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autumnsart22 · 3 years

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Drunk: Eren x reader pt. 2 🔥

This is part 2 of my Eren fanfic--if you want to read part 1, it’s here!

I worked with one of my amazing friends on this fanfic (most of the smut 😏) so if you enjoyed this, you should check out her AO3 account @Tawongan_2002

WARNING: SMUT🔥🔥

ALL CREDS TO THE AMAZING ARTIST! If anyone knows their @, please comment; I looked everywhere and I couldn’t find the original, but I would love to give them all the credit they deserve.

ENJOY!

You could barely look at Eren for a week after “the incident”. Every time you had a free moment, your thoughts would automatically wander back to him, replaying every word and expression, trying to figure out if he meant what he said--or if it was all just a dream your drunken mind had created.

You had woken up in Eren’s tent, so you knew that at least wasn’t your imagination. But everything else… you couldn’t be sure. And even if it did happen, maybe he wasn’t being serious. Maybe he was just messing with you.

Your confusion made it impossible to function around him, which meant you were reduced to the classic technique of avoiding him at all costs. It got you into a few awkward moments, when you would turn and walk the other way when he approached, or cut off mid sentence if he tried to join a conversation. You weren’t sure the others noticed, until Armin finally said something a week later.

“Y/n, is something going on with you and Eren? Did you fight?” Your friend glanced at you in concern, and you felt your stomach sink. Damn, you were hoping to avoid this conversation.

“What? No, of course not. I….nothing happened.”

Armin, being the observant person that he was, saw right through you. “Right.” He looked over to where Mikasa and Eren were talking a few feet away, then back to you. “You don’t have to tell me, but whatever it is, you should work it out.”

“Seriously Armin, there’s nothing going on.”

He patted your arm before giving you an apologetic look. “Well then you won’t mind…” He turned away, calling out to Mikasa across the field. “Mikasa! Do you want to pair up for combat training?”

The dark haired woman raised her eyebrows, her gaze immediately going to Eren.

Armin was quick to notice her hesitation. “Eren can be with Y/n for today.”

Your mouth fell open in horror, but Mikasa was already shrugging her shoulders in acceptance.

NOOOOO! you wanted to scream, but Eren was nodding in agreement as well and you were stuck.

Armin smiled slightly and patted your arm again. “Good luck!” Fuck.

Combat training took place an hour later, and your stomach sank as you noticed Eren moving towards you.

“Hey,” he murmured as he approached, and you forced a smile.

“Hi.”

You avoided meeting his eyes, but all that did was remind you of his words within his tent. “Why don’t you ever look at me?”

You took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts from your head. You had to focus if you were going to beat Eren.

A whistle blew, and you crouched in a defensive position, facing off. Eren eyed you carefully, looking for any openings in your stance while you did the same to him. Across the field, Mikasa had already pinned Armin to the ground, and Conny and Sasha had started a dance battle.

Eren lunged at you, and you jumped backward, avoiding his first punch. You slid to the left, kicking at the back of his knee, but he sidestepped. Again and again you came at each other, neither of you getting the upper hand, until--

You saw Eren’s foot sweeping out to trip you too late, but you managed to collide with him instead of falling on your face. He grunted as you slammed into him, causing you both to tumble backwards to the ground.

“I’m sorry--” You lifted your head ready to apologize, until you realized that Eren’s face was inches away, his whole body pressed against yours, and your legs tangled together. Your mind went blank and you felt your cheeks flame.

“Are you ok?” He asked seriously, scanning your face. His hands slid up the back of your thighs, coming to rest on your waist.

“I--yes…” You swallowed. “Sorry.”

His eyes trailed down to your mouth. “Y/n--”

“Eren!” Mikasa’s desperate voice broke whatever trance Eren had you under, and you awkwardly rolled off of him. The rest of the scouts who had been training were looking over as Mikasa and Armin jogged over, the former already scanning Eren from head to foot for injury. “What happened?”

You took the opportunity to turn and stride away, heading for your tent as you fought the sudden heat across your whole body. You could feel it pulsing between your legs, something that made a blush of shame creep up your cheeks. You didn’t understand how one person could affect you so thoroughly, and yet here you were.

The tension racing through your body from simply touching Eren...you had to do something to work it off before you faced him again.

You barely made it through the flap of your tent before you were shoving your leathers down your legs and falling onto your bedroll, kicking your underthings down to your ankles. Your hand eased between your thighs, and you buried your face in your pillow to muffle your moan. Your fingers were quickly wet with your juices, sliding easily between your folds and up to your clit. The second you touched the sensitive area, you arched and shuddered, imagining Eren’s hand instead. Your breath came in great gasps as you moved your fingers, using your pointer on your clit and easing your middle finger deep inside you.

“A-ah...” You gasped, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as you imagined Eren sliding your shirt off, his tongue on your nipples as he hiked your legs up. “Oh god--”

You were so close, somehow nearing an orgasm despite only a few minutes having gone by, your pent up energy making you more sensitive. A moan slipped through your teeth even as you tried to cover your mouth, loud enough that you were sure anyone passing your tent would have heard.

But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as your orgasm slammed into you, your legs shaking and your back arching.

“Oh, fuck.”

Your eyes flew open at the husky voice, and a second orgasm hit you immediately after the first as you saw Eren, his green eyes fixed on your fingers moving between your spread legs.

“Er-ren?” You gasped in horror, but through the pleasure still ripping through you, it was almost like you were moaning his name.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but it came out feral and deep. “I didn’t mean to--I wanted to talk to you--fuck--”

As your orgasm faded, you scrambled to pull a blanket over your exposed body-- like that would do anything to hide what you had just been doing. If you could have chosen a time to die, it would have been then.

“Please just forget about this,” you said, your voice coming out as more of a squeak as you stared at him with wide eyes. He wouldn’t tell anyone, would he?

Eren gazed down at you, his eyes slightly glazed as he examined your still flushed cheeks. “What were you thinking about just then?”

“Huh?” “You came in here to fuck yourself for a reason, right?”

You swallowed and forced an innocent smile. “I was thinking about Captain Levi, obviously.”

It was funny to watch Eren’s mouth fall open as he stiffened, clearly not expecting that response. After a long moment, he smirked. “Hm. Want me to go tell him that?”

“No! Oh my god--” You said, sitting up to plead with Eren. Telling Captain Levi that you had been masturbating while thinking about him would be like opening a titan’s mouth and diving inside. Probably worse, honestly.

Eren chuckled at your panicked expression. “I won’t.”

His eyes trailed down and you gasped in horror. Your stupid, traitorous blanket had slipped right off your shoulders...leaving you exposed from the waist up. Your nipples hardened in the cold air, and Eren’s eyes were glued to them.

You gasped, going to cover yourself with your arms, but your gaze suddenly snagged on the large, growing bulge in Eren’s pants. You went red, your core instantly flooded once again as you imagined just what that meant…

You slowly raised your eyes, meeting Eren’s gaze for a long moment as you both sat utterly still. He swallowed slowly, and it triggered something in your mind. Before your courage could disappear, you reached forward and grabbed his face, crashing your lips to his. He made a low noise of surprise, but then he was pulling you close, his hands sliding into your hair as he tilted your head to push his tongue into your mouth.

You bit his lip, moaning a little, and your noises seemed to snap the restraint Eren had been holding on himself. He shoved you backwards onto the backroll, coming to hover over you with his arms braced on either side of your head. You sighed as he began to kiss down your neck, his teeth sliding along the sensitive place between your neck and shoulder. His hands held your waist tightly, sliding along your bare sides and down to your ass.

You shuddered as he slid his tongue down your chest to your nipple, and you arched off the mat as he sucked it into his mouth. Your tits had never been particularly sensitive, but somehow you felt like you could cum just from Eren kissing your chest.

He laughed softly as he moved between your tits, kissing in a line down to your stomach and stopping where the blanket still covered your hips.

“Can I…?” He looked up at you, and you swallowed, nodding frantically. At this point, if he stopped you might just implode.

Luckily, he didn’t hesitate to wrench the blanket from around your waist, leaving you completely exposed. You automatically went to close your legs, but he was faster and stronger. Forcing your knees apart, you went red as you saw how hungry his expression got as he took in how wet you were. You already felt the slick coating the inside of your thighs.

“You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted to do this…” he muttered, but you didn’t have the time to unpack his words before you felt his hot tongue slide up over you. Your mind went blank and you moaned, shuddering violently at the mind blowing pleasure that shot through your body.

The moment he fully tasted you, Eren let out a low groan. The dim light of the tent sharpened his jawline and his shirt dipped to expose his collar bone, and you watched as his throat muscles tensed as he swallowed. He hummed softly as he relished the sweetness of you, licking his lips.

You almost yelped at the sudden stretch of your hips as Eren’s fingers dug into your thighs, pushing them back apart, further than before. His eyes fell on yours lustfully, you could feel the heat rising in your face.

“Sorry Gorgeous, you just taste so good.”

Erens voice was sultry, almost a dream-like quality about it. You could hear him hum to himself as he leaned down, a small smile flashing on his face until you could feel his hot breath on your inner thighs.

Eren wasted no time diving in between your folds. His tongue pushed against you in all the right places as his lips suckled at the sweet flesh. Your hands gripped the bedroll as the tip of his tongue circled around your clit. Small whimpers escaped your mouth as you were already overstimulated.

Eren drank in every noise that you made. He wanted to draw this out as long as possible tease you until you were begging, but feeling your hand gripping his hair made him glance up at you. He almost came in his pants at your expression, your head thrown back and your eyes squeezed shut as you whimpered his name over and over.

“Mhhmmm…. Eren, please--”

He complied. Mouth closing around your bud he sucked hard, groaning as he felt your nails dig into his scalp. The vibrations went straight to your clit, pushing you over the edge into the third orgasms of the night. Your back arched as you gasped at the jolts of pleasure coursing through your body making your toes curl and thighs clench tightly around Eren’s head.

Disoriented by the pleasure it was hard to stay in the present, all you could feel was Eren’s tongue still lapping at you, drawing out your orgasm, and his hand pressing your thighs into the sides of his head.

Your breath was ragged as you fell from your high, Eren released your legs and looked at you with a blissed out smile on his face. The entirety of his mouth and chin were shiny and coated with your juices, making you flush.

You were about to reach for a towel when he wiped his hand across his face and proceeded to lick his fingers clean. You stared at him in utter amazement.

Eren leaned back against the post of the tent in pure male satisfaction at seeing you so fucked out because of him. He wouldn’t be able to get the taste of you out of his mouth for weeks.

As you sat up, you realized he still had a massive boner caged within the tight uniform pants, which did nothing in hiding the fact that Eren was … quite large.

Before you could even think about what you were doing, you found yourself moving to the end of the bedroll to kneel before him, undoing the button on his pants. Eren looked down at you in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“I was going to return the favor, unless you don’t want me to,” you said, pausing.

Eren’s pupils widened until his eyes were almost black. “Are you sure?”

You nodded as you pulled his pants and boxers down, freeing his dick. You could hear Eren’s breath hitch at the sudden chill of the air, followed by a deep groan as your hot mouth enveloped his tip. The salty taste of precum sent your head spinning as you swirled your tongue around the head.

He was so big, you couldn’t fit his entire length in your mouth. Instead, you used your hands on the base of him, forcing him deep enough to hit the back of your throat as you bobbed your head slowly.

“Ah- fuck, you have to stop.” Eren gently grabbed your hair to stop your movements. You innocently lifted your gaze, meeting his with his dick still in your mouth. You felt him jerk at the image, but he managed not to lose control and force his whole length in your mouth like an animal. “I’m gonna come if you keep this up.” His voice was a breathless groan.

You smiled slightly, pulling back and standing up. Eren let you push him onto the bedroll, letting you take the lead as you straddled him.

“Is this ok?” You asked, meeting his eyes.

“Fuck yes,” he shuddered, his hands gripping your thighs as you slowly began sinking down onto him. Due to his size, there was a slight pinch as you forced yourself down to the hilt; the tip of his dick reached places you had never dreamed of reaching. It only took a moment for the pain to fade, and sighing in satisfaction at the feeling of fullness, you slowly started to move up and down his shaft.

Each time you sank back down Eren let out a small moan, watching himself disappear into your core. Eren’s grip on your hips kept you at a slow pace, but you could tell he wanted more.

You tried to pick up the pace but Eren wouldn’t let you. So he thought you couldn’t handle it, huh? Well you just needed to push him to the edge, make it so he can’t help but pound you into oblivion.

The next time you came down so his entire shaft was inside you, you rolled your hips and squeezed your pelvic floor. Eren let out a deep groan of surprise and pleasure, so you did it again. And again. Apparently the motion to direct yourself in ODM gear is not that much different than Kegel exercises.

You continued your torment on Eren’s member; rolling your hips in conjunction with constant clenching of your walls around his achingly throbbing cock, you brought both him and yourself into pent up breaths as you both reached your climax.

“Y/n...” Eren moaned out your name. You could tell he was dying to push you and himself over the edge.

“Do it Ere–” before you could finish Eren started thrusting up into you at a breathtakingly fast pace. Eren’s strong arms kept you suspended on his cock ruthlessly rutting up into you. You were gasping and moaning with no shame as the tip of his cock pounded into a deep spot within you that had your vision going white as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

You barely felt the hot ropes of cum that filled you up as you shook with pleasure. Eren, reaching his own climax, was slumped into your chest, his softening cock still filling you up.

When you had recovered enough to actually see straight, you slowly slid off his dick and rolled to the side, breathless.

Eren turned to look at you, brushing his hair away from his face as he smiled widely. “When I said I’d make you moan for the whole camp to hear, I didn’t mean it quite so literally.” It took a moment for you to register his words, realizing how loud you two had been. There would be no hiding what you had been doing.

“Oh-oh god,” you gasped. “What do we do?!”

“What do you mean?” Eren raised his eyebrows.

“Everyone will know!”

He shrugged. “And?”

Seeing your expression hadn’t relaxed, he gently cupped your face in his hands. “It’s fine, Y/n. This way, we don’t have to sneak around next time.”

Your fucked out brain wasn’t able to comprehend this new development of “next time”-- the fact that Eren might in fact want to be with you again-- so instead you just sighed and curled into his side.

“Plus, maybe Jean will back the fuck up.”

You snorted at his annoyed expression, making his eyes soften.

Were you just imagining the affection in that look?

Part 1 here!

#eren #eren jeager #eren x reader #eren aot #AoT #attack on titan #anime #fanfiction #fanfic

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anightflower · 3 years

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Come and Find Me

Chapter One: I’m Stuck

I won’t lie when writing the cute parts of the story I listened to “I’m Stuck” by Noah Cyrus.

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: None

Read Prologue here Masterlist

You stumbled into your favorite coffee shop. You were a mess this morning and it’s all because your alarm decided to fuck you over and not wake you up on time. Luckily your body didn’t completely betray you, naturally waking up an hour later than you had planned, but still giving you a half hour to get to your meeting.

You had screamed when you saw the time, this meeting could be your next big break, and getting there late was not how you wanted to start a new design deal. At a mere 23 years old you were still making your way up into the world. After graduating college a semester early you had worked your ass off and started your own independent interior design business. You focused on designing office spaces for big businesses using workplace psychology to create an environment that brought up productivity and reduced the stress of workers.

Your business was slowly gaining traction, but the company you were meeting today could really put your name out there.

You had planned to wake up early, put yourself together and center yourself over a cup of coffee, however, life can never be that simple. So here you were, quick light makeup and your hair in a simple bun rather than the elaborate “I am a professional” look you planned. The one thing you did have going for you was your outfit, a white blouse that complimented your figure and tan capri pants, with a strappy heeled sandal. You had made sure it was spotless and ironed before your big day today, so at least you had that going for you.

“Oh darling, you look a bit out of it, are you alright?” Your favorite barista and dear friend Ava, asked, her green eyes filled with concern.

“Av, you would not believe the hell of the morning I’ve had.” You groaned. “I woke up late today and I have that huge meeting I told you about and all of the things I had planned to keep me grounded and ready flew out the window.”

Ava let out a tsk sound and patted your hand. “Oh babe, in that case, coffee’s on me. Take a deep breath. You’ve been planning for this meeting for weeks and with that amount of work and dedication, you’re definitely going to knock’em dead.”

“Ave, you are the light of my life.” You said, already feeling lighter than you did when you first entered.

“Oh babe, I know.” She winked, brushing a stray purple bang out of her eye. “I want an update on everything afterwards, you’ve got my number! James will have your coffee ready for you at the other end. Good luck!”

“Thank you! I promise I will!” You grinned and made your way to the other end of the counter, where your coffee was waiting.

Knowing your order by heart, James had already started your latte the moment you walked in, you thanked whatever God listening that it was ready so fast. James gave you a shy smile and handed you the coffee. “Here you go.”

“Thanks James.” You gave him a kind smile and turned to leave. Glancing down at your watch, you realized you had ten minutes to get to your meeting, but luckily it was just up the block so you would get there right on time.

But like you said nothing is ever easy. You weren’t exactly paying attention as you walked out of the store, you were double checking your bag to make sure you had everything, so naturally you slammed into someone, causing coffee to get all over your blouse.

You let out a yelp, while a large hand came out to steady you. “I am so sorry! Are you alright?” A male voice asked.

“Well, aside from the fact that I have a meeting that could change my life in 5 minutes and now I look like a disheveled mess with coffee on her blouse, I’m fine.” You grumbled finally looking at the face of your accidental attacker. Your heart stopped for a moment.

He was stunning. Shoulder length curly brown hair, caramel eyes, and a TALL, fit body.

He was clearly flustered as your eyes met. His face had a gentle dusting of pink across it and his eyes could barely meet yours. “I really am sorry, I wasn’t paying attention- uh- here!” He began to shrug off his cardigan. “This should be able to cover up most of the stains.” He thrust the sweater towards you.

Now it was your turn to be flustered. “Oh no, really, I can figure something out-”

“You said this meeting is supposed to change your life right?” He interrupted before you could stutter out anymore excuses. You nodded. “While I don’t want to be the person that ruins your life. Just wear it to your meeting and uh, how about we meet back here tomorrow morning and you can just give it back to me then?” He blushed a deeper crimson, as a big smile grew across your face.

“I would love that, thank you so much.” You put on his cardigan and buttoned it up. He was right, almost all of the stains were covered. “How do I look? Professional?” You asked him.

“Beautiful- I mean yes, professional, you look great!” He smiled, pushing a shoulder length curl behind his ear.

You blushed, but quickly forced yourself to regain your composure. “So I’ll meet you here at 7 tomorrow-” You paused looking at him for his name.

“Dr. Reid, well, Spencer, call me Spencer.”

“Spencer.” You smiled. “I will see you tomorrow then.”

That was the first time you met Spencer Reid.

________________________________________________________________

The next morning, Spencer arrived 30 minutes early to the coffee shop to get a table, he felt fidgety and nervous. He hadn’t even caught your name yesterday before you left and he felt like an idiot. Of course he bumps into the most beautiful girl he has ever seen, spilt coffee all over her, AND forgot to ask her her name. Part of him was worried you wouldn’t even show up, it’s not exactly the best first meeting.

30 minutes later when you walked in, he thanked a God he didn’t even believe in. You looked less bewildered than you did yesterday, but no less beautiful.

You had chosen to go for a business casual look, your hair curled and flowing past your shoulders, a deep red blouse, black denim jeans, and black heeled boots. You had Spencer’s cardigan draped over your arm, you had made sure to wash it before giving back to him.

You searched around the patrons until your eyes met Spencer’s, your whole face lit up as you made your way over to him.

You had no idea that somebody else was watching you as you made your way over to him. You were too distracted by Spencer to feel the angry gaze that burned into your back.

“Hi.” You said shyly as you sat down.

“Hey.” Spencer said smiling at you.

“Were you waiting long?” You asked, a concerned look crossing your face.

“Oh no, not at all, I just came a few minutes early to get us a good seat.” Spencer lied, not wanting you to know how early he actually came.

“Well you choose right, this is the best seat in the house. It’s right by the counter where you pick up coffee, but it’s the perfect window seat to people watch.” You explained.

“Yeah, did you know coffee is actually a fruit?” Spencer asked you. “They’re actually the pit of a berry and grow on a bush.

You let out a giggle, “No, I had no idea that was even a thing. At least I can use that as an excuse when I get chastised for drinking too much. Where did you learn that?”

Spencer blushed. “I tend to pick up random knowledge here and there. Which reminds me, I never got your name yesterday before you ran off.”

“Well Dr. Spencer Reid, my name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You grinned offering him a hand. “No fancy title, but I am doing my best for simply being a Miss.”

Spencer would usually avoid handshakes due to all the germs, however he wanted nothing more than to shake your hand, which was warm and soft.

“(Y/N).” He tested your name out on his tongue. You smiled.

“Have you gotten a coffee yet?” You asked him, getting up to head to order.

“I had one a bit earlier, but I could use another one.” Spencer answered, getting up to follow you.

As you approached the counter you tried to ignore the smug look Ava gave you, praying she wouldn’t say anything. She gave Spencer a not so subtle up and down look, checking him out and obviously finding him attractive. You gave Ava a stern look that told her not to say a word.

She just gave you a wink. Spencer had picked up on all of this, his profiler skills not missing a thing. A small smile crept across his face and he swallowed back a laugh.

You gestured for Spencer to go first, “I’m buying, to thank you for letting me borrow your sweater yesterday.”

Spencer looked at you in bewilderment. “No way! If anything I’m buying for destroying your coffee and spilling it all over your blouse before your ‘life changing’ meeting!”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Spencer, just order the damn coffee. I promise you it won’t break my bank. Especially after I got the design yesterday.” You grinned.

Ava let out a squeal. “You did not! Oh my god, I knew you could do it girl! All of your hard work paid off!”

Spencer’s face lit up. “Congratulations! I’m glad our collision didn’t ruin anything.”

You let out a laugh. “If anything I think your cardigan brought me good luck, I even got a couple compliments on it. I may just have to keep it.” You teased

Spencer’s heart warmed at the idea of you wearing his clothes. “Well if it brought you that much luck, maybe I’ll just let you keep it.”

A voice behind the two of you cleared their throat. “Are you guys going to order? Some of us have places to be.”

You glanced behind you at the woman, a small line had apparently grown behind you and Spencer. “Sorry about that. Ava I’ll just do my usual. Do not let Spencer pay.”

Ava raised her hands defensively. “I’m just here to make coffee love.”

“I’ll just do a large coffee with extra cream and a lot of sugar.” Spencer said.

You went to grab your wallet from your purse, but Spencer cut you off, cash already in hand.

“Spencer.” You whined and Spencer just shrugged.

As you made your way to the counter, you found it a bit strange that James had just left your coffees there. Usually he would at least wait a moment to say hi before taking off to make more orders, but you shrugged it off, they did have a line right now so he probably had to focus on getting the coffees out to customers.

Though the two of you only got to spend about an hour together, the two of you had immediately hit it off, completely unaware of the eyes that had been burning through you as they watched throughout what you and Spencer would later consider your first date.

_______________________________________________________________

From there it was a whirlwind of dates snuck between cases and your design jobs. After a little over a month Spencer had asked to officially call you his girlfriend and you had obviously accepted.

It was ridiculously cliche how quickly the both of you had fallen for each other, but you had just seemed to click right away. You loved Spencer’s logical mind that went on and on with random facts, he loved your creativity and energy. Your minds worked well together, helping each other out when the other got stuck.

As your relationship progressed, you found yourself spending more and more time at each other's apartments.

“Ava, he's just a dream. I’ve never felt like this with anyone ever.” You explained joyfully.

You had sat in your regular window seat, while Ava remained on the other side of the service counter. It was a bit slow in the shop today, so she had come over to get all the details on “your smokeshow boyfriend.” Since she was the manager of the shop and beloved by her boss, she could get away with it.

“Oh hon, if he has a brother, let me know.” She purred, sneaking a glance over her shoulder to check on James who was holding down the fort for her. The boy stood by the register, poor thing looking a bit bored.

James was a year younger than you and apparently starting grad school, but his shyness made him seem so much younger that you felt this slight protectiveness over him even if you only knew him from around the shop and stories from Ava.

His eyes met yours and you gave him a sympathetic smile. He blushed deeply and turned away, scampering to busy himself.

You looked back at Ava, giving a little nod towards James, “What about James? He seems sweet and he’s cute.” You waggled your eyebrows at her.

Ava snickered. “(Y/N/N), he is sweet, but way too shy, he can barely look me in the eye. I need someone who’s more of a dom if you know what I mean.” She smirked.

You pouted at her. “Poor James.”

Ava shrugged, “He’ll find his someone. Anyway you’re switching the topic, back to your dreamboat. You said he was an FBI agent? That’s heroic and sexy.”

You rolled your eyes at her. “Yes, he’s part of the Behavior Analysis Unit. They create profiles to help solve different criminal cases. It’s actually amazing. Spencer is giving a lecture about it at a college this Friday if you want to come with me.”

“I’ll come, but only if I get to officially meet your sexy doctor superhero boyfriend.” Ava smirked.

“Well obviously.” You smiled.

________________________________________________________________

The boy’s breathing was heavy as he struggled to control his anger. He watched the Doctor’s tall form strutting across the stage, his long brown hair swinging back and forth as he broke down profiling and the criminal cases he and his BAU team had solved.

From where he sat in the lecture hall he could watch the doctor while also keeping an eye on you. You were sitting near the front, your friend by your side. It was hard to miss her with her deep purple hair, that’s how he always found you. Though to him, you outshined everyone in the room. Even the ridiculous doctor.

He growled to himself as he observed your look of awe. He knew you two had made your relationship official. He knew almost every detail. Like how last weekend, the Doctor had come home early from a case and had surprised you with your favorite flowers: pink dahlias. You had spent the whole rest of the weekend together; you had brought him to your favorite Thai place, then went to both of your favorite bookstores. He knew everything.

He knew where you lived, your schedule, the design projects you were working on. He watched and he listened. He followed you home some days. Other days, he would simply wait outside your apartment building. He knew what window to watch if he wanted to catch a glimpse of you.

The worst days are when the Doctor would be with you. He would watch as you two joked around and kissed, it made him sick.

He didn’t like the Doctor. He hated hearing him ramble on to you. Fact after fact, never shutting up. But he understood him as he had researched him, found his accomplishments; he was a prodigal, graduating high school at the age of 12 and earned three PhDs. He worked for the FBI, catching criminals and profiling them. The Doctor constantly had something to prove, how could you be with a man so weak?

The Doctor was someone who could hardly befriend anyone besides his books, so how had the Doctor gotten you, when he had always been there? The Doctor did not deserve you, the Doctor could not give you what he could. Yet here you were, giving this man a ridiculous moon-eyed look that he did not deserve.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He got up and left.

He made his way down the hall towards an all-too familiar office, one that he practically lived in.

He was greeted by his usual cheery eyed professor, Professor Irving.

Never one to miss anything, Professor Irving raised an eyebrow. “You’re back early, how was the lecture?” Professor Irving asked. “Isn’t that Dr. Reid something else?”

“He’s alright. Someone worth looking into for sure. I left early to get ahead of these reports you wanted me to help grade, I do have a life outside of classes.”

Professor Irving smirked at him. “Son, I have known you too long, the only three places you go are classes, your job, and your apartment. I was hoping this lecture would show you how much the world has to offer, I mean look at Dr. Reid! He was one of the youngest to ever join the BAU-”

“ENOUGH about Dr. Reid!” He growled, interrupting his professor.

Professor Irving just stared at his student, shell-shocked.

The boy shook his head and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry professor, that was uncalled for, I have just been stressed lately.” The boy began picking up the papers he had to grade. He wanted to get through some of these as quick as possible, that way he could spend his weekend with you.

Professor Irving solemnly nodded. “I understand. I know you’ve been stressed lately, is that girl of yours acting up still?”

The boy sighed as he shrugged on his bag full of student’s reports. “Something like that. Listen, I know you said Dr. Reid is going to continue to come back and give lectures every few weeks or so. I will go to those ones and actually stay for them. Who knows? Maybe it will help me with my thesis paper. I just- I just can’t focus tonight, but I will do better. I promise.”

Professor Irving nodded. “Of course, let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

The boy nodded then left the room.

________________________________________________________________

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light-yaers · 3 years

Text

No Saints: Chapter Two

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 5.7k

Chapter Two

If the time without Mando for those three weeks had led you to a mad sense of loneliness, the days after your previous encounter with him had driven you to insanity.

You woke the next morning with a start—the dream you’d been having was more than you’d ever bargained for. You cursed as you sat up in bed, bringing a hand down to between your thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” You let out breathily, before you had to laugh at yourself to move on from the absolute embarrassment that your own body had put you through. You showered immediately, indulging in the flood of hot water more that morning than you’d ever done previously.

You had to stare at yourself in the mirror afterwards, noticing the blush on your cheeks that was still present from the night before. You pointed at yourself sternly, towel wrapped around your uncontrollable body.

“Snap out of it—stop it,” You told yourself.

Never before had a man reduced you to a puddle with a single touch—of your legs. It wasn’t even anywhere remotely private, just the upper portions of your thighs. But that bottle; he’d known what he was doing, placing it almost harshly in the crevice closest to the most vulnerable asset your body possessed. Pushing your thighs together afterward had been the last straw. If he’d lingered, you wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d erupted just from the tension in the room, just from the involuntary clenching that your legs were betraying you with.

Mando would never find out about that dream, over your dead fucking body. You could almost imagine his reaction; the subtle chuckles from beneath his helmet, transforming into something else as he inched ever closer towards you, sprawled, ready—

“Kriff!” You yelled into the mirror. You shook your head a few times to get the image out of your head, before vowing not to go there, at least until your workday was done.

You grudgingly got ready to open up shop, checking inventory and wiping down your work desk. You wished you’d somehow dragged him to your bedroom instead the night before; seeing the desk in daylight only increased the tightness in your gut. Dank farrik... today wasn’t going to be easy.

But you endured.

You repaired blaster after blaster, adding modifications to old models and polishing until you thought your fingernails would fall off. You wasted no time over the blunt conversations with hunters, only saying what you needed to and waiting to get paid.

This went on all week. The same old grind, the same desperation within your gut. You tried to stay focused and productive, not stopping even for a minute, since your mind would immediately float back to the Beskar clad hunter if you did. You found yourself in your firing range a lot more often, choosing to practice and keep your mind straying from thoughts of him—

Thoughts that, despite the one-track mindedness of your pulsing heart, also ended up travelling to softer realms. You wondered if he was safe, if he was okay. You wondered if he was well-fed, well-hydrated, well-rested—

You wondered if he also felt the loneliness of his solitude more so after your last encounter. Stars, you wondered if he missed you.

I feared continuing to visit you would become a habit I could no longer break...

Oh, man. That sentence alone reduced you to a red-faced mess, but more so towards the gentler side of things. Mando had a heart, that was certain—he also had a cock, that was definitely certain. You slammed your fist on your work desk, making yourself jump at the sudden display of utter madness.

You’d never had to cope with this level of sexual frustration, but stars, it was real. You’d never been bothered, not really. Nevarro had been sparse in offering you that kind of intimacy, but you’d had it occasionally. A few visiting hunters, here and there, taken in by the immediate attraction of a cut-throat killer and the intelligence of a woman mechanic such as yourself.

But nothing had ever come of them; no weekly visits, no long term plans. You didn’t particularly want anything either. Having attachments only existed to make your life a lot more difficult, especially given the nature of most of the people you’d acquainted yourself with over the years.

There was no telling when they could accidentally mess up and never come back to collect their pay from Karga.

You realised that was why Mando had been so reluctant to return, after your small confession of enjoying his company. He, too, knew what his job entailed. God forbid, he never came back. God forbid, you were killed in your own shop. It was a definite possibility, but one that you didn’t often allow yourself to conceptualise.

You were too lost in thought to notice someone walk into the shop, but when you finally looked up, you immediately restored yourself to a professional.

“Can I help?” You asked, not wasting time to give him a smile. He was a young man, probably no older than yourself. His outfit was typical of all first-time Guild members; too big for their boots, too cocky looking with the way they peered around a room. They were the worst customers by far.

He sauntered up to the desk, slamming his blaster down and hardly meeting your eye. “Cartridge needs replacing,”

“Six hundred credits,” You said in return, not bothering with any niceties. “Upfront,” You added. Immediately he rolled his eyes, but nevertheless dug into his deep pockets.

“Seems a little pricy, don’t you think?” He perked his brow at you, finally meeting your eye, only to send you a playboy smirk.

“If you don’t like my prices, change the cartridge yourself,” You offered bluntly. He scoffed, going to place his credits on the desk, but he stopped abruptly. You sent him a questioning look, before he fully retracted his hand and put the credits back in his pocket.

“Four hundred,” He offered up. Your eyes widened immediately, as laughter burst from the back of your throat. You couldn’t stop the chuckles from escaping your mouth, all the while his face was dropping ever so slowly into a scowl.

“You’re really trying to haggle with me?” You let out, but your voice was already turning more poisonous. You got paid fucking pittance with the amount of work you actually got around here, and this fucking kid was really trying to undercharge you even more? No. Not fucking today. “Get out, kid,” You said, scowling at him warningly. “And good luck getting a cartridge change on this kriffing planet without me,”

He gulped worriedly, and you knew you’d got him. He started shuffling in his pockets again, getting out his credits once more.

“Okay—six hundred—,” He gave in.

“Eight hundred,” You interrupted. His face utterly dropped, revealing some of the wimpiest puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen on Nevarro. This kid was lucky he hadn’t been beaten up in the bar already. He smelled like Daddy’s money and cockiness. “For that insulting attempt at a haggle, eight hundred. Upfront,”

You saw him struggle against the rising anger in his throat, just waiting for him to either explode, or hand over the credits like a good little boy. Either way, you were prepared for a fight. It’d been a while since a newcomer had challenged you; and you liked a challenge.

He pulled an empty hand out of his pockets slowly, as you watched him with an unbothered expression. He was seething, you could see the red winding its way up his neck—

And then his blaster was pointed at you, right between the eyes.

You let out a colossal sigh, but more than anything, you were sort of thankful. What a way to expel your frustrations this would be. The saddest part was, though, that this kid was just so stupid. He’d come in for a fucking cartridge replacement; that meant his gun was fucking caput. He wouldn’t have been able to shoot you even if he’d tried.

“You’re cute,” You let out finally, noticing the slight wobble of his arm the longer he kept up the act of being threatening. “Go on—shoot me,” You prompted, raising your arms in a fake surrender.

When he didn’t pull the trigger, you made it easier for him. You came out from behind the desk, walking round towards him. He began to falter, backing himself up into the corner of the shop. “Hey—just, wait—wait there!” He yelled, and you did as he said, rolling your eyes unenthusiastically.

“Come on, do it. I’m an unarmed, poor, alone woman in her little shop on such a horrible planet. Shoot me. You’d be doing me a favour,” You pouted at him sadly, taking a melodramatic approach before you knew what your plan would be—

Kicking his ass.

When you saw him falter, just for a second, you chose then to strike. You grabbed his blaster, pulling him towards you as you snapped your elbow down on his arm harshly—the crunch was enough to determine you’d just utterly broken his damn arm, but his screams were even more so in that favour—

He let out an excruciating groan, tearing up suddenly and dropping his blaster to the floor as his hand seized up. You pushed him away, hoisting a knee underneath his ribcage as he let out another yelp in pain. He stumbled back into the wall, next to the door, as tears slowly dragged down his cheeks. He was clutching his limp shooting arm close to his chest, taking in deep breaths and letting out wracking sobs.

Maybe I’m a sadist, but fuck this guy.

You couldn’t help but smile, going to pick up his blaster as he continued to whimper at his snapped arm. He lolled himself over to the door, slamming it open with his foot and backing out of your shop. You dangled his blaster in your hands, before fucking launching it at him—

He let out another yelp, ducking out of the way before it slammed right into his pretty boy face. You strode out of the shop, watching him flail about like a fish out of water to grab his gun, before booking it round the corner and probably off the planet as quickly as he could.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” You yelled after him, waving sweetly as the last of him disappeared round the corner of the street. “Prick,” You whispered under your breath, scoffing at the entire encounter with this kid.

Sure, you’d missed out on six hundred credits, but fuck it. Men were so quick to think they had the upper hand, especially the dumb ones. If a bounty hunter was experienced, they’d always have their guard up, no matter what you looked like at first glance, and they certainly wouldn’t have underpaid a Nevarro resident. That was a fucking death sentence. You just happened to be gentler.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” His modulated drawl came from behind. Within seconds, your heart was in your throat. You turned to him, trying to ignore the way your face was immediately gaining colour.

You smiled at his helmet, taking him in wholeheartedly. God, you’d missed his silence. It was oddly comforting—not like white noise, not like static, but just the subtlety of his breaths travelling through the modulator.

“He had it coming,” You replied, taking a few strides towards him. “Little shit tried to haggle me for a fucking cartridge replacement,”

“I know,” Mando said. “I saw him go in,” He revealed. Pins and needles spread all over your body with no warning.

“You—saw all that?” You questioned, but by the amused tilt of his helmet, he’d already answered your question. He saw all of it. His visor probably had heat signature capabilities, which meant he’d seen you breaking his arm, kneeing him in his ribs and heard all the rest.

“You can fight,” He said it in the same tone as when he’d talked about your shooting. Like he was impressed. Or proud.

“There’s lots I can do,” You let out, allowing the cockiness of your voice to seep through. It was a joke, just an attempt at a laugh, but Mando took it in a different direction.

“I don’t doubt that,”

You tried not to utterly collapse as his tone turned into more of a growl. It hit you in your very core, causing that familiar feeling in your gut to start back up again, much against your efforts to push it down for the past week.

You headed back to the shop, Mando close on your tail. He shut the door behind him, and the sound of him twisting the lock hit your ears pleasantly.

He often did it, even before the subject of whatever this was between you had risen. Maybe he didn’t want people following him; didn’t want people catching on to his secrets of where the hell he was getting extra information.

“You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be,” You said, trying to spark a conversation like normal, despite the 6ft mound of sexual tension that Mando had brought inside the shop with him.

“I got lucky,” He explained. “Caught up to a runner on a whim. It was an easy fight,” You grabbed your water tankard as you made your way to your usual stool, sat opposite the hunter. “Much like the fight you just won,”

You sent him an amused smile. “He was a puppy. I probably scared him away from Nevarro for the rest of his life,”

“If it wasn’t you who’d done it, he’d probably be dead by now,” Mando added. He was right; others wouldn’t have been so lenient on a fool who ran their mouth like him.

“That’s a nice way of easing my conscience about breaking his arm like a twig,” You scoffed out, taking a drink of water.

“Does your conscience need more easing?” He questioned, and you looked at him plainly. This was a double-edged sword— if you said yes, it only proved that at times you felt uncomfortable about the way people dealt with things here. If you said no— would he think you to be harsh?

No. He kills people for money. A broken arm is nothing to him.

You shook your head sternly. “He got what was coming to him,” You replied. “No one insults me in my own establishment and leaves unscathed,”

Mando settled in his seat, leaning back against the wall. “Good girl,”

Your gut coiled immediately. Fuck— this man. This fucking man. He knew exactly what he was doing with his words, and he knew it well by the way his helmet tilted towards you once again.

You were torn between punching him in the stomach or utterly jumping his bones, but you did neither. You only squirmed in your seat, praying that his thermal sensors weren’t picking up the rising heat between your legs.

The silence was broken by something you weren’t expecting— a groan— from his stomach.

You glanced at his Beskar covered belly then back to his visor, smiling subtly. “Hungry?” You questioned.

Mando visibly tensed. “It’s fine,”

You knew he couldn’t eat freely. That would require taking his helmet off. From the way he’d warningly told you to look away while he sipped at whiskey before, you knew the helmet was a part of who he was. If you were to hazard a guess, you’d say no one alive had ever seen his face—

No one had ever trickled their eyes across his features, his eyes, his nose. Even drinking in the same room as you had taken six months of built-up trust for him to perform.

You stood gently, heading to your work desk and opening up the cupboards beneath. You laid out some basics— bread, butter, some cheese, leaving it on the desktop before you grabbed your favourite blaster.

“I’ll be out back,” You told him. He stood abruptly as you turned to leave.

“You—,” He began, halting you. “You didn’t have to,”

“Just eat, Mando,” You scoffed out. “I don’t want you going hungry in my home,” Your cheeks flushed as soon as you’d finished talking. That was personal—it implied you wanted him to be comfortable, you wanted him to enjoy his time with you.

You nodded at him once, making your way outside to the courtyard and shutting the door behind you. You chose to shoot away your embarrassment; how many times did you have to check yourself? How many times did you have to think back on your words and realise you’d said something stupid?

You shot three times, only hitting one target dead centre. You cursed at yourself, repositioning your feet and forcing yourself to breath slower.

Would he leave if he knew you were starting to care for him?

You shot once, missing the target entirely. Fuck. Come on.

Would his guards go back up if he realised that you enjoyed his visits more than he’d ever fully know?

Twice more— you skimmed the edge of the target on both.

“Fucks sake,” You muttered, only getting more flustered as you failed with each blast, instead of getting rid of the frustration within you.

You breathed out slowly, allowing your body to fall into a stance naturally. If you overthought your shooting, you always failed. If you felt it—felt the trigger and the barrel and visualised the blast, you always got it spot on.

But, evidently, you were distracted.

You aimed at the target, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, but your arm had started to shake subtly—

You felt him behind you before you could turn around. He positioned himself parallel to you, shoving his chest into your back and bringing his hand up to steady your shooting arm. He gripped his fingers around your forearm, twisting you slightly until he was happy with the way the shot lined up.

Your eyes widened when you felt his other hand come to sit snuggly upon your waist. His hand was large enough to squeeze you tightly, balancing you as you realised you’d been tilted to the left the whole time.

His helmet shone in your peripheral, coming to hover over your right shoulder and tilted toward your face. You didn’t waver—you kept your eyes forward and focused on the target before you, despite the fucking urge to look at him—

Stars, it was a strong urge.

“You know how to do this already,” Mando spoke coarsely. God, his voice sounded like butter. It wasn’t helping. “What’s got you this shaken?”

Bastard.

He knew it was because of him. And he was relishing in that fact. Without a second thought, you pulled the trigger—and it missed. Again. You were ready to explode, but instead, you gasped.

Mando moved his hand from your waist to wrap completely around your stomach. You could feel the strength in his muscles, in the way he was hugging you from behind. Your legs started to waver next, as if they’d completely forgot how the fuck to stand up.

“Try again,” He prompted, his voice deepening with arousal. He was enjoying himself. He was enjoying you like this, like a toy, like a game. You imagined his eyes trickling down you from this angle, feeling your pulse quicken as his grip on you didn’t falter. He could definitely feel the shake from your legs; they were positioned just below his groin.

You forced yourself to ignore these feelings, tensing all of your muscles to somewhat numb yourself from his touch, before you fired again.

It missed—unsurprisingly.

His arm immediately moved once more, snaking its way beneath the soft fabric of your shirt until you felt cold Beskar upon the bare skin of your tummy. Oh, fuck—stars. The breath hitched in your throat before you could stop it, as a moan trickled from your mouth involuntarily.

It only riled him up more, as he slammed his body closer to your back. You heard the unmistakable sound of his strained modulated breathing, feeling nothing but his body pushed up behind your own, his hand tightening its grip on your bare stomach and digging into your flesh slightly.

“Try. Again,” He spoke roughly, like it pained him to talk.

You gulped down the need to yell. You wanted to tell him he wasn’t helping. You wanted to tell him to wind his hand further up your shirt, but instead, you were hit with the want to frustrate him even more.

You kept your gaze plastered on the target, but you allowed yourself to don the smallest of smirks. “What happens if I miss again?” You whispered out.

Mando wasted no time with giving you a physical demonstration. He pushed himself further into you, shoving his arm further up your shirt until his palm laid in the space between your breasts. You shivered at the sensation of cold metal upon your soft, supple, skin—skin that was rarely touched by anyone else by yourself.

You couldn’t stop yourself from squirming, slamming your free arm back until you were gripped onto the undershirt beneath his Beskar. You already knew your knuckles were white from the sheer force your fingers had clasped onto him with—Stars, how you’d love to tug off his armour this way.

It was his turn to growl then, as his arm only tensed over your skin. His shooting arm was still and steady as ever, next to the wobbles of your own—you were jelly. And there was nothing you could fucking do about it.

“Hit the target and I’ll stop,” He offered. Your brain flooded with an idea, something to make him realise how fucking bad you wanted this. Abruptly, you swiped your arm upwards to the sky, firing the blaster without any hesitation. It soared up into the air before it disappeared into the approaching dusk of the Nevarro sun.

It was an obvious message; don’t fucking stop.

Before you had the chance to process anything, his shooting arm moved at light speed to grip your inner thigh. You squirmed uncontrollably, immediately trying to shove your legs together, but Mando’s knees intercepted you. He made it impossible to move your legs, boxing you into this stance like a doll.

He was covering you on all sides; your back, your front, your sides. You were effectively trapped in this man’s grasp, doomed to suffer a game of hit the target while your body fought against your attempts at any form of concentration.

“I—,” You began, stuttering through your words and fucking forgetting how to speak, as his fingers started to crawl further up the crevice between your thighs. “Don’t want you to stop,” You forced out, causing a moan to burst from Mando’s lips.

You had to release your grasp on his shirt from fear that your fingers were about to fall off, but that didn’t stop you from moving your hand closer to his waistband. As you struggled to reach around, your hand grazed over his bulge—

Without warning, Mando peeled himself off of you, letting out the most ragged groan that you’d ever heard him produce. He stumbled backwards as his arms swiped away from your skin, until you heard the slam of Beskar against the wall behind you. You swivelled round immediately, still shaking from the fucking pleasure you felt, but you were more concerned about his sudden collapse.

“Mando?” You questioned, rushing forward towards him as he slumped against the wall, but he stuck out a hand, halting you before you could properly approach him.

“Fine,” He breathed out. You saw the strenuous way his chest was inhaling and exhaling, hearing the utter strain of his breaths from beneath his helmet. You let him stay like that for a few minutes, allowing him to catch his breath as you also tried to regain your full composure. Stars—you could feel the warmth of yourself between your legs. You’d bet that you were dripping, and it wouldn’t have surprised you in the slightest.

Your limbs were still overcome with that jelloid sensation, refusing to move in ways that you were used to and instead forcing you to adopt a sort of groaned hobble. When Mando finally looked up at you, red faced, sweating, breathing calmer and still clutching the blaster by your side, he let out an amused scoff.

“You were right,” He finally spoke. “It’s overwhelming,” He groaned when he got himself up from the wall, straightening himself as his desires slowly faded away. You were coming back to yourself too, feeling the utter amusement of the entire situation.

How long would it take two touch-starved loners to actually have sex, without one of them collapsing before it?

You finally walked over to him, tentatively reaching out to grab his forearm. He let you drag him back to your former position, but without the burning sensation of the sexual tension from before. You gently placed his hand onto your waist, bringing his other to the forearm of your shooting arm.

It was the same position as before, the same stance, the same proximity—

Without hesitation, you fired the blaster, hitting the target dead centre. You relished in the achievement, despite knowing you’d had the ability to do it all along. You took comfort in the fact Mando hadn’t removed himself from you just yet, that he was settling into the nooks of your body, your waist, your lower back, feeling comfortable enough himself to stay placed next to you.

It was a sorely missed sensation, just being close to another human being. You could feel Mando realising this same exact feeling; feeling himself getting used to this level of intimacy once more, with it not necessarily being just sexual, despite both of you having those very strong urges.

“I wonder what had you so shaken before?” He cooed in your ear. You rolled your eyes instinctively, turning around to look at him face on. It prompted him to move both hands to sit on your waist—a new feeling, but one that you both seemed to like.

“Shut the fuck up,” You let out, smiling all the while.

“That’s rude,” He hit back with. You could practically hear his smile beneath the helmet.

“Don’t ask such idiotic questions, then,” You gave him a single smack on chest, not expecting the Beskar to fucking hurt that much. You immediately doubled over, clutching your wrist, before you started jumping on the spot at the tingling pain your hand was throbbing with.

Mando was amused. The prick.

“I tapped you, what the hell is Beskar’s problem?” You stuttered out, waving your hand about and flexing your fingers to avoid numbness.

“It doesn’t like you,” Was all he said, before grabbing your arm and dragging you back inside the shop. He shut the door while you jumped up onto your desktop like normal, dropping your legs over the side, still holding your hand.

“Well, I don’t like it,” You retorted. You looked up at his visor, shooting him a smirk. “I’d much rather you weren’t wearing it,” You let out in a whisper, somehow hoping he wouldn’t entirely hear it, but of course he did.

Mando let out a modulated sigh, heading to sit on his usual seat in the shop. You tried not to giggle at his exasperation, but it was simply comedy gold. This stoic man, reduced to absolute pieces by the subtle graze of your fingers over his, very hard, cock.

“We have time,” He replied, before a tense silence flooded through the shop floor once more. You were exhausted after such a hard week, it was true, and this encounter had only sapped up your last remaining energy. You expected Mando felt equally as tired, slumping himself in the chair and continuing through the aftermath of earlier.

“We have time,” You repeated, feeling a welcoming sweetness to replace the ferocious fire in your gut from before. It was fluttering and warm; it made you feel giddy, instead of ravenous. Mando’s helmet tilted to you on the desk, and you smiled at him smally in recognition.

“I should go,” He let out, almost sadly. “I’m need to meet with Karga,”

You tried not to think about how elated you felt at that fact he’d come to see you before meeting with Karga. He’d landed on Nevarro, fresh from his bounties and ready for more work, and he’d come to you before all of that. Stars, it felt good.

“He’s bad news,” You said suddenly, copying his words from the week before. Mando only sighed once more, before forcing himself to stand and sling his satchel over his shoulder.

“I’d watch that smart mouth if I were you,” He threatened, but you only smirked at his response.

“Oh yeah?” You began. “What are you gonna do about it?” You let out playfully, not thinking anything serious about your choice of words.

Suddenly, Mando stormed towards you, getting in close—he shoved his body between your legs as you sat atop the desk, hands gripping the backs of your knees to keep them secure around his sides. You were taken aback, looking up at him like a fucking rabbit in headlights, while one of his hands came to rest on your chin.

His thumb swiped back and forth over your bottom lip gently, all while you stayed absolutely still. Frozen, pulsing, a bit terrified, but mostly turned the fuck on.

“I like your smart mouth,” He growled out. “But not when I have to leave,”

Stars, what the fuck. You were melting immediately once more, all too aware of the way his hips were pressing into you—you could feel him, you could feel the throb.

You had no control over the way your cheeks fucking blushed. If you got any redder, you would have looked to be dowsed in fresh blood. You ignored the hammering of your heart, the heat radiating from your very body, while you tentatively raised a hand to his helmet.

You placed your hand on the cold, hard metal of the mask he never took off, somehow still being surprised about the feeling of the surface—hard, cold, smooth, perfect. As far as you were concerned, this was Mando’s face, this was what he looked like always.

As much as you wanted to delve beneath the armour, you were also a realist. You didn’t expect to ever see his face, as much as you ached to. You didn’t expect to ever kiss his lips, as much as you craved to. You didn’t expect the Mandalorian to unwind fully with anyone, let alone you—

But beneath all of that, was hope.

“Stay then,” You said it before you could analyse the words in your brain. Mando didn’t remove himself from you, but you felt him tense up. “After Karga, stay here tonight,” You repeated.

You fully expected Mando to retract his grip from you, to leave without a word, but instead he got closer to you. He pulled your legs around his waist, leaning himself down to lean his arms on your work desk, until his helmet was all you saw. You wondered, if you squinted, would you see his eyes beneath?

“I can’t,” Mando said finally, before you felt him pulling away. You took your chance, though, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringing your lips to his helmet. You kissed him where you expected his cheek to be, navigating the indents and curves in the Besker, before pulling back and sending him a saddened look.

“Be safe, then,” You gave up, allowing him to leave the safety of your legs, wrapped around his hips snuggly. He looked incredibly reluctant to leave, but nevertheless, he grabbed his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder like you’d seen him do a thousand times—

And he left.

You sat in silence for a while, while the darkness set in outside. You turned no lights on, opting to roam around your shop in almost pitch-black, just for the fucking hell of it. Stars—you’d been fucking blue-balled, and so had he. Both times, you’d got close to getting there, but something always faltered before either of you had the chance.

Not that you thought that was a problem. If anything, it spurred you forward, increasing your fantasies surrounding the inevitable unwinding that you’d give him, or more excitedly, he’d give you. You’d be lying if you didn’t think about it all the fucking time—the prospect of Mando making you cum had plagued you for the better part of three months, but now that this had happened, you were getting incredibly impatient.

As much as you wanted to go full throttle, neither of you could fucking take that right now. Not after so long without being touched, not after reacquainting yourselves with the feeling of sexual intimacy; and, possibly, romance.

You were a hard-skinned woman. Making and repairing literal killing machines was your job. You’d hurt, maimed, injured too many people to remember the exact amount, and you knew Mando’s numbers most definitely topped yours. Yet this feeling went beyond the want to be railed by this man—

Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to care for him, too. You wanted to know his past, you wanted to know about Mandalore, you wanted to know what the Beskar and the helmet meant to him— Stars, you wanted to know his favourite colour.

You wanted him to stay. Even if he couldn’t fathom sleeping in your bed, even if the Beskar stayed on completely. You spent most of your days waiting for him to return to Nevarro and, just this once, you wished you could wake up to him.

Kriffing hell. Get it together.

You were pulled from your thoughts when your foot slammed into a box of parts on the way to your bedroom. You fully deserved it, walking around in a pitch-black workshop like it was easy as pie. You grappled at air to find the doorway to your bedroom, almost catapulting yourself into your drawers, until you finally stumbled across your bed.

You got in, not bothering to strip, or wash your face, or brush your teeth—

You got in and hugged your damn pillow. All the while, listening for the familiar sound of your door being lockpicked, hoping that maybe it would be the Mandalorian.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #star wars #star wars fic #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #smut and angst #smut and fluff #no saints #no saints fic

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ineloqueent · 3 years

Text

dreaming of you

Brian May x Reader

synopsis: a storm results in a power cut, after you get locked out of your flat. luckily, your neighbour is home.

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i hope you don’t mind that i took a few creative liberties with the prompts, m’dear <3

see the moodboard here!

⭒

London, 1973

It was one of those days that simply went from bad to worse. And then fell down the stairs. And into a frying pan. And then leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire. Except the fire was not simply a fire, but a flaming pit, that was somehow also freezing cold and pitch black.

In short, you’d had a terrible day. And as life would have it, your day was about to get a hell of a lot worse.

It had started that morning, when you’d got out on the wrong side of the bed, quite literally. You had fallen face-first over your office chair, which stood mere millimetres from the left side of your bed, because you lived in a tiny flat on Camden High Street, above a shoe shop, where, in the winter there was rarely hot water in the pipes, and you were forced to scrape ice off of the bathroom mirror with a razor in order to see your reflection.

So, you’d fallen out of bed and bruised— your forehead— instantly, only to realise that you’d slept through your alarm, and forgotten to lay out clothes for the day the night before. This was then followed by a rushed— cold— shower, and jumping in front of the iced-over mirror to glimpse the large bump already forming on your forehead.

You’d made it to the kitchen, and found that you’d run out of both coffee and tea, forcing you to decide between going without caffeine, or being late to work in the process of getting a takeaway beverage. You opted for the latter, and sprinted out the front door with your scarf only half-slung around your neck.

You’d shouted a hasty good morning to your shop keeper neighbour from the lower floor, before running straight into your other neighbour, the one who lived right next door to you, and shared your rice paper-thin walls.

He’d narrowly avoided spilling his cup of scalding coffee down your front, but in avoiding spilling it on you, the poor bloke had instead dropped the mug at his feet, and watched it shatter to pieces, coffee spattering his white shoes.

Still, he was the first to apologise.

He was like that, Brian May. Very polite. Well-mannered. Ever the friendly neighbour.

And very beautiful. You’d noticed.

Off to work you’d rushed, once you’d helped him to clean up the mess, because you weren’t about to leave him standing in a pile of shattered porcelain, the existence of which was quite honestly your fault.

You’d been not five, not ten, not twenty, but thirty minutes late to work, and your boss had been none too pleased.

“Deadlines,” he’d told you. “We have deadlines!”

Deadlines your arse. You’d watched that man leisurely read his morning paper, with his feet on an ottoman, whilst you scrambled to get your affairs in order.

It’d then been a drab day, working at the newspaper, because it seemed that nothing was happening in the world, outside of your own little corner, where everything seemed to be happening all at once, and thus, there was no story for you to write. You’d been reduced to running fax and photocopies for various people, and— ironically— doing a coffee run, because everyone else was too busy for such a frivolous thing as a coffee run. Funny, though; for all they shunned the coffee run, they could not do without their precious caffeine to fuel their productivity.

The day seemed to drag on, and when it finally let up, the rain came down with the night, and you, with no umbrella and a good walk on either side of your tube ride, stared miserably through the window at the depressing weather.

But at home, pasta and television and your lovely, soft bed awaited you, and so, you were desperate to get home as quickly as possible.

With a sigh, you stepped outside, and let the rain soak you as you went on your way, having once read in a scientific study in the newspaper which had concluded from a series of experiments that one got more wet from running through rain than from walking through it.

The tube was crowded, as usual, and like a good citizen, you offered your seat to an elderly lady, only to realise upon second glance that she was not elderly at all, and you had just morally offended a rather prim-looking business woman. And lost your seat to the smirking man who’d watched the exchange occur.

You tracked mud all the way up to your flat, nearly breaking your foot at least twice when you nearly slipped on the rain-slick wood of the stairs.

The final nail— or so you thought— in the coffin of your terrible day came when you fumbled in your jacket pockets for your key.

The sinking feeling in your stomach was perhaps the heaviest you’d ever felt.

In your rush that morning, you’d forgotten your key.

Brian May walked up the stairs just in time to see you kick your shoe off in frustration, and let out a laugh at the sight of you.

You looked up from your abused shoe to find Brian paused at his door, one eyebrow slightly raised in concern.

“Alright?” he asked, dubiously.

You took a deep breath, in an attempt to remain calm and appear normal at the height of your despair. “I’ve had a shitty day, since before you saw me this morning, and now I’ve locked myself out of my flat. Alright, you think?”

“No,” he conceded, “but it seemed polite to ask.”

“Do you always just do what’s polite?” you sighed.

“Now that,” said Brian, inclining his head, “wasn’t very polite.”

You shook your head quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I meant it in a much more flattering way, like, you never fail to be polite, even when it’s hard to be, or when I’m sure you’d much rather say something sarcastic, or even just plain rude. You know,” you rambled, “you’re good at that—” you waved a hand, and amusement flitted across his eyes— “filter thing. You have a filter, I mean.”

“And you don’t,” he observed.

“Exactly.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, for once,” said Brian, “you look an absolute wreck, but—”

At that moment was when the real final nail of the coffin fell into place.

Because at that moment, accompanied by an ear-splitting peal of thunder, lightning struck, and eradicated the power supply of approximately one-third of the London metropolitan area.

“Bloody hell,” Brian remarked, as the rumble of thunder receded. The two of you stood in darkness on the landing, and while before, there had only been one bare lightbulb to light your surroundings, it was greatly different to be standing in total darkness when the city outside had become equally as dark.

“The power—”

You thought Brian nodded across from you where he stood, in the blackness of the hall.

“So…” you muttered. “What now?”

“Well, given our presently rather strange circumstances, I’ll offer to let you sleep on my sofa, and we can talk to Clarisse in the morning.”

Clarisse owned the shoe shop beneath your flats, and therefore your flats as well. She was yours and Brian’s landlady, but, as with her shop, she was only ever in from nine to five. Given that it was now six in the evening, she was most certainly long gone.

You considered Brian’s offer.

The two of you had shared a landing for four, almost five years now, since you’d each come to London, and yet, though you were friendly, you’d never got past having coffee together. You knew that Brian was studying astrophysics at Imperial College, which was very impressive indeed, and that he was the guitarist in a talented, but relatively unknown band. You’d encountered the other members of the band a few times here and there, every year, given that they sometimes practiced, or held meetings, at Brian’s residence. Clarisse didn’t mind the band playing, and as the next door building always had loud music pounding, there was no danger of annoying the neighbours to the point of the police being phoned, so Brian and his band were free to hold their rehearsals. You knew they were talented because you could hear them playing through said rice paper-thin walls.

And having had coffee with the man in question at least three times, you felt safe enough in taking up his offer. You only regretted that in all your years living next door to him, you’d never invited him over. Then again, he’d never invited you over either. But here he was now, in your hour of need, and that had to count for something.

You nodded gratefully, then remembered that he probably couldn’t see you all too well, and said,

“I think I’ll take up your offer. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nonsense,” said Brian. “I’m just polite.”

You thought he might have winked, but of course, in the dark, you couldn’t be sure.

He unlocked his front door, and you followed him inside.

“Watch out for the—”

You stumbled over what felt and sounded to be a guitar case.

“Oh shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” you apologised profusely.

He chuckled. “It’s fine. It’s empty.”

“Oh, thank god,” you muttered. “Thought I’d just destroyed something, again.”

“Yeah, it was bad enough that you ruined my coffee cup this morning.”

Reflexively, you covered your blush with your hand. “Please don’t remind me,” you groaned.

“I won’t miss it,” Brian assured you, tossing his keys onto a little table. “It was a hideous thing. Something Fred got me once from Kensington Market, where he works. Pretty sure the thing was second-hand too.”

Fred. Freddie, lead singer of the band you’d only heard through walls. Funny, charming, friendly though shy.

You wrinkled your nose. “Second-hand…”

“Yeah. He’s got no taste, silly bugger.” Though Brian’s remarks sounded harsh, he spoke with a fondness that could only have been reserved for the highest regard of friendships, and you thought that he and his bandmates must be quite good friends.

“Hungry?” Brian asked. “I’ve only got some left-over lasagna, unfortunately, since I wasn’t expecting company, and it’s vegetarian, but we can heat it up in the oven, and there’s enough for the both of us.”

“Honestly, Brian, that sounds delicious.”

Your eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, and so you saw his smile in response to your comment.

“Well, great. I’ll heat that up, then. Make yourself at home. If you can find the living room,” he added with a laugh. “There’s some candles in the chest of drawers by the window, so if you get those out, I’ll find some matches too, and we can have some light.”

“Will do.”

You set about your task, managing to only stub your toe once after removing your shoes, and set up candles about the living room, where you assumed Brian intended to set up dinner.

He brought you matches, and brought with him a glass bottle.

“Wine?” he offered you, having poured himself a glass, and you accepted, because it was Friday night and what the hell.

You lit the candles as Brian went back to his cooking, and before long, he returned with the lasagna dished up.

As your host sat down across from you, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

With the candles providing a rather romantic glow, catching on Brian’s pretty ringlet curls and dancing in his eyes, plus the wine, and now, the static-y music coming in over a battery-powered radio, this atmosphere was a lot cosier than you had expected.

Brian furrowed his brow at your noise of amusement. “What..?”

“Are we on a date right now?”

With a glance about the room, with its overstuffed cushions and stitched drapes, the two of you eating a meal by candlelight, Brian laughed too.

“It would seem that way.”

He raised his glass to you, and you would have been lying if you’d said that the gesture and his words hadn’t made your heart skip a beat.

You ate in silence for a few moments, until Brian spoke again.

“Would you mind awfully if we were?

The question startled you a little, and you swallowed your wine carefully.

“No,” you said honestly.

A small smile graced his mouth, before his eyes dropped to his lap. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I always meant to ask you out.”

You blurted, “Did you really?”

He smiled fully now. “Yeah. But I’ve always been so damn shy.”

You were the one to raise your glass this time. “Well, here we are now. And you’re not getting rid of me. At least until tomorrow.”

He laughed gently in response, and you thought of how lovely and warm the sound was.

If only you were as warm as that laugh. The rain that had soaked your clothes was beginning to take its toll on you.

You finished dinner in silence, and Brian cleared the plates in silence too.

He came back after washing the dishes, just in time to see you shiver.

“Oh, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Extra blankets.”

He fetched them, but then looked down at the bundle in dismay. It was very little; you could both see that.

You watched him close his eyes briefly in the wash of candlelight, saw him grit his teeth. You waited with bated breath for what he was going to say.

“It gets really cold here at night.”

This you already knew, from your experiences at your own flat.

“Yeah.”

“And it’ll get even colder now that we’ve lost all form of central heating… Forgive me if this is entirely over the line...” he sighed, and opened his eyes, watching you with a cautiousness that betrayed nerves. “But it might be best if I sleep here, near you. Body heat, and all that.”

“Oh,” you said, blushing slightly. Stupid blush. “Yes, that’s probably a— uh— good idea.”

“Right. Um. Bathroom’s down the hall, if you wanted to chan— oh. Well. Hang on. I’ll get you a jumper or something to change into.”

Your blush only deepened, knowing that you would be wearing his clothes.

You couldn’t look at him when you took the dry, clean clothes he handed you, and hurried to change in the bathroom, before returning to the makeshift bed now established on the floor of Brian’s living room.

He brushed past you to use the bathroom himself.

You slid under the duvet laid out, and shifted the pillow beneath your head, making yourself comfortable.

Brian returned, and began extinguishing the candles around the room.

Finally, a soft shuffling sound announced that he had laid down beside you, and you released a breath of relief, knowing you could soon go to sleep and forget the awkwardness you were so adept at in your conscious state.

But then you noticed that Brian, in his flannel pyjama trousers and t-shirt, was going to sleep with only a single blanket pulled over him; he’d let you have the duvet without a word.

You weren’t about to let him freeze to death on his own living room floor.

With a courage you knew not from where, you rolled over to face Brian. Or rather, Brian’s back. He was turned away from you. He probably thought you’d already gone to sleep.

You laid your hand gently on his shoulder, and he turned slowly.

“Hey,” you murmured, as his eyes met yours. “Sleepover?” You offered the duvet, a gift of peaceable intentions.

He smiled softly, and accepted with grace. But it was a stretch, with how far he lay from you.

“Oh, come here,” you said, and draped your arm over his lithe waist, drawing him closer to you. A little wine-tipsy and a little tired, a little cold, a little lonely, you nestled your cheek against his chest, your hands against warm skin beneath thin fabric.

Slowly, his arms wrapped around you too, and you breathed a soft sigh against his skin.

“Is this alright?” he asked carefully.

In silent response, you lifted your head, and kissed his pretty lips.

He reciprocated almost immediately, his kiss sleepy but tender, and you pecked his mouth gently once more. Then you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and touched the skin there with another caress of your lips.

“Tomorrow,” you whispered, and he ghosted a kiss upon your temple.

“I can wait for tomorrow,” he said.

And soon you both drifted off, you in warmth and contentment, and Brian dreaming of you.

#s&t celebrate #tina's writing #brian may x reader #fic

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heliosthegriffin · 3 years

Text

Gamer AU

Author’s Note: I really badly want to write a gamer!Jaune Fanfic, but getting a system to work that makes sense to me has been a bitch to deal with, and no, I don’t want to use the system from the Gamer, it’s over used. So I’ve been making my own system from the ground up. Any the story’s nowhere near ready for day light. Also, the main focus would be on Jaune and his immediate family and that drama, so pretty OC heavy. It’d also start pretty early in his life around ten or so, he also isn’t very interested in being a hunter, just making sure his family is happy and alive.

Any-who: Here’s a scene clip from my head, that’ll be better fleshed out later.

Scene: The Waterfront Cafe

Jaune hurriedly walks back and forth through the cafe, makings sure the dozen or so customers were being well cared for, while he cooks their food.

It was only midday, but he had already make a decent profit, meaning he didn’t have to work into the evening and keep the cafe open. A couple more weeks and he might have enough to permanently hired a waiter; For now though, he was soloing his way through running his sisters-... his cafe.

He shook his head and focused on the positive today. Like how he was fifteen years old and a successful business owner, well several businesses... and other things that were definitively illegal. but like Roman says “Legal is for people who don’t want to get rich.”

The thought of his friend, even if Roman would never admit it, brought a genuine smile to his face. He hoped Roman his enforcer came to visit soon. They made for good conversation, and were good tippers, even if the other one got a little grabby. Still, Roman had yet to send him a time to keep the Waterfront open for him to visit, so he’d have to keep a look out for one of his runners.

Only Jaune Arc would think so casually about having a powerful crime boss as a friend and customer, and his stab-happy murder goblin enforcer.

Also only Jaune Arc would fail to notice despite his Perception well over 70 that his genuine smile cause all who saw it to melt and turn their legs into jelly.

“First time?” “What? What do you mean? And what the hell was that!?” A customer whisper yelled.

“The Jaune Arc Smile, it has an effect on people. Beside the divine cooking, it’s one of the reason people come here.”

“... That's insane.”

“Oh, definitely. But, is that going to stop you from coming back?”

“I said that this was insane, but I didn’t say I was stupid. I haven’t felt so content in years.”

The two customers drifted off into conversation.

Jaune still failing to notice, having a professional standard of not ease-dropping on his customers.

Of course with that being the case Jaune failed to notice the two loud-mouth women who walked in and sat down at a table like they owned the place.

Neither woman was particularly attractive, or in shape, in-fact the only interesting thing about either was the fact that they both had dyed grey hair with grey contacts. With the only thing differing about the two, was the taller one was fat, and the shorter one thin.

“So, I said “what are you part of the Alpha Male Huntsmen agenda? Cause if you don’t give me that purse for free I’m going to cry rape!” Then he gave it to me and ran his little ass back to home.” The taller one said

“Oh, you are such a bad bitch!.” Replys the shorter one. “Oh, don’t I know it, so why are we here?”

“Oh, you don’t know, the food here is killer! Or, so I heard.”

“Really? It just looks like a shitty little cafe, the only thing really note is the location.”

“Yeah, I saw it while looking on the Scroll. Also, the service is great, but the thing is... It’s only run by one guy! You know what that means?” Shortys says

“Yes!”

““Free lunch!”“The a pair says together.

“When this glass of water get here!?”

“See, told you get the service was great!”

Jaune appears before the table, apron on, long golden hair in a ponytail and, notebook in hand. “Did some say service?

“Oh shit!”

“Fuck! Where did you come from?!” “Sorry Misses. I thought you two would like some service? I can give you more time if you’d like.”

The two get a full view of Jaunes features, reducing themselves into a blushing stuttering mess.

“There are you can scan the table for the menu if you like, or check the website, I’ll give you some more time.” Jaune says leaving with another pearly white smile.

Further burning out the pair’s brain cells.

A few minutes later.

“How, how can guy be so gorgeous? You said he was a guy right!?” The taller one says “Yeah, I did! All the reviews say he’s a guy!” Shortys says. “Like read this here, “The server is amazing, he always arrives on time, never pry's, but will always listen, what he cooks can only be called art and a world wonder, I am always happy to tip!”

The pair look at each other. “I thought it was reviewer bias.” “What ever, gorgeous or not, I’m getting a free meal today.” Say the fatter one.

The shorter one looks more hesitant. “I don’t know,, he looks so nice, it almost feels like a crime...”

“What do we care about crimes, when it’s the Alpha Male Huntsman Regime oppressing us!”

“... I’ll stick to paying, you do you though...” The shorter of the pair says, twirling her hair, heavily reconsidering keeping a different color.

“Whatever traitor, I’ll show you, and then you’ll see I’m right!”

“Suuure.” The shorter, and obviously smart one says disbelieving, ‘If he’s that pretty and nice, there’s no way that’s going to happen, cause either he’s way tough, or someones looking after him, otherwise this place would be out of business, with people trying to take advantage of him. ’

Half an hour later.

The larger one has several plates and cups empty before her, seemingly having everything on the menu, holding her bloated stomach in a state of ecstasy.

The shorter one only having finished a two plates, having had a club sandwich and muffin, along with the house brew, filling just the right amount of full and very content.

“Misses?” Jaune says “I hope you found everything to your liking.” His smile sweet like sugar, but warm like the spring breeze.

The shorter one blushes hard. “Uh, uh, yes” She finally squeaks out. “it was amazing...”

“’S alright, I guess” The fatter one says appearing disappointed and unimpressed.

Jaune seems a little hurt by the fatter one’s opinion, causing several other customers to look on murderously at the fat woman.

She is unfortunately oblivious to this.

Jaune lets go of the expression.” Well, my apologies miss, I’ll makes sure it’s better next time.”

‘It can get better!’ The fatty thinks.

The murderous glares grow sharper.

“I thought it was really good!” The shorter one says standing up, and then realizing how insanely tall and large Jaune is compared to her, and even her friend. His thighs being bigger than her torso, his pecs standing higher than she is and her friend. Yet he moved like the wind and with the grace of a dancer.

The large fatty snorts in disdainfully at her soon to be former friend.

“Now would you like to pay to together or separately?”

“I’m not pay-” The tall fatty begins. “Separately.” Only to be cut off by the shorter one. Who, glared at her, clearly unimpressed by her soon to be former friend.

Jaune nods and goes off to get their bills.

“The fuck was that! I was about to get us a free feel, bitch!”

“You were about to get us both kicked from the best cafe in the kingdom!”

“You, ungrateful cunt!”

“Whatever, I don’t need your approval,” She spots Jaune and walks over to take the bill, and tips him, before walking a way with an obvious skip in her step.

“Ma’am her is your bill-”

“I’m not paying.” “Come again?”

“I’m not paying you shit, you piece of garbage!” The woman says with a sneer.

Jaunes eyes narrow, he pulls up a chair and sits down staring her in the eyes.

“Why would that be ma’am, was there something not to your liking?” Jaune say his voice changing from airy, bubbly and sweet, to a deep, harsh, and cold tone. It was listening to a pop-star mixed with meowing of a kitten, and all the warmth of breezy, sunny spring day, to a cold winter night in Mantle while listening to a murdering whisper death-core to you .

The fat grey-head shook with intense fear for all of three second before speaking again, but not without withdrawing her eyes from his own.

“I said before I’ll say it again bastard, I’m not paying you a cent, you Valiaen Huntsman supporting shitlord!”

“My father’s a huntsman, if you have a problem with them please, do keep them to yourself.”

“I’ll say whatever I want shitlord! And if you so much as touch me, I’ll scream you rape you rapist shithole!” The woman says, suddenly getting her confidence back, remembering that she’s the one with power in this situation, or so she thinks. “An if you try anything, beside letting me walk out of here without paying, I’ll make sure you never see your family again, or even better, make sure your whole Huntsman propaganda spewing familys face’s kicked from the kingdom! And guess what fuckup? I going to come back here tomorrow with my friends and your going to give us all a free-”

“Quiet.” A single word came from Jaune’s mouth, but from the way the woman closed her mouth it looked like he shut her mouth with his own two hands.

Jaune stopped holding back his overwhelming level of Personality and letting it Project forward, all 80 levels of it and his maxed out Intimidation.

The fat woman suddenly became aware of how close Jaune was to here, how big his hands are, how long and strong his arms are, he wouldn’t even need to get up to grab her neck across the table and his hands could cover her entire next with ease, it would take no effort for him to kill then and there, and that shook her.

From the corners of her eyes it was like she could she the other customer turnign way with, but not out of fear, but with intense glee! He could kill her then and there and they wouldn’t say a word, they might even help!

Jaune spoken and with it came a weight so heavy that it choked the words out of her.

“Listen here, I’m going to say this once and never again, after I finish telling you this, you will be like you never existed to me, is that clear?” Jaune said to her with a sinister, cold and happy smiles. It was like looking at an open grave with her name on it.

She nodded with all her force, and barely let out a ”Yes,” Feeling hyper-aware of Jaune and his body, easily seeing him choking her, hitting her and smashing her face in, taking a knife to her neck letting her bleed out, the phantom pain of a eye being gouged out, and near endless death Jaune could bring to her, all while listening to him.

“I was being humble earlier, but you don’t downplay my cooking, I”m the best chef without a degree in the kingdom, In a couple months I will be the best chef in the kingdom. I am the best cafe in this kingdom. I am no rapist, but even if I was why would waste my time going after, a fat, loose, stupid, boring, and painfully annoying creature as you, do you think my standard are low enough to be in the sewer, because that where I’d fine you, But, I could accept all of that abuse.” Jaune rapid-fired at her, “But,” His eyes looked at her like razors. “But, you tried to bring my family into this... And, NOBODY, AND, I MEAN NOBODY, BEING, OR, ENTITY! MESSES WITH MY FAMILY! IS THAT YELL YOU FUCKING MICROSCOPIC, WORTHLESS, VACUUM OF INTELLIGENCE, PARASITE!?” Jaune said to her calmly before yelling at her, his voice like a hurricane on steroids made of pure anger.

The woman shook before him, tearing falling freely, squeaking out in pure terror for her life. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” Jaune shook out another caverous roar. “BITCH! I did not ask for your worthless sorry ass to say SORRY! I ASKED IF YOU GOT IT?! WELL? DID YOU FUCKING GET IT?!”

“YES, SIR I GOT! I’M SO SORRY! PLEASE DON’T-“ The woman screamed in terror,

“THEN GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, YOU GOT YOUR FUCKING FREE MEAL, GET OUT OF HERE AND NEVER COME BACK, IF I SO MUCH AS SEE A HAIR OF YOU’RE FAT ASS, I”M GOING TO MAKE SURE THEY HAVE A MISSING PERSON’S WARRANT ON YOUR FAT ASS, AND YOU KNOW FUCKING WHAT? NOBODYS GOING TO CARE, NOW LEAVE!” Jaune said punctuation the last word by pounding the table with hands while screaming into the face of the woman.

She ran, she ran like her life depended on it, a trail of piss following her, ugly crying all the way home.

Jaune then turned to his customers. “I’m sorry, about that folks,” His voice once again melodic and beautiful. “But, I’m sure that will not happen for about a month or two.” “Don’t worry we didn’t see anything.” His regulars said, with smug grins and some outright laughing or recording to put on dustube.

“Well, since y’all didn’t see anything, I say free coffee and today pie on the house!”

“WHOO!!”

Jaune then cleaned the table, and grabbed several glasses to refill, before returning the kitchen.

Returning to the two customers from earlier.

“What was that?”

“Oh that, don’t worry about that, it comes and goes, but we regulars call it free coffee and desert day.” “That’s insane... Who wouldn’t pay for this food?”

“You got a good head on you, kid.”

Jaune was in the kitchen cooking with one hand, and typing into his scroll behind his back with the other.

‘Junior, I got a favor to call in.’

Buzz.

‘The Malachite's saw everything.’

Jaune smirked evilly.

‘Good, tell them I’ll have their favorites ready when they get here... And something for you too.’

With Junior.

Junior: Happy crime boss noises.

The Next day.

The short grey hair girl arrived just as Jaune was opening.

“I am so sorry! About that I’d like to apologize for the idiots behavior.” “Oh it’s fine, I get customers like that from time to time. Now though I must say you look better without out those grey eyes. Brown suits you better.” The short hair-girl blushed heavily, having stopped using the color contacts.

“Thanks you...” “Now would like some breakfast?”

“YES!”

Authors note:Whew, that was exhausting, but I think it turned out ok.

By the way I came up for some names for the customers.

The first regulars name is Bronson

The new guy is Becker

The fat girl is Licorish

The shorter girl is Gracie

If your curioius why Jaune’s not in school and running a his sisters cafe, or where his sister is, that will all be touch on in the story.

Now here’s Jaunes Stats

Jaune Arc

15 and 1/4

Male

Strength: 68 Speed: 72

- Toughness: 6 - Grace: 7

Wits: 53 Wisdom: 82

- Calculation: 5 - Mental Fortress: 8

Personality: 80 Perception: 75

- Attraction: 8 -Sensory : 7

- Anima:390 (This option is greyed out)

- Aura Level: 3900 (this option is greyed out)

Now these are still subject to change.

He’s maxed out: Cooking, Dancing, Intimation, CQC, MMA, Valerian Boxing, Valerian Fencing, Short blade, Cleaning, Stealth, Sprinting, Climbing, Voice Manipulation, Body Control, ????? That’s all I’m listing for now, but it will only grow.

Traits:???? Heheh, watch and wait.

That’s all for now fokes. Have a beautiful day.

#Jaune Arc Appreciation #Jaune Arc #gamer!au

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thedistrictsleepsalonetonight · 3 years

Text

Head over feet (or Jamie’s not a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, thank you very much)

There are only two reasons Bly Manor could ever be completely silent - one, that somebody had died, and two, that Owen and Jamie were fighting. Again.

(It’s sad that there was an equal chance of either of those possibilities occurring)

She looks up when Dani walks in, and watches her immediately let out a deep breath. Dani raises an eyebrow.

“He called me a manic pixie dream girl,” she explains.

Dani goes through an extremely complicated face journey in the span of ten seconds. It’s impressive to watch.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” she says, despite Hannah frantically shaking her head from where she’s sitting at the table. “He called you a what now?”

“I didn’t call her a manic pixie dream girl,” Owen clarifies, his mouth twitching in amusement. “I may have just pointed out that her entire life kind of—”

Jamie glares at him. He side-eyes her.

“—maybe—”

Jamie shifts.

“—Dani, she’s threatening me,” he complains, like the giant baby that he is.

Dani walks up to her, slings an arm over her shoulders, and Jamie feels herself relax. Two cords start from where she’s being touched — one sneaks its way over her back and through her body, spreading warmth everywhere it goes; the other goes straight to her heart. It’s almost embarrassing how quick her body goes slack and boneless when Dani is around, as though it’s been reduced, simply, to something malleable in Dani’s tender hands.

“Let him talk, babe,” is whispered into her ear, and well, who is Jamie to argue against someone who happens to own her whole entire heart.

“I just called her a two-dime rom-com love interest archetype,” Owen finally manages to complete. “Because, and this you may have noticed yourself, her entire world revolves around you! And she’s constantly following you around like a puppy dog! And — and — I was bored!”

After a full minute of staring, Dani asks him what’s wrong with that, right when Jamie says that she absolutely does not. The silence that follows just sees them staring at each other, one a deer caught in the headlights of an incoming tornado, the other very offended.

“Oops,” says Owen in the background, the little shit.

*****

She knows Dani’s in the greenhouse even before she emerges from under the table.

That’s a cliché if she’s ever heard one, but the way Dani walks is so distinctive that there’s nothing else in the world like it. Nothing that even comes close to the particular brand of quick click-clack that accompanies her arrival, the way the steps fall like they’re trying to sound more confident than they are, in reality.

She can almost see what it looks like up there: her girlfriend, probably walking with a cup of some absolutely horrible, disgusting tasting beverage that Jamie would adore regardless of its flavor. Except there’s a second, softer set of footsteps that follow, keep walking, until she raises her head a bit and sees Flora’s tiny slippers pointed right at her.

“Jamie,” Flora announces loudly, “I have come here on behalf of Miss. Clayton, to apologize for the misunderstanding caused in the morning.”

Jamie takes a deep breath so she doesn’t burst out laughing. Damn her girlfriend for using the deadliest weapon available to her.

“Flora,” she answers to no one in particular, “Could you tell Miss. Clayton that her words made Jamie feel undervalued and taken for granted and that her apology is not accepted.”

There’s a pause. “Flora,” Dani says, “Could you tell Jamie that Dani knows her words were thoughtless and while a mistake, not entirely inaccurate and—”

“Flora, could you tell Dani that her apology needs work—”

“—Flora, could you tell Jamie that she needs to let me explain before she starts grumping again—”

“I beg your pardon!” Flora declares over their combined whining. “I’m sorry, Miss Clayton, but I really can’t do this anymore. Could the both of you please, please, talk to each other yourself?

There’s some whispering back and forth, then footsteps running away. Jamie waits.

“Are you gonna come out now?”

“I came out a long time ago.”

She hears Dani sigh, very loudly, then — “You know what I mean.”

“I do know what you mean. Maybe I want to stay down here and not see your face anymore. Did you ever think of that?”

Dani’s voice turns adoring, and Jamie hates, hates (loves) the way her will bends to it. “But maybe I want to see your face, sweetheart.”

Jamie sticks her tongue out for an embarrassingly long time before she realizes it probably isn’t visible.

“If you don’t come out of there,” Dani says, “I will get underneath it with you. Fair warning.”

Jamie smiles, waits.

“Coming in three, two, ow!”

And with that Jamie is out from under the table in a flash, leaning over Dani and that massive, red looking bump on her forehead. Her hands are on Dani before she can even think, one gently rubbing at the welt, the other on her cheek.

“Idiot,” she chides, unable to think How bad does it hurt over and over, “Why can’t you be more careful?”

“Why should I when I already have the best girlfriend in the world to do that for me?”

“Dani Clayton, sweet talker extraordinaire,” she says, pretending to swoon. Leans forward, and presses a gentle kiss to the gradually darkening bruise. “Better?”

Dani’s smile when she nods is so wide that her eyes are almost completely closed.

*****

“We don’t do things together.”

“We do plenty of things together.”

“Oh, like that time I cut your roses to make my collage and you told me it was ugly?”

“You cut up my roses to make One Direction fanart!”

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t dancing to Best Song Ever in the kitchen back when it had just come out!”

Hands balled up into fists, faces flushed. Jamie and Miles stare at each other for a minute before they simultaneously relax. Jamie rolls her eyes, passes the gloves over to him.

“You’re the worst,” she says.

“And you’re a.... wait, what was it Owen had called you? A two-dime rom-com love interest?”

She blushes, and is glad for the sun high up in the sky. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you eavesdropping is rude?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, my parents must have skipped that lesson during the time they were still alive.”

“You can’t pull that card on me, remember? I’m also an orphan with major abandonment issues.”

Miles shakes his head, continues pulling up the weeds in the garden bed. He’d been supremely unimpressed when she had dragged him out for “A day of fun”, and true to form, was continuing his trend of being completely unhelpful with her mission to make him do an honest day’s work.

(Also with her mission to prove to the entire household that she could, in fact, do things not involving her girlfriend)

She tells him to suck it up when he complains about the heat. He does look frazzled, though. There’s sweat dripping off of his forehead, and his hair is weirdly plastered to his head in places. He raises his head, looks longingly at the house and Jamie follows his line of sight until she can just barely make out the outline of people moving in the kitchen.

She thinks of Dani inside, and feels such a strange wave of yearning overcome her that her knees feel weak. It’s only been a whole day since she’s talked properly to her girlfriend, but already the thought of sitting next to her, within touching distance has her considering giving up on this entire “avoiding the love of her life to prove a point to a complete dum-dum" endeavor.

“What does it feel like?”

Jamie drags her eyes away and looks at Miles. He’s looking at her curiously, his palm held over his eyes to shield him from the sun.

“What, gardening?” she asks in response, even though she knows what he really means.

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

She thinks it over. “I’m.... not sure. I love her. Just don’t know if I can articulate it well enough for anyone to understand, let alone myself.”

“But how do you know you love her?”

“Gosh, does anyone? It’s always a toss-up. It just feels right to me, I guess. I want to know her favorite everything, to consume her favorite everything because there’s a part of her in them. I trust myself to be ugly around her. To be sad, or happy, or whatever. I trust her to still like me if I’m not the best version of myself around her. It’s.... complicated.”

He nods, not looking like he gets it entirely. “Weird.”

She reaches out to mess up his hair, laughing when he protests. “Ah, you’re young yet. You’ll get there when you do.”

He hums.

“Or — or not!” she scrambles to add. “You might not get there. Which would also be okay. Totally. Okay.”

He smiles at her. “Hopefully not,” he says, lips twitching. “I’d rather die than become a manic pixie dream girl.”

She almost regrets the soil she launches at his face. Almost.

*****

She sneaks into the chapel towards evening, and nearly scares Hannah out of her wits when she turns around.

“Goodness, Jamie,” Hannah gasps, hand on her chest, “What are you doing here?”

“I came.... to pray,” she replies, picking up a random candlestick and flipping it.

Hannah looks at her in that all-knowing way of hers. “I assure you, that’s definitely not the way to do it, then. And I didn’t know you even believed in a higher power.”

“The only higher power I believe in is the stupid woman stomping around the grounds,” she says, wistfully, sinking down onto the bench opposite to where Hannah is already seated. Then immediately pinches herself on the wrist. “Damn it, I’m not supposed to be talking about her. Or to her.”

“Wait,” Hannah says, realization dawning, “Are you avoiding Dani? Is that why you’re here?”

She throws her arms up before resting her face on the corner of the bench in front of her, feeling very much like a smitten Regency era heroine. “If I’m around her, I won’t be able to resist talking to her. Or touching her. Or just, you know, looking at her like she’s the reason the universe was chucked into existence years and years ago. Trust me, it’s easier to avoid her.”

“I am going to kill that man.”

“Eh, it’s not just Owen,” Jamie remarks, in a surprising show of grace. “I’m also afraid I’m being—”

“—what? Sweet? Romantic? Absolutely swoon-worthy?”

“Clingy,” she confesses, feeling embarrassed. “What if I am bothering her by wanting to be with her most of my time?” What if I’m the only one who wants to be with her most of my time? What does that mean? Does that mean she doesn’t love me as much? Want me as much?

Hannah sits and listens patiently. God, Jamie loves her so much. If the concept of best friends existed in her world, this woman would definitely be hers.

“My ex-husband used to think I was clingy,” she says, after a while of deliberation. “Said I never gave him any space. Would get annoyed if I wanted to spend time with him after dinner.”

Jamie lets her continue.

“Remember when I went up to the village in the evening and returned late night, a long time after all of you had eaten?” she asks, and Jamie nods. “I returned at 11, and found Owen asleep at the table, two covered plates lying beside him. The man had waited for me so we could have dinner together, so we could spend half an hour together before we had to go to bed.”

“So here’s the thing,” she goes on, “Space is definitely important in a relationship and I’m pretty sure you and Dani give each other a lot of it. But take it from me, she doesn’t think you’re clingy; she could never think you’re clingy because she’s equally, stupidly in love with you and invested in this.”

Jamie feels something inside her unclench, making it easier for her to breathe. “She loves me?”

Hannah laughs, softly. “Darling, can’t you see it yourself?”

Jamie thinks that she’s beginning to.

*****

“You cannot still be angry at me,” Owen says, after a very awkward ten minutes in the kitchen together.

“Try me,” she snarks back, although it lacks bite. Her anger is easy; it rises up like a furious hurricane within minutes and is swept away just as soon.

“Okay fine,” he admits, sitting on the chair next to her as he hands her a glass of lemonade, “Fine, you’re not a manic pixie dream—”

“—two-dime romcom love interest archetype, I believe it was—”

“—okay alright, then that too. I was just—”

“—but I was!” bursts out of her in a rush, and she slumps over the table, facedown. “I spent the entire day away from her and still couldn’t stop talking about her or thinking about her or wanting her. You know what? I know that makes me pathetic but I want to talk about my girlfriend to others! She’s perfect! She’s amazing! Ethereal! Beautiful! An angel! And I am a — a stupid love interest!”

He laughs, the asshole, and then thumps her back.

“Jamie,” he starts, “Come on. Do you think I can stop thinking about Hannah when we’re apart? Or that I don’t always want her near me? For heaven’s sake, I’m always making random snacks during the day so I can have an excuse to track her down and feed her.”

She looks at him, the embarrassment now turning to acute irritation. “Then why would you — wait, you know what — you’re a fucking asshole!”

He can’t stop laughing. Grabs her into a headlock so she can’t get up and continues laughing until she pinches at his arm.

“Are you still angry?” he inquires, after he’s done catching his breath.

“Yes!”

“Jamie, my darling,” he says, very formally, “I was just angry because we hadn’t spent time together in so damn long.”

She regards him. “What? No? We hung out just—”

He waits.

“—oh.”

“Last time we got drunk together was two weeks ago. Then, nada. I’m not saying that it’s all you. God knows I’ve done my fair share of forgetting to hang out because I was already with Hannah and it was difficult to tear myself away, I just — yeah.”

The smile that she can feel creeping up all over her face is the devil. “Owen, are you saying you miss me?”

His face darkens. “Oh fuck you.”

“Owen Sharma misses me, Owen Sharma misses me....”

“Jaime, I’m literally going to kill you.”

*****

She screams when Dani does and nearly falls off the ledge.

(Listen, in her defense, she hasn’t seen her girlfriend in over 24 hours. A show of impulse romance by climbing up the ledge right up to Dani’s room can certainly be excused)

(Also, she’s a little drunk)

“You scared me!” she says, with Dani now holding on to her.

“I scared you?” Dani exclaims. “You — I turned around and you’re suddenly at the window like a haunted owl or something.”

“Why the fuck would an owl haunt you?”

Dani opens her mouth, then closes it again. Jamie counts it as a personal victory.

She climbs over the window and lands on the inside of the room. Dani leans forward, kisses her, then draws back.

“Are you — are you drunk?”

“A little,” Jamie disentangles from her to raise her right hand with her thumb and forefinger held a tiny span apart. “Only a leetle. I was with Owen.”

“Ah, so the manic pixie dream girl and best boy have made up?” Dani teases, then quickly kisses her cheek when she protests.

“How did your experiment go?” she adds.

“Terrible. Horrible,” Jamie answers. “I kept talking about you wherever I went. It was embarrassing. If there is a lesbian equivalent of the Bechdel test, we most certainly did not pass it.”

Dani kisses at her pout until it switches to a smile, and Jamie can physically feel the elation fill her body until she guesses she’s probably floating on air by now. There’s something about being around Dani that relaxes every part of her, makes her feel so light that she thought if she could just jump hard enough, she’d float away like a heart-shaped balloon. Jamie tightens her hold on Dani, buries her face in her hair, and breathes her in until all of her senses are filled up with her.

(If wanting to hug her girlfriend like a panda all the time makes her clingy, so be it)

“If it makes you feel any better,” Dani says, still hugging her, “I couldn’t stop talking about you either. I kept bugging Hannah or Owen or whoever was nearest, asking them what you were up to. A really pretty song played on the radio and I thought — I can dance with Jamie to this. I tried watching a movie, and all I could think was, If Jamie had been here, she would definitely have hidden her face in my shoulder at this part. I was cold and lonely at night, and I thought If Jamie were here, she would have put her hand on my—”

“—Dani!” she says, scandalized.

“—back to warm me up,” Dani completes, smoothly, and then pulls back to look at her. “So we could cuddle and go to sleep. Why, what were you thinking?”

Jamie tries, she really does. However, only five seconds later, she’s kissing her stupid, annoying, idiotic girlfriend again.

“Let’s never do that, okay?” she says. “I kept tossing and turning all night.”

“You’re telling me,” Dani deadpans. “I slept on the floor on a mattress because the bed was just too damn empty without you there.”

“The drama,” Jamie says, although she’s smiling too wide for it to register. “Well, hopefully, you wouldn’t have to sleep without your angsty, brooding love interest ever again.”

“Oh,” Dani quirks an eyebrow, tilts her head. “Does that mean this is our happy ending?”

Jamie kisses her again, feels her smile and is more inclined to think they’re in the wonderful, beautiful, middle forever.

#the haunting of bly manor #thobm #thobm fanfic #dani x jamie #fanfiction #this wasn't a prompt- just another excuse for me to make Jamie interact more with Hannah Owen and Miles because #found family feels baby #also this is pretty dialogue heavy because I haven't written in a while and my creative muscles are cramping #just #excuse the sad humor #and happy reading!

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sian22redux · 5 years

Text

Field of Dreams

Here we go! No 2 in the fics I owe @nomadicpixel and @theycallmebecca. Nomad asked for Steve and a relationship that is new and my brain said how about a little enemies to lovers everyone? Not to worry it all works out in spectacularly happy fashion--but before that Y/N has a PR disaster to sort out and really, he’s a hard guy to forget, even if he is a little stubborn about Brooklyn. ^_^

Part 1 of 2. And obviously the tweets I’ve made and embedded here are not real, do not belong to any real account.

---------

“Y/N have you seen this?”

Your harried Media VP, Stephanie, uncharacteristically dressed in a rumpled suit and no make-up, barges into your office, trailed by your harried looking PA. It’s 7 am, mid-morning in LA, and you are jet-lagged; bleary eyed and something that passes for awake after two precious weeks at your New York research labs. They were heaven, but now it’s back to routine, back to the long days that keep Fleur in Bloomberg’s list of Ones to Watch.

“What is it?” you ask, setting your latte down and rising to your feet just as the pair screech to a halt just before your desk.

From the look of things ‘routine’ will not be today’s best adjective. Steph, a night-owl through and through, is never here this early. Her face is flushed and her eyes red as she waves a piece of paper covered with a screen print in your direction. “It’s a mess is what it is. And how you should respond I have no idea.”

No idea?

Steph can finagle her way out of PR jams that reduce grown men to tears. “Respond to what?” With a sense of doom you take the paper from her outstretched hand and quickly scan the contents.

‘Not shoot O’Malley twice? What the ever-loving hell?!

Steve Rogers—THE Steve Rogers—finally gets a twitter account and the first tweet he sends six months later trashes the Dodgers baseball team?!

Your Dodgers.

“Why is he @CapRogers?” you ask, more than a little stunned as Steph looks on.

Her face is pale and her fingers shake. No coffee yet this morning. Mary, your brilliantly practical PA, settles on priorities and quickly hands her a steaming cup. “Captain America was already taken.”

Of course. It’s his first ever tweet and the one he’s pinned and everyone has already followed him. No way any soul on Planet Earth has missed this missile. You scan a few of the 50,000 comments. They range from the politely encouraging <welcome Cap!> to the crassly supportive <F*ckin A!> to the downright militant <Get your own team pal>

Oh god. What a perfectly shitty time for this. Fleur’s new board are well pleased that its initial public offering has gone viral but are still a little wary. Six months of thirty-six hour days and you are secure beyond your wildest dreams: number 25 on Forbes’s Top Thirty under Thirty; lauded in all the trade reports for your business acumen; working hard to turn your chemistry degree to more ground-breaking organic lines.

It’s been tough but satisfying.

Buying the Los Angeles Dodgers has been your one gift to yourself.

It has not been without its bumps. A women in Major League Baseball’s old boys club has ruffled feathers amongst the owners and grey-haired stodgy boardrooms around the world. You’ve heard it all. The back-biting and the snide sideswipes. The outright misogyny. The threatened egos. What does she think she’s doing? What does she know about baseball? Who does she think she is?

Oddly, the one group that hasn’t groused about the change has been the Dodger’s staff. You’ve kept their pennant chasing front house crew. Let the manager and coaching staff stay undisturbed. Got to know the players and their families. You love them. And they are beginning to cautiously love you back. The team is your baby and while your instinct is to not let anyone give them stick, some battles aren’t worth taking on. Especially from a national icon.

“We didn’t move them, perhaps we don’t need to be too direct,” you point out, hopefully passing the paper back.

“No way,” Steph shakes her auburn head. “You are Fleur and Fleur is you. It’s too critical a time. Besides, if you don’t publically speak out the team might take it as a slight and the True Blue sure will. He’s too visible a figure. You’ll have to respond and support LA, show that you are in their corner.”

You groan. She has a point. TrueBlue are the diehard LA fans--a colourful and vocal lot—southern California through and through, and they are proud to have a woman owner. You owe it to them.

Well then. You smooth your skirt and sit back down again, flip up your Macbook lid, hurriedly type a few pithy lines. Steph comes around the back of your desk and scans them over your shoulder, bites her lip while reading. “You sure it’s what you want, the pointed ref…?” but you nod firmly. She said direct and this is that.

“Ok…”

There’s a satisfying whoosh as it flies out into the Twittersphere.

Two weeks and a lifetime in business later you pause to smooth down your red evening dress, set your shoulders back and stride forward into the barrage of cameras as you reach to shake the President’s outstretched hand.

It is her inaugural formal State Dinner. Like the rest of your homeland you are pleased and proud she chose Justin Trudeau of Canada to be the first. He is confident and always on point, a neighbour with an aligned agenda and you incline your head, almost as thrilled to meet him as her. The handshake is brief. He jokingly asks in French if you will have the Canadien’s hockey game up on your phone as it isn’t even Spring Training yet (he has read his briefing book), and you laugh, saying that Los Angeles is your home now. The Kings are King.

The resulting laughing group photos are snapped and Steph, you’re certain, will be wildly pleased.

After half an hour of polite chat with several CEO’s you know, a quiet gong sounds and you, like the other luminaries, search for your seating card along the white expanse of silver and china-decked dinner table.

Mme. Y/N Y/N is written in gold on elegant white card. Right next to a name that makes your stomach plummet through the floor.

Captain S. Rogers

Of course the White House has invited prominent expat Canadians. Of course it has invited Americans Justin would like to meet.

Oh god.

You reach for your water glass just as the gold lattice chair pulls out.

“Miss Y/N.”

A pair of inhumanely blue eyes wait for some acknowledgement and you nod, just a fraction, wondering how in the world you will navigate this. Was it a joke by the President’s Chief of Staff? Some kind of not so subtle message? Or, more worrying, a comment that your pointed retort was not officially appreciated?

“Captain.”

The medal-garnished superhuman in a dress Army uniform takes off his cap and sits down. Blushes faintly. Runs a hand through perfectly trimmed blond hair and awkwardly clears his throat, making a blandly positive comment about the weather and décor.

The flowers? Really? Who thought this was a good idea?

You do your best: asking after the Avengers’ latest escapade, the health of Agent Hawkeye who is known to have been banged up, the adjustment of his friend. You are CEO of a multinational beauty empire, formal events with strangers go with the turf, and so you are relieved to note the pleased surprise in Captain Rogers’ eyes. Not everyone supports James Barnes’ parole. You’d have thought that that will break the ice but as soon as the appetizer plates are whisked away he turns to his left and engages Canada’s Junior Minister for Defense in a discussion about NATO that lasts until dessert.

What the?

Beside you, the US Consel for Montreal looks suitably embarrassed, but there is nothing either of you can do. You pound back a few flutes of champagne and another quite good Whiskey Sour as the speeches arrive with coffee and dessert. By the time the music starts up and the room applauds Justin’s smooth waltz with the President you are ready to make an escape, get something out of this mildly disastrous night by pigeonholing the head of Lauder for a little competitors chat, when a fresh-faced aide with Maple Leaf pin taps your silk-clad shoulder.

“Madame..”

“-oiselle,” you correct automatically.

“Le Premier-Ministre serait honoré d'avoir une danse. »

Of course you will. You rise and follow the young man onto the dance floor, accept Justin’s outstretched hand and proceed spend a delightful ten minutes flirting with one of the handsomer and more chatty leaders in the world. Thank heaven. As the cameras click you banter back and forth, relieved you took so much time on your wardrobe. A sleek but stylish chignon. Marcasite studs. Louboutin heels and fall of red silk slashed to just above your knee. You look good. Tomorrow’s morning tweet of you both will likely get thousands of views you think, when a low voice comes off from your left.

“May I cut in?”

“Of course, Captain.” Justin bows and drops your hand and you are swept up into the arms of the last person you thought would dance.

“Captain Rogers?” My word his chest is broad. You take a deep breath and dare to look up into those eyes. They look a little pained but hopeful. “Are you---?”

“Apologizing. Yes.” He quickly nods his head. “Look, I’m new at this. Never tried the social media thing before and I kinda..forgot..about the bigger repercussions.”

“Evidently.” You take a breath, watching his brow furrow and quickly thinking of what to say. “You are of course entitled to your opinion but blanket statements of where things belong are unfair to the players today. As their owner I have a duty to support them.”

“I know. Look I didn’t mean to be hard on those guys.”

The blue eyes droop. He looks abashed and a little like a puppy taking an expected scolding and so you relent, search for something positive to say. “They’ll recover. If LA is good at anything is it definitely bouncing back, Captain.“

“Call me Steve.”

“Steve.” He’s nodding, looking a little more confident. As he leads you (surprisingly smoothly for one so big) around the floor you start to relax a little. Chat about dancing as a lost art. Admire the cut of his uniform and the straight line of his jaw. He is, if anything, more handsome up close and personal, although there is just the faintest twinge of anxiety still in his face. A Man of Out of Time. Yes..and still adjusting to the world he’s landed in.

Maybe you could be generous and try an olive branch.

“Brooklyn are still as famous today as they were then,” you say, squeezing the hand that holds onto yours. The other at your waist is warm. “The first team to break the colour barrier. Nine World Series titles. Cy Young pitchers and All Star MVPS. You can be proud of all that they did. ”

A sunshine smile warms his handsome face. “I am! Of course I am. Jeez, they were so much a part of our life Buck and I scrimped and saved every penny we could just to get into the nose-bleed seats. 75 cents was lunch for a week. If we couldn’t find it, we listened on the radio. Everyone did. Young and old, rich and poor. They played their games on Sundays so that working stiffs like me could go. It was the only day we had off: a ticket and beer money was a treat.”

You’re seriously starting to enjoy yourself, listening to him reminisce. This is a veritable soliloquay. “Ebbet’s might have been shaped like a bandbox but it was a right-handed slugger’s dream. McPhail was a genius. Ladies’ Days for ten cents. Half price if the temps’ got too high. I miss it so. Hot wood slats and popcorn and warm beer.”

“The best.” You grew up with baseball too. The crazy cement white elephant that was The Big O where the Expos played. Gary Carter and Bill "The Spaceman" Lee. Hot, steamy summer nights near Montreal’s broad lazy river.

But you’ve made the switch—LA are your boys now.

“Dodger stadium is baseball’s beautiful showplace now,” you explain. “We have tried to honour Brooklyn’s spirit—playing to win always and keeping the park accessible. There is even a pop-up museum to them.”

He stills and you fall just slightly behind the beat. “A pop-up museum?”

“Yes. It has old jerseys and ticket stubs and photos of the team. It will run until the fall.”

Steve looks far from impressed. “That’s all? Nothing permanent? No one’s set up a display to stay?”

You stiffen a little in his big hands, beginning to be a little frustrated. “We do own the trademark. There are statues to Jackie Robinson and "P. W." Reese where the Brooklyn Cyclones play today.”

He snorts derisively. “Heck that’s mnor league. And Coney Island. Doesn’t count. Ebbets Field and Flatbush were their heart and that’s all gone. They’re an ugly old apartment complex now.”

A frustrated silence falls. Some how you’ve fallen into it again and you can feel your ire rising. He isn’t the only fan who’s had a team be traded. Business is business. A team has to have support at the gate or it isn’t sustainable. Some, like Brooklyn, move to greener pastures. And some are forced to fold.

You stop on the edge of the dance floor and pull back, looking him squarely in the face. There’s a muscle jumping in his cheek and annoyance deepens the french flavour in your accent. American icon or no, you’ve had enough with his pity party.

“I miss the Expos just as much as you do Brooklyn. My team was traded, too. But I do try to be more balanced about reality. I don’t go round trashing the Nats or complaining that Washington has no memorial for them. At least your Dodgers kept their name!”

Steve blinks and a press camera clicks.

You both drop hands when the music ends and retreat--him to the bar, and you to ladies room.

Insufferable. Stubborn. (Gorgeous) Man.

You try to put the experience behind you, get on with work and cheering on your team, but of course the world conspires to interfere.

LA clinches their pennant run but the photo of you and Captain America looking daggers at each other tops the front page of every newspaper the next day.

#Field of Dreams #sian22redux #writes #Steve Rogers

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imnotalee · 5 years

Text

An Intermission

A Hamilton tickle fic

(In this story no one has died)

———————————————————————-

“Oh come on, we’re only joking, Hamilton.” John Laurens says through laughter.

“Oui, we were only trying to make you laugh!” Came the next comment from Lafayette.

Hamilton was stressed, so, so, stressed. He had been doing all of Washington’s paperwork and trying to convince Washington to put him in charge of a command. To say the very least, he was frustrated and confused. This particular night, was a week after the American Revolution ended so you would guess that everyone would be celebrating and happy, and for the most part you would be correct. But, Mr. Hamilton just seemed to work harder than before, which is why tonight his three best friends came to visit.

“I know and I’m sorry, I really am trying to have fun I’m just a little stressed.” Alexander responds to his friends playful banter.

“Don’t worry Alex, we will help you relaxe, won’t we boys?” Hercules Mulligan smirks and the group seems to communicate with their eyes.

“Oh yes, of course we’ll help out our poor little genius.” John pipes in, standing and walking over to Hamilton. “You see Alexander,” purrs John, “We are your closest friends and therefore we know your biggest secrets.” John leans close to Hamilton’s ear as he wispers the last bit.

His arms are suddenly above his head and he looks up so see Hercules holding his wrists, Lafayette at his left side, and John Laurens at his right. Hamilton squirms slightly as he looks around, he is nervous but trusts his friends to know his limits.

“What are you three up to?” Hamilton asks while fighting off a smile.

“Oh I believe you know, but I do have one question for you. Alexander Hamilton, are you by any chance ticklish?” John teases, he already knows the answer.

“Oh of course he is! Look at the way he is squirming and don’t act like you can’t see his little smile. You want this, don’t you?” Lafayette raises his eyebrow questioningly.

Hamilton blushes, was it really that odvious? He had been craving this, but that didn’t mean he would admit it.

“Of course not!” Hamilton argues back.

“Or really~” Laurens takes one finger and slowly drags it from his hip to his top rib and then back, continuing. Hamilton immediately bursts into light giggles, every reflex tells him to pull at his arms but he is enjoying himself too much to try and get away.

Lafayette coos as he notices how Alexander is barely squirming. Lafayette claws at Alex’s belly and watches him fall into true laughter.

“Guhuhuys plehehese someone’s gohohoing to hear!” Hamilton protests after only a few minutes.

“Oh are you worried someone is going to hear you giggling like a little girl, Hamilton?” Hercules’ voice floats into the ears of the flustered man.

“Yehehes-AHH LAHAHAHAURENS NOT THEHEHERE YOU SNAHAHAKE!” Alex is cut off by his own squeal as John drills his fingers into his ribs.

Suddenly the door is opened with strong force and in walks none other than Eliza walks in with a confused look.

“What are you three doing to the poor man! I can hear you from the other room!” Eliza states with a smile as she walks over to the men.

“Elihihiza it’s not what it looks lihihike.” Hamilton tries to save his dignity.

“Really? It looks like your friends are reducing you to a puddle of giggles my love~” Eliza’s teases always melted Alexander, he quickly looses focus and thinks of how lucky he is to have a wife like her. He is brought back into a proper mindset when Eliza squeezes his knee.

“If you really want to get him you have to go for his knees, but don’t kill the man.” Eliza states as she kisses her husbands forehead before walking out of the room with a wink.

Hamilton is sure his face can’t get any more red, his own wife sold him out! Not that he minded.

“Well gentlemen, you heard the woman!” Hercules exclaims as Laurens and Lafayette both grab on to his knees lightly.

Everyone in the room knows that Hamilton is close to his limits so they silently agree to go in hard and quick. Laurens squeezes one knee while Lafayette spiders his fingers quickly over the other. This leaves Hamilton a laughing mess in his chair. Hercules releases his arms and kneads Alex’s sides as the final touch.

Hamilton shoots his arms down and wraps them around himself. The tickling continues but for only a moment longer because Hamilton’s laughter turns into wheezes in a few seconds.

Hercules stops first and signals the other two men to stop as well. Hamilton stays in this chair as the others walk back to their respective seats as well.

“Well, I would say that you look much happier, what do you two think?” Larens asks.

“Yes, I think Hamilton looks much happier!” Lafayette says as he looks at the smaller man still giggling lightly.

“Shuhuhut up.” Hamilton giggles without any real anger at the men.

Hercules gasps, “I think Alexander is at a loss for words! We must have gotten him good boys!”

The door opens again and Aaron Burr stands, “Good evening gentlemen, sorry for being late.”

“No worries, I think Alex here is almost ready for round two~” John says teasingly.

Hamilton jumps out of his chair and runs out of the door, startling Burr.

Everyone laughs as they hear him go to Eliza and complain.

“Come sit, I’m sure Hamilton will find his way back sometime.” Lafayette says as he pulls out a chair for the man.

The mood would remain light for many days after that night. Turns out all that was needed was a little laughter to unwind Alexander Hamilton.

———————————————————————-

DONE!! I like this fic a lot and thank you @bright-light-mark for giving me the prompt!

Ok here comes some serious talk. This is my last thing I will be doing in this tumblr. I have been having a lot of difficulty lately and I’m going to get myself sorted out. This means I’m going to have a little break from all social media including tumblr. This is no ones fault! I repeat this is no ones fault and I love you all dearly. Goodbye for now 💖❤️

#hamilton #ticklefic #Iwillbeback #Iloveyouall #especialymissy💖#Goodbye

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mackenzie-wolf · 6 years

Text

You've got a lot to learn P3/?

Becca x Older woman (O/C)

Requested by anon

A/N: ok so this was originally meant to be just one chapter, but as usual it's spiralling out of control and the characters have taken over my brain. This is not the last chapter, I can see at least two more happening. Anyway here's so lesbian stuff 😆

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Becca finished the coffee in her hand. It was still a little to hot to drink, burning her tongue and throat on its way down; but as Robynn sauntered out of the staff lounge, becca was hurrying to keep in pace with her. Robynn's long legs gave her the advantage of speed as becca trailed behind her. She was looking back over her shoulder every minute or so, catching Becca's eye as they made their way to tell shop floor. Robynn stopped at a large stack of boxes, most of which were taller than becca and just about Robynn's height. Turning towards a hanging caddy on the wall the the boxes were parallel to, Robynn pulled out a box cutter and pair of heavy duty gloves, handing them to becca.

"You get to work unpacking the boxes so we can display what's inside and I'm going to take care of the invoices. That ok with you?" Robynn asked with an unshakable smile that left becca staring for just a second longer than she meant to.

"I... Yes. Fine with me." She said back with a stiff nod. It bothered becca that Robynn hadn't said any more about wanting to talk to her, but she brushed it off. If it were really important, she would have said. Right? Robynn sat on a lone, plastic chair by the wall, thumbing through the sheets of paper in her hand. Her eyes darted side to side as she scanned each line, making sure everything was correct. Sighing loud enough to make becca turn her head to look at her, Robynn pinched the bridge of her nose. Becca was about to call over the few meters between them to ask of she was ok when she saw robynn reaching in to the breast pocket of her shirt. She pulled out some dark rimmed glasses that were sleek in design. Placing them on her face, she angled them down slightly as she looked back over the invoice. Becca found herself staring again. Somewhere between the cute glasses that made the features of her face compete and the look of concentration that was creeping over her, becca became lost in looking at her.

Just less than an hour later, becca was opening the last of the boxes that contained the large kitchen appliances. She glanced over at where robynn had been sat, only to realise that she had gone. Giving a quick look around, becca didn't see her anywhere so she carried on with her work. Turning to push the now empty box away, she almost threw it directly at Robynn who stood with a cup of coffee in each hand.

"Whoa! Easy there" Robynn laughed, giving becca a coy smile.

"Sorry! I didn't... I didn't see you." She said, trying already to hold back her blush.

"Its fine, no harm done. I thought you could use a break. Sorry I haven't been helping much."

"Are you kidding?" Becca chuckled. "You did the paperwork. That's a pretty big help. If I had to spend another day looking at those sheets I'd go blind"

"Can't have that." Robynn smiled, handing becca her coffee. Becca took off her gloves to hold the cup, bringing it up to her nose to take in the strong smell before taking a small sip. They stood in almost silence with just the sound of the buzzing lights above them and the dull roar of conversation from the small crowds of customers around the store.

"You know..." Robynn began, breaking the silence between them. "...I was going to send you a friend request last night when I got home. I figured that would be weird though. After knowing eachother for just a day, I mean."

Becca's face flushed. She couldn't stop herself from thinking back to last night, in bed. Looking at Robynn's profile, her picture. What it did to her and what she did to herself as a result.

"So, you thought you'd bring it up today because that's, what? Less weird?" Becca grinned as confidently as she could. Robynn's face filled with heat at the realisation and her hand rubbed the back of her neck nervously.

"I... yeah I guess I didn't really think that through" she said with a light laugh. Becca was sure that Robynn was looking at her differently today. The way that she had only done so in short glances the day before. Her eyes crinkled slightly with the smile that was stuck on her and her lips were beautifully curled in a warm grin. Trying to fight back the warm feeling in her belly, becca turned her attention back to the last of the boxes, setting her coffee down on the edge of the cardboard. Picking up the box cutter, she tried to find the nerve to ask what it was that Robynn had wanted to talk about, without sounding like it had been playing on her mind all morning. It had.

"So..." Becca almost mumbled.

"So?"

"I was wondering wha..." before she could finish, the box cutter ran over the tip of her finger that was uncovered by the gloves she had taken off. With a yelp, becca recoiled her hand and gripped her finger.

"Rebecca!" Robynn yelled, moving quickly towards her. She held becca by her arm and looked meaningfully at her. "Please let me see it. We need to get it covered."

Becca's hand trembled as she let Robynn take it. Trying not to look at the blood flowing from her finger, down the back of her hand, Becca's eyes sank to the floor. She could feel some pressure being placed on the cut and gave a wince in response.

"That'll do for now. Come on, there's a first aid kit in the lounge." Robynn said with a calm aire in her voice. Looking back up at her hand, becca saw red spots leaking through the soft white cloth that was now wrapped around her finger. The unmistakable embroidered 'R' was in danger of disappearing under the red stains that were seaping through. Robynn placed her hand on the small of Becca's back as she led her across the store to the staff lounge, stopping only for a moment to tell one of the cleaning staff about the drop of blood in the unpacking area that needed tending to. Once they were in the lounge, Robynn closed the door behind them. She ran the faucet at the sink and started searching through the cupboard for the green first aid box. Once it was found she quickly opened it and pulled out the bandage and tape, bringing it over to becca who now had almost no color in her cheeks.

"Rebecca, I'm going to clean it and wrap it up ok? I promise I'll do it as quick and painless as possible" Robynn said with her ever calm tone.

"Becca..."

"Hmm?" Robynn questioned as she pulled her handkerchief away from Becca's finger, exposing the small but deep cut underneath.

"Only my parents call me Rebecca. Its just Becca to anyone else" her voice was still but shaky as she tried to keep her eyes off of the cut.

"Ok.. Becca. You know you're really supposed to wear the gloves when using the cutter" she mused.

"I was but you distracted me with coffee. There's a lesson to be leaned here" Becca said with a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Hmm... beware of butch's baring beverages?" At the poor joke, Becca burst out laughing, prompting Robynn to do the same. Trying to keep her mind occupied and off of her cut becca took in a deep breath, as though it would carry her confidence.

"You said earlier that you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Oh..." Robynn's face suddenly looked like it had stolen the color straight from Becca's with the way it filled red. "Yeah. I guess I did, didn't I."

"So... what was it?"

"I was going to ask you if you..." Robynn cleared her throat nervously. Becca had seen these actions a hundred times before. Every time some flirtatious freshmen or clueless jock had tried to approach her confidently; and failed.

"So ask..." Becca said, suddenly sounding the more confident of the two of them.

"Uhmm. Ok, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come for a drink with some of the team tonight. Not... uhmm. Not that you have to or anything. It was just a suggestion. But it might be fun." She trailed off hopelessly. In almost no time at all, Becca's finger had been cleaned, disinfected and dressed. Looking over the bandage, Robynn's hands lingered on Becca's. Her soft fingers grazing Becca's palm as she looked at her work from all angles. All too soon, her hands moved away.

"Sure..." Becca said softly. "I'd love to." The smile that now glowed on Robynn's face was a sight to behold. Her perfect teeth reflecting the light that seemed the flow from her was dazzling.

"Cool. Yeah, so, do you know The Double Tap?" She asked with a hint of excitement.

"I know the place. What time?"

"Around 9? If that's ok?"

Becca took a moment to appreciate how happy robynn seemed to be when she agreed to go. Someone who looked so in control, now slowly reducing to a hot mess in front of her.

"Sounds good. Shall we get back to work?" Becca laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh..." Robynn sighed, taking a step back from becca, making the distance between them a little more professional. "...Yeah. if you're feeling ok? I'm not really am expert on first aid. If I missed anything I'm sorry."

"Nothing but a kiss better..." Becca's words trailed off. Within the next second she regretted what she had just said, hoping the ground would swallow her whole to save her from the embarrassment of her shameless flirt. She opened her lips to try and form some kind of retraction, but was cut off when she felt Robynn's long fingers wrap around the Base of her hand, pulling it up to her lips. Robynn placed a dainty kiss on the tip of the bandaged finger, barely hiding a wicked smile behind it.

In an effort to hide a wide smile of her own, becca looked away, noticing the bloodied handkerchief still sitting atop the work surface.

"Oh. Your handkerchief... I'm sorry." She said bashfully.

"Don't worry about it. It'll come clean."

"At least let me wash it for you then?"

"If you insist." Robynn smiled, her eyes trying not to focus on becca for too long. "Come on, let's head back before people start to wonder."

The day carried on much as before. Becca and robynn were working together, joking and still giving eachother subtle looks of interest. As it drew to an end, the store was empty, save for a few of the staff still lingering. Becca collected her belongings and was ready to rush out so she would have time to shower and change before going back out to meet with some of her new team.

She returned home and darted to the kitchen, ignoring the looks of confusion her housemates were giving her. James and Zig were at the house too, not that it was unusual to see them there. Becca stood waiting for Zack to move away from the sink so she could attempt to clean the embroidered cloth that was marked red.

"WOULD YOU MOVE?!" Becca suddenly yelled, making Zack jump a full inch from the floor.

"Jeez, sorry!" He said as he slumped away and out of the kitchen. Becca could hear everyone mumbling in the next room; undoubtedly about her. It didn't matter, she had to get this clean so she could return it. Its important to robynn. Important enough for her to have it monogrammed.

"URGH!" She grunted loudly, becoming frustrated when the color faded but stayed clinging to the cloth.

"Becca? What's wrong?" Milly's voice was soft behind becca.

"This stupid thing isn't getting clean!" She mumbled.

"What are you cleaning it with?" Milly asked, peering over Becca's shoulder. Noticing the dish soap in Becca's other hand, Milly sighed. "I could put it in the laundry for you"

"No!" Becca snapped before collecting herself. "I need it clean now. Or, really soon." Milly looked at the cloth again. She noticed the red letter on the corner and recalled her conversation with becca that morning.

"I see. What are you trying to clean off of it?"

"Blood..."

"Blood?! Becca are you..." Milly asked with concern.

"I'm fine! I just need it clean!"

"Relax... I'll take care of it for you. Toothpaste and cold water works best." Milly said, reassuringly.

"How do you even know that? "

"Kaitlyn goes too hard in mosh pits so I've had to work magic on some of her shirts before."

"Oh..." Becca looked to the floor and back up to meet Emily's eyes. "... I'm going out soon. Im going to meet... uhmm, do you mind if I..." Becca trailed off, signalling towards the stairs.

"Go ahead and get ready. I'll put this in the dryer when I'm done so it'll be ok to take with you." Becca stepped foward as though she was about to hug her, but stopped short, letting out a heavy breath.

"Thanks milly." With that she ran to the stairs and up towards the bathroom, fighting the feeling of butterflies inside of her.

#the freshman #the sophomore #play choices #choices stories you play #fanfic #playchoices #fanfiction #the freshmore #choices #stories you play #the sophmore #becca #pixelberry #storiesyouplay #the junior #becca davenport #becca x oc #rebecca davenport #milly's musings

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lemonade-of-gods · 6 years

Text

#PyaarEkDhokaHai

@mindydraw Happy Valentine’s day, macha! This was written for the Kacchako secret Valentine’s day exchange event, and I’m your secret Valentine! I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING *thunder and lightning in the background*

Valentine’s day, in Bakugou Katsuki’s fine opinion, could gladly go fuck itself.

He was aiming to be the number one hero. The schedule he’d drawn up simply didn’t include crushes, dating, relationships or any of that shit which had the entire school population batshit crazy. Which, by default, was driving him crazy.

Apparently Valentingitis wasn’t a valid disease, and so wasn’t a legitimate reason to skip school.

And apparently it wasn’t considered heroic to murder your classmates either, no matter how sappy they acted.

“Ooh, that’s a lot of chocolates, Uraraka!”

...what.

“Oh I bought those yesterday! Luckily they were cheap!”

Store bought...Bakugou let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding, upon hearing those words.

For some goddamn reason, the vision of fucking Deku getting chocolate popped into his mind. What really made him grind his teeth was the vision including a blushing Uraraka handing over a box of chocolate to the little bastard.

“-made some for Todoroki-san-”

He hated valentine’s day. He had nearly driven his mom up the walls complaining about how bullshit the day was.

“-so sweet of you Yaomomo-”

And Uraraka was just a classmate. Granted, she’d gained his respect and interest when they had fought in the sports festival (like seriously the plan she’d used was fucking good and the fact she did on her own and gave all that she had while looking certainly not fragile and strong and HOLD IT THAT’S GOING WAY OFF COURSE MOTHERFUCKER), but she was just his classmate.

“-tell me Uraraka-”

Right?

“-made homemade chocolate?”

“I have, yes!”

Bakugou’s head snapped up.

“That’s interesting!” He heard Yaoyorozu say, in an interested manner, “Who have you made it for?”

“Uh...” He stiffened at the uncertainty in the gravity user’s voice; it was one she used when she was trying not to reveal a secret.

“Ooh, is it for Iida?” Ashido’s excited voice was heard next.

For that square headed pansy?!

“W-what? No!!” Uraraka squeaked; he could imagine her blushing rather prettily.

Alright, from where the fuck did this one come from?!

“Let’s not pressurize Uraraka-san! It may not be Iida-san she’s planning to give!”

“But then who else could it be?”

“Wouldn’t Midoriya be more obvious?” Came Kyouka’s drawl.

Son of a fucking- the imagery of Deku and Uraraka was becoming clearer by the minute. Where’s the brain bleach when you need some?

“Yo, Bakugou!” Someone said, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. He looked up to see a concerned Kirishima. “You okay there, bro?”

“Do I look fucking okay to you?!” He snarled, setting off explosions in his hands.

Kaminari’s smart ass comments did nothing to reduce his temper. “Ooh, does the king of explodo kills want some homemade chocolate? The girls may not give you any, but I certainly can cover-”

“Do you want me to kill you, you bastard?!”

“Enough chitchatting.” Aizawa-sensei’s lazy drawl cut through the chatter, “I get it’s an exciting event today but you’re in school to study. Back to your places, everyone.”

...

By the time school had ended for the day, Bakugou was ready to live up to his self-professed nickname and do some explosion murder himself.

Those shitheads from 1-B got chocolates but I didn’t?! What sort of messed up logic is this?!

Aw, is Kacchan upset because Angel face gave chocolates to her darling Deku but not you? A voice in the back of his mind sniggered.

“Fuck off!”

“Uh...Bakugou-kun?”

Her voice stopped him in his tracks. It was impossible to mistake her voice for someone else’s. They were alone outside the building after all.

“Yeah?” He grunted, turning around to face a visibly nervous Uraraka Ochaco, whose arms were behind her back.

“You were looking upset today...” She trailed off tentatively, “Are you okay?”

Upset was an understatement. “If you don’t have anything else to say-” He said, almost turning around, but was cut off by a “WAIT!” from the girl.

Uraraka took a deep breath. “I, uh...” She made eye contact with him, her face slowly turning red, “I kinda...I made a whole speech and all, you see... and I thought you’d be embarrassed if I gave you in public...” She struggled with herself a bit, before a determined look appeared on her face. She thrust out her arms to him, her hands containing something wrapped in pink paper. “Th-this is for you, Bakugou-kun!”

All his thoughts came to a crashing full stop,

Don’t fucking tell me...

He took the packet, staring at the obnoxiously pink wrapping. In the background, Uraraka was rambling.

“I was on a tight budget you see I’d bought chocolates for Deku-kun and Iida-kun and a couple of others, and I couldn’t make better chocolate and it’s my first time making it anyway-”

Error.

“-I’m not sure how well it turned out but it didn’t taste that bad and I know you like dark chocolate a lot-”

Kacchan.exe has stopped working.

“-and I wanted to give you in the morning but there were people around and I didn’t want to embarrass you-”

It was for him.

“-luckily I wanted and did make some only for you, so I hope you like it-”

Only him.

“-and Happy Valentine’s day, Bakugou-kun, goodbye!” She squeaked, snapping him out of his shocked state.

“Hold on a fucking minute!” He said, the tone a little sharper than intended. Uraraka, who had taken a step away from him stopped in her tracks.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Huh?”

“Woman, have you eaten yet?” He asked irritatedly.

“Um...no...” She mumbled, looking anywhere but at him, the blush never leaving her face.

“There’s a diner nearby.” He grunted, “I’m hungry, you’re hungry, there’s some shit I want to make clear and I don’t want anyone else with us. Meet me at seven.” And with that, he turned towards the dorms.

“Hey!” She said, suddenly sounding indignant, “That’s no way to ask someone out!”

“I’m not doing any of that sappy shit, Uraraka!” He snarled, cringing at the mere image of him making goo goo eyes at her in front of his friends.

“Forget sappy, you didn’t even ask, Bakugou-kun!”

“Fine!” He turned back and strode over to Uraraka, until they were inches apart from each other. Her fading blush came back on with full force at the closeness. His neck suddenly grew a lot warmer.

“Will y-” He began, trying to force out the words, “Will-will you...meet me...” How hard is it to ask a fucking question?! “-meetmeatthedineratseven?!” He finished with a hurried whisper, his entire face now hot enough to cook omelettes on.

Uraraka stared at him. What, did I mess up or something? Say something, goddamn it!

“Look I did what you told me and asked you, so don’t waste my time and tell me-”

“A-alright!”

“-if you’re coming or not-huh?”

She gave a tiny nod, and took a step back. Then with a “seeyoumeetatseven”, she made a break for it to the dorms.

His schedule, Bakugou recalled, didn’t cover dates or relationships.

Well thank the fucking gods I’m a flexible guy.

Whelp, I’m done! I hope you enjoyed it, meri dost! Have a nice day!

#boku no hero academia #kacchako #bakuraka #kacchakosecretvalentine18 #ksv218 #kacchako secret valentine

88 notes · View notes

raendown · 6 years

Link

Pairing: ObitoKakashi Word count: 3048 Summary: Kakashi's style of communication leaves a lot to be desired. It also leaves a lot of room for misinterpretation. (Read: Kakashi can't flirt for shit)

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Speaking Clearly

In Obito’s defense, any person in their right minds wouldn’t have taken it as a compliment. All he could be blamed for was momentarily forgetting that Kakashi was not actually in his right mind. Ever. He was ten and the other boy was coming up on nine and most of their interactions tended to end loudly with frequent violence.

“You’re not totally useless,” Kakashi mumbled after he had beaten the older boy in the fourth spar in a row. Obito puffed up indignantly.

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

“It means you’re not a complete idiot; you have at least some use.”

“Hey screw you too, Bakashi!” Obito hitched up the sleeves of his jacket, ready to go in for round five.

He was confused when Kakashi threw both hands in the air with a grumpy mutter of, “Ugh! Never mind!” When his teammate stormed off all he could do was tilt his head to one side and blink in confusion. Kakashi was weird sometimes but Obito could usually tell what he’d done to piss the guy off. This time he had no idea.

Two years didn’t really change much between the two of them except perhaps add a little bit of distance and some new things to tease each other about. Kakashi made fun of Obito for constantly outgrowing his clothes and leaving his limbs hanging out. Obito retaliated by making fun of Kakashi’s lack of any growth spurts, leaving him forever the shortest on their team. Minato-sensei did his best to put out the fires that sprang up as they constantly rubbed each other the wrong way.

It was at twelve years old that Obito hit a milestone all shinobi must but few enjoy: his first kill. Only years later would he own up to the fact that it had actually been an accident. Really he had tripped and twisted himself as he fell, rather than executing a backwards roll to avoid a blow as it might have looked to the others. As his body went back and the enemy came forward, Obito’s arm came across at just the right angle to open the woman’s throat. He caught her look of dismayed shock for a split second before arterial spray covered the lenses of his goggles and he was left staring wide-eyed as a splatter of blood.

Rin was the one to lend him a handkerchief so he could shakily wipe the mess of his face. Minato-sensei rubbed his back and asked him in a steady voice if he was alright. It was nice to be treated so gently in that moment because Obito felt a little like glass that had cracked, weakened all over with the possibility of shattering at just the wrong touch.

“Well. Apparently your goggles are good for something after all.”

“Kakashi!” Minato-sensei clicked his tongue. “Now is not the time.”

“What? I was just saying–”

“Don’t be so mean, Kakashi!” Rin jumped in to defend her friend as well, adding her tsk to their sensei’s.

“I wasn’t!” Kakashi protested.

Rin only shook her head and gave him an exasperated look of disappointment. Kakashi growled in frustration and stormed off to throw himself down on the ground at the far edge of the clearing. No force on earth could get him to admit it but anyone could see that he was pouting. However, none of his teammates paid him the slightest bit of attention as Rin and Minato tended to the quivering Obito – and therefore none of them managed to see the way Kakashi craned his neck to see if their efforts were working.

Thirteen years of age brought Obito two things, a new appreciation for life and a friend he hadn’t even known he already had.

No one was sure which was the bigger miracle: that Kakashi managed to adapt so quickly to having a Sharingan implanted in his head or that the medical staff were able to repair Obito’s body enough that he would regain full function of all four limbs. Of course, he would live the rest of his life with horrific scaring over nearly 50% of his body, but even he agreed that it was a small price to pay for the ability to continue on with the path he had chosen in life. His career as a shinobi would be slowed only by his recovery time.

Jaws had dropped all across the village as the story spread about how Kakashi and Obito had both tried to sacrifice their lives for the other, especially whenever they were spotted around town bickering just the same as they always had. Despite the fact that Kakashi appeared glued to Obito’s side as he slowly stumped around on his crutches, and although they had both acknowledged the other as a true friend at last, that didn’t mean that either of them had magically changed personalities overnight.

“You got something to say about my face!?” Obito growled at his friend one day after Kakashi had stared at him for much too long in silence. Not intimidated in the slightest, Kakashi huffed.

“Hn. You got some of it in my face.”

“Maybe I’ll just take that eye back then!”

“Just try it, Stumpy!”

Obito hollered and leaned on his good leg so he could lift his crutches to swing them at Kakashi’s head. The younger boy simply skipped nimbly out of the way and snorted in amusement. A more childish person his age would have danced around to taunt the other boy, showing off his mobility, but Kakashi had been striving to be seen as more adult since he was five years old and thought of himself as above that sort of behavior.

So instead he simply stuck his nose in the air, trying not to be obvious about the careful tilt of his head which allowed him to still keep his one eye cracked open so he could keep a watch on Obito.

“Whatever,” he shrugged. “You don’t look at all that different to me so its fine, isn’t it?” The older boy flared and waved his crutches even more wildly.

“Are you trying to say I was already ugly before I got these scars? Stupid Bakashi! Why do you have to be so mean! I’m injured; you’re supposed to be nice to injured people!”

“That – I didn’t say that!”

Obito wasn’t listening. He continued to yell and gripe even long after Kakashi had dropped his face in to his hands with exasperation and hurried to walk ahead of his friend, out of hitting range. By the time they arrived at the dango stall where they were supposed to be meeting Rin both of them were scowling and she wondered what they could have possibly fought about in the three minute walk between here and the hospital.

At the ripe old age of fifteen years old Uchiha Obito achieved something that many in his clan had often told him would likely be impossible: he had achieved the rank of jōnin. With the war over field promotions had become less common and he’d had to take the exam like everyone else. Last year he had failed the psychological component but this year was different. This was the year that he made people look at him with respect.

Obito preened and blushed for the entire first hour of the surprise party his friends threw for him, thinking to himself that he couldn’t possibly imagine a single way for his night to get better. His own sensei, now the Hokage, had been the one to bestow him with his new rank. His former classmates, now trusted comrades, were all gathered around him at his favorite BBQ restaurant. Rin sat on his right side and Kakashi on his left, both of their thighs pressed tightly to his own as though if they only squished hard enough the three of them could become one single person. What more could a guy wish for?

For some reason, however, his own accomplishment was not what was on his mind now. Dinner had been finished a while ago and around the table there were several people just finishing dessert. Small groups held different conversations but Obito wasn’t contributing to any of them and neither was the younger boy to his left. Strangely, it was Kakashi that was on his mind.

It was something that he had begun to notice only a few months after the incident at Kannabi Bridge and still persisted to this day. Kakashi, he had noticed, only ever sat on Obito’s left side. He wouldn’t really have thought it odd were it anyone else; with his left eye missing, it was common for a lot of people to instinctively place themselves in his blind spot. That was what comrades did. The only trouble was that Kakashi kept his left eyes covered as well to reduce the chakra drain from the implanted Sharingan and standing on that side left himself at a disadvantage as well. It would have been safer for him to stand on the right where he would be able to watch out for himself.

Displaying an uncommon amount of patience, Obito waited until everyone had left and he and Kakashi were walking home together as they usually did, then he blurted out his question with no thought for graceful phrasing.

“Why do you always stand on my left side?”

“Because you’re blind on the left side,” Kakashi answered promptly. Obito scrunched his nose.

“Yeah well so are you,” he pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be better for you to be on the right where you can see?”

“That would leave you open to attack.”

Obito huffed. For a genius, the other sure was being dense. “Sure but now you’re leaving yourself open to attack instead.” Kakashi only shrugged.

“I’m the stronger shinobi so it would be easier for me to survive an attack to my blind spot.”

“Are you calling me weak!? I’m a jōnin now! I’m just as good as you are, you stuck up prick!”

With no further promoting Obito threw himself in to a long rant about how he hadn’t given up on his dream of being Hokage someday and how he was going to make Kakashi kiss his hat when that happened. He was so busy yelling that he never noticed the defeated sigh his friend gave, nor heard the tired murmur of, “That wasn’t what I said at all.”

At seventeen years old Obito’s life changed. Of course, his life had already undergone several large changes that had each seemed equally world-stopping at the time. Like all the others, he never even saw this one coming until it crashed down upon him – quite literally.

Bickering with Kakashi wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. To be perfectly honest if a day passed him by without a least one tiny spat with the younger teen Obito usually felt a little off kilter, like he had misplaced something. So walking home from a week-long mission, covered head to toe in dust and with Kakashi buzzing in his ear about something or other, he felt more ordinary than anything else. That didn’t stop him from snarling back when Kakashi implied something particularly offensive.

“Do you purposefully mishear me?” Kakashi demanded as they took a short cut through the alley behind their favorite teahouse. “That – wasn’t – what – I – said!”

“Of course it was!” Obito retorted. He was so used to the noise of disgust the other boy made that his brain filled in the visual of Kakashi throwing his hands in the air without even looking. He never expected for his shoulders to be shoved, turning him about to face his friend.

“No! It wasn’t! You never listen properly, Obi-brat, I was trying to say something else!”

“What then? How the hell was I supposed to take that other than you implying that I’m still slower than you at using jutsu?”

“You – I – would you just – oh for kami’s sake!”

In his wildest dreams Obito never could have predicted Kakashi’s reaction then. He flinched as the straps of his pack were grabbed in a tight grip and his body was shoved back against the wall of the alley. Expecting Kakashi to hit him in the face, he closed his eyes instinctively and braced for impact because as offended as he was he knew the other was actually right. He still wasn’t as fast with his hands as his teammate was.

Half a second later his eyes snapped back open in shock, staring hard at Kakashi’s closed eyelids and trying to process the fact that Hatake Kakashi was kissing him. Actually it was more like ravishing him. For some reason he couldn’t seem to make himself move, either, and so he simply stood still and let himself be thoroughly kissed by his best friend.

Amazingly, he could even see a line of deep red scrawled across the top of Kakashi’s mask when his friend finally pulled away, panting and scowling despite his blush.

“That is what I’ve been trying to say for fucking years now but you just don’t listen! You always misunderstand me and take what I say the wrong way! Baka! Brat! Too stupid to see your own best friend is in love with you! Why do I even like you?”

“You’re…you’re…EH!?”

“All I said was that your hand movements hadn’t improved as much as I thought they would. It was a simple observation, all I was trying to do was offer to help, and all you heard was an insult! Kami you are so freaking dense sometimes it makes me want to scream!”

“Hnngg!?” Obito frantically tried to locate his tongue and remember how to speak so he could say something – anything. He’d never heard Kakashi say so much at once nor speak so passionately about something, not unless he felt very strongly about the subject. Considering his choice of words for describing his feelings, it was apparent that he felt more than just strongly about this.

“I’ve been trying to get this in to your head since I was nine years old but all you ever think I’m doing is being mean. Is that all you see me as? A mean person who just insults you all the time? I try to help! I try to offer you compliments! But nooooo Uchiha Obito wouldn’t see a compliment even if it stripped naked and slapped him in his stupid face! Do you get it now, then? Huh? What about if I got up on the roof of the Hokage Tower and shouted it for the whole village to hear? Hey everyone! I’m in love with Obito and he’s never even noticed! It’s fucking awesome!”

Finally, Obito snapped. If his tongue wasn’t going to listen to him than he was going to have to let his actions speak for themselves. Not giving himself any time to second guess, he reached out and took hold of the straps of Kakashi’s pack like the younger boy had done to him, dragging him back in and cutting off the flow of words with a frantic kiss. Since it was only the second kiss he had ever experienced in his life, he really hoped he was doing it right.

Even if he wasn’t he had a feeling that Kakashi didn’t mind all that much. The sixteen year old let out an honest-to-kami whimper as he fell silent, using his body to press Obito farther in to the wall and framing his face with two pale hands. He was blushing even harder than before by the time the kiss was finished.

“Uh, sorry about that,” he murmured, ever so slowly stepping back. Obito raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah that was weird.” Kakashi’s entire body froze in place and Obito panicked, hurrying to correct himself. “No not the kiss! The kiss was awesome! Totally down for that! Just the yelling I mean, that was weird.”

“Really?” It was strange to hear Kakashi say anything such a small voice.

“Of course!”

“By ‘totally down’ do you mean you…I mean…could I…uhm…we…I know you always had a thing for Rin…don’t want to come between anything…”

Obito stared in awe as Kakashi slowly shrank down in to himself more and more the longer he continued to stammer. Just the fact that he was stammering at all was enough to blow the older teen’s mind, but the shyness threatened to overload him completely. If there was one thing Kakashi was not, it was shy. Although it took almost a full minute and his friend looked nearly ready to turn tail and run by the time he did, Obito finally got his brain back on track enough to speak again.

“I got over Rin years ago,” he pointed out softly. “So maybe we could, erm, go on a date sometime?”

“Really!?” Kakashi’s head snapped up and even through the mask it was obvious that his jaw had dropped with shock.

“Uh huh.” Now blushing himself, Obito shuffled his feet. “You could kiss me again first, though. I mean, if you want to or whatever.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

Despite his words, at first Kakashi only manage to stand there while the two of them stared at each other awkwardly. They were both blushing fiercely and it only worsened when he finally plucked up the courage to slowly lean forward, touching his masked lips to Obito’s much more gently this time. Either he gained confidence quickly or simply lost himself in the moment, but whichever it was it only took a few moments before he had brought their bodies close together again, standing well inside Obito’s personal space so their hearts were nearly beating against each other.

“So,” Obito murmured against his friend’s mouth. “This is kind of hard to misinterpret.” Kakashi huffed out a laugh.

“Took you long enough to get it,” he complained lightly.

“Not my fault. You are obviously terrible at flirting.”

“Maybe if you didn’t jump to conclusions so easily–”

“You better shut up and kiss me again right now or I’m gonna start another fight and ruin the moment. Less bitchin’, more kissin’.”

Kakashi had to take the time to laugh first but he did listen for once in his life. Obito figured he could be satisfied with that for now.

#rae writes #obikaka #obito #kakashi #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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dma-dima · 7 years

Text

Faradima (Part 1)

(Right okay folks I have no idea if anyone will want to read this, but I’ve decided to start writing a little series about the growing relationship between DiMA and Faraday. I’m treating it as canon for this character as I play him, but that doesn’t mean I’m not open to roleplaying him in other relationships in the future. Any romantic relationships which develop through rp will simply be considered AU from the main day to day story I’m creating for him. This was inspired by a little interaction with @scarletthearts. I hope any faradima shippers will like what I’m doing with these two science boys. Under the cut for length.)

Soft light spills through the ragged curtains which wave in the gentle breeze, chirping birdsong carrying from the forest. The fresh mountain air ruffles the messy mop of hair that is the only visible part of Faraday when DiMA comes to check in on him. The scientist snores softly, undisturbed by a burst of loud cheering outside as someone, probably Chase, scores another touchdown. DiMA lowers a tray laden with pancakes and syrup along with a steaming mug of herbal tea down on the bedside table, and smiles as he notices Faraday turning slightly towards it in his sleep, drawn by the appetising scents. He carefully adjusts the blankets which have gotten tangled around his friends legs during the night from his fevered tossing and turning before he gently calls his name. “Faraday.. I brought you something to eat if you're hungry. Rise and shine.” He kept his voice low and soft, only just above a whisper. When the snoring continued he stifled a laugh and gently prodded his shoulder instead. The scientist groaned, batting his hand away, but his growling stomach chose that moment to make itself heard and it woke him. Yawning, he blinked the crust of sleep out of his eyes then focussed in on his visitor. “What'sa time?” He slurred, stretching and wincing when a badly knotted muscle in his neck twinged painfully. “How long was I out?” “It's a little past midday, and no don't look at me like that, I never actually agreed to wake you early today. A shrug does not a yes make my dear Faraday.” The scientist (who's eyes had flown open with alarm once he'd heard the time) huffed his displeasure, but consented to recline back against the pillows when DiMA pressed a hand to his shoulder. “I shouldn't be wasting time in bed when there's so much work to catch up on, but I see it's a little late to worry about that now. Is the whole of Acadia out there?” He nodded towards the window where he could catch glimpses of the synths playing their game through the holes in the curtain. “For the most part.. it was such a beautiful day and it seemed a shame to waste it. You worry too much Faraday, our work can keep for a little while without the whole island falling apart. Now eat these before they get cold.” He dropped the tray over Faraday's lap, effectively trapping him until he'd finished his breakfast. He only grumbled a little before he started wolfing pancakes down like a starving man, making DiMA grin like a cheshire cat. “Somebodies feeling better I see.” He teased, only grinning wider when he noticed the faint blush spreading across Faraday's cheeks. “They're really good.” He said it like an apology. DiMA merely shook his head, softening his expression while he set about straightening the room out a little. He paused when there was a sharp intake of breath and a quick exclamation. “You don't have to do that!” “No I don't have to.” The old synth agreed while he picked up a haphazardly discarded lab coat and folded it neatly. Faraday was definitely blushing now there was no mistake about it, but they passed a few minutes in relatively comfortable silence while the man finished his meal and drank his tea. He was usually a very tidy person but he'd been feeling a little sorry for himself the previous night and hadn't had the motivation to clean up, so he kept flashing apologetic glances DiMA's way whenever the synth turned to face him, but they were all waved off with the same gentle smile. They kept on this way until the room was spotless and DiMA helped himself to a seat on the edge of the bed. “So.. about last night..” the synth started cautiously, lacing his fingers together in his lap and keeping his gaze locked on them. Before he could say another word however the scientist suddenly found a burst of energy, practically leaping out of bed and talking over DiMA loudly. “Well I'm certainly feeling much better now that's for sure! Thank you for bringing me food, and for tidying up.. you really are a good friend to me DiMA.” There was something sad in his grey blue eyes as he put subtle emphasis on the word 'friend'. “You're right though it looks like a beautiful day outside. If I'm going to be forced to take a day off work then I'm going to do it properly. Give me some time to shower and I'll be right out.” He was already rummaging around for towels, studiously avoiding DiMA's attempts to catch his eye. The old synth knew when he was being dismissed, but he still found himself hovering awkwardly, clacking his metal fingers together in a nervous gesture as he debated how far to push it. When his shadow fell across Faraday's back the scientist froze, his posture tense. DiMA reached out to touch his shoulder. “Faraday.. I-” He pulled his hand back sharply as the man flinched away from his touch. One look in his eyes when he turned to face him told DiMA that it hadn't been intentional, but he looked so uncomfortable with his presence. His eyes were shuttered, any emotions he might have been feeling carefully stowed away. “DiMA it's okay. I'm okay. I just..” tailing off with a sigh, he slumped back against the dresser he'd been searching through, defeated. “I can't do this right now.” Something inside DiMA ached with longing to somehow give him the courage to talk about his obvious feelings, but it hurt so badly to see what it was costing his friend even to admit that there was something to do. It was more than he'd managed to get him to admit to last night, after he'd joked about kissing a woman right in front of him. It was progress. He hid his disappointment behind a gentle smile and reached behind his slumped friend, ignoring the way he tensed, to retrieve the toothbrush he'd been searching for. His fingers brushed against Faraday's hand as he handed it over, the skin heated even to his slightly dulled sensors. It took a lot of willpower to stop himself from letting that touch linger, instead taking a step back to give him some space and trying to keep his tone light as he made to leave. “Naveen made the pancakes.” He blurted clumsily, unable to find anything else to say. Faraday blinked slowly, still frozen in place with a towel in one hand and his toothbrush clutched tightly in the other like he was seriously planning on using it to stab something. The flat expression he'd been carefully maintaining broke as one eyebrow rose higher than the other, questioning. DiMA cursed himself inwardly. “So you know who to thank, if you wanted to. He's been asking after you quite a lot.” It was true of course, for someone struggling so badly with his own problems Naveen had a remarkable capacity for caring about others. It just hadn't been what he'd wanted to say. The scientist rubbed the back of his head, messing up his bedhead even further. “Oh well.. I will then. That was nice of him.” It wasn't the right time for crickets to start chirping, but the silence between them was so uncomfortable that DiMA wouldn't have been surprised to hear them start singing now, just to fill it with something. He eyed the door, planning his escape, but he always found his eyes drifting back across the room to linger on Faraday's despondently slumped form. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't force himself to leave. Something was too wrong with the picture in front of him. “I'm sorry but I have to do this.” He uttered like it was some kind of solemn promise, and crossed the room in three long strides until he was standing barely an inch away from the source of his frustration. Blue grey eyes widened, the pupils in them blowing out wide as DiMA leaned closer, the gap between them rapidly reducing down to nothing as the slightly taller synths hand came up to hover near his cheek. “D-diMA..” the scientist stammered breathlessly, unable to look away from his pale gaze. Hearing his name spoken that way, with longing, would have cemented DiMA's resolve if it hadn't been so easy to feel his violent shaking at such close quarters. He was scared.. borderline terrified. It wasn't the right time. Quickly running every possible excuse through his mind for why he'd needed to come so close, he cheered inwardly when he found the perfect one nestled in the corner of Faraday's mouth. The crumb of pancake fell away as DiMA brushed his thumb over it. He watched it fall with an overly satisfied nod, then turned on his heel and made for the door before he could acknowledge any of the flustered spluttering coming from the man he'd almost kissed. “Well I'll leave you to it then Faraday. It's good to see you with some colour again.” He breezed a little too cheerfully, pausing in the doorway so as not to seem rude. “I'll see you later.” He tore himself away from the sight of Faraday holding his head in his hands before he did something stupid.

#faradima #Faraday #DiMA #a shippers life for me #DiMA's canon storyline #my writing #It's bad but I haven't slept much soo..

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megaphonemonday · 7 years

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OMG Pitch owns my soul. Would love to see a fic in 1x10 where Mike actually knocks on Ginny's door instead of Rachels.

Same, anonymous, same. This one flirted with some smut because that’s how my brain works, I guess. And then after that, it went immediately for total sap, so.

we’ll eventually emerge | ao3

This was the opposite of a good idea.

This thing that he was doing didn’t even exist on the same continent as a good idea.

But, well. How far had good ideas gotten him?

After all, pinning his future financial security on a career playing a children’s game also had to be the opposite of a good idea. But, Mike Lawson was an eight-time All-Star and destined for Cooperstown before all was said and done. He’d definitely managed to make bad choices work.

That’s what he kept telling himself as he rode the Omni’s elevator. That’s what he repeated as he walked down the blessedly empty hallway. That became his mantra as he raised his fist and knocked on a door that he definitely shouldn’t be.

It was sheer force of will that kept him believing it through the long silence after.

Mike was considering whether to knock again or just leave—she might not even be in her room—when there was a thud behind the door.

“I told you, it’s fine. It wasn’t—”

The door jerked open to reveal a pretty exasperated Ginny Baker. An exasperated Ginny Baker who’d clearly been getting ready for bed. Her hair was a riot of curls with none of the carefully sculpted softness of last night. As he thought that, Mike would have sworn he could feel a phantom brush against his forehead, right where one of the coils brushed against his skin. If he concentrated on her hair, maybe he wouldn’t think about the miles of smooth, dark skin on display, tank top and shorts doing little to leave anything up to the imagination. Mike had never seen so much of her skin, not in person at least.

When she laid eyes on Mike, though, she cut herself off, staring at him like a deer in the headlights.

“Expecting someone else, Baker?” he asked, gruff. The idea that she might have been waiting for someone dressed like—that sat strangely in his chest.

“Oh,” she hedged, suddenly hesitant. “Um, no.”

Neither of them said anything and Mike couldn’t help but think about their encounter this morning in the clubhouse. Couldn’t help but think that despite the awkwardness, all he’d wanted was to pull her into his orbit and finish what they’d started last night.

An instinct that hadn’t faded as the day wore on. Not even after seeing Rachel and hearing about David.

“You gonna let me in?” he finally asked, too aware of the the many peepholes in the hotel hallway.

Flustered, Ginny rocked back, but didn’t move from her position in the open door. She skewered him with an intent look, eyes narrowing as she considered. Mike stood firm against her scrutiny, willing her to let him inside.

Finally, she gestured him in and Mike wasted no time. Once the door closed behind him, it seemed like the tension skyrocketed.

Ginny fidgeted and Mike felt like he was about to burst into flames.

“What’re you doing here, Mike?” she eventually murmured. She didn’t quite meet his eyes and he couldn’t quite blame her. Her direct gaze was like a tractor beam, pulling him in ever closer.

“Can’t I come visit my rookie?”

Why was it so easy to show up, thinking he was ready to say something, and then chicken out at the last minute? How many times had it happened last night? And even before that?

How bad was this decision that even his half-baked sense of self-preservation was wading in?

Ginny shrugged. “You haven’t before.”

“Well, your last game of the season’s tomorrow. I figured.”

She waited for him to continue, but Mike wasn’t sure how to.

“Figured you’d what? Deliver one of your too-long speeches and then go find Rachel? She’s staying here, you know,” Ginny grumped, apparently done with Mike’s reticence.

Mike could sympathize.

“Rachel?” He shook his head, gaze steady on Ginny. “No. Only came here for one reason.”

She raised her chin, a challenge if he’d ever seen one. “Really?”

Mike nodded and took a step into her. She stood firm in the face of his advance, but Mike watched the way her pupils dilated, her chest rising in short, sharp bursts as her breath quickened.

All right. Bad decision time.

“Really,” he confirmed, leaning into her space. God. How had he ever imagined that he could get this close to Ginny and give it up again?

“I thought we didn’t need to talk about this,” she murmured, breath puffing against his lips.

“Who said anything about talking?”

Like that, Mike nudged his nose against hers, encouraging Ginny to close the gap.

She did.

Her lips against his were enough to send him reeling. Mike skated his hands along her back, fingers fisting in the soft fabric of her tank top. She was so solid and real in his embrace, and yet he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

It wasn’t until she sighed into his mouth, lips parting and letting his tongue slip inside. Ginny’s arms twined around his neck and she pushed herself up onto her toes to get even closer. Her breasts pressing against his chest made him practically growl in appreciation. He hauled her up against him, effortlessly working a thigh between her legs. Her almost bare legs, covered only by a skimpy pair of shorts.

And that thought had him groaning, his jeans becoming uncomfortably tight.

When he pulled away, his breaths came in ragged pants. How had he, Mike Lawson, San Diego’s number one bachelor, been reduced to a groaning, panting mess with one kiss?

Looking into Ginny’s eyes, he had an inkling of understanding.

He was just so in awe of her. Her strength and poise, and yes, how fucking beautiful she was. With her messy hair and bee-stung lips and flushed cheeks, there was no point in saying Ginny Baker wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Mike shifted his thigh, ready to pull away when Ginny didn’t give any indication of resuming the kiss. He could do one and done. If that was what she wanted, he could do that. Insistent hard on or no.

But then, as his leg dragged between hers, there it was. Undeniable. Ginny’s lips parted and she ground against him. If it weren’t for the sharp exhale that accompanied the movement, Mike would have written it off, but it hung in the air, impossible to ignore. Her forehead fell against his shoulder and Mike would swear she was blushing.

“Gin,” he murmured. Even he was surprised by how gentle, how tender her name came out. “You’ve gotta tell me what you want.”

“What happened to no talking?” she asked his chest, though her fingers were still curled in the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

Mike breathed out shakily.

“I meant no talking us out of this. No talking about why we shouldn’t,” he swallowed when Ginny finally looked up at him, eyes shining in the soft light, “when we obviously want to.”

Ginny’s full lips quirked and Mike was entranced by the movement. As she said, “It’s obvious, huh?” his eyes snapped back to hers.

She was fucking smirking at him. Mike’s hands shifted to her hips and he pulled her firmly against the bulk of his thigh in retaliation. Ginny groaned and Mike didn’t think he’d ever heard a better sound.

“I’d say so,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Shut up,” she retorted without any real heat. Her fingers started carding through his hair and Mike fought the urge to lean into her touch. It wasn’t that hard when Ginny was practically plastered to him.

For a moment, they just breathed each other in, neither willing to pull away or say something else.

And while Mike might be content to remain just like this for the rest of time in the abstract, he knew that wasn’t happening.

“Just. You’ve gotta tell me what you want, Ginny.”

“Me?” she asked, rearing back in his arms, her hands falling to his shoulders. It pressed their hips more firmly together and Mike bit back a groan. The furrow in her brow suggested that she would not appreciate it. “I’m not the one who practically ran across the country to avoid some feelings.”

“Halfway,” he muttered mulishly.

“Fine,” she conceded, “halfway across the country. Either way, I’m not the one who’s been unclear.”

Ginny had him there. He could fight her on it, point out that she’d just been on a date with another man, argue that he was just as in the dark as she was, but it wouldn’t be the truth.

So, because his bad decisions had already gotten him so far, he plunged even further.

“I want someone to talk to at night,” he started, gazing directly into Ginny’s eyes. He needed her to believe him. “I want a family, even if it’s just me and someone I can count on. I want to have more than a couple of pennants to show for my career. I want a World Series ring.”

Ginny nodded seriously. She heard what he was saying, but not the implication, so he laid it all out.

“But I want all of that with you. It’s been three months and I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t know if that’s sad or ridiculous, but I do know that it’s right.”

If he could summon half the earnestness he was displaying now for his team pep-talks, well, the guys would probably never let him live it down. But Ginny’s eyes were shining, mouth spreading in a beatific smile, body practically melting against him.

“I want you, Ginny,” he managed to get out before her lips slanted across his.

“Back atcha, old man,” she murmured with a wicked grin before cutting off any comeback.

And, really, Mike was fine with her tactics. More than fine, even.

If this is what bad choices get me, he thought, hoisting Ginny into the air and swallowing her giggles as he walked them into her bedroom, I’ll have to make them more often.

#bawson #bawson fic #pitch #mike lawson #ginny baker #Anonymous #i wrote something #this got way fluffier than i thought #it would be #which is a nice surprise for me #by nice surprise #i mean total and utter shock #i like fluff #it's not always how my brain operates

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barce-fabu-lona · 7 years

Text

Paulo Dybala Imagine

This is for @girlinmanyfandoms123. Thanks for your request love! <3 I hope you enjoy this.

Paulo and you have been dating for a long time but you break up with him. Half a year later he comes to your city and wants to talk. A few weeks after you’re at a Juventus game and he scores and asks you to be his girlfriend again.

I hope you enjoy and I would love if you left me some feedback! <33

A light breeze was blowing through the streets of Milan. Y/N could feel it brushing over her overheated skin, cooling it the slightest bit. She was grateful for it anyways.

"It’s so hot.“ Emma, her best friend, remarked. “I feel like I’m burning up. Literally."

Y/N chuckled a bit and watched her friend fanning herself with the menu of their favorite café.

"I guess you’re just hot like that.” She said, reaching for her drink.

A few droplets of water were running down the side of the glass, dripping down onto her thighs and causing her skin to erupt into goosebumps shortly. It was quiet refreshing to be honest.

"Haha.“ Emma deadpanned and brushed her red curls back. "Why am I still looking for my Prince Charming then?"

Y/N rolled her eyes and touched her now wet fingers to the back of her neck. She was hot as well, sweating in her pale yellow summer dress. The sun stood high in the sky, burning down on them unmercifully. Maybe they should have just stayed home like Emma originally suggested. They could fill the bathtub with cool water and ice cubes and take a bath instead of slowly dying off heat.

"I don’t know Em, you’re a strong, independent woman. Maybe you have to go and rescue your Prince Charming."

Y/N wasn’t looking at her friend when she said that but when Emma didn’t comment further, didn’t even make any kind of huffy sound, she glanced up.

Emma’s face had gone pale and for a second Y/N was occupied with being surprised that you could actually look that pale during a hot summer day like this, but then worry kicked in.

She set her drink down and reached over, touching her cool fingertips to Emma’s arm. Her friend jumped.

"Emma? You’re okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something."

Emma tried to laugh but it ended up being some kind of awkward coughing sound instead.

"I mean-” She started but trailed off quickly. “- that ex-boyfriend of yours, the soccer player. Do you remember him?"

Y/N felt herself tensing up immediately at the mention of Paulo. They had been dating for close to five years after meeting in Argentina during Y/N’s exchange year when she was a teen. Together they had gone through a lot of highs and lows, even managed to keep up a long distance relationship until Paulo moved to Italy in 2012.

Then in 2015 Juventus Turin, one of the best Italian soccer clubs, had signed him and it had all gone downhill from there. Y/N had supported him every step of the way as best as she could, but while Paulo’s fame grew he started neglecting their relationship.

It took a while to break their bond but with all the attention from the media she was getting as well, Y/N wasn’t able to stand strong much longer. Without Paulo to support her she had caved at some point and broke things off, moving back to where she came from. Milan. Her mental health had profited from her decision, her heart didn’t. Thinking of him still hurt.

"Yeah.” She finally said, clearing her throat to speak normally. “Of course I remember. How could I possibly not?"

Emma nodded, not looking at her anymore.

"Does he still play for Juventus?”

"Yes.“ Y/N shifted around in her chair, her thighs sticking to the cheap plastic material. "Why are you asking all those questions? It’s freaking me out.”

"Well.“ Emma said dryly and placed the menu back on the table. "Because he is coming over here right now."

Y/N felt like she might have a heart attack right then and there. Her heart leaped into overdrive and she actually had to hold onto the chair to stay seated. Otherwise she might have gotten up and started running to god knows where.

She was not prepared for this. She was not ready. She would never be ready.

"Hi."

"Oh my god.” Y/N said without really meaning to and slapped a hand across her mouth immediately after.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"Ehm- yeah. I’m sorry to bother the two of you.“ Paulo, who was now standing next to their table, said and awkwardly ran a hand through his hair.

Emma nodded at him while Y/N was still unable to do anything. She was currently mesmerized by the fact that he actually looked good sweating. Damn those soccer players.

"It’s fine.” She stutters when noticing that Paulo was waiting for her to say something. “What are you doing here? In Milan? You should be in Juventus."

"I missed you."

BAM.

That’s all it took to break down all those walls Y/N had carefully drawn up around her heart during the last half a year. She had placed brick upon brick, going higher and higher, forcing herself to forget about him, to forget his voice and his smile and his scent, to forget everything about him and now he was here, turning all her affords into dust.

"You can’t just do that Paulo.” Y/N snapped, she was fuming now. “You can’t just walk up here and tell me that you missed me. It doesn’t work like that!"

"Well, I’m here now."

"Right, but you really shouldn’t be!"

"Why not?” Paulo asks, crossing his arms across his chest and wow he had built up some muscles.

For a second Y/N is distracted again, then she goes back to being angry.

"Because it was a very long and painful progress to shut you out Paulo, and it’s unfair to just waltz right back into my life, okay?“

The young Argentinian is quiet for a moment before his expression softens.

"Y/N.” He begins quietly. “I don’t want you to shut me out. I never wanted that. I’m not here to judge you and I’m not here to beg for forgiveness. I know you’re probably are better off without me and I see you’re happy but I came to talk. I can’t live with us ending this way, I don’t want that. Not after what we had."

Emma clears her throat, making both of them aware of her presence. When they are both looking at her, she shoots Paulo an unimpressed glance.

"I’m just here to remind you that you are indeed here to beg for forgiveness.” She says and Y/N has to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“And now I’m gonna leave because you guys have a lot of stuff to talk through. You better start now."

The redhead gets up, grabs her purse and nods over to her chair, waiting for Paulo to sit down. The young man awkwardly shuffles over and sits down across from Y/N whose heart is still beating wildly in her chest. She meets Emma’s eyes and gives her pleading glance, begging her to not go but her best friend doesn’t even react.

A waitress comes over to their table when Emma raises her hand.

“What can I help you with?” She asks politely. “Do you want another drink?”

“No.” Emma says sternly. “I want you to keep an eye on those two and make sure, that they don’t leave this table before they’ve figure out their shit.”

And then she’s gone.

— One month later —

When the ball hits the back of the net Y/N screams like all the Italian soccer fans surrounding her. There is an older man with his grandchild standing next to her, the little boy is singing excitedly, bouncing up and down.

“Did you see that?” He asks, his cheeks glowing. “Dybala scored again!”

“I did.” Y/N says and high-fives him when he lifts his little hand. “Do you like him?”

“Oh yes, he is my favorite player. He’s great! I think he’s gonna be the next Messi.” The boy turns back to the game but Y/N keeps watching him with a smile on her face.

“Funny.” She says more to herself and then looks back down as well. “He’s my favorite player too.”

Paulo scores again few minutes later and Y/N can feel her stomach doing funny little backflips when he runs up to the sidelines and waves to her when he spots her standing in the crowd.

A month passed since Paulo came to Milan, looking for Y/N and asking her for a second chance. She had been hesitant at first but agreed to meet him again. After a few normal dates they picked up texting and who was she kidding, she had never really stopped loving him. Their bond was still there and when Paulo had asked her to drive down to Turin and watch the game against Roma she couldn’t say no.

And now she is here, feeling just as bubbly and excited as the little boy sitting next to her.

“Oh my god! Nonno, look.” He says to his grandpa right then and points down to the field. “Paulo Dybala is coming up here.”

Y/N whirls around and feels herself starting to blush when Paulo jumps over the sidelines and starts jogging up the stairs. Fans start screaming and the little boy next to her is reduced to a hiccupping mess but she can only focus on the young man who is now standing in front of her.

“Y/N.” He pants and quickly pulls her into his arms, hugging her tightly. “I have to be quick but I want you to know that those goals were for you.”

She hugs him back just as tightly, smiling into his jersey. The world slows down around them, everything fading into the background until she can’t even here the fans chanting anymore.

“Paulo.” Y/N starts but he cuts her off.

“You let me kiss you last week and I pray that I didn’t interpret it the wrong way, but I have to ask you something.” He pulls back so they can look each other in the eye. “I’m still in love with you and I want you by my side again. Do you want that too? Do you want to be my girlfriend? Please, say yes.”

Y/N feels like she might lift off the ground and float away if Paulo wouldn’t still hold her in his arms. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows that this will be all over the media later and that fans are probably already making gifs but she doesn’t care. She’s in love as well.

“Yeah.” Y/N whispers and feels herself starting to smile once the words have left her mouth. “I want to be yours again.”

Paulo kisses her in front of the whole stadium, hell in front of the whole Italian soccer world, because the game is being broadcasted on TV but she kisses back anyways. When they part and he jogs back down towards the field to finish the game, everybody is looking at her but for the first time in her life she doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

When Y/N sits back down her little neighbor tugs on her jacket carefully. His eyes are huge and round, staring back at her in astonishment.

“I’m Anto.” He says. “Will you please adopt me?”

#paulo dybala #juventus turin #juventus turin imagine #imagine #soccer imagine #paulo dybala imagine #this si like really fluffy i just can't stop myslef #sorry #my work

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