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translatemunson · 3 months

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what if all i need is you? • love-struck

chapter eight of love-struck — fic navigation

After months of working in the BAU, you knew cases would arrive at any second. And the inbetween cases were filled with more paperwork and consulting cases.

If a new unsub didn’t decide to show their face during the weekend, Mondays were known to be paperwork days at the BAU. When a case would wrap up on a friday — or even during the weekend —, most reports were left over the tables for when they come back. And when all the paperwork was done, or at least mostly written down and reviewed by Hotch, Tuesdays would be the days where everyone would assist or consult a case — if no unsub decided to act on a Monday.

Most of it would consist in tracing the profiles and helping the local police department with insightful information about motivations or what the unsub could seek or where to strike next. Nothing the BAU team wouldn’t do with their hands behind their backs and eyes closed.

When you walked into the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia that morning, you had a to do list in mind. Your quick steps almost made you fumble over your undone shoelaces, but your balance was always ready to quick in.

Everything was going on through your mind, at a million times a hour. First, you needed to find the perfect gift for your Secret Santa. Second, a Christmas gift for Spence. Both could be solved in a few hours. But you also needed to finish your paperwork — just a report Hotch asked you to fill regarding the last crime scene — and get your thoughts about some FBI case to the corresponding division before 3 PM so you could leave the office early.

But once you’ve found a very dense case on your email, you knew only one thing would get done that day.

You were finishing up some notes from a case the Online Crimes division sent to get a second opinion. You received and reviewed the case as soon as you walked into the sixth floor, and right now you were planning on using Penelope Garcia’s expertise and brain to fill a few gaps your notes left you with.

“I got you some coffee,” Spencer announced as he left your mug beside your free hand. He leaned in closer to you. “What are you working on?”

“Potential murder, certified stalker unsub from the Online Crimes. They asked for some help.” You grabbed the mug and took a few sips. “Thanks, Spence.”

“You’re welcome.” He read a few pages of the file on your tablet screen and the notes scattered on your desk. “Tough case?”

“Very dense. But I’m gonna ask Garcia for some help, I think she might be able to access some places the FBI won’t sneak around, if you know what I mean.” You gathered all the papers together and your tablet. You turned your chair around and threw your head back, making eye contact with Spencer. “Do you need me for something?”

“No, not at all. Just thought you needed some coffee and maybe some help, but you already got things under control.”

Spencer took a step back, creating space for you to get up. You took one last sip of your coffee before doing it, standing so close to him you could smell his perfume.

“Hey, girl genius,” Emily crossed the glass doors of the BAU, “Garcia said she’s ready for you.”

“Great!” You checked if you had everything about the case in your folder. Before you could go to Garcia’s office, Spencer held you by your waist. You got on your tiptoes to reach his face and give him a small kiss on the cheek — screw the PDA warnings. “How about some Indian later? It’s on me,” your phone started ringing and you knew who was texting you. “See ya, love you.”

You were so focused on your assignment that you didn’t stop for the lunch break or notice what was happening around you. As expected, Penelope knew all the ways to fill the blanks you found in the case file, and as an amazing profiler, your job was done just in time to come back to your desk and call the Online Crimes agent. But unfortunately you wouldn’t be able to leave the office to go find the gifts today.

You returned to the BAU bullpen and felt some pair of eyes on your back. Spencer was missing, but that didn’t alarm you since sometimes he would be somewhere else, or just at Derek’s office, discussing a case or just annoying his coworker. As soon as your body hit the chair, Emily glared at you from her table, the classic Cheshire Cat smile taking over her face.

“What’s up, Prentiss?”

“Nothing.” You raised an eyebrow, not convinced. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“Not at all. But you’ll tell me what’s on your mind later. Right now I need to call Agent Williams.” You dismissed the conversation quickly, grabbing your cell phone and typing the Agent’s number.

You explained to Agent Williams your professional opinion and the gaps Penelope helped you with, answering all their questions and making small adjustments on profile. They promised to let you know once they got the creep behind bars, you encouraged them to call if more details emerged.

Emily was gone, but Spencer was back. You grabbed your water bottle and walked to his desk, leaning on it to get his attention. However he was too absorbed in his files to notice you.

“Spence?” You gently touched his arm. You got his attention, but behind his eye you could tell his mind was elsewhere. “You ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, just,” he pointed to the files. “Time to go?”

“Not yet. JJ just asked me to help her with the party decor, so I’ll be over there,” you pointed to the round table room.

“Ok.”

“Promise I won’t take too long,” you messed with his hair before walking up the stairs to the room.

JJ was full of good ideas, and she used your brain to coordinate the places, colors and everything concerning the decor of her house. In the end, she decided on a more cozy looking dinner than anything fancy — you could already hear Rossi talking that you should host it next time at his place because he would take care of everything.

And you were back to the bullpen, Spence nowhere to be seen and the clock ticking and telling you to go home. Your steps led you to Morgan’s office just to find him leaving it.

“Hey, did you see Spence?” you asked and followed him closely.

“Not after he left my office, why?”

“Oh, nothing. He’s probably talking to Penny or Rossi.”

Morgan held the door open for you, and grabbed your arm before you could go to their offices.

“You have no clue, have you?”

“About what?” You bit your lip, waiting for Morgan to spill. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Morgan. I really don't. Did I screw up one of my reports?”

“Pumpkin, do you remember what you said to Reid today?”

“I promised him some Indian after work.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “We spoke so little today, I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Derek.”

“You probably slashed his IQ forever when you said you love him in front of the whole office.”

Your eyes grew wide, and your mouth popped open. You said it and didn’t even notice. It slipped out of your lips as the most natural thing… because it was, you loved Spencer and wanted to tell him every chance you got. But you were holding back so your actions wouldn’t rush him to do the same.

“Looks like her IQ was also slashed,” Emily joined the conversation. You looked at her, offended. “What? Everyone thought he would be used to your ‘i love you’s by now, but the way he blushed when you left… opposite, you know?”

“Do you know how much I hate working with profilers?”

“We know. How could you not notice him being antsy all day? And everyone noticed when you left, Spencer looked like he was about to blow up!” Emily added.

“You’re making me feel terrible. Do any of you know where he is? I’m not joking, I need to avoid the boy genius meltdown.”

“I think he’s playing some chess with Rossi,” JJ interrupts the conversation, and you all face her. “What? When the three of you are together, I know who you’re talking about.”

“Thanks, JJ!”

You ran up the stairs, knocked Rossi’s door and waited for the “Come in!” You found Reid very absorbed in the chess game, and Rossi was telling him about some old case Gideon, Spencer’s old mentor, had solved when the BAU was still a baby.

“I’d hate to interrupt your game, but I made a promise to this guy,” you pointed towards Spencer. “I’m gonna pack my stuff and meet you at the elevators in five.”

And you did as you said. You couldn’t avoid staring at Rossi’s door to see if Spencer was finally victorious in his game. People were leaving the office, and you tried to stay still next to the elevators. Emily gave you two thumbs up, Derek smiled, JJ whispered “Everything’s gonna be fine”. How could you work with the most amazing and annoying people in the world?

“Sorry, I ended up needing two extra moves to check,” Spencer fixed his satchel bag before pressing the button. “So, Indian?”

“Spence.” The doors opened and you entered the metallic box. You pressed the lobby button. You stayed side by side.

“I never thought Rossi would be a challenger at chess. It’s like he absorbed all the strategies from years playing with Gideon, stored them in a box just to find it decades later.”

“Spencer.”

“Actually, you should play with him sometime. It’s better than playing with a machine, and you can practice dealing with outside distractions.”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

You pulled him from his avoidant talk with a bang. You felt guilty, but you needed to get this thing out of your chest before you exploded.

“We need to talk.”

Spencer got closer to you, shielding you from whoever may come through those doors. He could see you thinking too much about everything — and the first biggest miscommunication, he’d take things careful. Yes, he tried to avoid it for as long as he could, but he also knew you

“I know what I said earlier, and I wanted to say it for so long, and I’m sorry I just said it.” You started to play with the hen of your cardigan, with the buttons of your coat. Now you were the one avoiding him, fearing that you fucked everything up. “I don’t expect you to say it like that, so please don’t hate me or feel pressured to do the same. And I definitely do not regret it because I love you. But it’s ok if you-”

Spencer held your face carefully and threw his lips against yours, faster than your brain could process. It didn’t last long, with the elevator indicating that you were on the parking floor.

“You’re pretty when you start to ramble. And I could never hate you, because I love you”, he held your hand. You stepped outside of the metallic shell and, as you headed towards your car, Spence said “Now can we go grab the Indian and head home? I wanna teach you this new chess strategy!”

“Sure, Spence.”

a/n: first of all: NEW WALLPAPER FOR GIRLGENIUS! sorry for taking too long! i had a few health issues the past few weeks and it delayed the chapter! but i did my best and made it very special! hope you guys like it! shout out to my partner in crime @munsonsreputation love you kay baby!

tag list (lmk if you wanna be tagged on future updates!): @live-love-be-unique @kenseverything

next chapter: let me keep you company

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds au #social media au #spencer reid au #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #effie edits #lovestruck

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maccreadysbaby · 5 months

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A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

a little bentley + tim and bentley + damian action ain’t never killed nobody (seriously dami and bentley might be my favorite pair to write atm)

part two

❝ METAHUMAN PROBLEMS ❞

MONDAY — JULY 27 — 9:46PM

BENTLEY PADDED BACK DOWN TO THE BATCAVE WITH PUPPY-DOG-EYES AND PUPPETEER CHARM AT THE READY TO ASK TIM FOR HELP WITH THE PHONE. He was in a Red Robin t-shirt and pajama pants that used to be Tim’s (just for good measure), and his red hair was floppy and wet from his shower, to assure maximum cuteness. Getting Tim away from that computer was more a job for, like, Batman himself than Bentley, but he didn’t intend to fail.

It was pitch black outside now, and Dick had left for Bludhaven a few hours ago. Jason hadn’t been at the Manor for the past couple days, Duke was out with Steph and Cass doing some community service or something for school, Damian was in the training room, and Bentley had a solid excuse for needing Tim’s help.

He walked into the Batcave with the phone clasped ever-so-tightly between his hands to ensure its safety. Damian was still in the training room, now throwing knives at a dummy. Bentley saw him land five square in the dummy’s chest in a span of three seconds through the windows.

Tim was still at the computer. There was a fourth cup of coffee there now, steaming next to him like Alfred had just brought it down. The papers had been shuffled around, and it looked like more had been added to the massive pile. There were a bunch of files pulled up all over the Batcomputer with information and photos of villains they’d fought recently. Tim was staring between the screen and pages like he had been the whole time.

Bentley drifted up to the left side of Tim’s chair, glancing between all the different villain faces on the screen. “Hey.”

Tim didn’t even glance up from his papers. “Hey, Bentley.”

Bentley stood there for a moment, reading some of the information on the screen before he continued: “Whatcha working on?”

Tim hummed, flipping a paper over. “There’s been a massive influx of new metahuman villains in and around Gotham. I’m trying to find whether or not they’re coming from the same place. Maybe working for the same person,” He muttered, then tapped a key on the Batcomputer. All of the villain photos went away, and civilians replaced them. “And I’m looking into the disappearance of several different Gotham citizens that have vanished over the past month. All completely gone without a trace.”

Bentley’s eyes flicked across the screen. Being a Metahuman meant all these supervillains had literal superpowers — no wonder patrol had been tougher than usual recently. “Do you think they could be-“

“No,” Tim shook his head. “Metahumans are all born or endowed with the same genetic traits. None of the missing people have them.”

“How do you know?” Bentley murmured, leaning closer.

Tim shrugged. “Medical files, military history, school records. We have access to a lot of stuff here, and none of them have the genetic information of a metahuman. So I’m working with two completely unrelated, very strange occurrences.”

Bentley hummed again. “Guess what?”

Tim finally glanced over at him, and Bentley nearly frowned at how tired his eyes looked. “What?”

“Bruce got me a phone,” He stated, holding the little green device up so Tim could see it. “I was gonna ask if you would help me set it up.”

Tim rubbed his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb. “Did Dick already go home?”

“Yeah. And Duke is still gone. Bruce said you’d be way better help than him,” Bentley explained quietly. “Please? I don’t think it’ll take super long.”

“Why don’t you ask Damian?”

Bentley glanced up, past Tim, into the training room just in time to see Damian throw a knife at the dummy so hard the blade came out the back of its head.

Bentley screwed his face up, and Tim chuckled. “Yeah, me too,” He sucked in a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, you got me. Just tell Bruce to be a bit more stealthy in his attempts to make me come upstairs next time. He is the Batman, after all.”

Bentley nodded sheepishly, and Tim pushed the chair out from under the desk and stretched his legs. He grabbed the coffee mug and chugged the whole thing in just a few seconds. “You might want to plug it up for a few minutes before we start messing with it. Where’s the charger?”

“In my room,”

“Brilliant. I guess that’s our next stop,” He stated. He stood up and scooped Bentley off the floor, who squeaked in surprise. Thankfully the death grip he had on his phone didn’t let up as Tim lifted him up to sit on his shoulders.

“What are you doing?!” He exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Tim’s neck tightly from behind so he wouldn’t fall off backwards.

“You don’t have to choke me, I’m not gonna drop you,” He stated. He was holding onto Bentley’s legs but it didn’t feel secure in the slightest.

Bentley loosened his arms. A little. “Sorry.”

“No worries,”

Bentley glanced back at the training room just in time to see Damian throw a knife. It missed.

Damian never misses.

He didn’t get to watch any longer, though, because Tim made for the stairs and Bentley had no choice but to go with him. He had to duck under all the doorways back into the Manor, and going up the stairs was borderline terrifying, but they made it to his room without any casualties. Tim dropped him backwards on the bed with a flop.

“Okay, let’s see what this thing can do,” He stated, plopping down next to Bentley on the mattress. He’d already plugged the wire into the wall earlier, and he plugged the phone into it. It was just long enough to reach the mattress without being too tight.

They shimmied up to the headboard and stared at the screen for probably a couple hours. Tim handled all the fancy stuff, like setting up the memory and an email address and fiddling with the settings. He organized his Home Screen nicely and taught him how to use the most important apps. (Which just ended up being messages, making calls, the camera, Google, and maps.)

Then he gave it to Bentley and let him download cool games and other stuff. (Even games he had to buy, which he’d been hesitant about, but Tim assured him it was okay.) He made sure to sit extra close to him and sort of use him as a pillow so he couldn’t move.

By the time they had actually finished, Bentley was playing a game called subway surfers, and Tim was asleep in a strange little ball next to him.

Mission success.

After he was sure Tim was sleeping, he wiggled out of the comforter and climbed out of bed. He left his phone on the nightstand and flicked his bedroom lights off, leaving the bathroom ones on for a little visibility, and closed the door softly as he returned to the hallway.

The Manor was quiet now. Damian’s bedroom door was still open, which meant he wasn’t inside. Duke, Cass, and Steph hadn’t returned, because Bentley would definitely be able to hear them, and he wasn’t sure where Bruce was. So he floated back down to the cave to check if Damian was still there.

He was. Bentley could hear the knives landing before he even turned the corner to see the training room. It was nearly ten, which meant they’d be leaving for patrol sooner rather than later.

Damian was doing the same thing he’d been doing for hours — sticking knives to the dummy. He didn’t even look up when Bentley entered the room, just threw the final knife in his hand, and it landed in the artificial man’s face with a dull thud.

The knife was still planted in the padded wall where he’d missed earlier.

Bentley, satisfied that Damian didn’t have any knives left, drifted over to the one sticking out of the wall. “Damian?”

“Yes?”

Bentley carefully grabbed the hilt of the knife and pulled it out of the wall, blinking at his own reflection in the blade. “Are you okay?”

The quiet thumps of Damian pulling the rest of his knives out of the dummy made Bentley turn. He watched him rhythmically wiggle the hilts up and down until they shimmied out.

“I am fine. I have no reason not to be,” Damian replied flatly. Bentley took a few steps forward and handed him the knife (hilt first, like Jason had taught him in the kitchen) and Damian took it. He momentarily thought about reminding him that last time he told Bentley he was fine he ended up passing out cold in the floor of the library. But Damian was holding about eight knives and he didn’t want to bother him about it.

“Are you sure?” Was what he said instead.

“Positive,” He replied.

Bentley hummed, moving off to the side incase Damian was going to throw them again. To his surprise, the assassin grabbed a little fabric holder off of the bench and began putting them away.

“Are you nervous for patrol? Dick told me it’s been harder lately, with all the new villains popping up,” Bentley tried again.

He thought he might’ve heard Damian scoff. “Tt. Of course not.”

So he decided it was time to stop talking about it. He drummed his fingers on his pajama pants and stood in silence for a few moments as Damian strapped the knives into place.

“Do you think you could teach me how to do that?” He finally muttered. Damian glanced over at him, his greenish eyes dancing across his face for a moment.

“Throw knives?”

Bentley shrugged. “Yeah. I think it’s pretty cool.”

Damian blinked for a moment, folding up the little fabric knife holder. “I can attempt. I was young when I learned — I do not remember all of the specific instructions. I simply know how to do it.”

Before Bentley could think better of it, he inquired: “How young?”

Damian slid the pack of knives away in a large rack used for storing their practice weapons. “Four or five, I believe.”

Bentley said nothing. He could hardly dress himself when he was four, and Damian was already learning how to throw knives in combat?

He had lots of questions about the League of Assassins, but he decided it would be best not to ask them. Maybe Jason would answer a few. He was older when he was in the League, after all, and wasn’t born into it. He didn’t know how differently his and Damian’s experiences had been. Maybe he’d just keep the questions to himself, actually.

“Todd might be a better teacher than me,” Damian continued with a quiet sigh. “But I will teach you if you’d like me to.”

Bentley nodded. “I would.”

Damian made his way to the dummy and began moving it back into the corner near the rack. “Looks like you managed to get Drake away from the Batcomputer. That’s not an easy feat, given his extraordinary amount of stubbornness when it comes to staring at that screen.”

Bentley snickered a little. “I basically had to lay across him to make him stay still enough to go to sleep, but yeah. He’s in my room.”

Damian made a tt again. “He seems to like you.”

Bentley blinked a couple of times, unsure how to respond. He’d been living in the house Tim spent most of his time in for about ten months now, literally right across the hall, so he’d hope he liked him.

“Yeah,” Is all Bentley said. He had no clue where Damian was going with that, but apparently neither did he, because he didn’t say anything else about it.

“Are you going to see if Gordon will let you sit in on patrol tonight?” He asked as he positioned the dummy next to the others and gathered his water and phone off the bench. Bentley shrugged.

“Probably. I really like to listen,” He replied. Damian hummed in response.

They fell silent again for a few moments. Bentley had no clue what to talk about. Apparently Damian didn’t either. So Bentley just dragged himself back up the stairs with him, not entirely convinced he was fine, but staying quiet nonetheless.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

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swan-of-sunrise · 8 months

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The Armistice (Tales From The SSR)

Summary: During a standard evening of work focusing on their secret investigation into Michael Carter’s file, Jack and (Y/N) clash before ultimately coming to a mutual understanding (Chapter 5 of Specs and the Flyboy in Jack’s POV)

Pairing: Jack Thompson X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Originally, I only intended on rewriting a portion of Chapter 5 but I got a little carried away and rewrote the entire thing from Jack’s POV lol to be fair, this chapter is such an interesting turning point for both characters, so I really couldn’t resist! Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

The Armistice October 1947 West Coast Strategic Scientific Reserve, Los Angeles (Previous One-Shot)

With an exaggerated yawn, Jack stretched the aching muscles in his arms and glanced down at his wristwatch. “Hey, Sousa, I think I’m gonna head out a few minutes early.”

Daniel looked up from the paperwork he was signing with a small knowing smile. “On a Friday? Let me guess, you finally decided to make the most of your time in Los Angeles and by some strange miracle snagged yourself a date?”

“Nope,” Jack replied, standing and crossing the chief’s office to retrieve his jacket from the corner coat rack. “Today just took a lot out of me and I’m lookin’ forward to having a nice, long nap out by Stark’s pool.”

“Yeah, sitting around doing nothin’ but whining about our new codebreaker must’ve really exhausted you.” The chief’s voice was dripping with sarcasm but his dark eyes glimmered with amusement as he gave him a small wave. “I’ll see you bright and early on Monday, Thompson.”

After wishing Daniel a good weekend, Jack walked out of the chief’s office and through the bullpen as the other agents prepared to leave; he passed by Agent (Y/L/N)’s overly-cluttered desk and bit back a smirk of amusement at the sight of the codebreaker struggling to shove a handful of files into her disorganized briefcase, taking a small amount of pleasure in her annoyance before their scheduled meeting and the closeness they’d be forced to endure for the next several hours. He left the Auerbach Theatrical Agency and strolled down the street to lean against a lamppost and wait for his reluctant partner to emerge. When she finally did, he heaved a sigh of exasperation when he saw how stiff her posture was and the way her fingers of her free hand twitched against her skirt as she furtively glanced around at the other pedestrians on the sidewalk; (Y/L/N) may be a decent codebreaker but she’s got a lot to learn about espionage, he thought to himself, shaking his head and waiting for her to get into her emerald-green Fleetmaster before pushing himself off the lamppost.

“You know, it’s a good thing you’re decent at codebreaking, Specs, ‘cause you’d make a pretty shit spy.” Jack smirked as he got into the passenger seat of her car and adjusted his fedora. “You fidget too much.”

Predictably, (Y/N) pursed her lips and rolled her eyes in annoyance at his critique. “Hello to you too, Flyboy. I think I’m closer to cracking the first code on page three, but I need to take a glance at some of my translation journals; Peggy kept stopping by my desk to talk, so I didn’t get as much done as I wanted to today.” She pulled away from the curb and began driving down the bustling Los Angeles street. “Did you find anything on Michael yet?”

“While Sousa was out getting lunch, I finally got into contact with my buddy Jeff in D.C. and he confirmed that both the British Armed Forces and the SOE listed him as MIA. I also got those files I requested last week from London, so we can take a look at ‘em over dinner.” He felt a surge of annoyance as he thought about the diner they’d been forced to conduct their secret investigation out of and before he could stop himself, he huffed out an agitated breath and demanded, “Explain to me again why we can’t do all this back at your place?”

“Because, my building manager doesn’t allow men on the premises. And we can’t do it at yours because Jarvis’ll tell Peg about it in a heartbeat, so we’ll just have to make-do with the diner until we find a new place.”

While (Y/N) pointedly ignored him in favor of focusing on the road ahead, Jack’s jaw clenched in agitation and kept himself occupied with one of the files, skimming over Michael Carter’s brief but distinguished service record and biting his lip as he pondered the typed ‘MIA’ notice at the bottom of the last page. They parked down the street from her apartment building and walked down the sidewalk together to the diner but when they reached the front entrance, there was a sign posted onto the door stating that they were closed due to a family emergency.

“Dammit,” Jack swore to himself and turned to face (Y/N) with his hands on his hips. “What now?”

The codebreaker looked about as exasperated as Jack felt, exhaling through her nose and tapping the toe of her high-heel against the pavement in indecision before releasing an agitated sigh. “All right, we’ll go to my place but you need to follow my instructions to the letter. If we get caught, I’ll be homeless and your ass’ll be grass, got it?”

Jack flashed her an amused smirk, thoroughly entertained by the situation unfolding before them. “Understood. Do you have a plan or do I need to come up with one myself?”

“No, it’s okay, I wouldn’t want you to overwork yourself or anything,” (Y/N) shot back and his jaw clenched tight in annoyance. “There’s a fire escape on the side of my apartment building, climb up to the second story and open the window but be careful, the hinges are a little rusty. Once you’re in, don’t make any sound until I can switch on my radio to mask our voices and don’t touch anything.”

After promising to follow her lead, Jack made his way around the back of the apartment building and checked to make sure that no one was watching before climbing up the rickety fire escape; she just has to live in a women-only apartment building, he inwardly grumbled as he crouched down and nudged the second-story window open, I feel like a goddamn creep. He was halfway into (Y/N)’s apartment when the door unlocked and the codebreaker stepped through the doorway, but the both of them froze when they heard the muffled voice of an older woman calling (Y/N)’s last name.

“Miss (Y/L/N)!”

(Y/N) shot Jack a panicked look but kicked into action after he gestured for her to hurry up, hastily stepping back out into the hallway and shutting the door behind her; Jack, taking advantage of the brief distraction, jumped into the apartment and crossed the room in three long strides to the wardrobe. “Jesus, this is low even for you…” Jack grumbled to himself before climbing up into the wardrobe and closing the door, a light blush reluctantly blossoming across his face when he realized that several pastel-colored satin nightgowns were brushing up against his arm. Awkwardly pushing the hangars further down the wardrobe’s bar, Jack forced himself to pay attention to the conversation happening out in the hallway.

“Yes, Mrs. Espinoza?”

“You’re home early, Miss (Y/L/N). Are you alone?”

“Of course, Mrs. Espinoza; I’m not feeling too well, so they sent me home a couple of hours early. I didn’t want Mr. Auerbach seeing me look so peaky.” Jack’s brows shot up in surprise as she continued. “He deserves to have a secretary who looks her best, wouldn’t you say?”

Mrs. Espinoza fell right into (Y/N)’s cleverly-concocted trap, the tone of her voice shifting from suspicion to motherly concern in an instant. “Yes, of course, dear! You go right to bed, you hear me?”

When Jack was sure that the landlady had walked away and heard (Y/N) reenter her apartment, he stepped out of the wardrobe and smirked at the frazzled expression on the codebreaker’s face. “I can’t believe she bought that load of crap; ‘He deserves to have a secretary who looks her best’?”

(Y/N) reluctantly smiled at his near-perfect imitation of her voice. “She’s not exactly the brightest bulb in the bunch, is she? But she’s a hell of a force to be reckoned with if she catches you.” After double checking that the door was locked, she crossed the small living room and switched on the radio, tuning it until she landed on a lively swing number and cranking the volume up. “That should mask our voices, but try not to make too much noise.”

Jack joined her at the small kitchen table and the pair quickly dove into their work; (Y/N)’s many codebooks were spread out before her and the tip of her pencil scribbled across the notepad as she worked through the codes written in Michael Carter’s original file, her reading glasses slipping down her nose and her brow furrowed in deep concentration, and Jack skimmed through the stack of files he’d requested from London. He occasionally read certain sections of the files aloud not just for the codebreaker’s benefit, but to distract himself from the feeling of awkwardness that started to grow the moment he realized that it was the first time they’d been completely alone with one another since their volatile fight several weeks back. Although they’d both said some horrible things to one another, even he had to admit that he might’ve crossed the line one or two times; in an ironic twist of fate, however, Jack discovered as their evening progressed that the only other thing that helped him keep his mind off the unresolved tension was nitpicking the messy state of his reluctant partner’s apartment.

“Geez, they didn’t teach you SSR operatives how to clean during the war?” Jack whistled low as he surveyed the cluttered coffee table, the clothes flung haphazardly over the changing screen in the corner and the dirty dishes piled high in the kitchen sink, and he quietly snickered when (Y/N) clenched her jaw but remained silent as she diligently worked through another code. “The Navy would’ve chewed you guys up before you could say ‘specs.’” The grumbling of his own stomach spurred him to leave the disorderly table and look for something to eat in the kitchen; unfortunately, the refrigerator was empty save for a half-empty bottle of milk and a block of butter. “You got any food in this joint?”

“Nothing that’s cooked; my neighbor down the hall sometimes comes in and cooks dinners for the week in exchange for hair styling lessons, but she’s been busy visiting her grandfather in the hospital.” Jack smirked in triumph as he closed the refrigerator door and met (Y/N)’s confused gaze across the room. “What?”

“Finally, something I can do that you can’t, Specs.” Chuckling, Jack retrieved the ingredients he needed to make a quick spaghetti dinner from her half-stocked pantry and explained, “My ma taught me when I was a kid; she always said that the women in my life would have better things to do than slave away in the kitchen for me.”

(Y/N)’s brow arched in surprise and while Jack switched on her stove to boil a pot of water, a reluctant smile played across her lips. “…Your ma’s a smart lady.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, with (Y/N) working through the codes in Michael’s file and Jack preparing dinner with one hand while flicking through the remaining files he’d requested with the other. A part of him hated the surge of satisfaction he experienced when the codebreaker praised his cooking and finished her dinner in record time, but he couldn’t deny that it felt good to take someone as intelligent and equally-judgmental as (Y/N) by surprise; he also hated to admit that the two of them – despite their clashing personalities and general dislike of one another – worked incredibly well with one another. Who’da thought that the dame who threatened to shoot me not too long ago would voluntarily sneak me into her apartment and sit down for a spaghetti dinner, Jack thought with an inward snicker as he flipped over the page of the file he was reading through.

“I’ve got it!”

At (Y/N)’s exclamation, Jack quickly looked up to see the codebreaker’s triumphant grin and the scribble-filled sheet of paper in her hand. “You cracked it?”

“The first code’s a name and address! Aaron Templeton, 68452 Ashbury Way, Los Angeles, California.” She removed her reading glasses and while she was busy considering the decoded address, she didn’t notice Jack standing and donning his jacket. “That’s near the docks, so it’s probably a warehouse. Maybe there’s a-wait, what are you doing?”

“I’m gonna go check out that address,” Jack nonchalantly replied as he scooped up his files.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it!” In an instant, the codebreaker was standing between him and the open window with her arms tightly crossed over her chest. “I’m going with you.”

Jack let out a dismissive snort. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am!” Impatient, Jack tried to move past her but she quickly blocked his way again. “You seriously think it’s a good idea to go in there without backup?”

“’Course not, but I’d rather go in without backup than have you getting in my way and screwing everything up.”

The codebreaker’s (Y/E/C) eyes narrowed in anger. “Need I remind you that I’ve also been trained to go on missions?”

“So has Samberly, what’s your point?”

“My point is that I can help you, but you’re too much of a stubborn ass to admit that I’m anything more than a codebreaker!”

A sudden knock on the apartment door cut through the tension and both Jack and (Y/N) blanched when a woman’s voice called out, “You okay, (Y/N)? I thought I heard voices!”

“I-I was just listening to a radio program, Shelly, I’m sorry if the noise disturbed you!” (Y/N) lied, wincing at the overly-cheerful tone present in her voice and shooting Jack a glare when he stifled an exasperated sigh. “I’ll be sure to turn it down!”

Both waited with bated breath for the woman to reply. “Okay!”

When her footsteps faded away as she walked down the hall to her own apartment, (Y/N) turned back to face Jack with her jaw set in stubborn determination. “Like it or not, Flyboy, I’m the best and only help you’ve got. If you don’t want it, then good luck finding another codebreaker.”

Jack gritted his teeth in irritation as the truth of her words started to set in. He’d spent weeks trying to find someone who could decode Michael Carter’s secret messages until he finally broke down and was forced to approach (Y/N); as much as she annoyed the living daylights out of him, her expertise in the field of codebreaking was simply unparalleled and finding a codebreaker as skilled as her would be hell for him. Heaving a displeased sigh, Jack eventually gave her a sharp nod. “Fine. You can come but you follow my lead, got it?”

The codebreaker let out a snort of derision and raised her hand up to her temple to give him a sarcastic salute. “Yes, sir, Lieutenant Junior Grade, sir.”

“Okay then, smart-ass, let’s get going…” Pushing past her, Jack opened the apartment window and stepped out onto fire escape, but his frown deepened when he realized that (Y/N) was following him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I gave Mrs. Espinoza that cockamamie story about being sick, remember? I can’t just waltz down there and pretend to suddenly feel better, now, can I?” After slipping her coat on, (Y/N) thrust her clutch purse into Jack’s arms and hiked her skirt up so that she could climb out onto the fire escape, unintentionally giving him a good look at her stocking-clad legs and causing him to hastily look away before she could catch a glimpse of his appreciative expression. She smoothed out the wrinkles of her skirt and took her clutch back from him before giving him an expectant look. “You wanted to lead the way, so lead the way.”

Jack pursed his lips and threw her a glare as he started to climb down the rickety fire escape. This is gonna be a long goddamn night, he inwardly grumbled to himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive across downtown to the docks was relatively quiet, with Jack observing the glitzy nightlife going on at the various restaurants, bars and dancing clubs they passed by and (Y/N) focusing on navigating the hectic and never-ending Los Angeles traffic. She parked the emerald-green Fleetmaster a handful of blocks away from the address she’d decoded and after ensuring that their weapons were loaded, they got out and traveled the rest of the way on foot; the dimly-lit streets were deserted, but Jack remained on edge just in case they were unknowingly walking into some sort of lair or trap, his eyes scanning the rooftops and windows of the buildings surrounding them for any sharpshooters.

“Do you respect Peggy Carter?”

Jack halted and looked over at (Y/N) in perplexity. “Yeah? Why’re you asking?”

“Humor me for a moment, please.” He watched in growing confusion as the codebreaker squared her shoulders and continued. “Since our respect for Peggy Carter is the one thing we can agree on, I propose a truce. We work on this case as partners, equal in every aspect of the investigation, and we put aside our personal gripes with one another in order to successfully solve the case for her. Once we accomplish that, you’ll return to New York and we’ll never have to see one another again for the rest of our lives.” She held her hand out for him to shake and his brows shot up in surprise. “Do we have a deal, Chief Thompson?”

Jack hesitated for a moment before giving her hand the briefest of shakes; a mutual armistice was the logical resolution to all the unresolved tension between them, and he couldn’t help but feel gratitude that he didn’t have to be the one to call for a truce first. “It’s a deal, Agent (Y/L/N).” Awkwardly clearing his throat, Jack dropped her hand and turned to look at the building directly ahead of them that bore the address his partner had decoded earlier that evening. “All the windows on the north side are boarded up, looks like the fire escapes are a little worse for wear, too. I’ll take the left, you take the right; look for some kind of entrance we can use to get in.” He glanced down at the clutch in (Y/N)’s hand and inwardly winced as he recalled a not-so-distant memory of the codebreaker pulling the gun that was hidden within it on him. “Might wanna get that gun of yours out, too.”

With his revolver clutched in his hand, Jack tiptoed along the left side of the building and his senses were on high alert for any suspicious activity nearby. A blurry shape darted across the sidewalk in front of him and caused him to raise his weapon, quickly lowering it and releasing a huff of annoyance when he realized that it was only a storm-grey cat; I’m more out of practice than I thought, Jack silently admitted as he squared his shoulders and rounded the corner to see (Y/N) standing near a partially ajar door. He reached the codebreaker in three long strides and raised his revolver at the ready, darting into the building as soon as she flung the door open and proceeding to check each of the building’s four floors for any potential signs of danger. “All clear,” Jack announced as he stepped out onto the first-floor landing and tucked his revolver back into his holster. “Looks like this Aaron Templeton guy’s not home.”

“In that case, we should be quick.” (Y/N) slipped her gun into her clutch and looked around the dilapidated first floor. “You take the top two floors and I’ll take the bottom two; if you find anything, just holler for me.”

Jack silently nodded before making his way back up the staircase to look for any clues; the building was comprised of rotting wood and rusted pipes that leaked steady drips of dirty water onto the run-down furniture, and after searching the fourth floor, he started to wonder if the coded address had less meaning than they both attached to it. He stepped into one of the third-floor bedrooms, wrinkling his nose at the mold-coated mattress and the smell of dank mildew wafting up from the drenched carpet, but a crate sitting on the desk by the boarded-up window gave him pause and he cautiously approached it. It looked like any number of standard wooden crates, but Jack frowned when he spotted the familiar symbol – a rearing house surrounded by vines – that was neatly etched onto its lid. “Up here, (Y/L/N)!” He waited until the codebreaker appeared at the doorway before continuing. “I think I found something you might recognize.”

(Y/N) quirked a brow at that, but she carefully stepped over piles of debris to join him on the other side of the room; a look of recognition crossed her features as she studied the symbol. “The bank robbery; this was the symbol that was etched onto that device we took custody of a few weeks back. Chief Sousa closed the case the other day, said there was a lack of evidence and credible witnesses to justify keeping it open.” The codebreaker glanced back up at him. “You don’t think…?”

“Yeah, I do.” Jack pointed to the scrap of paper that sat on the desk beside the empty crate. “The time and date of the robbery, along with the bank’s street address. It looks like we might’ve just found the home of one of our bank robbers.”

(Y/N) nodded in agreement. “In that case, we need to take another look at that case and we need someone to re-examine the device.” Her finger gently traced the etching as she sighed, masking the troubled look in her (Y/E/C) eyes with a forced smile. “Unfortunately, I have just the man in mind…”

Recalling what he’d seen in the codebreaker’s file, Jack groaned and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Goddammit. Just once, I’d like to work a case without the involvement of Howard Stark.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: It’s fun writing Asshole Jack Thompson knowing where he ends up in terms of Specs lol thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new one-shot! Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0iKzLZlEK1rTaSIiW5zRlk?si=483950cfa991442a

“Tales From The SSR” Masterlist

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up @hufflefluffy @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @coffeeandcrimeshows @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @fannyspammy @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @nincompoopydoo @seeing-but-not-observing @supervoldejaygent @momc95 @brooke0297 @kinda-c0nfused @outoftheregular @mads-weasley @mostclevermiss @crowleysqueenofhell @groovyqueer @xxruinaxxmcu

#tales from the ssr #specs and the flyboy #jack thompson x reader #jack thompson x f!reader #jack thompson #chief thompson #peggy carter #agent carter #daniel sousa #chief sousa #howard stark #edwin jarvis #ana jarvis #rose roberts #michael carter #strategic scientific reserve #marvel cinematic universe

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itsaash · 9 months

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O'Knutzy Week! Prompt: cooking mishap

I'll be posting parts of the same story each day this week! It's a cubs au where Finn's spending the summer at his parent's house in the Hamptons and Leo is their private chef. Established LeLo. Characters by @lumosinlove and parts of this were written by the incomparable @allhalloweve (specifically most the flashback cooking scene is by them, and the last few lines, and some more scattered in there too 💗)

Part 1 here

for @oknutzyweek2023

Part 2

Leo travelled home that Monday morning with his heart fluttering. He felt pulled to get home to Logan, their summer days in the city together were as sweet as the tea that accompanied them throughout the hot sticky days in Brooklyn.

But his mind also drifted over the past few weekends with Finn. Finn usually worked on his laptop, but sometimes had pages printed out, marked up with an indecipherable code of color pens. Leo had laughed with his full chest when he sat down and pulled the same pens out of his own bag to write his grocery lists and meal plans for the next weekend. They had shared the space and shared their pens, and even if Leo was no closer to understanding when Finn used the violet or the sage green, he could admit they were sharing something special. Friendship, of course.

Leo was so happy with Logan, they had been joined at the hip and the heart since Logan had attempted an evening cooking class that Leo had been teaching.

Logan was, quite possibly, the worst cook Leo had ever seen. He was hesitant to trust the man with anything sharper than a cutting board. Not for lack of competence–no, Logan was brilliantly smart with wit to match–but rather a complete inability to cook more than an egg. Even that was risky on occasion.

But bless his heart, Logan had the most refined palette Leo ever had the pleasure of finding. Despite not being able to find his way around a recipe with a flashlight and a map, Logan could taste a dish and know in a moment what it needed—not just salt or pepper, either. It needs spice, he had said the very first time Leo let him breathe near the industrial ovens, rummaging in the spice racks. It needs…this. This smells right.

The ensuing mac and cheese had tasted just as good as any Leo had eaten in a restaurant, yet came from the hands of a man who had nearly dropped a mallet on his foot mere minutes before. Leo’s plan had been a tenderised cut of beef, to be seared and then baked, teaching skills in basting, marinades, testing temperatures, and plating. This plan had been officially abandoned after the incident with the mallet. And the pan that may never recover. And better not to mention the smell.

When Leo switched his intention from ‘cooking lesson’ to ‘let’s just feed this adorable, wrecking ball of a man’, this glorious mac and cheese had unfolded. They had shared the dish over stainless steel counters while purposefully ignoring the mess that Leo was unreasonably glad wasn’t in his own home, in favour of enjoying their food and each other. They had been the only people left in the building, and Leo was gone on him. Logan spent half an hour rambling about the spice and silk trade of the 14th century—Leo spent half an hour admiring his bright eyes and soft mouth. Three years later, he had come to love those eyes more than anything.

Leo stepped off the train while the sweet memories swirled around his mind, and began the short walk home to their apartment, ready to try a new recipe that had also been percolating. He sent Logan a text letting him know he was home, and Logan responded.

Leo ☀️ I’m off the train now, loveLo. Home soon. Going to make a recipe i saw, like a apricot tart

Logan💚Ok i’ll be home soon, love. Just at the library. Can’t wait to get my mouth on you it

Leo ☀️ mmm but which first?

Logan💚 You, obviously. xxx

Leo smiled to himself and set to unpacking and prepping the veggies for dinner and dessert. He fully planned on allowing himself to be interrupted when Logan got home.

Steam sizzled on the stove and Leo turned the burner off, the kitchenaid joining music as the background noise wafting through their apartment. A warm chest pressed up against his back, bare rather than hidden beneath a carefully-ironed button down.

“Hi Tremzy,” Leo sighed, letting his head drop back into Logan’s shoulder. “Why don’t you have a shirt on?”

Logan turned his head to nuzzle Leo’s hair with his nose and wrapped his arms firmly around Leo’s waist.

“Is hot,” Logan murmured.

Leo turned to press a kiss to his forehead, brushing messy curls out of the way.

“Won’t catch me complaining. How was your weekend?”

“Fine, good. Met up with Noelle, did workouts in mornings, read that new biography book. Missed you,” his nose wrinkled. “Missed you way too much. Fuckin’ richies.”

“Your family has a summer house in addition to their regular house,” Leo pointed out with a snort. “And those richies pay our bills right now.”

“They steal my boyfriend.”

“They are perfectly nice. Haley and Ramsey treat me like family and, well I don’t know their oldest that well, but Finn’s sweet. You’d like him.”

Logan levelled a sceptical look on him while one hand slipped away to snag a bite of apricot. That seemed unlikely. “I would?”

“He’s funny. He’s smart, like you. An editor for novels ‘n shit. Total bookworm. You’d amuse each other, I think.” And it would keep you both out of my way so I can cook in peace. What Leo wouldn’t give to see them set each other off about a pedantic historical detail. If anyone in the world could make Finn’s ears go red in a little fit of crankiness, it would be Logan. Bullheaded, the both of them.

Logan seemed suspicious. “Isn’t this the same Finn who freaked out about seaweed?”

“Well, yes, and, um, so he invited us to stay next week. You can grill him for more details about phobias then.” Leo kissed his cheek again, then turned fully in his arms for a proper one on his lips.

The kiss appeased Logan’s huffiness enough to earn Leo a second one; he sank into it, settling one hand in the dip of Logan’s waist where his skin was warm and soft.

“Je t’aime,” Logan said into his mouth. His thumb ran in circles over Leo’s jaw and sent goosebumps over his body.

“Love you more,” he whispered back, and started walking Logan backwards towards their bed.

Some time later, after their traditional Monday reconnection, they lay in bed together. Logan had his head resting in Leo’s bare chest, and Leo was running his fingers through Logan’s hair rhythmically.

“Would you want to go?” Leo asked.

“Quoi?” Logan said.

“Finn really did invite us both up for the week. Might be nice to get away for a week?”

“I guess, but isn’t it a bit weird?”

“Yeah, I can see why’d you say that,” Leo sighed. “But Finn really is sweet. Haley and Ramsey - they would be around for the weekend, and I would be working then. But then we could have 4 days of relaxing… sitting by the pool, I’d take you to the farmer’s market, maybe down to the water… all the stuff I don’t have time for on the weekends.”

Logan rested his chin on Leo’s sternum and hummed.

“Sounds like you really want to go, hmm peanut?”

“Yeah, I guess I do. But only if you’re there,” Leo said, shrugging.

“D’accord, of course. Getting out of the city for a week sounds amazing. I do have that planning meeting with my principal and the other social science teachers this weekend though.”

“Oh shit, right, I forgot about that.” Logan turned to kiss Leo’s shoulder, ran his tongue along his collarbone. “I’m pretty sure only a Saturday worked for some of them. But, one more weekend apart, and then I can be your sous chef for two whole weekends,” Logan kissed the dip between his collarbones, “help you, spend time with you,” he murmured and his kisses travelled up Leo’s neck.

Leo laughed, and pulled Logan up to kiss him, revelling in the softness of his lips.

“I can’t wait, love.” Kiss. “But, sweetheart?”

“Hmm?”

Kiss.

“Absolutely no knives.”

#coast to coast #o'knutzy #lumosinlove #o'knutzy week 2023 #LeLo #cooking mishaps #but vaguely #chef Leo #food

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lateniteponders · 10 months

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New Job….?

So as some of you (aka 1 of you) saw on my last post…I got a new job. And quit my old job.

Well….new job kept nagging me over and over to sign their offer letter but wouldn’t answer my question about needing time off within 90 days of hire. So I caved and signed. Then no one would tell me when I was starting…despite me telling them multiple times that I was still employed and needed to give my employer a notice of some kind. So I emailed and emailed….no response. Finally I called the guy who offered me the position. We will call him Danny. He picked up and helped answer my questions. Time off shouldn’t be an issue, he said. He asked if I could start on 6/14/2023….and at the time of our phone conversation it was 6/12/2023. I told him, yet again, that I was still employed and needed to give my notice. He should he would check and call me back. A few hours later he called me back and said I could start 6/19/2023. Ok, that works….but what about work equipment? (Remote call centers typically send you all your equipment before the 1st day of training). He said the first few days were onboarding stuff and all I would need would be a personal device and Zoom. Ok, no problem.

Well, I gave a 1 week notice and leave my job on Thursday 6/15. Ended things fine, no bridges burned or anything. Then me and my husband go to the in-laws for the weekend. I check my email on Friday night, no zoom link. I check again on Saturday...still no link. I check again on Sunday night. No link. I sign into the company website where I've been doing all my onboarding paperwork....and see there is one more document I need to sign. Did I get any type of notification of this? NOPE. So I sign it. After signing said document I see the start date says 6/26/23. A little annoying but ok I can take a week off.

I send an email on Mon June 19 to follow up about my start date. Danny tells me it is not confirmed yet and will update me ASAP. Well Wednesday June 21 comes and I have no update, so I call him. He told me my background check delayed my start and that leadership needs to update him when my start date will be, but the background check is completed. Okay fine. I call again on Friday 6/23, twice, was sent to voicemail. I left a message asking for an update.

I check my email on Monday, 6/26/2023. Guess what? NO LINK.

I checked their onboarding website yesterday, 6/27. Guess what? MY START DATE IS NOW JULY 10! Did I get a call or email about this? NOPE. My goddamn start date has been changed THREE times now.

At this point, I've started applying to jobs. Started applying last week because I just see fucking red flags all over the place. I can't be rehired at my old job because I only gave a 1 week notice.

And yes, I researched the company before signing their offer. I found their website, LinkedIn page and Glassdoor reviews. They have a 3.9 star rating.

Just…what in the ever fucking shit is this bullshit? Because it sure ain’t fucking professional.

Back to applying to jobs. I have all the time in the world to do interviews now. Let’s hope something better comes along.

#job hunting #remote jobs #call center #customer service #inbound call center #customer #customers #managers #minimum wage

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enhypenandpaper · 1 year

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a welcome distraction | lee heeseung

pairing: Lee Heeseung + gn!reader

genre: fluff, college!au

warnings: one swear. and honestly? finals week stress lol.

word count: 3.2k

summary: an impressive bout of procrastination has left you desperate for access to the book you’re writing your final paper on. with both a looming due date and the stress of finals week catching up to you, an unlikely savior is found in your classmate Heeseung Lee, the cutest boy on campus.

You hiked your backpack up on your shoulder as you speed-walked across campus, trying to get to the library as soon as possible.

Your English teacher had assigned a paper back in the middle of the term to be due five weeks later at the end of it, which sounded like way more than enough time to get everything done. Except, you needed one of the books in your school’s private collection to write it.

Now, you knew the other people in your class would be needing this book also, but you were so set on the idea of having five weeks to get ahold of this book that it wasn’t until you had one week left that you walked up to the circulation desk, showed them your pass, and asked them for the book.

“I’m sorry, but that title is signed out right now,” the upperclassman who was working there told you.

Accepting it as a fluke in timing, you asked when it would be available next.

“Well,” they clicked around on their computer, “books from the private collection aren’t allowed to leave the building, so it’s more of a ‘first-come, first-served’ type thing.”

They told you you had two options: wait around for the person who had it now to bring it back to the desk, or leave and come back at a different time. You went with the latter and showed up the next day, just to be told the same exact thing.

That’s how you found yourself waiting in the library on a Friday night for something that you needed for a paper due Monday morning. You had been stopping in all day, everyday in between classes and meals, hoping to catch the universe by surprise and finally get this book, to no avail. Now it was already past dinner time and, even though the librarian could’ve yelled at your stomach for how loud it was being, you were curled up in a chair by the circulation desk waiting for this book to turn up.

All of your other homework for the week was already done because of how no time could be spent on this English paper, so you were mindlessly scrolling on your phone, trying to stay awake in the cozy, quiet atmosphere of the library.

The clicking of computer keys and the swiping of book pages calmed you while the warm lighting and the night sky outside made your eyelids feel heavy.

I’ll close my eyes for just a second, you told yourself. But a second passed, and another second, and then a minute, and it was painfully obvious to everyone else in the library that you had fallen asleep in the plush leather chair.

Your eyes flew open. Someone must’ve dropped a book or gotten a surprise phone call and thank god they did, or you probably wouldn’t have woken up until the sun came through the windows in the morning.

It took you a second to regain your bearings (and figure out why you had just woken up someplace that wasn’t your bed) but when you finally came to, you immediately checked your phone.

You made a little sound in the back of your throat when you saw what time it was. You had been asleep for close to an hour, which meant the library staff was going to call it a night in a few hours and you hadn’t even seen the front cover of this damn book.

Gathering up your things, you headed over to the circulation desk for what was quickly becoming a lost cause.

“Hey, I was wondering if Mary Shelley’s manuscript of Frankenstein was available yet?”

You held back a sob. Whoever was in front of you just took today’s last chance for you to get your hands on that book.

The person working at the front desk, god bless their soul, noticed you halfway to your destination and hesitated, knowing how long you had been waiting all week for this chance.

Your fellow student, obviously confused as to why the person at the desk was being completely silent, turned around to follow their gaze.

You and Heeseung Lee made eye contact. Heeseung was another student in your class who sat a couple rows behind you. He stayed relatively quiet during discussions and he was kind of known for being granted extensions on practically every assignment, so it was no surprise to you that he was also caught in the web of procrastination.

“Oh, hi, Y/N! Were you waiting for the book too?” Heeseung flashes you one of his big, beautiful smiles.

Usually, such a sight would cheer you up, Heeseung was super attractive after all, but the stress of the past week had finally caught up to you and made sure any ounce of happiness was eradicated from your body. You could feel your throat tightening as you blinked desperately, fighting with the stress in your veins over whether or not you would be crying in public tonight.

Heeseung’s face dropped when he saw the sadness on yours coupled with the tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey, we can just… share it! We can share the book, can’t we?” Heeseung looked back at the person working to clarify, panicked by the sight of your eyes watering.

Now you had two people watching you try and keep yourself from crying, both feeling extremely guilty. At this point, you were pretty sure the upperclassmen would’ve let you rip the book to shreds if it meant that they wouldn’t have to deal with someone having a mental breakdown during their shift.

Heeseung coaxed you over to the desk, stepping to the side to make room for you. He seemed completely unfazed by your dramatics and didn’t hesitate to fill out the sign sheet that was shakily pushed over to him. You took a deep breath to calm yourself before Heeseung turned and held out the pen to you.

“Sorry, I, uh, don’t know your last name.”

You swallowed down the mix of anger and embarrassment, as you’ve known who Heeseung was since your senior year of high school when he joined your class’ FaceBook group, and jotted down the rest of your info on the sheet.

It became immediately obvious that Heeseung didn’t really know his way around the library so it was up to you to get the two of you down to the basement where the manuscript would be. You could feel the questioning looks as you wove through your fellow students which just made you feel worse, as if someone like you shouldn’t be with someone as popular or beautiful as Heeseung Lee.

You paused once you stepped off the stairs, almost colliding with the boy behind you when you turned to face him.

If you took a single step forward you would be pressed into his chest and Heeseung seemed hyper-aware of this, shuffling his feet back until the back of his legs was pressed against the back of the last step on the staircase.

“Um, how about you find some place for us to sit and I’ll go grab the book?” You offered.

Heeseung nodded with a grin on his face that almost rivaled his show-stopping smile before gliding off toward a table. You were grateful for the break from his presence only because it was so damn awkward having to spend even a minute, let alone the next few hours, with someone you’ve barely spoken to before who also happened to have seen you on the verge of tears only minutes ago.

Taking the manuscript off its shelf, you paused for another deep breath. You had the book you needed and you had the rest of the night to take what you needed from it. While, thanks to Heeseung, this whole ordeal ended all right, you couldn’t help but think that the memories from this night were definitely going to be motivation out of your next bout of procrastination.

You found Heeseung relatively easily since the late hour had cleared most students out already. He had taken off the flannel he was wearing before and the t-shirt he wore underneath fit him perfectly around his biceps and chest and—

You blinked, trying to pull yourself together. Apparently, you had already failed at finally focusing on this assignment but in your defense, Heeseung was very distracting.

Heeseung shot you another smile once you got close to the table he found and you tried to send a sweet one back despite how shy you were feeling. You knew deep down that he was just like anybody else, but your heart was painfully aware that a cute boy was a cute boy.

You placed the book down in front of Heeseung before moving to take the chair next to his. He started flipping through the manuscript, moving it closer to you so that it sat in between your chairs. You tried scooching your chair closer to his so sharing the book would be easier, but you over-shot and your chair ended up almost colliding into his. You felt too embarrassed to move it back, scared that he would take you moving away as an insult, so you sat down in it anyway, immediately realizing your mistake.

Heeseung’s thigh was pressed up against yours, the heat of his skin rolling into your body and shooting up to your reddening cheeks. Was this too much? Should you move, potential insult be damned? Heeseung was handsome and all but the last thing you wanted to do was make him feel—

The boy next to you shifted in his seat, making you feel even worse until you realized he was reaching around to his backpack on the floor. He rummaged in his bag for what seemed like forever in the silent basement (he even made disorganization look good) until he pulled out a hard case.

Somehow, the black-rimmed glasses made Heeseung look even better and, considering how you had never seen him wear those in class, he must’ve been even less committed to this class than you thought.

Heeseung shifted back fully in his seat, his leg touching yours more firmly than before. You could feel the blush in your cheeks running down your neck and were desperately trying to think of something to say or do to break up the tension and get yourself out of this funk when Heeseung asked you if there was a page you wanted to start on.

This put you into high gear, mentally flipping through your notes to figure out where you should look first. The two of you went back and forth, switching off who could choose the next section of the book while the other jotted down notes and ideas based on their excerpts.

The unexpected partnership was going surprisingly well considering the tension and stress that dominate everyone’s mind during finals week. The two of you even got to talking about your respective ideas for your essays and how you were going to use the quotes and evidence from the manuscript in your writing.

You realized you were getting a little off topic when you started to talk about how Mary Shelley’s relationship with her husband affected the writing of Frankenstein, but Heeseung encouraged you with his small nods and pretty smiles and sent your heart racing when he brought his arm to rest on the back of your chair.

You were cut off by a soft bell ringing through the library signaling the approaching end to staffed hours. Both you and Heeseung looked at each others, eyes wide. They would be expecting the book back soon, considering it was part of the rare collection, but the two of you were nowhere near finished thanks to your conversation. You could probably get away with holding the book until you were finished, but the last thing you wanted was to cause an even bigger problem for the nice upperclassman who, along with Heeseung, was the only reason you weren’t desperately emailing your teacher some half-assed excuse.

Your hand slowly reached for Heeseung’s side of the book, debating on whether or not to close it, but it was gently stopped by his own.

You looked up, eyebrows furrowed, to see Heeseung’s sheepish smile.

“Do you think…” he reached for his phone, his eyes never leaving yours. “Do you think they would mind if we took a few photos?”

You smiled softly, glancing at the book that was still being held open by overlapped fingers.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” you answer, trying your best to ignore the butterflies in your stomach fluttering at the idea of sharing a secret with Heeseung.

The two of you get to work, flipping through the pages and snapping pictures at a rate that was extremely impressive considering how much the two of you had previously been slacking off. The two of you made a good team and Heeseung was certainly grateful for your help, you had helped him find at least three pages of text that he could use in his paper, thanks to your class notes.

Heeseung’s leg was still pressed against yours under the table. The heat of his skin was burning through layers of clothing and it took everything in you not to press even closer. If that was even possible.

You only had two more excerpts to take pictures of, Heeseung having already finished. You could feel his eyes on you as you looked for your next section. He moved the hand that was still resting on the back of your chair to push his glasses up his nose before returning it to its place behind you. If only you had the guts to lean backward, let his fingers brush your body.

His attentive gaze allowed him to catch your pause as you stared at your phone screen, your face blank as you read the pop-up alerting you to your lack of storage.

Of course your phone would do this right now! You were so close to finishing, to being done with the most inconvenient part of your entire semester, and you could physically feel that peace slipping away from you.

Heeseung leaned closer to you, the movement sending a wave of shampoo out into the air, moving your hand with his own and tilting your phone screen so he could read it.

“Here! You can just use mine,” he reassures you.

“Are you sure? There’s probably some old stuff I can delete. There’s definitely a playlist on here-”

“Don’t be silly!” He laughed, reaching for your phone. “You only have, like, a few left. I can text them to you, then they won’t even have to take up space.”

You took his phone gently, sending him a genuine smile that was probably way too big to pass of as just being grateful for the photos, you were more focused on the fact that Heeseung would have to get your number for his plan to work.

You took your photos and, feeling bold, immediately opened the messages app to send them to yourself. Heeseung’s eyes followed the path of your fingers across his phone screen, still leaning in so close that his head was almost blocking your line of sight.

You sent the photos and handed the phone back to its owner without actually saving your contact, having no idea what you would name yourself anyway.

Apparently, you didn’t need to worry. Heeseung immediately clicked to add your number to his contacts once his phone was back in his hands and, when he caught you peaking at what he was typing in the name slot (did he even remember your last name?), he smirked and turned the screen away from you so you couldn’t see.

“Don’t worry! It’s nothing mean,” Heeseung grins.

“I didn’t think it was anything mean until you said that!” You protested, leaning over to him to try and steal a glance.

He playfully held the phone away out of your reach, the reach of his long arms no match for your own. His other hand had moved from your chair to your shoulder, gently keeping you from reaching his phone.

“Oh, come on, no pouting! Will you forgive me if I bring the book back?”

You sat back in your chair, his hand staying where it is, and pretended to consider it.

“Maybe.”

“Anything to make you smile, Y/N.”

Hearing your name from his lips made your heart skip a beat. It felt like a privilege to have your name spoken in such a soft tone with such a pretty voice.

Heeseung made a big show of pocketing his phone as he walked away toward the maze of bookshelves he would have to work through to get to Frankenstein’s special section.

You faked a gasp. “What? You don’t trust me?”

He smirked in response, holding up his hands in a fake surrender.

With Heeseung gone you could finally take a breath. Working in such close quarters with someone you didn’t know that well could be draining enough but mix in finals week and how handsome that said someone was and it’s obvious why you needed a minute.

You stared at your notebook in front of you. With the text evidence, you had everything you needed to start actually writing your paper and considering the fast-approaching due date, it was a good idea to start it as soon as possible.

But you hesitated. Would it be weird to stay here and work? What if Heeseung wanted this spot for himself? Was it just wishful thinking to hope that Heeseung would rejoin you at the table, taking advantage of the 24/7 library hours with you at his side?

The sound of Heeseung coming down the bookcase path snapped you out of your thoughts. You grabbed your phone to pretend like you were occupied, still not sure what your plan was for the rest of the night.

“I hope you like these. I figured nobody could turn down sweets during finals week, so I took a guess!”

You looked up from your phone, making eye contact with the boy in front of you before dragging down his defined arms to reach his hands. He was holding out a pack of chocolate chip cookies, probably courtesy of a vending machine he found.

You smiled and thanked him, already reaching for your wallet in your backpack.

“How much—”

“You’re not paying me back for those,” he tells you, sitting back down beside you.

“You have to let me! I already owe you for sharing the book with me tonight.”

“Exactly, so you can repay me by not giving me money for the cookies.”

“That makes literally zero sense.”

Heeseung reached around to the side of his chair.

“I’m not taking your money, Y/N,” he tells you after placing his laptop down on the table.

“If you really want to repay me, just buy us the next round of snacks. I doubt a single pack of cookies is going to get us through what I’m sure is about to become an all-nighter.”

Your smile and blush worked in tandem to show the boy how excited you were by his invitation, it was no use even trying to hide it.

He returned your smile, laughing shyly.

You finally took out your own laptop, letting your leg nudge Heeseung’s as you got comfortable in your chair.

It was going to be a long night, and you were grateful for it.

A/N: hello everyone!! i'm sorry i've been gone for so long. you can assume that this little piece was inspired by my own struggles with juggling coursework lol.

i hope everyone is doing well!! hopefully you enjoy this little piece and stay tuned for more <3

#lee heeseung #heeseung #heeseung fanfiction #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #fluff

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fleckcmscott · 2 years

Text

Heebie Jeebies

Summary: It's the Halloween season and Y/N’s working against the clock. After she recruits Arthur for help, the new look he creates sends shivers down both their spines.

Words: 4,852

Warnings: Swearing, Smut

A/N: @iartsometimes made this request a few months ago. It's taken all this time to figure out how to get Arthur in that getup without his life falling apart. 😂 Thank you for the challenge! I hope you enjoy this story! Much gratitude to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-reading, summary assistance, and such helpful feedback! 😃

"Terry, for the last time: I am not wearing a costume to the office."

"Come on!" Hands behind head, Terry leaned back in his chair and put his heels on his desk. "Kim and I need a Curly."

"You're stooge enough for two," Y/N said. The man might have the ability to cajole her into seasonal fundraising coupon books for his son's index of little league teams, but he'd never sell her on this.

"You're gonna be the only stick in the mud. You know that, right?"

She shoved a rubber fingertip on her pointer. "One of us has to meet clients without scaring them off."

With a lot of help from Arthur, she'd softened on Halloween. He understood the holiday was hard for her, and he'd said he wanted to change that, the way she'd changed so much for him. Since their first Halloween together, he'd taken the reins to plan a date night the last week of every October. To make the season about them. It was a gesture so loving, so considerate, it sutured the scrapes of old. A favorite had ended with caramel sliding off Granny Smith apples, and their pajama bottoms sliding to the floor.

Boundaries existed for a reason, however, and she resolved to keep them. A starry-eyed generational change had started last spring, spurred by a round of retirements. She was the brash aunt to the new graduates in her firm. Happy to help, fun the 81% of the time it was appropriate.

But she was also a professional. Attending office Christmas parties with Arthur, having a slice of cake to celebrate a colleague's birthday? Pleasantries she gladly took part in. Hell, she'd even helped decorate. Parading around in her cat costume, displaying the inner pinup she kept for her husband? Not a chance. Ruffled blouses and A-Line skirts (below the knee, thank you) were where it was at. The dish of Tootsie Rolls beside her nameplate would have to do.

She grabbed a file from the double-check pile. Its skinniness belied the hours she'd put into it. When Wanda the legal secretary had come down with the flu, the case and its subsequent court dates had tumbled into Y/N's lap. She'd spent an entire day shredding duplicates, purging unrelated documents, sorting out what wasn't needed. She skimmed the witness statements and Motion for Discovery for any typos. (Latin would never not be a challenge. Fucking up was easy when half the C's sounded like K's.) Monday's status conference was scheduled for thirty minutes. If she could get Phil to deliver a neat presentation, they'd be freed in twenty.

A turn of the page and a woman opened the office door. Clad in statement shoulder blazer and high-waisted jeans, her dress was trendier than the usual clientele. She was young, too. The baby fat of her cheeks straddled that awkward duck stage of childhood and senior year. Close cropped hair lent her a severe look her baby blues made hard to believe.

Y/N rose from behind her desk. "May I help you?"

"Uh, yeah." The woman slung a denim backpack to the front, plucked a pencil and Mead memo book from the front pocket. "I got a job at the new Halloween store? Happy Haunts? The guys in my class said they're getting more than me."

The shop's name rang no bells. "School project?" Y/N asked

"Student paper, ma'am. Gotham Screamer. I write an editorial column but Ms. Marley - she's my teacher - is letting me write a feature."

An approving grin lit Y/N's face. This teenager could have been her in 1961, whipping off never-to-be-published letters to the editor. She gestured towards the wooden chair on the opposite side of her desk.

The basics of the complaint were straightforward. The student, Miranda, had found an ad in a newspaper- she couldn't recall which - for a part-time job. Show up in costume for an interview and complete an application. That was it. With her mom on leave to take care of her ailing older brother, Miranda's household could use the extra money, especially with the holidays coming up. Her aerobics instructor outfit had gotten her an offer on the spot. Orientation was a series of VHS tapes covering employee safety, basic customer service, and how to deal with potential shoplifters. She dug out a crumpled paystub and card with the number for Human Resources, the new name for Personnel that made Y/N roll her eyes.

It was during study hall that Miranda had discovered the truth. Bobby Farin, second clarinet in the marching band, was earning thirty-five cents more an hour. That was when she'd decided to pitch the story idea to her teacher and find a labor attorney.

Pay discrimination was as illegal as it was hard to prove. The difference could be chalked up to a shift differential or prior experience. Y/N pursed her lips. "How long have you been there?"

"Three weeks. Bobby's been there two."

"Do you and the other students have the same positions? The same job titles?"

The teen shrugged. "I mean, we all do the same things."

"And those would be?" Y/N grabbed a piece of typewriter paper and jotted in shorthand.

"Stock shelves. Check out customers. Put up displays." Miranda's tone pitched up at the end of each example, as if she was asking herself. No, there were no uniforms to delineate roles. Employees could wear whatever they wanted, so long as it was festive and family friendly. No pinups.

"This next question can feel uneasy, but I do have to ask. Has your manager or boss ever asked for any favors that made you uncomfortable?"

Miranda's whole head wrinkled in disgust. "No!"

"Good. And if he had, that'd be on him, not you."

In order to be printed in the October 30th issue, the story had to be ready to go next Friday. Nothing like waiting until the last minute. The crunch recalled helping Mabel with a diorama of local flora late one night, when Y/N had been a sophomore and her little sister in fifth grade. The assembly line their mother had set up at the kitchen table, where she'd sketched flowers, Y/N had cut them out, and Mabel had smeared them with her crayons. Smudged sneezeweed and pale pink cardinal petals had earned the girl a passing grade and a teacher's note to start earlier next time.

"Keep Dube & Ellis out of the article and don't mention my name. Got it?" Y/N wrote her home number on the back of a business card, which Miranda accepted with a nod. "Have you decided what you want to do after you finish school?"

The teenager folded in on herself, her fingers knotting together. A smidge of regret tightened Y/N's eyes. Really, it was none of her business. And it was plain Miranda had been peppered with this question too often. As enterprising as this young woman seemed, she was still a girl, still finding her way in a world of a million crossroads.

But before Y/N could excuse herself, the girl answered. "My mom wants me to study. School's fun and all, but I dunno if I even wanna go to college."

"There's plenty of time to figure it out. If you're interested in a field like this-" Y/N indicated the office with a bob of her head. "Let me know. A lot of firms have shadowing programs. Sometimes it just takes a day or two to learn what you can't stand." Miranda loosened enough to let a chuckle slip and snag a piece of candy.

Y/N noted the girl's phone number, folded the paper into thirds, and stuffed it in her purse, between her compact mirror and coin clutch. "If you don't hear from me by Wednesday, give me a call. Try my apartment first. I look forward to reading your article."

~~~~~

Arthur hoisted the beach ball of a pumpkin on the kitchen counter. "What're all those for?"

Felt-tipped pen in hand, Y/N was bent over the Gotham Herald, one of the newspapers strewn across the laminate. She'd made a run to the nearest newsstand post-bacon and eggs, then spent the rest of the morning sipping coffee and scanning classifieds. Among requests for day laborers, pleas for receptionists, and ads for investment opportunities (a.k.a. easy methods to say goodbye to life savings), she'd found a number of similar postings. Seasonal positions, no experience necessary, all with addresses and phone numbers in Delaware.

"You see this here?" Her nail tapped a Help Wanted. "I've found the same mistake in four classifieds. This should be 'ASAP.'"

"Maybe that's not what they meant," he said, and sneaked past her arm to tug at the corner of the Post.

"'Looking to hire ASP?'" She pushed the abandoned pages his way. "Unless they want a snake, I don't see an alternative."

He snagged her pen to draw triangular eyes on the squash's orange skin. Y/N closed the paper in an effort to force her moonlighting from her mind. A round nose came next, traced around a drinking glass. A classic bucktoothed jack-o-lantern smile. When he drove a serrated knife through the top, she held the pumpkin steady with both hands. About two-thirds of the way through a circle around the stem, the top started to sink in.

He grumbled. "Shit, I got the angle wrong."

"It's all right. Toothpicks will hold the lid." She laid the newly fashioned lid in the sink, careful not to get its stringy pulp on the possible evidence that continued to itch her brain stem. Shutting the newspapers in the bathroom for the day would've been the smarter choice. But watching Arthur conjured another strategy, one she could share like a holiday tradition.

She offered a steel serving spoon. "Would you help me with what I'm investigating? I need a man to test something."

His quirked brow asked what on earth she could be investigating. And if he could test it now.

Sidling nearer, she relayed the student's claims, the steps she'd taken so far. Y/N had called the spook shop only to have it ring and ring. On the sixth try, she'd finally reached a manager. The boss did all the hiring, he'd claimed. Go ahead and pop in the next day. During her lunch hour, she'd sneaked to the public restroom off her office building's lobby, changed into the forest leggings and oversized sweatshirt she'd stuck in her court bag. Not a costume, per se, but out of character enough to count as a disguise. When she'd slipped out onto the sidewalk, her colleagues had been none the wiser.

As soon as she'd entered the store and introduced herself, the boss had looked her up and down. The befuddled set of his round face let her in on the fact that she was a little older than expected, bordering on ancient. "This is an after-school job," he'd said, still squinting.

"I know, sir. But my husband's hours were cut at Trident and-" She'd widened her eyes, endeavored an expression both appealing and pitiful. "You've got to have someone for the morning hours, right? Just a couple days a week? It'd mean so much."

For a split second he'd softened, shoulders sagging on a heavy sigh. "You'll have to provide your own costume."

Pay was $3.35 an hour, minimum wage and the same as the last four years. Schedules were posted on the corkboard in the back office every Thursday, but she could expect to work afternoons and weekends. In a tone Y/N assumed was meant to be caring, he'd added, "I'm sure your husband wants you home to cook dinner."

She'd spoken through a clenched smile. "I'll be sure to bake him a cake."

Pumpkin guts plopped on the Post. Y/N wrapped an arm around Arthur's back at the waist. "You could wear your Carnival outfit."

"But what if he recognizes me?"

Kindness was her usual reaction when he overestimated his own prominence. After all, he was immensely prominent to her. She pecked his bicep. "With your ingenuity, you're sure to come up with something. You did invent the best clown in Gotham."

Grinning, he tucked his chin. "I wouldn't mind a cake. Apple coffee's good."

She made a mental note to buy canned biscuits. "If you do this, I'll double the recipe."

~~~~~

An emergency hearing had delayed the status conference to the end of the day, throwing a wrench into Y/N's well-laid presentation. Arthur was halfway through dinner when she got home, apologized for being late, and marched to the dining table to eat with one fork and document what she'd realized on the train.

Before he rinsed his plate and slunk off to his writing nook, she detected a huff and shake of the head. But amends would be made later. She had a deadline and was going to meet it.

Wanda's case was also a complaint about unequal pay. Also from a woman (well, a group of women). Also from a fly-by-night business, a shop that sold tchotchkes to disappointed tourists in Gotham Square from Memorial to Labor Day. While reviewing paystubs from the court file, Y/N noticed the business name included DBA. Doing Business As. The same as on Miranda's paystub - and Delaware PO Boxes to boot. With any luck, Y/N could cross reference the zip codes, contact the public records office, and uncover who rented them. If they were held under the same parent corporation, it'd give her firm's case a boost.

Never underestimate the inability of money in a hurry to cover its tracks.

"I think I figured out my new look," Arthur's animated voice called from the living room. Rhythmic footsteps fell across the carpet.

Her pen poked a constellation on the phonebook's zip code page. "Hm?" She underlined 19891 and looked up. Her jaw dropped.

There he stood, lounging on the kitchen doorway by the dining nook, one hand in his pocket, the other braced on the wall. He'd slicked his chestnut waves into submission, its sheen a clue he'd used a tad too much of her mousse. Save for the smidgen of peach skin at his hairline, stark white adorned his visage, sharpened already cutting cheekbones. Ruby brows danced mid-forehead, the usual triangles framing his eyes now tinged a cool cyan. His rubber nose was on break, replaced by precise red brushstrokes along the aquiline tip and around his nostrils.

Carnival's smile was practiced. Controlled. Outlined in an even-keeled black. This smile extended well past Arthur's dimples to decorate his cheeks, like a cat who'd outsmarted all the others to get the last lick of whipping cream. Wild and carefree, it'd broken its bars. The perfect analogy to his self-assuredness blossoming over the years.

The suit was brighter somehow, a fiery red, either due to the teal shirt he'd paired with it or the confidence he carried. Mustard vest had usurped the matching waistcoat. She ogled his lean legs, lengthened by the long lines of his trousers. The same trousers he'd worn the night she remembered like yesterday. His beguiling beauty. His hesitant but hungry body pressed into hers in the elevator. The belt loops her greedy fingers hooked through...

Riveted to her seat, she wet her lips. "Does he have a name?"

"Not yet. Any ideas?"

The butt of her pen tapped her chin. This clown wasn't as innocent as Carnival. Mischief lurked beneath the surface, a roguish tease. The private side of the man she knew revealed. A term she'd read in her statute reference book emerged. She did her best to pronounce it. "Accessio." She got the hard C right this time.

"What's that?"

"It's an ownership term for when two things combine to make something new. Like when seeds are planted in a farmer's field. The farmer would own the crops. Or how you've taken my favorite parts of Carnival and combined them with that suit."

Scrunching his nose, he slid one foot forward. "That's nice but doesn't roll off the tongue."

"Well, it's only used in court." She returned to the phonebook, considered the clowns at the county fair when she was a kid. "Mr. Jingles? Buster?"

"I'm asking about a job I don't want. I'll tell the guy I'm..." Making his way behind her, he laid a hand on her shoulder. Heat prickled the nape of her neck. "Arthur Harris."

Love curved her mouth, a glow flowing through her. Though she adored having his name, that he'd chosen her maiden made her feel as treasured as his journal. She flipped another page of zip code listings. "You might want to lose that vest. It's very distracting."

Fingertips kneaded the hollow of her collarbone, stroked a firm line up her throat. "Am I distracting you?"

"Yes," she said, a little shaky.

"Good." He crouched next to her, his breath a whisper on her temple. "What'll you wear next week?"

"My cat costume."

He traced the seam of her sleeve. The temptation that roused every pore. "You've worn it four years in a row."

"You've made love to me in it four years in a row."

"I wanna see you in something else. Like you did me." A gentle cupping of her breast over her blouse. He lifted it, molded it to his palm. He skimmed her nipple and it pebbled under his touch. He chuckled and thumbed it again.

Seduction hadn't been bargained for tonight. She laid her pen across the paper and turned towards him. His gaze traversed her face, clear green searched her eyes. A raffish grin deepened his crow's feet. The suggestion in that grin parched her throat. An ache bloomed across her flesh, every square inch of her suddenly awake. The tip of her nose brushed his.

Damp lips pressed to hers, covered her mouth. His tongue plundered and the chalky taste of greasepaint bit her tastebuds. Pulses jolted, hearts thundered. She cupped the back of his neck to make the delicious connection firmer. He moaned, low and rumbling. The vibration charted a path down each knob of her spine, a fleeting flutter in her center.

Intent on grabbing those belt loops again and laying him on the nearest plush surface (the carpet would suffice, the sofa better), she shoved the chair from the table. But before she could push herself to unsteady feet, he knelt before her. Wandering hands hurried past her stomach. Sneaked beneath her hemline. He pecked her knee, grazed her thigh, nestled at the wool shielding her hip. His nearness made her senses spin.

Except for common sense. She ahemed, breathed a breathless warning. "You'll get paint on my skirt."

"Take it off, then." A hot-blooded challenge, impossible to resist.

He didn't wait for an answer. He popped open the buttons at the small of her back. Straightening her legs, she lifted herself an inch off the seat. One, two, three tugs and the offending garment was on the floor.

A deep frown, exasperation even his painted-on smile couldn't conceal. "Pantyhose?"

Y/N's snort would've been a cackle if it hadn't caught in her nose. She usually wore thigh-highs, making access quicker than lightning. "My stockings had a run in them." His pinky caressed the back of her knee. As he set to stripping them off, she balanced herself on her elbow and gave a necessary instruction. "Don't rip these. They're my last pair."

Pop! went the first snap of her blouse. The second, the third. But Arthur's nimble fingers abandoned her shirt to yank away her panties. His mouth went to the crease of her thigh. He guided one leg to splay wider, the other to rest on his shoulder. Thumbs held her open. His breath shivered against her tender flesh, nose dragging through her downy curls, dark and now peppered with red. Wanton gleam in his stare, he smiled.

He licked the rigid line of her clitoral hood, stopping just above the swollen spot where she needed him most. Every nerve sparked with anticipation. She really couldn't get enough of seeing him between her legs like this. A wicked thought, a secret sin to be savored with him. The tip flitted from side to side, a careful caress when she was feeling reckless. Sticky with perspiration, she wriggled her bottom to the edge of the chair. Carded through his curls and traced his sideburn. His tongue flattened to rub her folds, wandering circles that knew exactly where they wanted to be.

After a minute, he withdrew for a gulp of air. Liquid heat had streaked makeup from his chin, smudged the margins of his pristine smile, blended ivory and crimson into a pleasing pink. She studied herself, where the shade stained her vulva, the generous streaks of white where her inner thighs had met his cheeks. It was the kind of marking he'd made her love, a brand that healed.

Bending to her again, he kissed her in the same manner he'd kiss her mouth. Thin lips fondled her clit, suckled steadily. On a whine, her hips twitched upward, begged for this to never end. Please, each swivel said. Don't ever stop.

But then his ministrations faltered, losing their deliberate pace.

The rip of a zipper. Whispers of folding fabric. The frantic sound of skin on skin.

Awareness speared her, excitement startled a gasp. He was touching himself. Touching himself while kissing her most intimate secret, where she was wet and desperate. That this would so thoroughly inspire him spurred her on. Emboldened her fingers to take his place, work together with him to pleasure them both. Eyes squeezed shut, she pictured the firm grasp of his masculine hand on his shaft, the way he'd curl his fingers to tease the head.

She flattened her palm on the table. Squirmed and nudged his flank with her knee. Beckoned him with a plaintive, "Come here..."

He scooted forward. Dragged the glans along her silky seam. When she arched towards him, he eased his erection past her inner labia. Sunk into her with the practiced slowness of a lover who wants to relish every time like it's the first.

Filled to the brim, Y/N grasped the lapels of his suit jacket. "I want you."

His brow met hers. "I'm yours."

Sweat from his temple smeared her cheek. He palmed the curve of her hip, yanked her flush to him. Thrust and thrust again, each plunge ending on a clipped grunt. He tugged at the cups of her bra. The cotton of his vest scrapped her dusky peaks.

The chair thudded across the linoleum. Thump. Thump. Thump. The spindles of the chair dug her back. The slide of him within her walls, the delectable stretch of him. He burned her. He seared her.

"You feel so good," she cried, calf clutching him closer.

"Oh, god-"

He bucked quicker. Harder. Raising herself to meet him in this position was nearly impossible, so she let him take over. Parted lips charted her shoulder, shoved the collar of her blouse aside. Gritted teeth pressed the crook of her neck. All at once, his hips locked with hers, their jutting angles softened by polyester. A splash inside her, harsh, short pants at her ear.

He slipped out of her, straightened enough to stroke her needy nub. She moaned, her lips forming an O. Their mouths locked, a lingering kiss where his tongue traced the enticing shape. Pressure built in her loins, her thighs and abdomen quivered. The kiss grew harder, urgent, like he was starving for her to join him in euphoria. He cupped her jaw, wove into her hair, gave it a firm tug.

She snapped, breaking away to bury her face in his shoulder. Her right foot spasmed, hard enough to start a Charlie horse. Still holding his jacket in a white-knuckle grip, her hands shook with exertion. The pull of her tresses shifted to a gentle cradling, a place of safety where she could dissolve. Her body melted into his and her world was filled with him.

Sloppy and sedate, Arthur lapped the top of her breasts. "You're red all over."

A full flush covered her torso and arms, greasepaint had swirled all over her cleavage, stained the placket of her blouse. She could imagine the candy apple state of her cheeks. His suit hadn't faired much better. White had gotten on the lapels, pink had somehow hitched a ride to its front flaps. The two of them were an absolute mess. She checked her watch. If she hurried, she could clean up in five, then run their clothes to the dry cleaner and pay an extra $3.25 for overnight service.

Giddy, she wiped her forehead with her sleeve and laughed when it came away blue. "I, uh. I think you found your disguise."

~~~~~

Y/N opened the oven a tentative inch, peered inside with narrowed eyes. Golden brown peaks, pecans that hadn't yet burnt, gooey apple cinnamon bottom. It was a dessert fit to serve, courtesy of Nickel's Mills Food Products, Putting the Happy in Home. Her mitted hand grasped the round pan and set it on the counter to cool. Mixing powdered sugar with apple cider to make the glaze was the final step. (And remembering to add it after the cake stopped steaming.)

She poured candy onto an orange treat tray, arranged mini Marathon bars and packets of Fun Dip, plus a couple of Vigilante jaw breakers thrown in for good measure. GCN's five o'clock news was about to start, so she had one ear tuned to the TV. The familiar opening theme led to a jolly "Happy Halloween!" from the anchor and a hearty honk! honk! from the weatherman. Smiling, she thought on the suit and teal button-up she'd laid out on the bed, ironed and starched and ready to go.

The doorbell rang. Every year trick-or-treating seemed to start earlier. The jack-o-lantern wasn't even out yet, and Arthur hadn't gotten back to greet the youngsters. Nevertheless, she snagged her pointy hat from the table, tidied her oversized silver belt and jagged polyester skirt, squeezed her toes into stiletto black heels. Candy platter on her hip, she hurried to open the door.

Replete in his Carnival outfit - save for a painted nose - Arthur beamed down at her. "Trick or treat."

Giggling, she grasped his tie and pulled him in for a kiss, then pulled him into the apartment and kissed him again. "Mm, you taste sweet. You must've had a bag of candy. How was the clinic?"

"Busy but nice. The kid I told you about, Charlie, got to go home today."

"He was there for, what, four months?"

"Yeah." Arthur dropped his prop bag, stripped off his wig and laid it across the top. "They booked me for Thanksgiving and Christmas, too," he continued, running his fingers through his curls. The booking was a formality at this point, but it was an accomplishment she knew he was proud of. She was happy to hear it. And she had one more thing that'd swell his chest.

He stretched his arms above his head, out to the sides. On a yawn, he turned to the kitchen. "What smells so good?" He sniffed the air again and went straight to the stove to stare at the cake, eyes as wide as a kid's who'd gotten a full-sized candy bar in his pillowcase.

"Another ten minutes and it's all yours. Here, look what we got in the mail," she said and handed him the latest issue of the Gotham Screamer, already open to the necessary article. A post-it note obscured the headline: Thanks a lot, Mrs. Fleck! She watched him scan the paper, the corners of his lips betraying when he reached the part she'd underlined.

A helpful legal aide and her enterprising husband uncovered proof of Happy Haunts' unfair and illegal pay practices. We hope that next Halloween season, Gotham High's Hawks will flock to another store for their far-out costumes. Next issue: the five best thrift stores in Rogers.

"Thanks for your assistance, enterprising husband." Y/N hugged him tight about the middle. "You more than earned that cake."

He plucked a corner from the dessert and plopped it in his mouth. Twisting in her arms, he took her hand, stepped back to study her. He rolled the dark purple mesh of her sleeves between forefinger and thumb. "You know, you're a cute witch. Are you gonna put a spell on me?"

"Actually, there's a love potion in the dough. Sugar and spice and honey that's nice." She curved towards him, kissed him once more. "I do have another favor to ask. For after the trick-or-treaters are gone." It was a favor that'd given her the heebie jeebies all week. His hold on her tightened, as though he were reading her mind. Eyelashes lowered, she bit her bottom lip. "Would you put the suit and teal shirt back on? I want to take them off you."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes @fleckficgirl

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur x reader #arthur x ofc #joker 2019 #arthur fleck x female reader #watchwhathappens

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artficlly · 1 year

Text

face the music (chapter 6)

Music College Marvel AU - Chapter 6

!frat!musician!bucky x !frat!musician!steve x !musician!femreader

Warnings: bitta angst, bitta fluff, pining, few alludes to past abuse and homophobia, mentions of alcohol and drugs, lmk if i missed anything

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: this is kinda a fluffy in-between before shit hits the fan!! not proof read, sorry for any typos

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

Once again, you found yourself tapping away at a piano in one of the practice rooms. It was early - a little too early for your liking. You had agreed to get a session in with Bucky, Steve and Sam before your piano class - which meant getting to campus a couple hours earlier than usual.

You had slept well for the first time in days which was a welcome change. Yesterday, you had met up with Maria Hill for coffee. She was beautiful and kind, the complete opposite of someone you imagined dating John Walker. Her story was as heartbreaking as you anticipated - you could see pieces of yourself in Maria. The air she held around herself was confident though, a lot stronger than you would ever perceive yourself.

She agreed to help. That was all that mattered. She also agreed to help put you in contact with more of John’s exes. You knew that he had a few, he didn’t seem to keep girlfriends around for longer than a couple months. But that thought, that you weren’t crazy for the way you felt? That had helped you sleep like a fucking babe.

There was a plan forming in your mind, all you needed was the time and help to execute it.

“Siren, you’re supposed to be practicing singing, not piano.” Bucky’s voice pulled you away from the piano. You hadn’t even heard him come in, you were so lost in the music.

“I have a piano piece due Monday.” You explain with a sigh. You didn’t bother to turn to look at him, instead determined to finish the piece you were playing. He must’ve come closer, you could smell his cologne as you leant forward to turn your sheet music page.

“They’re really working you to the bone over in the classical section, aren’t they?” He says with a chuckle, leaning on the side of the piano so he’s in your eyeline. You roll your eyes at him, a small smile across your lips as you continue to tap away at the keys. Bucky looked hot in his black hoodie, leather jacket pulled over the top. Fuck. You really needed to stop thinking about him in that way.

“Where’s Steve?” You ask, suddenly noticing the empty space the blond would usually take up at Bucky’s side. Ever since they had revealed that they were dating, you noticed how it was rare to see the two of them apart. You were surprised that they even had separate rooms at the frat house. The two of them were practically connected by the hip.

“He went to go get coffee with Sam.” Bucky explained, “Why? Am I boring you?” He says with a teasing grin. You have to bite your tongue to not let any extra emotion leak onto your face.

“No, just wondering. You two are like… each other's other half. It’s startling when you’re not together.” You say with a light laugh. Bucky gives you a soft look, which he quickly wipes off his face when he notices you staring. You divert your eyes, the song you are playing slowly coming to an end.

“How do you not fall asleep? Playing such slow songs?” Bucky asks, glancing between your fingers and your sheet music. You rub your palms against your jeans with a shrug, song now finished.

“They’re not all slow, Mr. Rockstar. I can play a fast one for you?” You offer with a teasing grin.

“Sure, darling.” Bucky replies casually. You have to stop yourself from snapping your eyes to him. You see him tense, like he didn’t mean to call you that, like he was waiting for you to berate him. Instead you reach for your sheet music, flicking through a few pages until you find a song. You bite your lip, squeezing your thighs together as you drop your hands back down to the piano keys.

Instead of dwelling on that feeling between your legs, you quickly pour your focus into letting your fingers dance across the keys. The song was a short one, quick, loud and borderline angry sounding. It almost captured exactly how you felt in that moment, all flustered under Bucky’s stare.

When you dare to look up, all the tension has left his body. Instead he is watching your fingers move across the piano with a look of awe. You quietly smile to yourself, turning your head to focus on the sheet music instead of him.

“How can you move your fingers that fast?” Bucky asks, you chuckle quietly at that.

“Comes with the trade, I’m afraid. I would’ve been a great lesbian in another life.” You respond, Bucky barks out a laugh while you continue to chuckle. While you’re both distracted, the door to the room swings open.

“Hey! Why are you having fun without me?” Steve calls over the piano music. Bucky just shakes his head at him, before moving out of your sight. The song draws to an end and you turn around in your chair. You watch Bucky give Steve a quick peck on the lips as Steve hands him one of the takeaway coffee cups. You deflected your eyes for a moment, turning your back to collect your sheet music. There was always this creeping thought that you were invading something personal when you witnessed intimate moments between them.

“Hey, Siren. I got you one too.” Steve calls you. You turn around, arching an eyebrow in surprise. Sheet music tucked under your arm, you walk over to Steve, inspecting the drink he got you.

“How did you know my order?” You ask, turning the cup in your hand suspiciously.

“I asked Sharon,” Steve says with a chuckle, you give him a look of disbelief.

“Sharon spoke to you?” You ask in surprise. Last you knew, Sharon would have rather castrated the blond than offer up any conversation, let alone information about you.

“I know! I was surprised too.”

You take a small sip of the coffee, smiling to yourself as the warmth settles in your chest. With a sigh, you slump down on one of the couches where Sam is already perched, frowning at his phone.

“How is it already Friday? We only have a week left for this assignment and Clint wants to throw another fuckin’ rager…” Sam grumbles.

“Another party already? You guys really are bold.” You say, taking another sip of your coffee.

“Are you coming?” Bucky asks you, he’s relaxed back on the sofa across from you, arm causally swung over Steve’s shoulders. Steve looks content, leaning into Bucky’s side. Pride swells a bit in your chest, you’re glad they’re both happy and comfortable showing affection around you.

“I don’t know, am I invited?” You tease.

“You better,” Sam cuts in. “Don’t think we’d hear the end of it if you didn’t. These two would be yapping away all night, ‘where’s Y/N, why didn’t Y/N come’.” You blush so hard you don’t even know how to respond, instead letting out a choked laugh as you hide your face with your hair. Steve and Bucky look about as flustered as you. What did they say about you behind closed doors? Bucky clears his throat.

“We need to choose a song for the assignment. I think you’re doing fine on the singing front, now we just need to practice together until it’s perfect.” Bucky says, leaning forward. He slides a notebook across the coffee table to you. Inside you had listed a bunch of potential songs. Some you had already scribbled out throughout the week.

Leaning forward, you tap your nails on the wood of the coffee table, eyes scanning over the songs left.

“I want to do the Paramore one.” You say, biting on your lower lip. It was more punk sounding, but you felt confident in your ability to pull it off.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, you look up at him - half through your lashes due to the angle you sat at. Steve watches you carefully, one of his hands going to squeeze Bucky’s knee.

“I like her voice. I think I can do it.” You lean back, “Unless there is another song you liked more?”

“No, we can do that one,” Steve agrees, Sam hums and nods along as well.

The practice goes as smoothly, much to your surprise. It was your first time actually all practicing at the same time, usually you had been singing separately to their music in order to practice the rock style of singing. There were quite a few mess ups, someone making a mistake, you forgetting a word or momentarily doubting your ability to hit a note. You suppose the coffee helped you all focus for the couple hours before you had to leave for your piano class.

You were barely a few steps down the hallway when Bucky swung the door open to follow you, a smug smile over his face. You pause, leaning against the wall with a curious stare.

“Did I forget something?” You ask, brows furrowing as you notice his hands are empty.

“No, I wanted to ask you something,” Bucky says, wetting his bottom lip and running a hand through his brunette hair. You exhale sharply, leaning further against the wall for support. Then - to your surprise - Bucky moves in closer, so his palm is pressed against the wall above your head, leaning in so he’s looking down at you.

“Will you come to the party tonight?” He murmurs, you resist the urge to shiver. The feeling of him standing so close to you… it was like at the party all over again. You’re surprised your knees haven’t given in with the rate your heart is beating at. You keep your gaze steady, focused on his face.

“Hm. What’s in it for me?” You breathe, giving him a coy smile. Bucky chuckles, you can hear the rumble in his chest.

“Well, for starters, great company, great drinks if you mix them yourself, weed if Scott’s around, a great playlist….” He trails off from his list, giving you an expectant look.

“I’ll come, but only for the free booze.” You say with a teasing smile.

“Oh! You wound me, siren.” Bucky says, pretending to clasp his chest in pain. You continue to smile along with him.

Then there is a pause where both of you stare at each other for a moment. Bucky reaches forward, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with his metal hand. The metal grazes your cheek, the chill making you shiver involuntarily.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you then.” Bucky breathes, you don’t even get a chance to compose yourself or respond before he has pulled away and dipped back into the practice room. You release a sharp breath, cursing at yourself internally for absolutely melting in his presence.

You have to pinch yourself through your sweater the entire walk to your piano class.

When you had arrived at the party you hadn’t been able to find Bucky or Steve. You had passed the time with Sharon, Peter and MJ. Even Kate and Yelena paused their makeout session to catch up with you. Since John’s return to campus, everyone had been on edge. It seemed more people were looking out for you than expected.

You were becoming increasingly tipsy, pushing back the feeling of apprehension in your gut whenever you were alone in the kitchen. Apparently Steve had pre-gamed too hard, him and Bucky disappearing into one of the bedrooms to sober up. You couldn’t help but feel strange about it, were they avoiding you? Even after they had invited you? Did Bucky want to avoid you after that moment in the hallway?

You chewed on those thoughts all night, eventually giving up on the booze and returning to water. You didn’t really feel like being black-out and hysterical in the frat house, especially with Natasha watching your every move. She still seemed to hate you for some reason, you weren’t sure why. Feeling nervous under her death glares, you snuck upstairs to find Scott. You had assumed he would be smoking, but the noises coming from his bedroom suggested otherwise.

Feeling defeated, you slid down the wall in the hallway with a sigh. You were still a bit tipsy, and the emotions coursing through your body weren’t helping your mood. You swirl the cup of water in your hand, watching the surface ripple. Even if you were excited to take John down, you couldn’t help but feel a little hopeless. There were still so many unknowns, so many problems you had to run over in your brain.

A door to your left swings open, you recognise the deep laughter of Bucky as he walks backwards out of the room. He’s so caught in his conversation with whoever is still in the room, you assume it is Steve. He has that lovesick puppy look on his face. You consider getting up, walking down the stairs before he catches sight of you. You’re frozen though, watching as Bucky runs a hand through his hair, leaning against the doorframe.

His grin turns to a frown as he spots you sitting on the floor down the hallway. Your heart clenches, maybe they were sick of you? Usually he looks happy to see you. It didn’t even cross your mind that he was probably frowning because you looked unhappy, sitting all alone in the hallway. Bucky dismisses whoever he is speaking to, closing the door as he walks over to you. He slides down the wall across from you so you are sitting eye to eye.

“You alright?” He asks, voice low in comparison to the music downstairs. You nervously wet your lips. You had been pining for their presence, their attention all night. Then the moment one of them actually showed you attention? Your heart was beating like you were on the verge of cardiac arrest.

“Yeah,” You respond, swallowing thickly. “I came up to smoke with Scott… but well, I guess he’s a bit busy.” Bucky offers you a grin at that, some of the tension leaves your chest after seeing him smile.

“Oh yeah? He’s been eyeing that guy all night, I’m not surprised.” Bucky says with a chuckle, nudging his knee with yours. You shake your head with a quiet laugh, taking a sip from your water. There is a long silence between the two of you, Bucky watches as you fidget with the ends of your hair.

You felt stupid for thinking Bucky and Steve would’ve been avoiding you. You had been so caught up in your own head to realize your overthinking side had taken control. This past week you had practically been hanging out with them everyday - why did a couple hours away stress you out so much? Even Loki had noticed you hadn’t been home as often - asking why you were always out practicing so late. You still hadn’t had the heart to tell him the full story, only that you were doing an assignment with some of Group A. He had grumbled enough at the idea of that - you couldn’t imagine how he would react if he knew it was Bucky and Steve you were teamed with.

“I still haven’t spoken to Loki.” You blurt out suddenly, the alcohol in your system making you more loose-lipped than usual. Bucky studies you with furrowed brows.

“Why not?” He asks.

“I don’t know… I guess I’m just angry at him. For what he did to you and Steve.” You admit, tracing the lip of the cup you’re holding. You can’t even look at Bucky, his gaze feels so intense on your skin.

“Both Steve and I know your position now. You don’t have to worry about it, we’re not going to… judge you for being friends with him. It’s not your job to make up for it on his behalf,” Bucky says with a sigh. Guilt squeezes your heart, you felt bad for bringing up downer topics like John and Loki all the time. You just couldn’t get it out of your brain, you needed to talk about it like it was an itch to scratch.

“It’s just… I don’t know if I want to be friends with someone… who did something like that.” You murmur. Bucky’s skin hand finds your knee, squeezing it gently in a comforting manner. Your stomach does a euphoric flip, your ears getting red.

“Y/N…” He murmurs back, he seems at a loss for words. Your eyes snap up to his. The expression on his face is so… dejected. Like he’s upset at your confession. Maybe he’s upset with himself for telling you the truth, for causing you to feel that way about Loki. He must know the two of you were close. You hate it. It wasn’t his fault that things turned out this way.

“From what I’ve gathered, he never apologized. I keep running it over and over again in my mind. He just… doesn’t seem to care.” You say, leaning forward so your hand is placed over his. You squeeze it, replicating the same comforting action with a sad smile.

“What happened between us and Loki… Steve and I are kind of over it now, you know? Like yeah, an apology would be nice but… we’ve moved on. You don’t need to beat yourself up about it.” Bucky says, eyes scanning over your face. He doesn’t attempt to move his hand, instead gently stroking your knee with the pads of his fingers. You can tell that he’s not over it, that he’s just trying to comfort you.

“Loki literally could’ve ruined your life…” You trail off, brain stuttering a bit at the ticklish feeling of his fingers dancing across your knee.

“What Steve and I did, it could’ve ruined your life.” Bucky returns firmly, eyes firmly placed on yours.

“No.” you say firmly, with the shake of your head. “It was just a messy situation. And we’re fixing it, together, remember?.” You offer him a small smile, he returns it and hums in thought for a moment. You know what he’s thinking, what he can say to convince you that everything is fine. You cut in before he can speak, before he can continue to blame himself. It hurt your heart too much.

“I spoke to Maria Hill.” You confess. You had meant to tell him this morning, but things had just got… too much. That moment in the hallway, the look he gave you while you played the piano…

“Maria… You spoke to Maria Hill?” Bucky blurts out in shock.

“She, uh, contacted me on Instagram. She wants to help. She wants to help me get in contact with some of John’s other exes and stuff.” You say sheepishly. Bucky beams at you, any conflict from earlier forgotten. You knew it would come back up eventually. For now, you should let it go. Seeing Bucky beam at you like that, god it felt good.

“That’s great though! That’s amazing, you’ll have the evidence you need, along with Steve and I’s statement.” Bucky rambles. You’re amazed at how… genuinely happy he is for you. It was like he was genuinely invested in the whole situation and was rooting for you to win.

“Yeah! It is. I just… need to figure out where to go from here. I can’t go to the Board, they’ll just get paid out again.” Your voice sounds a bit more dejected than you intended. Bucky dips his head to look into your eyes.

“You’ll figure something out. We’ll figure something out. Steve and I are here to help. No matter what happens.” He says, his tone serious yet kind. You openly blush at that, the idea of the two of them being there for you.

There is a long pause between the two of you. You run your thumb over his knuckles before leaning back again. He seems to catch your low mood. Everything seemed to weigh so heavily on your shoulders recently. Even if you were overjoyed with Maria, Steve, Bucky and countless others helping… you still felt that dread. That feeling like you were doing something wrong, that you should just keep quiet and stay out of the way. No matter what you did, it always weighed on your shoulders.

“What's going on in that head of yours?” Bucky asks, voice soft and quiet. You sigh slowly. That was a hard question. You had so many thoughts, so many anxieties, nightmares all rushing through you. It was hard to capture it in just a casual conversation with Bucky. It felt strange being so candid and open with him, just sitting in the hallway during some frat party. He drew out parts of you that you didn’t even realize existed. Or parts of yourself that you didn’t want to openly admit. You didn’t feel embarrassed to admit it.

“I don’t know. I’m so… so angry all of the time. I don’t even know what to do with it. It just sits inside of me and consumes me whole. It's just like this persistent white noise in the back of my head and it’s constant. Sometimes I want to scream, I want to punch something but I can’t even do that. I just… sit and do nothing. I just let it eat me alive.” You answer honestly, peeking up at him. He hums as he thinks, his fingers tapping out a beat on your knee. You watch the way his brows furrow, the way his jaw clenches as unspoken thoughts pass through his mind.

“Then scream it all out, darling.” He replies with a chuckle, a ghost of a smile across his lips. Your mind immediately goes to the gutter. “You classical students, you’re all so… pent up. This is why it’s great you’re doing this assignment with us. You literally have the perfect song to just… scream it all out. No one is stopping you.”

You shake your head with a laugh. Of course he was talking about music… not other acts. You really needed to grow up from this giggling schoolgirl act. The fucking darling comment though. Whenever he or Steve calls you darling your stomach is filled with butterflies, a needy heat between your legs. Bastards, did they not know what they did to you?

“I’m serious!” Bucky says with a laugh, completely oblivious to the effect he had over you. “We can book a practice room and you can just scream for a bit, it’s super therapeutic, trust me.”

“I usually just play the piano when I’m upset.” You admit. His hand was still on your knee, tracing patterns. You were going to be sick from that tenderness you felt for him. You wanted to just lean over and kiss him. But you couldn’t. He had Steve, and they didn’t like you in that way.

“I know, I heard you all the time in the practice rooms. Even before we knew each other. At first it annoyed me, then I realized how empty the practice room hallway sounds without you playing.”

You are a little stunned by that, Bucky had noticed you before the Annual Showing? Why had he never brought that up? Why had he acted like the party last weekend was the first time he had noticed you?

“Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?” You ask, Bucky shrugs.

“I saw you around the house a lot, with Scott. I assumed you guys were hooking up or something-” He starts, you cut him off with a sharp laugh, clutching your chest as you try to not spill your cup of water. You were too shocked by that comment to notice that he had admitted he had noticed you before. Bucky Barnes didn’t seem the type to stew on the presence of people if it didn’t mean something to him.

“Me and Scott? No way. Oh my god! We just smoke together.” You wheeze between bouts of laughter. Bucky flushes a bit pink, which sends you even more over the edge.

“Well, I know that now!” Bucky protests, embarrassed, as you giggle.

The door to your left slams open again, interrupting your conversation. A tipsy looking Steve stumbling out. He doesn’t look as drunk as you had expected him to be, you supposed the last two hours Bucky must have been nursing him back to soberness.

“Buck? Oh. There you are.” He calls down the hallway. Bucky just shakes his head at you and stands. You calm yourself, gratefully taking his hand as he offers it to you. With little effort, he pulls you to your feet. Now standing, you smooth down the skirt you are wearing. It’s slitted up your thigh, revealing some leg. You’ve paired it with a cropped tank top and some doc martens. It was a risky outfit for the weather, so you had brought a jacket that you had abandoned somewhere downstairs.

“Siren, darling, you look so fucking hot.” Steve suddenly announces, causing you to choke on air. Bucky just gives Steve a wide-eyed look of ‘what the fuck’ as you try to stay composed. The hold, the grip they had over you was practically killing you.

“Steve, you’re drunk.” You manage to choke out. Steve just grins at you, taking your cup from your hand. Your stomach flutters as his fingers brush yours. God, you were pathetic.

“What are you drinking?” He asks, eyeing the liquid suspiciously. Probably trying to decide if it was water or straight vodka.

“Water. Do you want it?” You ask, suddenly feeling extremely sober after Steve’s little outburst. Bucky eyes the both of you cautiously. He seemingly had also been shocked into a sober quietness.

“I probably should, shouldn’t I?” Steve chuckles, tipping his head back as he gulps down the last of the water. His arms sneak around your waist, pulling you into his chest from behind. His chin rests on top of your head. “Thanks.”

Bucky watches you like you’re a ticking fucking bomb, as if he’s expected you to freak out at Steve’s touch. Instead, you push past the fastening pace of your heart and the heat between your legs. Running your palms across Steve’s forearms, you pause so your hands are linked over your stomach, directly above where his lay.

Bucky arches an eyebrow at your sudden ease with touch. You’re surprised yourself, usually you would’ve flinched away involuntarily. But somehow… you felt at ease with the two of them.

“Sam said you pre-gamed too hard,” You say to Steve, breaking the tension, a teasing smile across your lips. Steve only groans into your hair. You feel your pulse pick up, god you were fucked. Bucky chuckles at that comment, watching Steve with a look of amusement.

“Yeah, and then I had to look after him for the next two hours and make sure he didn’t choke on his own puke.” Bucky says, crossing his arms over his chest. You purposely try not to look at his biceps.

Down the hall, Scotts door opens. A man you don’t recognise rushes out, a grin across his flushed face. You practically gape at all the forming hickeys across his neck as he dips down the stairs. Scott exits the room not too long afterwards, a lazy grin across his face as he bows to the three of you.

“Now, now, lady and gentlemen. No need to clap.” He rejoices. You roll your eyes at him.

“What the hell did you do to his neck Scott? What are you, part fucking octopus?” You say, Steve chuckles into your hair once again, sending goosebumps across your skin. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You’re surprised he can’t feel your heart about to burst out of your fucking chest.

“No, I’m not, unfortunately. Having tentacles would be hot though.” He says, making slurping noises at you and swinging his arms around like tentacles as he walks closer. You make a squealing noise, backing further into Steve’s chest for protection as Bucky laughs at you.

“Ew! You’re so gross!” You yelp, turning in Steve’s grip so you’ve buried your face into his shoulder. Steve seems to enjoy that, grinning as he wraps his arms closer around you, pulling your body into his chest for protection. You hear Bucky clear his throat. Oh fuck, did he think you were coming onto his boyfriend? Steve doesn’t make a move to release you, but he’s also drunk.

“We should probably head down. Sam’s probably bitching that we’ve all been up here all night.” Bucky says. You hum in agreement, pulling yourself from Steve’s grip.

“As long as you keep the tentacle freak away from me, I’m happy.” You huff. Bucky just grins at you, easing some of your tension.

“Hey! You love me!” Scott grumbles, pulling you in to plant a kiss on your cheek. You roll your eyes, shoving him away.

“Gross. I don’t know where your lips have been,” You mutter, rubbing your face.

“I think I do, and I’m pretty sure the guy is downstairs,” Steve says with a cheeky grin. Bucky barks out a laugh, holding onto the wall for support. You lightly slap Steve’s shoulder with wide eyes.

“I hate all of you.” You groan, making a beeline for the stairs as their laughter follows you.

Chapter 7

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silvertonedwords · 1 year

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Together, Chapter 3

Together Chapter 3 is here

If you want me to post this here, let me know and I will, but it is 9,000+ words, and that honestly just gets really unwieldy, so, below is a preview.

Dear Newt,

I was glad to read an update on the diricawls. I hope they do well this week.

We’re wrapping up that smuggling case I’ve been telling you about. Work is still busy. I prefer it that way, although I wish I’d been able to write you yesterday. A new informant came in unexpectedly, and I was at the office until just after one.

You asked how I am. The truth is: I don’t know. I look for the shoes she left in the middle of the floor—I used to nag her about that endlessly—and for her sewing projects on the side table. I expect replies to my thoughts.

I’m angry at how I left things. But I also don’t know how not to be angry at her for what she’s done. I haven’t always agreed with her choices, but I used to think I could understand them.

What in Merlin’s name was she thinking in Paris? How could she be so taken in by that man and his bigotry? Especially given how our poppa’s family was treated in Europe. I can’t understand it.

I know that you do not have answers to these questions any more than I do.

I found a page of notes I’d made when I first read your book—questions and things. I never got the chance to ask them in London or Paris. Would you answer them now, in your letters? I have enclosed the page with this letter.

The drawing that you enclosed of Queenie and Jacob on the evening we all met was wonderful. You’ve captured their expressions perfectly. I suppose I knew that you’d done your own illustrations, but I didn’t realize that you liked drawing people, too. They’re beautiful. Do you often sketch things like this from memory? You mentioned that it feels as though that dinner was ages ago, although it was only the year before last. I agree. Sometimes I think Queenie and I must’ve known you and Jacob forever.

Did the Zouwu get off alright? Your friend was supposed to get her settled in on the 18th, wasn’t he?

Oh, and I meant to tell you, I put in a request on Monday to exchange more information on Grindelwald’s movements with the Ministry Auror’s Office. The bureaucracy is always a challenge, but at least I know that Theseus and his team understand what’s at stake.

I can see how you’ve described him. He can be quite fixed in the way he sees things. He has good instincts, though, and at times is very perceptive. I’m glad you’ve been looking after him when he needs it. Please look after yourself, too.

I wish I could draw as you do, because I’d send you a sketch of how the city looks this evening. The sun has just begun to set, and it is beautiful.

Tell Pick and the nifflers hello from me. I hope everyone in the case and menagerie is well.

Yours,

Tina

The sound of steps in the next room to pulls Tina from sleep. She grabs for her wand and points it at the open doorway. Only as her eyes begin to adjust to the darkness does she recall that the sound might be a house guest rather than an intruder. Mercy Lewis, she thinks, please let it be a nice, mellow creature, and not an erumpent in heat or a bunch of baby nifflers come to find Momma’s shabbat candlesticks.

But as the figure in the doorway reaches a strip of moonlight, she sees that it is not a magical beast at all, but a wizard. Her stomach jolts pleasantly at the recollection of everything that happened tonight. “Newt.”

“Merlin’s beard, I didn’t mean to—“

She follows his gaze to her wand arm, and lowers it, laughing ruefully. “Sorry. Habit.”

“Yes.” His posture relaxes a little. “Of course.”

“Nobody’s gotten out, have they? It’s cold tonight, and—“

“No, no. Not that I know of anyway.” He winces—partly a smile—at his answer, and she laughs softly.

She spends a moment taking in his appearance after a few hours apart. His hair looks darker in moonlight, almost brown, except for the strands that shine copper where the light hits directly. He must sleep in these clothes, for he has changed since she last saw him, into a well-worm pair of trousers and a shirt with a deep open collar. His eyes are tired, but warm. The vulnerability and trust, so clear in his gaze, makes her ache to be closer.

“I—“ He glances down, as though gathering his words. “I woke and I felt—alone? And I wanted…” She throws her covers off and makes her way to him. He trails off when her hand covers his, and his gaze flies to hers.

She feels him search her face and hopes he’ll see the vulnerability and trust and warmth she felt, given to him in turn.

He slides his fingers between hers.

And a breath later, he is in her arms, wrapping his tightly around her and pressing his face into her neck. His hold is fierce.

“Oh,” she breathes, settling her arms around him.

He drops a featherlight kiss on her neck. His hands are warm where they rest against her. “Okay?”

She nods into his neck and shoulder. “Of course.” She is grateful for his care in asking, but it is difficult to imagine a world in which this touch could be unwelcome.

Continue on Archive of Your Own

#together #updated!#my writing #newtina #newtina fanfiction #post sod #it's finally here!#thanks for your patience #not that you had a choice

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princessmariaphiliper · 4 months

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‘Wintering’ Part 3

Wintering (especially of a bird) Spend the winter in a particular place.

Where Arthur and Merlin meet, again, and again, and again. Until eventually- they fall for one another.

Monday December 18th

Arthur entered the church hall.

Christmas was right around the corner, work signed off on Thursday and he was more than ready to relax. Over the weekend heaps of snow had fallen. Covering the world in a sea of white velvet and exciting the masses. He was a little early for the soup kitchen today, having driven straight from work in fear of the icy roads causing major mayhem / traffic.

He rubbed cold hands together, feeling the chill of outside in the building. Cursing Merlin. Merlin who- a few days ago had bridged the social expectation of adding one another on social media.

He had, admittedly, stalked his profile for hours.

Consuming the many images of Merlin and friends. And more of books upon books, black coffee, historical buildings or documents of said historical buildings. The most predominant images however being of the very church he stood in now, acting as a sort of motif on his page.

After some further digging he’d discovered Merlins PHD had been written on said building.

Everything finally making sense to Arthur with a lazy smile across his face.

Zooming in on pictures of Merlin through the early hours of the morning in bleak midwinter.

He’d spend the past few days working out costs of getting the skilled labourers needed to fix the church roof. Ringing them up one by one to interview (interrogate) them about previous projects as delicate as this one. So far he’d found only two men with the dependable skill set that Arthur trusted.

He wanted to do good by Merlin. As a sort of apology for his behaviour the first couple of times the two had met. Not because he liked him or anything.

Definitely not because of that.

Rubbing his eyes with delirium. He listened to a voice singing across the church hall. Stunned by the sound of it.

The church, as usual, was candlelit and smelt of frankinsense. The recently erected christmas tree glowed with red and gold baubles. Mesmerising golden star balancing atop of it. Adding to the familiarity a faint addition of pine. Arthur breathed in the smell. Relaxing into the sound.

Tip me in your smooth waters

I go in

As a man with many crimes

Come up for air

As my sins flow down the Jordan

Oh, I wanna come near and give ya

Every part of me

But there is blood on my hands

And my lips aren't clean

Arthur followed like a dog to its dish, mesmerised by the music.

His heart might very well have stopped beating when the musician came into his sightline.

Merlin was seated at the organ, seemingly in his own world. Eyes closed and singing out.

The blonde stilled in his tracks. Blinking thrice slowly.

Take me to your river

I wanna go

Go on

Take me to your river

I wanna know

Why didn’t he know what to do with his hands?

Merlin opened his eyes, focusing on the lyrics infront of him. Voice trickling from him like water, Arthur was honey, melting into his heat. To look like that was something unholy.

Thats when it happened. Arthur, breath hitched, thinking of every step before he took it towards Merlin. Realisied how beautiful the man before him was. It was as though he was always made to find him here. In this church, snow falling outside with the day dying behind coloured glass.

With his soft raven curls and full looking lips, his stupid black hoodie covering his top half.

His singing dropped off as his fingers fumbled on the organ keys. A faint growl of frustration falling from his throat. He fiddled with the sheet music on the stand, turing over the pages to the front. Beginning again.

“Bravo Merlin.” Arthur was speaking before he registered it. “Didn’t know you were such a songbird.”

Merlin looked across to the voice, startled. Registering the voice as Arthurs. Who was by Merlin’s side in an instant.

“We just met. Theres a lot you don’t know about me”

“I know you’re an imbecile” He jested.

“Thats not very nice” Merlin fake pouted. Arthur coudln’t look away.

“I feel honored to have gotten a sneak peak of the show.”

“Oh - thats not in the setlist dont worry, I’m fiddling with possible contenders for Easter.”

“Ah, well it should be.”

The two looked upon one another, eyes locking. Merlin's head tilted upwards as a disciple, Arthur his secret prayer. A pause swelled. Both captivated. Merlin near enough whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah its lovely.”

“Thank you.” There was a softness in his voice. Arthur wanted to keep it.

Arthur cleared his throat, breaking the eye contact.

“Are you always here?”

“Rough day.”

“Right.”

“You?”

“Food bank, wanted to get here early because of the snow.”

“Of course.”

Merlin suddenly shifted along the piano bench, patting the seat beside himself. Inviting the blonde to sit down. Arthur raised a brow at the boy quizzingly.

“What?” Merlin stated with a lazy smile, “I’m freezing let me steal your body heat.”

Arthur took a seat obediently beside him. Rolling his eyes as he plopped down.

Their arms brush and Arthur holds onto his breath. He can smell Merlin’s chosen fragrance of the day - a mixture of tonka and toffee, He smelt like heaven.

Arthur listened to the light sound of his breathing for a few seconds.

Idly, overcome with awkwardness, Arthur took the sheet music into his own hands. Pretending to read.

“It was lovely you know. Your singing, I mean.” He said in a near enough whisper.

“Whats come over you? Are you feeling well?” Merlin teasingly placed his the back of his fingers against Arthurs forehead. Arthurs cheeks grew warm. “You’re being far too sentimental this evening”

He swatted his hand away.

“I’m just in the festive spirit Melin.”

“That or you’ve had too many mulled wines.”

“Two things can be true at once”

“Hmm.”

“So whats on the setlist for Friday?” He considered his statement, turning towards Merlin enquisitevly. “It is Friday isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Are you - going to be there?” Merlin didn’t look at him while he spoke, Arthur tried to read his body language. Unsure of the answer the other wanted.

“Erm,” Arthur was taken aback by the question. “I was going to come with Morgana yes.”

“For gods sake.” Merlin teased. “Can’t get rid of you.”

“Shut up Merlin.” “Shut up Merlin”

Merlin mimicked, their voices overlapping one another. Pulling a chuckle out of Arthur at his boldness. Granting Merlin a shove.

Arthurs fingers electric as they touched the soft material of Merlins jumper. Pushing him a little too hard, the blonde hadn't realised how close he was to the end of the bench. Merlin, beginning to fall off the edge, grabbed onto Arthurs own jumper in a blind panic. A tiny yelp drawing from his lips. Eyes going wide as he registered the sound he made.

“What the hell was that?” Arthur laughed as Merlin straightened up, embarrassed. Letting the other free from his grasp.

“You’re such a dick.” He hissed in amusement.

“I was going to say the same about you!”

Merlin braced his hands onto his knees, giving into the arrival of the night. He took a deep breath, checking his phone for the time. Beginning to stand, he gathered the papers in front of them. Placing a timid hand upon Arthurs board shoulder.

“I should get going. Get out of your hair.” He stated. Arthur detected a hint of sadness in his voice, but most likely imagined it. Letting go with a smile. “I’ll see you Friday?”

“Yes! See you friday!” Merlins brow raised with a smirk, amused by his quickness.

“Gorgeous.”

Arthur stood along with him then. Pulling his sleeves down to cover his hands, chill rolling through him as he registered the lack of Merlins warmth by his side now. They gazed at one another for a while. Four blue eyes holding eachother. Arthur studied Merlin’s face, up close and soft he looked handsome. With a five oclock shadow upon chisled cheekbones, and cowish lashes fluttering underneath the boys fringe. He marked the freckles dotted around his brow, registering them to his memory.

Arthur realised he was staring. Killing the tensity the only way he knew how.

“Now go away. I have people to feed.”

Friday December 22nd

The churchhall glowed a warm golden colour. Sound of hyms lulling across people in pews. The atmosphere was alive with cheer.

The crowd had arrived around eight, with the concert due to start at nine. Guests cuddled by their coats, hats and scarves protecting them from the snowfall. Shedding their layers as they all became seated. Chatter about deals on turkey filling the room.

Merlin had searched for Arthur in the crowd. Having seen from his instagram story that he’d arrived over twenty minuets ago. Gwen noticed his anticipation.

“Who are you looking for?” She observed, joining him to lean over the balcony. They’d already greeted their group of friends, Isobel, Zeren, Gwaine and Leon having gotten there a half hour back. Taking a pew towards the front of the holy building, a seat next to Isobel reserved for Hunith (Running late due to snowfall).

“No one.” Merlin stated casually. Leaning back.

Gwen’s eyes finally landed on the object of Merlins desires. He was so readable.

“He’s sixth row back.”

“Who?”

“Arthur.”

“Thats nice.”

“You’re a nightmare.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Merlin was feeling all sorts of emotions as they made their way down to the ground floor. Fluttering around the choir and calming nerves with soft pats upon backs and gente hand squeezes. The church was alive with people. Merlin felt love surround him. Scanning the faces in the crowd as he walked over to the organ. He saw Zeren beam, giving a supportive thumbs up as his mother scooched along their pew. Glad she’d arrived on time.

He felt he should be able to relax a little, now Huniths gentle face was giving him that warm motherly gaze she had done his whole life.

But he couldn’t.

And he knew why.

He was nervous to perform infront of Arthur, still having not spoken to him that evening. Scared to look foolish and awkward. Gone were the days he spent thinking of Arthur spitefully. Now, he thought about his tenderness. Hyperfixating on all the touches they’d shared, and scrolling through his pictures. He’d started posting more himself, in absolute glee each time Arthurs handle popped up on his screen.

He’d even written Arthur a christmas card. Like a schoolgirl. Thankfully foregoing the glitter gel pen. He wanted to give him it tonight, after the concert. It was making him feel a little sick.

Merlin found his face in the sea of people, Arthur sat up straight, eyes boaring into Merlin's soul.

He smiled - a timid wave hidden in the crowd. Merlins mind went blank. Forgetting where he was. Brightly he returned the gesture. Warmth filling him. All anxieties being pushed away.

Taking his seat, choir following. He began to play.

“Merlin!” Zeren and Hunith beamed. Both pulling the blue eyed boy into warming hugs one after the other. The rest of the group having excused themselves for cigarettes post performance.

“Hey,”

“Oh darling you were wonderful”

“Thanks mum,” Merlin responded sheepish.

“Really love you’re fantastic.” Hunith stated, pulling him in once again for another cuddle, nearly taking him out. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“Mum,” Embarrassed, he made pleading eyes as Zeren as she clung onto him.

Smiling warmly, she steered the conversation, saving Merlin from further mothering.

“I loved the third song, whats it called?”

“Oh,” Hunith released his grasp. “Scenes from an Italian restaurant.”

“Billy Joel.” A voice added from behind Merlin. Familiarity swallowing him whole.

“Arthur” He turned to face the boy beaming.

He pulled the other into a warm hug, forgetting himself. Pulling back to see Arthurs stunned face. So caught up in the hugs and love surrounding him. It took a moment before Arthur relaxed into the hug. The smell of ginger filling Merlin’s nostrils for a brief second before they pull back and let go.

“Thank you so much for coming.” Merlin greeted him. Eyes shining in the festive lights.

“You were terrible by the way.” Arthur grinned cheekily.

“Prat.”

“Dork.”

Giddy. The two smiled at one another, before Zeren cleared her throat. Reminding Merlin of where he was.

“Oh sorry,” He turned to face his mother and friend “Arthur, this is my mum Hunith. And friend Zeren.”

They wave gently at one another. Smiling happily.

“Nice to meet you both.” Arthur oses charm. Pulling the two into tender hugs, charismatically giving them both his notice. “Hunith?” He tested his pronunciation.

“Yes that's it.” His mother smiled at him.

“Beautiful name, Welsh is it not?”

“Thank you, yes. It is. Merlin darling where have you found this man? So charming, you could do with learning some manners from him.” Holding onto Arthurs palms, warming them in her own.

“I’m glad you’ve brought that up actually Hunith, as the first time we met he called me a tosser.” Arthur teased, Merlin rolling his eyes.

“Merlin!”

“There was context for that.”

“No there wasnt”

“Arthur dear I’m so sorry. Just know I tried my best to raise him right.”

“I dont doubt that for a second Hunith.”

“I don’t like you two being in a room together” Merlin said flatly, trying (failing) to hide his grin. The reality was the opposite. Watching the two interact warmed his stomach, in the glow of god and hym. Things felt right. With his friend stood beside him, his mother and Arthur.

December was starting to feel like Christmas.

“Oh,” He took the opportunity, running. “I have a card for you Arthur don't let me forget it.”

Arthur nodded at him. Another killer smile taking residency upon his lips.

The four of them chatted for a while. Small talk and jovial nattering before Arthur had to excuse himself. His parking finally up. Merlin ran to his bag on the other side of the church. Christmas card aquired he delivered it to Arthur upon his return. Before the blonde patted his shoulder in a goodbye. Wishing one another a Very Merry Christmas.

When he had finally gone Hunith and Zeren stared at him expectedly.

“Who was that?” Hunith teased.

“Just a friend.”

“Very handsome friend.”

“Mum.”

“Dashing.”

“Mother please.”

“Yes darling?”

“Don’t.”

“Is he coming for christmas dinner?”

Wednesday December 27th

Hey Arthur! I’m having a party round my place for New Years. If you’re free come along! We’re going to drink and then make our way over to the Minster for the midnight countdown. I’d love to have you there, Hope you had an awful Christmas Dollophead xo

#merlin x arthur christmas #merlin christmas fic #merthur christmas #merthur au #modern day au #merlin x arthur #merlin fic #merthur #bbc merlin #merlin #Spotify

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crissiebaby · 1 year

Text

Growing Into Diapers: Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: This story contains diaper usage, sissification, humiliation, forced drug use, domination, masturbation/diaper sex, hyperwetting, anal play, mental regression, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

Commissioned By: BlossomBitchDolly

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“Mmmmmmm! C’mon!”

Lying in bed with a bottle of lotion on one side of him and a box of tissues on the other, Edan wasn’t having the most pleasurable time pleasuring himself. Ever since his play sessions with Aubrey began, he hasn’t been able to climax on his own, relying on her to drain him at work. Normally, a few days of minor impotence wouldn’t be a huge issue, especially after getting a hand job from someone who wasn’t himself. However, tacking on the fact that he was horny practically non-stop now, and his life was quickly devolving into chaos.

It wasn’t even that masturbating was wholly unpleasurable. Far from it as his cock felt more sensitive than ever, leading to more than a couple of sticky stains on the few pairs of underwear he’d attempted to wear. If only the stains on his undies were only semen. An added kick to his ego was the fact that even since he’d started wearing, he found he no longer had much control over his bladder, begrudgingly confining him to diapers. Mercifully, number two’s had been no problem, keeping him from filling his diaper with even more shame than he already felt.

Edan’s bladder was still a major issue though, even if his bowels were fully under control. He’d managed to run through the entire pack of diapers his company had given him and now only had two left. At least tomorrow was Monday, meaning that he’d be able to replenish his supply without being forced to buy a pack from a store.

“Ugh! Fuck it!” shouted Edan, letting go of his semi-hardened dick and collapsing back onto his pillow in frustration, panting after a flurry of stroking. As much as he hated to admit it, if he hadn’t cum after his nearly hour-long jerk session, it just wasn’t going to happen tonight. However, one thing he refused to admit was that there was anything wrong with the current state of his penis. Raising his head slightly, he grimaced as he gazed upon his nearly flaccid cock, which was currently about the size of a fun-sized candy bar. Unable to move past the first stage of grief, he concluded that it wasn’t his dick that was small but instead, it was his testicles that had grown, causing an error in his perspective. While his reasoning was very flawed, his observation about the size of his balls wasn’t. Unlike his phallic failure, his ballsack was larger than it ever had been in his life, which only added to his desperate need to climax.

Wiping the lotion off of his cock with a tissue, Edan trudged into his bathroom and got down on the towel that he was using for a makeshift changing mat as he proceeded to tape himself into a new diaper before bed. As he sat down on the mat, he winced slightly, feeling external pressure on the butt plug in his anus. It wasn’t his favorite feeling in the world, but it made Aubrey so happy to see him wearing it, so he figured he might as well get used to it, removing it only to use the potty. In spite of his bladder and ejaculation misfortunes, the one silver lining of being sent back to diapers was his evolving relationship with his boss. The previous week had seen daily play sessions with Aubrey becoming part of his normal routine, something he hoped would continue come Monday morning. Eventually, he hoped to take their relationship to the next level by asking her out to dinner, after he got a handle on his bladder again, of course.

Pressing down the final tape on his diaper, Edan sighed as he realized how normal seeing himself in padding had become. As he shifted in his seat, a soft moan escaped his lips as his dick rubbed against the soft interior of his plastic nappy. Resting a hand on his diaper front, he considered taking a page from Aubrey’s book and giving himself a good diaper rubbing. However, he wasn’t sure that was any better for his self-esteem than not cumming at all. Returning to his bed, he decided to sleep off his raging arousal in hopes of receiving even greater relief from Aubrey when he arrived at work tomorrow.

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Day broke on CrissBaby HQ, welcoming its employees back through its doors on a lovely Monday morning. Walking stiff and wide due to the butt plug-diaper combo, Edan briskly entered his place of work and made a beeline straight for his desk. Since his pants no longer fit him, he was forced to come to work diaper out, something he was still very self-conscious about despite the support his colleagues had given him. The only solace he found was that his movements were definitely becoming more natural, showing he was getting at least somewhat used to padding, as well as having a toy up his bum at all times. Though, he wasn’t exactly certain that was a good thing.

As Edan sat down at his desk, he was surprised to see that there was a small gift waiting for him. It was a tall, plastic water bottle with the Crissbaby company logo on its side and a rubber nipple pulled over its top. Next to the bottle was a small note that read:

Attention all CrissBaby employees, starting today, all corporate office employees must use CrissBaby branded water bottles. Thank you for your compliance.

Rolling his eyes, Edan was beginning to think someone in the company had a vested interest in treating their employees like actual babies at every turn. Snatching the bottle off of his desk, he was shocked to find that it had already been filled up for him. He quickly removed the rubber nipple and sniffed the bottle, confirming it was merely water inside. While he didn’t believe anyone in his office was out to poison him, he planned to empty it out and wash it before taking his first sip.

However, just as Edan was about to head over to the break room to refill his bottle, Aubrey approached him at his cubicle, causing him to stiffen up instantly in more ways than one. “Happy Monday, Edan,” she said, placing her arms around his torso from behind and leaning her head against his, “I hope you're wearing your favorite toy today because I’ve been aching to have fun with you all weekend long.”

Gulping hard, all thoughts left Edan’s head as he melted within Aubrey’s arms. The way she whispered into his ear so that he could feel her breath tickle his skin was intoxicating, as was the rose-scented perfume she wore. “I-I am, my mistress,” he said, addressing his boss by her preferred pet name. He felt a swarm of butterflies flapping around in his belly as he said it.

“Wonderful. Come see me in my office on your lunch break. I’ll be waiting for my baby boy,” said Aubrey, running her finger along the back of Edan’s neck as she made a swift exit from his cubicle. Edan, meanwhile, was left speechless, his climax-deprived brain craving release more than ever. With a shaky hand, he reached over and grabbed his new bottle, wetting his parched throat in hopes that the cold liquid would calm him down. Sadly, it didn’t seem to be working as he felt his cock throbbing against his slightly damp diaper. Today was going to be a long day.

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The clock could not tick fast enough. It was as if someone was intentionally making time move slower, or at least that’s what it felt like to Edan. In the four hours since Aubrey whispered sweet nothings into his ear that morning. He rubbed his eyes, struggling to focus on the tiny text displayed on his computer screen. Mercifully, his eternity of waiting finally came to an end as his 12:45 alarm went off, alerting him that his break had begun.

With an extra bit of pep in his step, Edan stood up from his desk and stretched out his limbs as he collected his things. Not that he was actually going to need them, but he didn’t want his co-workers to find out about his more than professional relationship with his boss. Unfortunately, no matter how casual he tried to appear, he was so unfathomably horny that it took every ounce of strength he had to resist dropping his diaper right then and there so he could jerk off to his heart’s content. As he watched his colleagues file out of the office space, he chugged down the rest of his water bottle, wanting to ensure that he wasn’t even slightly dehydrated during his playtime with Aubrey. Unbeknownst to him, a small line of drool ran down his chin as he removed the bottle from his mouth.

“Oh, good! You’re still here,” said Rita, catching Edan by surprise as she arrived at his cubicle unannounced with Malorie right behind her, “Did you get that revised proposal all finished?”

A ping of anxiety hit Edan like a truck as he remembered that he was supposed to finish the revisions by lunchtime today, something he would’ve been more than capable of doing had he not spent all morning lost in a haze of horniness. He quickly tried to come up with an excuse, but since his mind still wasn’t firing on all cylinders, he could do nothing but stare blankly at his co-workers.

“Seriously, what have you been doing all day?” asked Malorie as both she and Rita folded their arms, giving him disapproving looks, “I swear, wearing diapers at work has turned your brain to mush.”

Grabbing Edan’s shoulders, Malorie and Rita sat their incompetent colleague back down in his chair. “Well, mi hijo, what do you have to say for yourself?” said Rita, scowling at him with deep intensity, “Come on, use your big boy wor-”

*hssssssssssss*

In an instant, the situation went from bad to worse for Edan as his body decided this was the perfect moment to empty out his bladder. It hit him with no warning and was almost as terrifying as the two angry women who were confronting him. His cheeks flared up, unable to rationalize the sheer amount of humiliation that was being heaped onto him.

“Oh, wow! You really are something else, Edan baby,” snickered Rita, her face twisting itself into a wicked smile. When she and Malorie came over here, they had only intended to fluster him a little bit, knowing well and good why he was falling behind in his work. They’d certainly added enough Brain Baby Mix and liquid aphrodisiacs to bring down an ox. However, they didn’t expect him to be anywhere near this pathetic. In the back of her mind, she gave Aubrey an unapologetic apology, deciding she wasn’t the only one who’d get to have fun.

Wanting to get away from Malorie, Rita, and the embarrassment they were bringing down on his head, he attempted to make a break for it, hoping to push past the two girls and escape from their clutches. The last thing he wasn’t was for them to cause him to miss his special session with Aubrey. To his surprise, he didn’t get his butt more than a couple of inches off of his chair before they shoved him back down, holding him in place.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” said Malorie, getting her face close to his as she leaned over him, trapping him in his chair, “Well? Weren’t you trying to run away from us just now? Did you give up already?”

Joining her cruel compatriot, Rita circled behind Edan’s chair, wrapped her arms around his upper body, and rubbed her hands around his chest, “Oh, I think he knows he’s much too weak to fight us. He may as well be a little girl, so feeble and meek.”

Edan felt as though he could start crying at any moment due to the girls’ endless taunts. However, his body disagreed with where his mental state was at, craving more of what the girls were offering as his cock began to pulse rapidly out of control.

“Maybe we should dress him up like a cute, widdwe baby girl. I think it would be much more fitting,” said Rita, her delicate hands encircling his diaper front, “I can tell just the thought of wearing precious girly dresses that don’t even come close to covering your diapers is getting you so hot. No need to look so stressed. Your aunties are here to help you and take care of you.”

Lost in a swirl of doting words and incredible sensations, Edan found it impossible to argue against what Rita and Malorie were saying, no matter how untrue it was. Of course, he didn’t want to be a baby girl. He didn’t even want to be a baby, period! Sadly, what he wanted didn’t matter as the girls continued to have their way with his body, bringing his arousal to new heights.

Reaching into her purse while Edan was in a dazed trance of inconceivable lust, Rita pulled out the small pocket vibrator she kept on hand in case of emergencies. Without warning, she turned on the buzzy toy and pressed it into Edan’s moist crotch, causing his entire diaper to vibrate in the most erotic way. Unable to rationalize the unmitigated pleasure that was enrapturing his body, his vision turned murky and his mind went numb, sending him careening down a spiral of never-ending bliss. With nothing grounding him in reality besides sexual gratification, his body reacted accordingly, pushing him far past the point of no return.

Letting out a guttural moan, Edan unloaded the weekend’s worth of semen he had built up into his diaper, smothering his cock in a wealth of creamy cummies. Unlike an average climax, this one was seemingly infinite as his hips bucked with each squirt. His murky vision slowly became a fog that was far too thick to see through, causing him to pass out as his brain shut down. The last thing he saw before his eyes went blank was Aubrey’s sexy silhouette as she stood over his crumpled-up body, shaking her head in disappointment.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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mariacallous · 1 year

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An obtuse government refuses to discuss pay as 100,000 nurses strike on Thursday in 53 English NHS organisations. That’s despite an offer from the Royal College of Nursing (RCN) to lower its opening bid. Ambulance drivers follow next week, the most severe threat of all the strikes, as this struggling service already fails to reach people experiencing heart attacks and strokes.

Labour’s shadow health secretary, Wes Streeting, tells me an elderly close relative who just fell and broke a hip and shoulder was told to wait eight hours for an ambulance: it may be hard to separate the effects of the strikes from the “normal” austerity-stricken NHS. At a follow-up hospital visit recently after removal of a cancerous kidney, Streeting couldn’t get his test results: he blamed not the “lovely” staff who “really care”, but the plight of the NHS.

From now on, expect all such events to be blamed on strikes, rather than the “decade of neglect” outlined in Monday’s devastating King’s Fund report into NHS dilapidations caused by years of underfunding. Before any strikes begin, the Guardian set a baseline with yesterday’s frontline report on 33 hours in the NHS, graphically depicting exhausted staff struggling with too many severely ill people and too few beds, nurses and doctors. Everyone in the NHS I speak to echoes the certainty of Alastair McLellan, the editor of the Health Service Journal, that “people have died needlessly due to the state of the NHS”, but expect front pages about the first named case the Tory press can blame on the strikes. One human case is worth a welter of statistics.

NHS England headquarters is braced – it is well-used to rightwing onslaughts about the very concept of the NHS, with Telegraph columnists claiming “Patients are getting nothing for extra NHS spending” or “Our feckless NHS is squandering Rishi Sunak’s tax raid”. NHS leaders are trapped, unable to set fair pay for their staff, caught between a won’t-pay government intent on political “victory” and attacks from rightwingers using this crisis to proclaim the death of the NHS idea. More nurses have quit this year than ever before, says the RCN, not just over-50s retiring early but alarming numbers leaving after four or five years, exhausted by over-work, under-staffing and pay they can’t live on. “Victory” against the strikers would be pyrrhic, as more would walk away.

In every interview ministers hide behind the sanctity of the “independent” pay review bodies, claiming they set public pay. They don’t and nor are they “independent”. The government decides on pay, using PRBs as camouflage. The 60 or so members of these eight bodies covering public sectors are picked by ministers, as is their Office of Manpower Economics secretariat. I tried to speak to some members – no luck. Only two of those 60 people come from the employees’ side, says the TUC: one from the army, with no affiliated union. (The Tory press protests at the armed forces standing in for some public staff paid more than them. That’s because, banned from striking, they get short-changed by government; a recent report says Met police, likewise banned, are increasingly forced to use food banks).

These opaque PRBs are nothing like the Low Pay Commission that sets the minimum wage, whose membership is shared between academics, employers and unions: the TUC says it works well. PRBs have two main criteria to consider, both bogus. What are the current financial circumstances, and what may be needed to recruit, retain and motivate staff? But they are given a fixed spending envelope, with a set pay rise baked in. Any extra pay comes out of the departmental budget, causing cuts.

This year, for some health service workers including nurses, the NHS pay review body did recommend a pay rise of 1% more than the 2% budgeted, with no other room for manoeuvre, apart from dividing a set sum between staff of different grades. It has no leeway to consider what the state could afford, if it chose. Plainly recruiting and retaining was conveniently ignored; the NHS has never needed to motivate staff more, with an accelerating 133,000 vacancies in England and 8% fewer people applying to nursing courses. Why have there been no public resignations from those rubber-stamping inadequate pay?

Labour’s welcome policy is for fair pay agreements across every sector, public and private, with a tripartite set-up like the Low Pay Commission. That ends the PRB sham.

Expect more of this pretence as the health secretary, Steve Barclay, preposterously tells BBC Breakfast: “We do have an independent pay review body and it’s important both sides respect that independent body.” But only the government can negotiate. Streeting calls the RCN’s readiness to halt strikes immediately for pay talks an “offer the government can’t refuse”, but Barclay wrongfoots himself with what the RCN calls the government’s “belligerence”. Nor, as the Institute for Fiscal Studies confirms, does public pay – far behind private pay, let alone top pay – cause a “wage-price spiral”. The government did intervene to stop rail employers settling at 10%, so let interviewers take no more pay humbug from ministers.

There are two big truths about the NHS. This is its worst ever crisis, says everyone inside it that I talk to. NHS England will privately point to the obvious reason why, with Covid not the biggest cause: beds have been cut, running hot at a dangerous 95% occupancy; in 2019, the OECD average was 76%. Look, they say, at pre-Covid years 2010-19 to see the UK spending 18% less per head than the EU’s 14 richest nations, 21% less than France, 39% less than Germany. That’s a gigantic shortfall year after year, as baby boomers age fast, pressing on the NHS.

But here’s the other big NHS truth. I have just finished breast cancer treatment that was kind and efficient and I am not alone in my appreciation: last year saw the highest level yet, almost nine out 10 cancer patients pleased with their treatment, as cancer survival rates keep rising.

For all that is going badly, a million people a day have appointments at GP practices in England, 40% on the same day, 70% face to face. But the IFS reports this week that post-Covid there are 5% fewer available beds for non-Covid patients and more beds blocked for lack of social care. The government ignores the one quick fix for the NHS: good funding and decent pay for social care.

NHS England is firing up its Help Us to Help You campaign, urging people to come forward with cancer symptoms, not to leave it too late, not to be deterred by fear that the NHS is overwhelmed. Out there it’s a political battleground and inside staff are often ground down, yet still surveys show most people most of the time encounter good treatment. Amid outrage at this government’s 12-year neglect, the NHS remains in need of stout defence against its perennial enemies.

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