intimidated by something he expected to experience the least from in the job, and of course, straight out of a fairytale, you had to stop and ask yourself if you felt the same way, and if what you felt was right. Neither of you had any idea. It was against the rules to give out personal information to each other, and Mr. Pink took those rules very seriously, even if it was just one job that he most likely wouldn’t come back to unless a higher pay was involved and Joe Cabot liked him enough to recruit him again.

If Mr. Pink grew too attached, if he let his guard down for one second, God forbid something would have happened to you. Without a doubt, he would have heavily blamed himself and walked away from the job without saying another word.

His options were to wait until after the robbery to make a move, or do his job, get paid and leave. Whether or not it was out of selfishness was out of the question. Mr. Pink is already selfish in an intuitive kind of way, he’d rather avoid spiraling into a wave of emotions for one person - so he chose the latter.

“What?” Pink looked at you, feeling a bit tense. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Huh? No. It’s nothing,” you blinked, realizing you were staring at him longer than you should have. You shook your head, most likely shaking off the intrusive thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t a good time to tell him what’s on your mind.

If anything, he’s most likely sleeping with the Marilyn Monroe waitress. “It’s just… you shaved the goatee.”

Pink nodded, looking a bit annoyed that there was no facial hair left on his chin to rub. “Buddy Holly had a clean face. For the record, the only advantage of this job is that I’m under disguise. Other than that, this place is a circus. I’m zooming back in time whenever I clock in.”

“It’s a 50s themed restaurant,” you state. “Working here sounds like fun. At least you get to dress up and experience pop culture.”

He scoffs. “No, fuck the 50s. Shit was all I Love Lucy and those puffy ass dresses.”

“They’re called poodle skirts, Pink.”

“Like I give a fuck what they’re called.”

“You know Buddy Holly smiled. He was a singer and a guitarist. If you keep up the attitude, no one’s gonna tip you. Nice Guy Eddie told me about your rant on tipping.”

“Ha! And? You will never find me up on that stage performing That’ll Be The Day, moving like a fucking animatronic.” Halfway finished, Pink tossed his cigarette aside and looked at you. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

You felt your cheeks flushing. Fuck. “I am?”

He nodded, putting his Buddy Holly glasses back on his face. “Yeah. It’s a breath of fresh air seeing you here.” He stares down at his wristwatch for a moment.

“Your break’s done?”

“It’s been done,” he says. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

You shook your head, chuckling. “You’re so fired.”

“This isn’t the first time I stopped caring, so my boss isn’t gonna bat an eye.” He had his hand wrapped around the back door which was supported by a wooden block to keep it open. “Look, I’ll see ya arou-”

“Pink?” Your heart rose up to your throat.

He turned back to you. “Hm?”

You just had to do it. You reached up and kissed him softly. Pink didn’t shove or curse at you. His features softened, pulling you close to him and kissed you deeply. Even when you two pulled away, his arms didn’t unwrap from your waist. His forehead was pressed against yours now.

“My name’s Y/N,” you tell him.

He stares at you, no snarky, sarcastic comment left for him to give.

“I know you’re not willing to give your name up just yet, you can’t fully trust me, and I get that, but I won’t tell anyone what happened. You got lucky, I think… but I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m serious.”

“Y/N,” he says your name for the first time. “You don’t have to go all sappy for me. Karma came in hot. Jesus Christ, I mean, I left you.”

“Not really. You didn’t know me. The cops had the place staked out the entire day, there was nothing you could do.”

He looked down at his shoes. “All right. But still, I feel shitty. Can I at least make it up to you?”

“How?”

Pink shrugs. “I get paid tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” you reply. “Save it like you’re gonna lose it.”

“I’ve had this job for a while now, I got enough to last. But once I win the lottery, I’m gone.”

“To Santorini?”

“With a cocktail in my hand. But that’s besides the point, right now I got enough to take you out on a date… if you’re down.”

“Where would you plan on taking me? Here?” you laugh.

“You’re funny. How about the movies? Overruled, I’m taking you to see a movie. I gotta know where you live first. It’s okay to know now.”

You nodded, you couldn't argue with that. Besides, you two would just be making out in the dark the entire time.

His hand was back on the handle of the back door. Pink pulled it open, looked back at you and smiled for the first time tonight. That warmed your heart, and you were certain it warmed his. He watched you stuff something inside his pocket square as you told him your address. He went back inside, shutting the door on you. You walked back to the front of the restaurant to pay for the bill, and went straight home.

Mr. Pink shuffles past the chefs in the kitchen, feeling through his suit pocket to pull out his notepad and whatever you stuffed inside just moments ago.

I didn’t even serve them. Is this supposed to be for Mamie Van Doren? He stares down at the dollar bill crumpled in his hand. His frown suddenly transitions to a small but genuine smile.

Fuck it. Nothing could stop him now. He definitely owes you a date night. He quickly stuffs the tip back in his pocket square, and comes out the sliding door.

THE END

—

TAGLIST: @locke-writes @aryn-the-bearheart

#reservoir dogs x reader #reservoir dogs fic #reservoir dogs fanfic #mr pink x reader #mr pink #reservoir dogs imagine #reservoir dogs #mr pink one shot #reader insert #reservoir dogs one shot #one shot #imagine #mk's faves

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artxyra · 4 years

Text

The Secret Life of MDC | Part 5

Part 5 – Haha, wait you’re serious?

Fun fact: This rewrite was supposed to be five parts, but as I was writing and changing things, I have no idea how long this is going to be.

Parts 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

What a relaxing evening the couples group plus one was having. Everyone but Jon and Damian was wearing a disguise of some sort. Marinette in her usual lace netted veil, Chloe with her hair down and sunglasses on, and Adrien with a dark wig and punk clothes. It was never easy being out and open like this, but it was relaxing.

“I’m telling you, she’s not worth it.” Marinette states before taking a sip of her ice coffee beverage. She doesn’t know how or when their conversation regarding the upcoming gala turned into a revenge plan to reveal the liar that has made her life miserable back in Paris.

“Angel, she is making up stories about me. How can I not make her suffer any more than she had made you?” Damian asks taking her hand into his own. Marinette huffs unsure what to say.

“C’mon buggy, even Luka agrees with him. Let him take over for a moment.” Adrien comments showing the designer his phone with a series of messages from Luka on the screen.

Marinette still doesn’t reply. Instead, she looks up to the sky as of it hoping for a miracle. Nothing was working.

“Kagami even she said she’ll help hide the body. Just give me the okay and she’ll be on the next flight here or I’ll go get her with Kaalki.” Chloe adds in taping away on her phone as if she wasn’t paying attention.

“Absolutely not. Look, guys, we have three weeks left here and I don’t want to spend it worrying about the class despite being the damn TA for this exchange. I already need to finish the touch-ups on our dresses and grade like a shit ton of assignments.” Marinette groans leaning into Damian’s chest. He places a kiss on her forehead before resting his chin on her head.

“Why are you guys even like this?” It’s Jon’s turn to cry out in frustration. Everyone turns to him with an eyebrow raised. The half-Kryptonian should no better by now than to question anything his boyfriend and friends do. “Alright, alright, I fold. What do I need to do?”

“Stay my handsome hero.” Adrien absently adds swooning in Jon’s arms looking upward to the hero. Shaking his head, Adrien turns to Marinette and blinks. “Did I really just say that?”

Marinette tries to hide her giggles, nodding. However, Chloe didn’t even try to hide her laughs causing the model to blush.

“I actually liked it,” Jon says before placing a kiss on the blonde’s cheek furthering his blush to a deeper red.

“Ooh, Gami just replied back to me, she wants to see if we can do a movie night stream?” Chloe asks on behalf of her girlfriend. Planning movie nights are often frequent amongst the group especially when they are missing each other.

“I know my father wouldn’t mind, but depending on who’s staying at the manor tonight it might turn into a family affair,” Damian responds gently pushing Marinette off of him and stand up to stretch.

“She’s fine with that.”

“Good; I’ll message Alfred to set to the theatre room.” Damian pulls out his phone and immediately proceeds to message the family butler.

“You know he’ll probably send a message with an image of the theatre room decked out with pillows and blankets with the caption: already have, young master.” Marinette jokes but little did she know her guess was actually right.

Damian’s phone dings with a message from Alfred. It is indeed a photo of the theatre room with pillows and blanket gently piled together. Underneath the photo is the message “Already done, young master, just be home before dark.”

“How does he do that?” Adrien wonders before adding, “It’s witchcraft?”

“You know as well as my brothers that we still do not know that answer.” Damian murmurs sliding his phone back into his pocket. He then holds out his hand for Marinette to take as she pushes herself off the wooden bench.

“We should head back then…” Marinette is then cut off by her phone along with her blonde sibling’s phones simultaneously buzzing. The three Parisians grab their phones and see the answer.

It’s the Headmistress of Gotham Academy calling her. Confused, Marinette answers the call just as Adrien and Chloe read the variety of messages from the classmates or at least those that still have their numbers.

Damian and Jon look to one another cautiously. It’s not every day that the trio’s phone would go off especially when they are not in a group chat with the others. Damian takes a step closer to Marinette as panic rises her eyes.

When the call ends, Marinette takes a series of deep breaths. “First the Riddler and now this shit. They better be damn glad to stay on this trip once we find them.” Was the only thing that would come out of the designer’s mouth.

Chloe and Adrien stop reading. “Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.” This really draws two teens to their friends. Adrien stays silent which is unlike him especially when there isn’t a battle or around them.

“Um, care to fill us in?” Jon asks knowing that Damian would not as he tries to get answers from Marinette.

“Apparently Mlle. Bustier and the GA staff are losing their heads.” Chloe starts.

“Nino messaged me that something had happened after we left,” Adrien adds shuffling his feet against the ground.

“Yeah; Alya and Lie-la are missing. The headmistress says that no one has seen since we left and asked if we, more specifically I, knew about their whereabouts.” Marinette shakes her head, “Which I have no clue about. I’m not a sheep’s keeper.” The noirette sighs, face-palming.

“I guess movie night is off then.” Jon ponders.

“No, no, we can still find them before it gets super late. By we, I mean Robin and Superboy along with the Gotham’s miraculous team.” Marinette counters before anyone could get a word in.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Chloe asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, let’s just hope the liar’s big mouth didn’t get her in trouble with the Joker or any other Gotham villain,” Marinette grumbles as if all happiness crash and burned right in front of her.

“And here I have thought that after last week, they would stay on the down-low, but no~ they just had to disappear. This will really put a stick into Mlle. Bustier’s teaching qualifications.” Chloe groans as she starts packing her stuff up with looks ready to kill.

“I’ll see you in a bit, suit and all. I have damage control to handle before we make our next steps.” Marinette and Adrien give their significant others a peck on the lips. As much as Damian hates the veil covering her eyes, he knows the pain the reset inside them.

“I’ll talk things through with the family. Maybe even hack into the security cameras for some leads.” He whispers into her ear holding her arms. Marinette looks up to Damian and nods.

~*~

If those phone calls didn’t give light to the current situation, it would have been like walking into the middle of a war zone. Everywhere you look there were teachers asking questions, normally this would never happen to Gotham Academy, but when the exchange happens it like the school turns on its head.

Chloe, Adrien, and Marinette decided to split up. Adrien went to speak to Nino to see if he had knowledge of his girlfriend. Chloe sneaked into the security room while Marinette takes on her teacher assistant role to speak with Mlle. Bustier and the GA headmistress.

Marinette could tell how heated the conversation is from just a few feet away. The closer she got the more she could tell that Caline was sweating where she was standing.

“Marinette doesn’t belong in conversations like this.” Caline tries to get Marinette removed from the conversation the moment she sees the girl, but the headmistress wasn’t having that.

“Marinette is allowed to be here, Ms. Bustier, she is apparently the only one with the contact information regarding your students.” The headmistress states and it was true. Even though Marinette is technically the class representative despite no longer being a student of the school, she still holds vital information regarding the class.

“Hold on, you didn’t contact our parents?” Realization began to hit. “We were nearly killed last week and today, not even a full week since we have arrived, you have lost two students.”

“Marinette, you guys made it back safely, and I just didn’t have time to call everyone’s parents or guardians.” Caline is really trying to save face here.

“We’re in a whole another country. It is your duty to inform parents and or guardians about any situation, mishap, whatever happens to them.” Marinette nearly screams at the teacher. Anger could not even begin to be Marinette’s main emotion.

“I’m sure they’ll show up, Alya and Lila are very responsible.” Seriously? She cannot be for real.

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette takes a deep breath, clasps her hands together. “They can be killed here. I may not like those two but even I know the importance of safety here in Gotham.”

“Marinette, I’ll take it from here. How about you go help the others in finding the two missing girls.” The GA headmistress says placing a hand on the designer’s shoulder. Marinette calms down and nods. It was for the best.

Marching down the halls, everyone avoided Marinette. How could they not, she was a woman on a warpath. The Paris exchange students have never seen Marinette so angry before it was causing them to quake in their shoes.

Adrien was finishing his conversation with Nino when he joins Marinette’s side on the march to glory. Chloe had just finished up with the security room before she joined her crew. Together, the three exits the school grounds knowing exactly where they are heading to.

It was no secret that everyone knows each other identity between the Batfam and the Miraculous crew. So, when Alfred pulled up in a disguised car, with the window rolled down he simply raises an eyebrow. The trio gets in as the school just watches in shock. Nothing was making sense to them.

“So, I found that they did indeed leave minutes after we did. The cameras lost them upon walking across the streets towards this building.” Chloe states pointing to the screen with confidence.

“From what I had gathered from Nino, they had missed their check-in time at least three times before the flags were raised. As you know the class aside from us needs to check-in with the teachers at least once an hour after what happened last week.” Adrien then adds in.

Marinette nods before she turns to Tim, who was surprising on his fourth cup of coffee.

“Tim, what did you find?” She asks before sliding a coffee flavor “health” bar over to the hacker. Tim takes it and slides the bar into his pocket.

“Let’s just say its not the Joker behind their missing appearance. We got Gordon on the lookout, but you know what they say when it comes close to nighttime here in Gotham.”

“Out of everyone, it had to be the two of them. If my job wasn’t also kind of on the stake, I would have just left them to figure it out and stay out of it.”

“You know that’s not true Mars; you love to save people even those who let deserves it.”

“Who asked you, Kitten, let him bitch about things that we know would never happen.”

If it wasn’t for the growing tension in the room, everyone would have burst out laughing.

“We got movement,” Jason calls out while cleaning one of his guns.

Everyone catches the other’s eyes before simultaneously nodding. It’s going to be a long night ahead of them.

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

Note: The SPECIFIC Tag list is officially closed. If you wanted to follow the story please mark the tag fic:The Secret Life of MDC.

#maribat #daminette #ml x dc #mlb x dc #ml crossover #dc crossover #fic:The Secret Life of MDC #teacher assistant Marinette AU #ta marinette

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libermachinae · 3 years

Text

Dratchet Party Day 7 - Perspective

---

Ratchet started to flag the third day of his vigil over the transceiver. The charge from the batteries left him with an itchy feeling under his plating and around his spark, and his joints ached from lack of activity. The thought of lying back as they had that first night and getting entangled with Deadlock was so, so tempting…

But no. By some miracle, he had pulled together a radio from the scraps he’d grabbed, and that was as far as luck went. There was no way to record incoming transmissions, and the outgoing signal had to be activated manually. So, once a minute, he put in the command to send another. Ping.

Ping.

Counting had gotten boring halfway through the second day.

In fact, boredom was turning out to be the worst part of the ordeal. Minor starvation and the radiating pain of his broken leg he could handle, but if it hadn’t been for Deadlock’s near-constant presence, it was unlikely his resolve would have lasted this long. They told each other stories, snarked over minor differences, and occasionally tiptoed around the edge of more serious topics. When they ran out of things to say, Deadlock would draw close again, resting his helm on Ratchet’s shoulder and clasping his arm or hand (wanted to lie back, couldn’t; might have fallen into recharge). He knew it was a dangerous game, but Ratchet considered himself pragmatic, and their chances of survival heavily implied they might best make the use of the time they had.

Deadlock’s patrols were the hardest part. They still knew very little about this planet and its inhabitants, and there was always the possibility they would come looking for the thieves who had invaded one of their outposts. Deadlock hoped to buy them a few minutes’ warning. Watching him slip from their bluff and drive off across the plains, despair crept in easily. What was Ratchet doing? What was the point? Was this really what it had all been building up to? To die far from his friends, kept company by a shadow of what might have been?

And then, each time, Deadlock came back (sooner, according to his chronometer, though each subsequent trip felt longer; he had to cling hard to objectivity) and kissed Ratchet until he softened to his touch again.

Ping.

“Deadlock,” he said as the other mech pressed his lips to Ratchet’s neck cables. “Do you ever think about…”

He paused, long enough that Deadlock grew still and pulled back, a question in his optics.

Ping.

“If things had been… If we’d…” Exhaustion was making it a challenge to mold his thoughts into words.

“I used to.” And yet, somehow, Deadlock understood. “But that’s not how the world works. We get the hand we’re dealt and that’s what we have to play.”

It was exactly the sort of answer he’d come to expect from Deadlock, the kind that both caused him to question his choices and know he couldn’t have done anything else. That this was both the life he had been given and the future his hands had built.

Still.

“What-ifs can be useful,” he argued. “Give you a new sense of perspective.” And he reached out to tilt Deadlock’s chin back to him.

Ping.

Ping-bip.

Deadlock’s rebuttal died as he pulled back from Ratchet’s hand to turn to the transceiver.

“Was that—”

“Maybe!” Ratchet grabbed for the controls and sent his response.

Ping.

Ping-bip.

“It is,” he said, staring at their radio with a sense of wonder he hadn’t felt in a long time. “They heard us. They’re coming!”

“Who is?”

“The Auto—”

Bip-ping.

A second signal, coming through fainter than the first but definitely within reach of the planet. Ratchet felt his spark constrict.

“…Both sides. They’re both on their way.”

Deadlock’s lips pulled back in a grimace.

“Here? To us?”

“Right here.” An entire war honing in on their little pile of dirt. Two spacecrafts with unknown firepower converging on a single point. Even if they could survive one or the other faction’s arrival plus the inevitable battle, the planet’s retribution would finish what it had started.

Deadlock opened his hand.

“Give it to me.”

“What?”

“The radio.” He gestured again, a jerk that started in his shoulder and unfurled into his hand. “Once the Autobots have a visual on you, I’ll reactivate the signal far enough away that the ships won’t pass each other.”

Ratchet glanced between the radio and Deadlock. He swallowed around something hard.

“You need to get moving earlier than that,” he said. “If the ship sees you, they’ll try to take you down.”

Deadlock’s fist curled, briefly, then opened again.

“I know.”

Ratchet knew he should take advantage of this moment. Savor it, maybe. But he found his gaze stuck on Deadlock’s hand. Strong, certain, patterned with minute cuts and dents he’d only just started to learn. Was Deadlock convincing himself this wasn’t goodbye, or was he too used to them to bow to this one? Both answers made Ratchet’s spark ache, and so he spent his precious seconds taking that hand in his own and pressing a long kiss to the palm.

Deadlock’s ventilations hitched, but he didn’t pull away. He let Ratchet hold him, pushing into him the warmth he hadn’t managed to capture with words. He was a fool, Ratchet thought. Next time, he would finally find a way to say it that was both true and did justice to Deadlock. But he wasn’t there yet. He let go, and he knew Deadlock would have stayed longer if he hadn’t. Still unable to meet Deadlock’s optics, he thrust the radio in his direction.

“You tell them to get off this planet as soon as you’re onboard,” he said. “Pull rank, threaten someone, I don’t care. You’ve got to get out of here.” He didn’t want to part on a bitter note. Not with the uncertainty that still buzzed around their steps. “Let’s try to make it somewhere nice, next time we bump into each other.”

“Yeah,” Deadlock said. “Somewhere nice.”

He still wasn’t leaving, and he needed to go. Ratchet needed him to be safe. He finally looked up, intending to say as much, but the words cut out before he got a single sound out.

Deadlock was looking at him. Not smirking, not grinning, Just looking with a solemnity that for once betrayed his age, as though he had been doing so the entire time. Longer than Ratchet could imagine.

And then Deadlock turned his back on Ratchet and slid down the bluff. He let himself reach the bottom before he transformed, mindful of his injuries, and sped off. Dust flew up from under his tires, rapidly obscuring him until the violence was all Ratchet could see of Deadlock. He did not look away, though, not until it disappeared behind another distant rise, at which point he turned to the sky, waiting for time to start moving again.

#maccadam #transformers #dratchet #ratchlock #ratchet #deadlock #dratchetparty #my writing #longfic #ficlet #its donnnnne

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purpletaecup · 4 years

Photo

5 ☾ i don’t want you to hurt me anymore

note: fully written chapter this time! no social media pics, but in this chapter, we see a little bit more of yoongi and yn’s relationship, or at least the bit of it when they fell apart. it’s sad. :-( once again, not edited lol.

note 2: feel free to message me about the story, or ask my characters anything hehe. my account is also open to fake text requests/imagines <3 i’m bored these days lol

word count: 2,627

At the doctor’s surprising news, both Yoongi and Jungkook froze. Yoongi did not know what to say, so he turned to the spot next to him, only to realize that Jin, who had left to go to the nurse at the reception, was not there. He didn’t know how to react, especially when Jungkook was the one standing by him right now.

Jungkook himself was much more confused than he looked. He looked at Yoongi questioningly. How were you pregnant when he knew that your relationship was on the rocks before your divorce even happened? He thought the worst case scenario and blurted it out without thinking.

“She cheated on you?” He asked.

Yoongi and the doctor both turned to him in shock at his question.

Yoongi furiously shook his head. “No, she couldn’t have.” The silence after that was deafening.

“How far along did you say she was?” He turned to the doctor.

The man looked scanned through his clipboard again to make sure he had the right timeline.

“We estimate that she’s about two months along.”

2 months. That’s around the time they were completing the divorce procedures. Yoongi tries to think back on how you could have ended up pregnant. Your started becoming distant some time around August when he was getting closer and closer to Yura. Your intimacy lessened as time passed, but he knew that you couldn’t have cheated on him. What had happened in the beginning of September?

After a minute or two, his eyes widened after he finally realized what happened between them that was most likely the conception date for the pregnancy.

He remembers a warm night in the beginning of September, where he came home late and you were waiting on the couch with a finished wine glass on the table.

Flashback

By the time he had gotten home, it was obvious that you were drunk and the drunk you had a lot of words to say. He couldn’t really tell what you were saying because you started crying as soon as the words came out of her mouth, but he knew that you were upset at him. So upset that you had broken down on the floor sobbing. He’d knelt down on the floor and cupped your cheeks and lifted your face up to meet his. Your eyes were bloodshot and teary and all he heard from you at this point were sniffles and sobs.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?” He asked, wiping the tears falling down her cheeks.

Those words had only made you cry harder.

“Because you don’t love me anymore.” You cried out in between sniffles.

The look on Yoongi’s face was a mixture of shock and hurt, but you couldn’t tell why. You were the one who was hurt, so why was he showing you a face like that?

“No, no, no baby. Who told you that? Why would you ever think that? I love you so much.” Yoongi had said to you as he desperately tried to wipe the tears that continued to flow from your eyes.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it? You don’t love me anymore and you’re with that girl from your company. You take her to all of your parties, you take her to dinners with your friends. You don’t have me in your heart anymore. Your friends don’t like me. Especially Jungkook. I don’t even know why. I’m sure even your parents don’t like me. Why do you guys hate me so much? Why does God hate me? Why would he do that to me? Am I not enough? Am I not worthy of receiving any sort of fucking love in this life?” At this point, you were practically yelling. Your lungs burned from crying and talking so much but you couldn’t really tell because the alcohol made you focus on your tears and dizziness and the man in front of you instead.

Yoongi’s eyes softened, then his brows furrowed, as if he was confused. What was there to be confused about? He hurt you, but he looked like he was the one who was hurt in this situation.

“Why do you look like that?” you asked. “Why do you look like you’re the one who got your heart broken when I’m the one who’s waiting at home for you and you don’t even have the decency to tell me where you are, or who you’re with or what time you’re coming home. Why do you get to fucking look like you’re hurt when I’m the one who has to watch you and all your fucking friends and family swoon over that woman. I’m your wife! And all I can do is sit at home and wait for you to fucking care about me. This is not how I want to live, Yoongi. I don’t deserve to be hurt like this. Not after what happened. Please, I’m so tired. It hurts so fucking much, Yoongi. Why are you doing this to me?” The crying only continued until you couldn’t breathe anymore.

Yoongi pulled your form into a tight hug, and held you like it was his dying wish. You didn’t know if you heard it properly but you thought he was crying. And he was. There were tears in his eyes because he knew that what you were saying was valid. Extremely. And he couldn’t really refute it because it was true, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t love you.

He stroked your hair until you calmed down a little more and that’s when he finally got a word in.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry that you had to go through that. I love you so much that it hurts my heart when I think about not having you in my life. You’re my everything and you were with me from the start, of course you have a place in my heart. You own it. I’m sorry I made you feel that way but please don’t ever doubt my love for you. Yura, she’s nothing. She’s just my friend. And you said you didn’t want to go to the parties. Jungkook and Yura are friends and they get along so that’s why I bring her. She’s become one of my closest friends but that’s just what she is. A friend. I love you, not her.”

You and Yoongi both know that he wasn’t being truthful, but you let it be because he was saying things you wanted him to say. He was reassuring you of his love for you, and even if it wasn’t true, it still gave you some temporary relief.

He put his face on the crook of your neck and muttered a million ‘sorrys’ before you moved to put your hand on his back.

“You hurt me. I don’t want you to hurt me anymore, Yoongi. I love you so much that it makes me hate myself. You made me suffer so much these past months.”

“I know, baby, and I won’t do it again. I love you so much. I’ll try harder, okay? I’ll go home earlier and I won’t go to the parties anymore. I don’t want to give up on our marriage. I want to be with you.”

The night of crying and venting out the hurt and shame and tears had ended in the both of you tangled up in bed all night, probably making up for the pain that was caused. Yoongi didn’t remember much of that night because it hurt him to think about it, but of the amount of times you had made love that night under the moonlight, one of them undoubtedly got you pregnant. He never used protection with you and that was only because he knew you were on birth control, but he had never thought about you getting pregnant, especially not after the fact that it was only a week and a half later when his lawyers brought the divorce papers to you.

End flashback

Being reminded of that night made Yoongi feel queasy. In his heart, he knew that he had told you that truth when he said he loved you and that he wanted to save your marriage, but he was tired. And you were growing distant. Both of you. He could never bring you out anywhere and you always got mad when he went with someone else, or when he was with Jungkook. Yura was there and she was so nice and bubbly and happy, and being with her made him happy. Though you both tried, the arguments increased and his frustrations bubbled until he finally decided to tell his lawyer to draw up the divorce papers.

Yoongi snapped back to the present and looked up at the doctor.

“Yeah, two months sound about right. How is she doing? How is the baby doing?” He asked.

“The fetus is doing pretty well considering the accident. We’re surprised she didn’t suffer a miscarriage because of the impact of the crash, but I guess this can be considered a miracle. To reiterate, Miss y/n is okay, just suffering from a head wound and multiple lacerations and bruises. For the next couple of days, bruises might become more prominent. We’ll be doing MRIs to check on brain activity, especially because of her head wound. Just to check if everything is okay. We don’t know how long she’ll stay unconscious for, but we’re hopeful that she’ll wake up within a couple of days, a week at most.” The doctor stated.

Yoongi nodded absentmindedly. He was quiet for some time until Jungkook spoke up.

“Are we allowed to see her?” He asked.

The doctor nodded. “Yes, you can see her. I think they’ll have wheeled her into her room right now. You can just go through that door. It’s a hallway that winds around so you’ll end up on the other side. I believe she’ll be in room 3. We only allow one visitor to stay overnight.”

“Ok, thank you so much, sir. We’ll wait for her cousin first before going to see her.” Jungkook stated.

“Thank you, doctor.” Yoongi said with a small but dull smile on his face. He truly was thankful. He didn’t know if he would have ever known that he would be a father if it wasn’t for this accident and the doctor. As sick as it sounds, he was somehow grateful that he was your emergency contact.

“It’s no problem at all. Since you are her emergency contact, we will be updating you on her progress and if anything should happen, but right now, things are looking up. Don’t worry too much. She’s alive and so is your baby. It’s a miracle.” The doctor smiled at Yoongi before waving goodbye.

Yoongi and Jungkook sat back down on the chairs trying to sink the information into their heads.

The accident. You. Near-death and pregnant. It all seemed like some sort of crazy movie plot.

“So, she didn’t cheat on you? That’s your child that she’s carrying?” Jungkook’s voice rang in Yoongi’s ears.

The accusations are ridiculous, he knows that. That’s his child that was in your belly. There was no doubt about it, and yet, for some reason, it made him feel strange.

Yoongi nodded to answer his question.

“I thought you said you guys weren’t close leading up to the divorce?” Jungkook questioned.

Yoongi shook his head. “Not for a while, but something happened. I don’t really want to talk about it in detail, but it was emotional and it got the better of both of us. It was the week before the divorce papers.”

“Oh, when you stopped coming to the parties after work, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Silence followed and stayed until the both of them heard heavy footsteps coming up to them. They look up to see Jin fast-walking to them, with a nurse trailing behind him. The same nurse who had led Yoongi here.

“She told me that they were letting visitors in for y/n, now. Did the doctors tell you anything?” He asked.

Yoongi’s face blanked. Jungkook looked at him and back at Jin and nodded.

“Let’s head to her room first and we’ll tell you what he told us.” He said.

The three of them followed the nurse around the hallway to the other side of the operating room. The walk was short, but the silence dragged on until the creaking of the door opening was all they could hear.

Yoongi walked in first and the moment he saw you, he felt sick to his stomach. Your body, pale and bruised, was covered in bandages from head to toe. Half of your head was wrapped in gauze. For the head injury, he’s assuming. There were multiple wires and needles connected to your hands. He had never, ever seen you, or anyone like this before. And it broke his heart, and then the guilt started to seep in.

He walked up to your unconscious body and took your hand, covered in all sorts of wires, in his. Somehow it felt unreal, but as the seconds passed and as his eyes passed over your still form, the reality of the accident and the pregnancy settled on his mind and in his heart.

He felt someone come up behind him and from his peripheral he can identify Jin. He looked about ready to cry, much like how Yoongi did at this moment.

“What did the doctor say?” Jin asked.

Jungkook stayed back, leaning against the door. He waited for Yoongi to answer but his eyes were locked on your body, so he decided to just speak up in place of his hyung.

“The doctor said she’s ok and is expected to wake up in the next couple of days or a week at most. No heavy damage, apparently.”

Yoongi mumbled something as he stroked your bruised fingers. Jin turned to look at him.

“What?”

“She’s pregnant.” Yoongi said, louder this time.

Jin’s eyes widened almost comically. “Pregnant, how in the hell is she pregnant? I think I would know if she was having a kid with somebody.”

“It’s mine.”

“No. There’s no way. You are divorced, and you hurt her. She would have never let you touch her when you hurt her as much as you did.” Jin’s voice got louder and louder, and the guilt that was planted in the pit of Yoongi’s stomach bloomed.

“Yeah, I know. It was one time and we were both emotionally wrecked. I made promises to her that I couldn’t keep and now here we are. But that’s my fucking kid, you can’t tell me otherwise.” Yoongi tried to keep his tone respectful, as Jin was older than him and was one of the most prominent people in your life, but he could only take so much criticism. Jin’s talked to him as if he ruined your life. As if he killed you.

“It’s her child. When she wakes up, she won’t want anything to do with you. You hurt her beyond anything you could probably even imagine in your little brain. You were off doing god knows what when she was suffering at home. That’s not your kid. It might be yours biologically, but you ruined all the chances you had of being a dad when you broke y/n’s heart.”

Every word Jin said was like a knife to his heart. It fed the flower of guilt and made it grow. When he thought about it, he couldn’t really argue because what he said was true. You were a unit before, but when he had promised to try harder, he didn’t and now you’re divorced and pregnant and you hate him and you two will be parents but in a broken family.

☽

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fxcking-anon · 4 years

Note

hi! request, spencer xfem!reader? reader works at the bau but spencer isn’t there (mutual crush or beginning of relationship) so she swings by his apartment to see he has a stomach flue so she helps and takes care of him? fluff?

Chicken Soup

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

TW: None :)

Word Count: 1,925

A/N: I’m so so very sorry for how long this took. I ruptured my appendix right after I got this request then started classes again and all of a sudden it was October! But it’s done now and we are on the road to being on top of our shit again! Woo! (I may or may not have posted this during math class too oops)

----------

Spencer had given you a key to his apartment a few months ago. After Penelope was shot, you really struggled being alone in your apartment. So, you found yourself knocking on Spencer’s door after a long case. More often than not, you stayed the night. Over time, you’d brought a few things to keep there for when you did sleep over. While Spencer was no Derek Morgan, protector-of-all, kicking-doors-in-and-taking-names, he knew how to distract you from the darkness you both saw on a daily basis. And on the worst nights, he held you after your nightmares.

You had tried to return the key once you could finally be alone again. Spencer refused, insisting you were welcome to come and go as you pleased. So you did, often bearing gifts as you walked through the door. Sometimes coffee, a home cooked meal, or maybe a movie.

The two of you had always been close. You had a habit of befriending the misfits and bringing them out of their shells. It also helped that people seemed to find you easy to talk to. You can’t name how many times an acquaintance has spilled their soul to you just because you “seem really approachable”.

And yet, after months of spending most of your days off together and you having a key to his apartment, it took nearly the entire BAU team, excluding Hotch, holding an intervention of sorts to force you two to address the fact that you clearly liked each other and what you were currently doing, was dating.

That led to an awkward evening back at his apartment, trying to talk things through. You knew Spencer didn’t exactly have a lot of experience with relationships and honestly, you didn’t have a lot of experience with healthy ones. After an excruciating half hour of awkward silence and “well, what do you think?” back and forth, Spencer just took your face in his hands and kissed you.

You’d been officially together since then. Over the past few weeks, the two of you had established a little routine at work. He usually beat you there on nights you didn’t stay with him. He’d grab you both coffee and leave yours at your desk with a little drawing on a sticky note. The little creatures he drew were odd looking and sometimes a bit scary, but you still found yourself storing the sticky notes away in one of the drawers in your desk.

Today, you were running late after an accident on the freeway put you much further behind schedule than you would’ve liked. As you stepped out of the elevator on the sixth floor, you scanned the room for his mop of curly hair, coming up empty.

“Spence isn’t with you?” JJ asked, looking concerned as she hoisted the case files she was carrying higher into her arms.

“No, I stayed home last night because I had to finish some laundry I was putting off. Is he not here?” you tried to ignore the surge of panic that began to flow through you. While it was highly unlikely anything had happened to him, he’d been held captive before. In your line of work, it wasn’t completely off the table. You and JJ locked eyes, slight worry laced in both of your eyes.

“Hotch hasn’t heard from him, I just figured you had,” she said.

“No, I’ll call him now.”

You beelined for the empty conference room before calling your boyfriend. “Y/N?” Spencer croaked, picking up on the fourth ring.

You quickly realized he was sick. After hanging up and reassuring Spencer you’d be there as fast as you could, ignoring his protests that you need to be at work, you found yourself in Hotch’s office.

“Look, we don’t have a case and if we get one, I can be back here, ready to go in twenty minutes flat. It’s just, he doesn’t take care of himself as it is and he’s likely downplaying how sick he really is-” you started off, rambling off excuses.

“Y/L/N,” Hotch said, cutting you off. “It’s fine. Just take your paperwork with you. I’ll have Garcia call you if we get a case, okay?”

“Thank you so much, Sir,” you said, heading back to your desk to grab your things. You didn’t need to take the day off to go take care of your sick boyfriend. However, your boyfriend was rarely sick. In the time that you’ve known him, you’d never seen him sick. Ever. You attributed it to his heightened awareness of the spread of germs and his commitment to handwashing.

----------

On your way back to Spencer’s apartment, you made a quick pit stop at the local grocery store, picking up a few ingredients for your normal go to comfort foods.

You set the bags down when you reached his apartment door, fishing your key out of your bag. You opened the door to find a full sink and no sign of Spencer. You set the groceries on the counter before peeking into his bedroom.

Spencer was dead asleep, curled into the fetal position under his comforter and an additional three throw blankets. His hair was damp and matted on his forehead. There was a tense look on his sleeping face, brows furrowed and frowning. You stepped into the room, moving to situate yourself next to him on the bed. Gently, you brushed a few strands of hair from his forehead. “Y/N?” Spencer mumbled out, not yet opening his eyes. You leaned down to place a soft peck on his forehead, causing him to open his eyes. “I told you not to come,” he said sleepily, trying his best to sound stern.

“As if I wouldn’t. How are you feeling, baby?” you asked, voice still hushed.

“I have a fever. It’s probably the flu. Which means you’re going to get sick too,” he started, propping himself up on his elbows and pulling himself out of your gentle grasp.

You rolled your eyes before climbing all the way onto the bed and guiding him to rest back on your chest. “If I can handle kicking ass on a daily basis, I can handle a measly little cold. Now shut up and let me take care of you.”

Spencer huffed under his breath before settling his head on your chest, right over your heart. You could feel him relax as he listened to the steady pace of your heartbeat, drifting off to a more peaceful sleep. His eyebrows relaxed as you stroked his hair.

----------

You weren’t sure how long you were asleep when you woke up, checking Spencer’s bedside clock to see it had only been about two hours. Instinctively, you checked your phone, making sure you hadn’t missed any calls from Hotch. By some miracle, you had no new notifications. Maybe just this once, the universe would give you a day to take care of your sick boyfriend without having to race off to play hero.

Spencer was fast asleep, his breathing even and slow. You smiled to yourself before slipping out of his bed and resting his hand back against the pillows. You could lay there all day as he slept, but you knew you needed to start cooking now so he’d have something to eat when he finally emerged from his slumber.

Your mother had always made homemade soup when you were sick. It was cheesy as hell, but it was what you knew. So you got to work cutting up the vegetables you brought from the store as you popped the chicken in the over. You hummed to yourself as you cooked, dancing around aimlessly and singing into the butcher knife in your hand.

“Should I be concerned that you use knives as microphones?” Spencer asked, shuffling from his room, wrapped in a blanket. You froze, striking an Elvis pose with your knife as you smiled at him. His voice was less groggy now and he seemed to be a little more awake.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” you imitated Elvis, giggling a bit as you returned to chopping vegetables. “And listen, a girl has to make do with whatever makeshift mic she can find,” you teased, “Are you hungry?”

Spencer scrunched his face just enough for you to sense he still didn’t have an appetite. Regardless, he needed to eat. “I don’t need to be a genius to tell you how important it is that you get nutrients into your body-”

“Yeah, yeah” he grumbled, making his way to a cabinet behind you. He grabbed a sleeve of saltines from the middle shelf before hoisting himself onto the counter next to where you were slicing. “What are you making? It smells good.”

“Chicken soup,”

He hummed in acknowledgement, placing a cracker in his mouth. You smiled to yourself as the two of you sat in silence, you cutting up some celery and him munching on a cracker. You didn’t often get much domestic time together. With your work schedules, you didn’t have a lot of free time to begin with. Mostly, you’d do something quiet and low energy. It was hard to remember the last time you got to just be in each other’s presence while you did normal people things.

“What are you smiling around?” Spencer asked, looking at you inquisitively.

You looked up at him, breaking into a bigger smile. “It’s nice, getting to just be with you on a weekday, making lunch. I’d rather you weren’t sick, of course, but we haven’t had a day off in forever.”

He grinned back at you, taking a moment to brush a strand of hair that escaped your bun behind your ear. “I love you,” he said plainly, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

You’d both said I love you before, but you still felt the same butterflies as the first time he said it. You could’ve stayed like that for the rest of time, reveling in his gaze. However, the oven beeped, letting you know the chicken was done.

“I have to get that,” you whispered out, hating to remove your face from his light touch.

You pulled the chicken from the oven before shooing Spencer out of the kitchen and back into bed, convincing him to get some more rest as you finished the soup.

----------

As you lounged on the sofa with Spencer’s head in your lap later that evening, it dawned on you that Hotch never texted. You actually got a real day off. You stroked Spencer’s hair softly, twirling some of his little curls between your fingers. “What’s that song?” Spencer asked, shifting to look up at you. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, clearly confused. “You’ve been humming something, I don’t recognize it,” he said.

You stopped for a moment, realizing it was the same song your mom used to sing you when you were sick. “I’m not actually sure what it’s called,” you admitted, “My mom used to sing it to me when I was sick. I don’t remember the words anymore, just the melody.”

Spencer nodded in agreement, still staring up at you.

“What?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing, I just love you, that’s all.”

“I love you more.”

He leaned up to give you a quick kiss, his lips far less chapped after you spent the day pumping him full of liquids and hot soup. He laid back on your lap, tuning back into the silly cartoon on the television screen. Your hands found their way back into his hair again, sighing contently.

#criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid #reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #matthewgraygubler

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