#Also this is the year I finally realize the Look-See's pocket watch is gold

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Assorted Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Soft Headcanons

Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Masterlist

A/N: I warned y'all I was in a mood. Thanks to @leighsartworks216 for letting me yell at them about this stuff. This is me at my full self indulgent, so, be warned. (If you want a part two with more thoughts, let me know! Or let me know which one of these you'd like to see a full fic for)

Astarion makes a game out of slipping food into Evie's bag and pockets

Like they’re in a market and when they get back she finds an extra apple in her pack. Or she searches her pockets and suddenly there’s a handful of roasted nuts that weren’t there before. She's asked him about it once they’re traveling, but Astarion just shrugs telling her his little snack deserves some of her own.

At first it was about the number of items, but when he realized he could cheat by counting individual roasted walnuts it lost some of the fun, then it became a matter of size

His triumph was a full loaf of bread (his goal is one day a whole melon)

He doesn't mention how he's notice her sneak her fair share of apples off some unexpecting merchant's cart, or how she slips extra food into a napkin before stuffing it in her pocket

And he certainly doesn't mention how he can't stand to see her hungry, even for a moment

Astarion just being cat coded, especially when it comes to cuddling

There are days he doesn't want to be touched; even after he and Evie get together he's got 200 years of abuse to sort through

There are times he feels guilty feeling this way, he knows for a fact Evie would never hurt him, but the idea of touching anyone just burns his skin

But then there are the opposite times, when all he wants to do is surround herself in her warmth and scent, listening to her heart and feeling her touch

Evie only partially chides him for it. She can't be expected to lay in bed all day to which Astarion only scoffs. She can't possibly expect him to just give up on his limited time alone with her (limited being a two hour gig at the local tavern). No, she's going to stay right there, with him and take his attentions until he good and ready to let her up again. Evie only laughs accepting her fate as she runs her fingers through his hair letting herself sink into the plush mattress and the comforting weight of his body on top of hers

Evie insisting Astarion would make a wonderful musician; he's got the hands for it and has never been silent about his opinions abut music

Astarion, however, really isn't the best student, at least with Evie's way of teaching

He has he potential to be technically proficient, but Evie learned by ear and that's how she teaches it

All the same, he does try and actually finds himself enjoying it a quite bit

There's something in the back of his mind, a half remembered feeling that he's done this before

The smell of the wood under his nose, the feel of the string under his fingers; muscles memory from a life stolen away

It's...comforting

He makes Evie swear not to tell anyone about his new hobby and she keeps her mouth shut

Astarion helping Evie find a good proper winter coat.

Astarion is actually really sensitive to cold so once the seasons change he’s like, “wait I’ve got gold, I can buy as many coats and gloves as I want!” Evie encourages him, but when he brings up something to get her, she keeps insisting she’s fine. Astarion knows that’s bullshit. This is the same person who wraps themselves up like a cocoon (hogging all the blankets at the same time) every night no matter the weather. 

Astarion is having none of it and starts pressuring her to try on some coats, just to see how they feel. He watches until finally she slips on one and her eyes light up with that “this is it” spark. She looks good in it, but more importantly she’s warm. He can also see her start to mentally talk herself out of it. But before she can Astarion is already paying the shop owner. And he’s picked out a scarf and gloves to match. It wouldn’t do to have his love lose her nose and fingers would it?

Evie protesting saying that he doesn’t have to do all this for her. She’d been looking after herself just fine long before they met. Astarion just shrugs wrapping the new scarf around her neck as he tells her, “arguable, but that’s beside the point. I am here now, and I swore to myself some time ago that you would never be cold again. You wouldn’t want to make me a liar.” Evie touched, but needing to deflect says, “You are a liar.” Astarion looks her in the eye then, his expression taking on a severity that he only gets when he’s being completely serious, “Not on the important things. Not with you.”

Evie has learned how best to wake Astarion up without startling him too much so he hurts himself or her. Not grabbing him, but brushing a hand through his hair and whispering to him, or making sure he gets a good inhale of her scent or something else that relaxes him. It helps ease him out.

After that it's up to him whether he wants her close or needs to take a walk. It's part of the reason why he doesn't necessarily like sleeping by himself. Left alone with his own thoughts makes it easily to slip into that dark hole. Being near the warmth of his love and surrounded in their smell helps him know he's safe.

Astarion watching Evie as she takes her bows, stopping at a few tables to pick up some extra coin and chat up the crowd. She's lively with a bright smile, cracking a few jokes before moving on to the next table. It would be near impossible to spot, but he can as she briefly meets his eye across the room. She's getting tired and is ready to go home. Finally she makes her way to him, the mask of the performer sliding off as she sinks into his arms. He still doesn't quite know how she does it. One second the room couldn't take their eyes off her and the next she's just another face. He can't bring himself to complain though, it's easier to keep her all to himself and to make a clean exit. Still he offers for them to stay a little longer; far be it for him to deny her joy. She just shakes her head, giving him a smile, not bright but achingly warm, the one he knows is just for him, before asking him to take her home. Now that he is more than happy to do.

[itsgxsly]

CHAIN ‘ROUND MY NECK

Summary: Spending a Christmas vacation with your boyfriend and his family is simply the best.

Pairing: arthur leclerc x reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 735

When Arthur asked you to go with him and his family on a trip for the Christmas holidays, you hesitated to say yes. It's not that you didn't feel like going with him, but you thought maybe you could bother there. But after much insistence from him, and taking into account that you had no plan for Christmas, you decided to accept the invitation.

Once on the trip you didn’t regret having said yes. You were enjoying yourself like never before and the Leclerc family had welcomed you with open arms as one of their family. During your stay there, you had spent time with Pascale, who treated you like another daughter and was delighted to spend time with you. The rest of the time you had spent with Charles, Lorenzo, and Arthur, skiing or having snowball fights. Although you weren't very good at skiing, the three brothers had been patient in teaching you until you could more or less handle yourself. Although you had had a painful fall in between.

Today was finally Christmas day and you were all gathered in the complex where you were opening the gifts you all had received. You had bought gifts for the entire Leclerc family, since you thought it was a nice detail to thank them for letting you spend Christmas with them, but you were pleasantly surprised when you realized that you also had gifts from them. You almost started to cry thinking about the fact of everything they were doing for you. Charles had been the last to receive and give his gifts, and now you were all resting peacefully in the living room, covered with blankets to keep the winter chill away. Arthur and you were in your own bubble focused on each other. You were curled up on his side, almost falling asleep from the heat that his body gave off next to his hand caressing your hair. You complained when Arthur stirred and pulled you away from him a bit.

"Sorry baby. I just want to get something” he told you as he put his hand in the pocket of his sweatpants. You looked at him confused as you watched him take out a box wrapped in red paper that was no bigger than your hand. Arthur saw your curious and confused face when you saw the box, so he proceeded to explain what it was.

"Before you get mad, I know you've already had your gifts and we both promised no surprises, but I still wanted to give you this" he put the box in your hand to let you open it.

You looked at him one more time before directing your gaze to the gift in your hands to open it. You tore off the paper that wrapped it and you found a box of what you assumed was jewelry. You looked at Arthur trying to get angry with him for buying something expensive, but he insisted with a gesture that you see what the box contained. Opening it, inside was a delicate gold necklace. From the chain dangled a charm with the letter A on it. You looked at Arthur moved by the gift.

"It's beautiful, Arthur" you hugged him and placed a kiss on his lips before looking back at the necklace, amazed at how beautiful it was.

"I know you like these things, and I also remembered that Taylor Swift song you're always listening to, the one with the initial on the necklace, right?" You nodded to tell him that he was right. You loved that Arthur remembered those silly details, like the words to a song you loved or your favorite food.

“I love the gift, love. I don't know how to thank you" you gave him another kiss. "But next time, you better not buy me more things on the sly, Arthur Leclerc" you warned him. You knew that he was not going to pay any attention to you, and he would end up giving you more gifts whenever he could.

Between your conversation, you didn't notice the rest of the family looking at both of you. They all agreed that you were the best thing that could have happened to Arthur and vice versa and they were so happy that you spent time with them. And maybe a years later, you'll start spending Christmas with them as an official member of the Leclerc family.

[miyuhpapayuh]

1. introductions.

New York

1995

Stevie sits up in her bed and peels the covers away, getting up and walk towards her closet, searching for an outfit.

She decided on a black overall dress that stops mid-thigh and flows out, a red bodysuit and chunky black sandals.

She puts her silk cap on and heads into the bathroom. Jumping underneath the hot water, she scrubs clean with her coconut body wash and wraps her cotton towel around herself once she's done.

She rubbed the lotion into her skin and put her deodorant on. She takes her silk cap off and sits it on the sink. She brushed her teeth and washed her face.

She walks back into her room and gets dressed. She grabs her flip phone, places it in her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

She heads downstairs, finding her best friend, Tyler, sitting at the table, eating a blueberry muffin and talking on her phone.

"I mean... my last class is at two, so we can if you want." She rolls my eyes, realizing that she's talking to yet, another boy toy of hers.

"Tyler, we have to go." She says, grabbing a muffin off the glass dish and heads towards the door. She grabs her keys off the hook and looks back at her.

Tyler sighs and rises up from her seat, pulling her bag on her shoulder. She rolls her eyes at her and continues talking to whatever his name is. She grabs her umbrella and shields them from the light rain.

They head out and hop into Stevie's Audi Sedan. She starts the car up and pull out the driveway and head towards the University.

"Alright, heffa." She hangs up and places her phone in her jacket pocket, staring at her friend. "How many classes do you have today?"

"Three. I have calculus, bio and my favorite, creative writing."

"I love your poetry, just as much as I love you, Stevie." She twisted her lips up at her and continued driving.

"I also, have three classes. Except, I have civics and english II and algebra II."

"I hate that you're a year older than me, Ty. We barely even see each other in this bitch." She parks in the designated zone and turns the car off. She pulls her key out of the ignition and they step out of the car.

"This is true. I'm sorry, babe." She sighs and they make their way inside, soon parting ways.

Tyler and Stevie have been inseparable since high school. She was the only girl that wasn't on some phony shit with her. The rest of them bitches were childish as hell.

She walks into her calculus class and sits in the front row, right next to the window. She's always the first person to get here, so she pulls her notebook and pencil out, and slings her bag over the back of her chair.

Soon, people start filing in. The way everybody's dressed catches her eye.

The girls always wear their afro puffs, braid it up or straighten their hair down their back. Their big hoops or diamond studs shine, along with their gold chains. Their clothes either match from head to toe or they wear those color block dresses that she wishes she owned. Baggy jeans, sweatshirts and sneakers are my favorite look on a girl.

The guys always look good, no matter what they wear. Whether it's a sweatsuit and some Jordans, jeans and a collar shirt or even when they dress it up a little, with their blue jean or leather jackets. Their waves be on point and their dreads do too.

She sighs and watches as their teacher, Mr. Evans, walks into the class and sits his folder down on the podium. He's one of the driest teachers ever.

༺═───────────────────────────────────────═༻

Finally done with her classes and up to her neck in assignments, she heads to the cafe to find Tyler.

She bumps into a couple girls on the way there, and of course they glare at her evilly. Rolling her eyes, she continues towards her destination.

She gets through the double doors and a tall figure almost wipes her out.

“Oh shit," his hands grab hers, before she hits the floor. "My bad, lil mama."

She looks up and all she sees is lips. Luscious ones.

Her eyes travel up to his. They're brown like hers. His skin is a rich cocoa. She pulls away from his grasp and regains her footing.

"I-it's fine." She smooths the bottom of her dress out and pulls her bag up on her shoulder. His eyes linger on her face.

"Nah, you 'bout became one with the floor. I should've looked down."

She smacks her lips, laughing a little. "I'm not that short!"

He cracks a smile, showing off a set of pearly whites. She's a sucker for pretty teeth and brown skin, yes ma'am.

"You're pretty small, compared to me." He says, chewing on his bottom lip.

She rolls her eyes, beginning to move around him.

"Hey," his hand latches onto her wrist, "is it cool if I get your number?"

She smirks, reaching inside her bag for a pen and reaching out for his hand. He places his hand in hers, palm facing up.

She writes her number on his wrist, looks up at him and winks.

She places her pen back in her bag and heads over to Tyler.

She sits down across from her and Tyler stares at her with a smile on her face.

"So, who was tall, dark and handsome?" She scoffs and sits her bag on the seat beside her.

"A total stranger. Why?"

"Okay, first of all, don't lie to me. You stood over there entirely too long, for him to still be a stranger to you. Second, you gave him your number."

"How did you—"

"Girl, who am I?"

"Alright, Tyler. Are you ready to go?"

"Hell no! I really wish we didn't have to work in that stupid ass place."

Stevie and Tyler have been working at Joes for about a year and a half now. It has its perks. They both get paid a little extra cause the manager loves them, but every job comes with those trying customers and employees.

She's almost lost her job once, and well, Tyler has had her fair share of strikes against her. Stevie always comes to her defense and saves her.

Sometimes, she feels like she's older than her.

"Get up, girl! We have to be there at three." She stands up and pulls her up, as well. She dragged her through the double doors and back towards the car.

"You're such a mom. Joe isn't gonna fire us, so you can definitely calm down." She unlocks the car and tosses her bag into the backseat.

"Tyler, that man is like a second grandpa to me. I don't ever wanna disappoint him, and you shouldn't either." She slides into her seat and Tyler does the same.

"I don't wanna disappoint the man, either. I just need you to loosen up."

༺═───────────────────────────────────────═༻

Clocking in and putting her apron on, she helps Tyler tie the back of hers and she does the same for her.

Her phone rings in her pocket.

She pulls it out and answers it. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Rod."

"Rod?" She questions.

"Yeah, the rude muhfucka that bumped into you, earlier today."

She laughs and leans on the counter.

"Ah, I would've never pictured that being your name."

"What name did you picture, love?"

"Hm... maybe Jordan or something." He chuckles.

"That seems fitting, but nah. What's yours, though?”

"It's Stevie."

"Really?"

"Yeah. What? Is that not fitting?"

"I pictured you being an Angie or even a Selena."

She laughs and peeks my head out, looking to see if the coast is still clear.

"Those are cute but, I like my name better."

"Me too. So, what're you up to?"

"I'm actually about to start my shift for the day. What about you?"

"I don't go into work until five, so I'm just relaxing. Where do you work?"

"A coffee shop."

"What's it called?"

"Why, so you can stalk me?" She asks.

He laughs, again.

"Nah, baby. I'm not a stalker."

"And I'm not your baby." The line goes silent, and her patience starts wearing thin.

"I ain't mean it like that."

"It's alright. I have to go, anyway. Can we continue this later?"

"Yeah, definitely. Have a good day at work."

"Thanks, you too." she hang up and places her phone in her locker, heading towards the front.

She'd only been here for two hours and is beyond ready to go home.

The customers have been trying it since she emerged from the back, and if John accidentally brushes up against her one more time.

"Excuse me!" A white woman, a little bit shorter than her, snaps her fingers in her face, even though she's staring right at her.

"Ma'am. There's no reason why your hand should be this close to my face." She says, pushes her tiny wrist back, causing her face to flush red.

She has to purse her lips together to hide her amusement.

"Where's your manager?" She screeches.

She looks behind her and sees the man, himself. He makes eye contact with her and waltzes over.

"You've been requested, dear." She sarcastically spits.

They switch places and she starts going off about her, like the customers usually do. 

With the women, it's the usual she's not friendly enough or she can definitely be faster, when she's literally the fastest server in this fucking place.

Of course, the men don't like her because she don't flirt back or smile at them too much.

Men are entitled creatures and that makes her skin crawl.

"Ma'am.... is there a real reason why you're complaining? Stevie is always on her job and if she wasn't, I assure you that she wouldn't be here. If you would like to get served by someone else, we can arrange that. You can also call the 1-800 number at the bottom of your receipt and take it up with corporate, too, if you'd like."

Her pink face goes back to its original color, at the mention of corporate. White people love corporate.

He fixes her coffee, hands her change and receipt and sends her on her way.

He looks back at Stevie with a frown on his face.

"Stevie... you've got to be more careful with our fair crowd."

She instantly catches onto what he means by fair, almost choking on her spit, trying not to laugh again.

"In all honesty, Mr. Joe, fuck them. I don't know why they think that they can just waltz in here and demand anything from me. Do I look like the type of girl to be talked to that way?" He shakes his head, also rubbing his temples.

"Look, between John and these damn customers...." he sighs heavily, "I just want everybody to go away, but I have a business to run. And if John does something else, I'm beating his ass myself."

The sincerity in his eyes makes her heart thud in her chest.

"You know, you're like a grandchild to me. I protect mine, okay? I got you. Take five, if you need it." He pinches my cheek.

She smiles and pinches his back. He grins and turns on his heels, walking back to his office.

She leans on the counter, closest to the wall, watching Tyler take orders and get heckled by customers. She sighs and hops up on it and starts peeling the dark red polish off her nails; a habit of hers, when she gets agitated.

"Tough day?" The sleaze ball himself, comes up beside her and leans on the counter.

She scoots over, folds her hands in her lap and stares straight ahead.

"Aw come on, Stevie Wonder, I ain't come over here to mess with you. I just wanna—"

"Stop calling me that, first of all. Second, don't feed me no bullshit apology about how you just playin with me or whatever else is about to come out of your mouth. Go away." He moves in closer, opening his mouth to retaliate.

"Go away, before I make a scene in front of these customers. I'm not playin' with you." She says through clenched teeth.

He snarls his lip up at her and backs away, heading to the back.

"You want me to gut him like a fish?" Tyler walks over and flashes that menacing grin that makes Stevie's skin crawl.

"Nah, I think Joe's got that covered. I just don't know why that boy likes messing with me!" She rolls her eyes and hops down, walking back to her register.

The clock ahead of her reads seven thirty-two. Their rush usually ends around this time. She takes advantage of the quiet time to tidy up her area and pull her notebook out.

"Simply because boys are gross. They'll cross through however many girls it takes to find one that lets them have their way." Tyler says, wiping the back counter down.

"Well, only you would know that, Ty. I've never even had a boyfriend. And, if they act anything like John, I'll stay single forever."

"You don't have to have a boyfriend to understand that. It's common sense. I'm sure there are good men out there, but I ain't found none. That doesn't mean that you won't, though."

She sighs and thinks back to Rod.

Should she even give him a chance?

"Get out your head, chile. Didn't you talk to that tall, fine boy today?"

"Earlier, yeah. We had a typical conversation."

"Bad typical or just typical?"  She grabs a pen and stares at the prompt for her creative writing assignment.

What trials and tribulations have you gone through, so far in your life? What accomplishments have you made? Is there anything you regret at this point in time?

"Just typical. He called me baby girl and I snapped, per usual. I don't like pet names and shit, especially if I told you what my name is. It not baby, boo, ma—none of that bullshit." She puts her pen to the paper and lets the words flow like water.

"Ugh, one day, your walls are gonna crumble around you. What did he say?"

"He apologized and I said we could continue the conversation later. And, no they aren't cause they're gross right?" She mocks. Tyler rolls her eyes and leans her head on Stevie's shoulder, watching her pen move across the paper.

"I'm gonna grab my stuff from the locker, you want me to get yours too?" She looks back at the clock, again. It reads eight twenty-five.

"Yeah, that's fine. Thanks."

She nods and heads toward the back. Stevie continues writing her paper and casually looks towards the door and the few occupants still in the shop.

༺═───────────────────────────────────────═༻

She finally slides into her bed, with her journal and pen in hand.

She always writes a lil sumn sumn before I go to bed.

Men have this sense of authority to them.

Do as I say, and you'll be alright,

Or suffer the consequences.

If you don't smile, you're labeled as bitter.

If you smile too much,

you're labeled as wanting to be seen.

Don't talk back, cause he ain't ask for that.

Even though he asked for it.

with those slick comments he made.

It's wild, how all your buttons are pushed, and you snap,

And suddenly, they're the victim.

You're crazy and you shouldn't act like that,

Cause, men don't like that.

Fuck them and their opinions.

Entitlement and a mans' ego is a very lethal combination.

She clips her pen on the page, closes it and sits it on her nightstand.

"Welp, until tomorrow." She turns her lamp off and turns over, falling into the deepest slumber.

༺═───────────────────────────────────────═༻

The next day

She sighs and stirs around underneath her cover, growing irritated.

It's Saturday, which means that Tyler's parents, along with her own, are coming to see them and take them out for lunch.

Usually, it would be a breeze, but as of late, Stevie's mom has become very anal about her lack of experience in the dating department and is continuously trying to set her up with idiots from her dads' job.

Tyler's parents are very strict, overly proper people.

They try to dictate her life for her. Stevie's surprised that they even let her move in with her, in New York of all places. She was so sure they'd have a joint heart attack.

"Stevie! Are you awake?" She asks, coming into the room. 

She places her pillow over her head and slides down in her bed. 

She hears footsteps. Then, the pillow is ripped out of her hands. She opens her eyes and stares at Tyler's goofy facial expression.

"I am, now. What do you want?"

"Come on, they'll be at the restaurant at one thirty." She huffs and sits up, looking towards the window.

It's not raining today, but it's still pretty chilly outside.

"Fine. Are you gonna take your shower first?" She nods, tossing the pillow back on the bed.

"Yep. I just came to wake you up." She disappears down the hallway, and Stevie finally stands up and walks over to her closet.

She pulls out her oversized white button down, green fitted slacks and her black ankle boots.

She lays her outfit out and goes into her dresser drawer, pulling her beige bralette and panty set out. 

She sits back on the bed and turns the tv on. Pretty Woman is playing again.

Her phone starts ringing.

"Hello."

"Good morning to you, too." It's Rod.

"Good morning. Is there something you needed, dear?" A chuckle sounds on his end. She blinks.

"Well, I was just hittin' you back from last night. If it's too early…” he trails off.

"I was already up, you're good. Wassup?"

"I feel like we might've gotten off on the wrong foot, yesterday. I wanted to apologize for that." She smirks.

"I appreciate that."

"Alright, cool. So, can I ask you a question?"

"You can."

"Would it be okay if I took you out on a date?"

"It might. What did you have in mind?"

"See, I wasn't expecting to get past the asking part." He starts laughing, again. "I'll think of something real nice and let you know."

"See, this is why women will always be the superior gender. We stay quick on our feet. Y'all should take notes."

"Is that so?"

"Rightfully."

"Aight, so you always have date plans lined up and ready to go?"

"Well, maybe not date plans, but yes. I always have something in mind."

"If it was flipped, where'd you take me?" He asks. She starts laughing.

"I'm not giving you any hints! You tried it."

He kisses his teeth.

She hates that noise.

"I guess I gotta think of something grand, then."

"Don't hurt yourself. I'm a woman of simple pleasures."

"Is that right?" He asks.

She hears the smugness all in his voice. It sends a chill through her.

"Damn right." She looks up and sees Tyler pointing to her bare wrist, mouthing the words get your ass up. She rolls her eyes and wave her off.

"...maybe, next weekend?"

"Say that first part, again for me. My friend was distracting me."

"I was thinking, we could go out next weekend. Is that cool or are you busy?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'm always free on the weekends."

"Alright, I'll let you go. Have a good day, Stevie."

"You too, Rod." She hung up and stood up from the bed, making her way towards the bathroom.

"Mhm, what a lengthy conversation..." Tyler follows Stevie in, staring at her. She sighs and pulls her T-shirt over her head.

"And, what about it?"

"Ew, who stuck their dick up your asshole?" She laughs and smacks her arm. Stevie gives her a stale face.

"Shut up!"

"What's new, girl??"

"He asked me out on a date, and I said yes." Her eyes widen.

"What? Aw, that's really cute!" Stevie turns the shower on and nods, smiling to herself.

"It kinda is, honestly. I've never been on one so, I don't know what to expect."

"Don't expect anything, but a good time. You'll worry yourself, expecting anything else."

She nods and pulls the rest of her clothes off, dropping them into the hamper and hopping into the shower, this time wetting her hair.

She quickly scrubbed her body clean and hops out, since she only has like fifteen minutes left.

She dries off and lathers her body in lotion and puts her deodorant on. She puts her clothes on and fixes her shirt in the mirror.

She grabs her bag and places her phone and lip gloss inside, heading downstairs where Tyler is waiting.

"Well, don't you look cute!"

She stands up and spins around, showing off her fit. Stevie laughed and grabbed her keys off the table.

"Thank you, chica. You look cute, too. Fix this, though." She tightens the knot in her shirt.

"Alright, you ready?"

"Yeah, where are they?"

"Le Bernardin."

Stevie rolls her eyes.

See, her parents—well, both of their parents are very upscale, panties-in-a-bunch type of people. 

"Why don't they take us to a regular restaurant? They have to be extra, every time they come up here?" She laughs and they head out the door.

Twenty minutes later.

"Oh, Stevie! Look at how beautiful you are!" Her mom smothers her face in kisses. Her dad, on the other hand, pulls her into a rough hug and sits down. He's never been one to show a lot of affection, if any at all.

"Ma, you just saw me last month." She wipes her ruby red lipstick off her face with one of the crisp white napkins sitting on the table.

"I know, but you just keep growing up before my eyes!"  She coos, making Stevie sigh and take a seat next to Tyler.

"Tyler, you look gorgeous, as always." Her mom compliments and Tyler's mom nods, swiping her hair behind her ear. Tyler untucks it, letting it flow over her shoulder.

"Why won't you keep it the way I had it? It looks better."

"Because I like this way! Stop." Tyler places her moms' hand on the table and looks over at her dad. He sends her a small smile and clears his throat.

"How are you, lin?" She sucks her teeth.

"I would love for you to stop calling me that, and I'm fine."

"I can't call you a name that I gave you. Why don't you like it?"

"Because it's not my name. We have this conversation a lot. You can literally call me anything else." He sighs and picks his menu up.

"Alright, whatever you want, Tyler."

"Honey, I found another guy for you." It was Stevie's turn to roll her eyes.

Here she goes.

"Ma—"

"He's twenty-one, a scholar and such a gentleman. Right, Gene?" He nods and looks at her over his glasses.

"He'd be good for you, sweetheart."

"No thanks, I'm good." Her mom lets out a dramatic sigh.

"No, you aren't, Stevie. How long are you gonna keep this up?"

"Wha- keep what up? Turning down these tightwads at my fathers' law firm? Forever. How many times are y'all gonna keep pressuring me to date? Leave it alone."

"I am your mother. Did you forget that?" She firms, and Stevie feels the headache coming on.

"Of course, not."

"Then, why won't you let me set you up?"

"Cause, I don't need your help. I don't need anybody's help."

"Obviously, you do. You've never been on a date." 

She cocks her head back at her mother's statement.

"Have you ever thought about why? Oh, never mind, I'm sure you have a list of your own reasons."

"You're a very beautiful girl, I don't know what your problem is."

"My problem." She looks over at Tyler, who's got her own issues going on, before looking back to her mother.

“My problem is you. It's actually, the both of you. Stop trying to make it seem like dating is more important than anything else. Let me figure this stuff out on my own."

"Now, why would we do that?" They question. She smacks her forehead.

"Did you not just hear me? I'm twenty years old. I've been living without y'all for the last two years and you still find a way to instill these ridiculous things into my head. I'm so tired of it. Let me be an adult without you smothering me."

"That's what you want?" Her father asks.

"That's what I've been telling y'all."

"Fine. We'll stay out your business."

"Thank you."

"And everything else." She raises her eyebrows.

"What?"

"We'll stay out of your life. Since, you're ungrateful for us and we're smothering you, we're done being your parents. Starting right now, we'll stay in California and no longer visit you, pay for your phone bill or anything else. Fend for yourself, since you're such an adult!" He slams his fist on the table and gets up, walking away from them altogether.

"For his information, I've been paying my own phone bill and I buy my own clothes, with my job. Y'all haven't done anything for me, since I graduated, but try and throw me onto some random man that I don't even know. Just because your parents did that to you, doesn't mean you do that to me. I see where it gets you." Stevie defends.

"That is your father, whether you respect his views or not." She cries, while Stevie grabs her purse and stands up.

"Yeah, and I'm your daughter. But I see that means nothing to you." She says before walking out of the restaurant and back to her car. She gets in and locks herself inside.

Knocks sound on the passenger window. She unlocks it and Tyler gets in. She cuts the car on and pulls out of the parking lot.

"Stev, I'm really sorry." Tyler says.

"What are you sorry for? You didn't do anything." She says back.

"Well, cause I didn't know what to say to defend you and I felt bad. I don't want you to think that I don't have your back."

"Nah, I wouldn't ever think that. I understand how awkward that was. It's fine."

"But it's not. I can't believe they went off on you, like that."

"Well, they aren't my parents anymore, so I guess it's not my problem." She shrugs and turns the heat on.

"Stevie,"

"Just drop it, okay? I don't wanna talk about it." She sighs.

"Yeah, it's been a long day."

༺═───────────────────────────────────────═༻

She decided to meet up with Rod a little earlier than their original date.

She just needed to get away from the house and her problems for a few hours. So, he'd picked her up and taken her to McDonald's, per her request.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asks.

She dips her fry into her ketchup and shakes her head.

"It's honestly too much to explain. Plus, this is our first hangout, and I don't wanna scare you off with my problems. I'd rather ease you in."

He laughs. "Alright, I'll take your word. I'm just glad you're good, even if it's just for right now."

"Thank you. How's the paper coming along?"

"I fucking hate that class, first of all."

"Why?"

"Teacher's a total asshole, and she made me rewrite half of my paper. She claimed that I didn't meet my full potential, even though that was the greatest paper I've ever written." She laughs, watching his brown skin turn red in irritation.

"I bet it was. Don't let these bogus ass teachers get to you, though. They think that because they have a PhD, they can say and do whatever." She sips on her soda.

"Yeah, you're right."

"I know." She flips her hair over her shoulder. He chuckles, shaking his head.

He starts talking again, but her eyes are stuck on his lips.

She's not sure if it's because she hasn't kissed anyone since she was in middle school or because they just look so soft.

Maybe both.

"...like that, ya know?"

She snaps out of her trance and looks up at his eyes.

"Ima be honest with you. I didn't hear a word you said." She lets out a nervous laugh and he smirks.

"Distracted?"

"Maybe, a little bit."

He leans in closer, giving her a better look at his fine ass. 

"So, Ms. Stevie. Are we still on for next Saturday?"

"We are, dear. I'm so proud of you, for coming up with an idea." He rolls his eyes at her.

"Don't try me, girl." She giggles and pulls her hood on, growing cold.

"I guess we should head out. I'm incredibly exhausted and you look tired as well." As if on cue, he yawns.

"You right. Ten-hour shifts will do that to you." 

They stand up from their chairs and throw their trash away. 

Stevie tucks her keys into her pocket, and they head towards the door.

"Thanks for hanging out with me, tonight."

"It was my pleasure. I had fun with you." He smiles and holds the door open for her.

@soufcakmistress @504queen @ghostfacekill-monger @hearteyes-for-killmonger @uzumaki-rebellion @l-auteuse @blowmymbackout @supersizemeplz @chaneajoyyy @captainsaveasmut @cocoa-puffs @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @daddy-killmonger @twistedcharismaaa @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @headcannonxgalore @quietstorm-thundathighs @sheabuttahwrites @thegifstories @blackerthings @becauseimswagman1 @cecereads209 @nayaxwrites @xsweetdellzx @blackburnbook @darqchilddaydreamz @killmongerdispussy @brattyfics @trippyscotch @emjayewrites @unfriendlyblkhotti3 @blackpinup22 

[haee-elia]

1x02 - compulsion

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (2nd POV)

summary: in which a religious studies graduate student aids the BAU team in solving their arson killer problem AND gains a crush on Dr. Spencer Reid; FLUFFY AND CHEESY

warnings: mentions of fire, death, murder, religion, bombs, having a father? nothing too graphic or descriptive

word count: 3078 (double the last one, lol?)

a/n: i’ve been so overwhelmed with the support on the series that i’ve been so excited to write (which i say in a three-four year dryspell of fanfic writing) so here’s compulsion! i’m much happier with this one than the previous one and it’s a tad longer as well. enjoy. season one masterlist here 

also, i wrote half of this and then realized greenaway is spelled away and eway, so if you see a misspelling of her name, that's what it is. I also assume it is just gonna get harder and harder to avoid the use of y/n...

You followed the Dean of students, Ellen Turner, down the hallway towards a part of the college that you didn’t frequent often. As a religious studies graduate student, you didn’t often spend your time in the administration building other than to visit your department advisor who had a small office in the building. Even then, it was on the other side of the building.

You didn’t dare say a word until Dean Turner knocked on a door to what you thought was an unused conference room and a man opened the door. A man that you did not recognize, not that you knew every face on campus, but still.

The man was older, perhaps your father’s age, and was wearing a simple shirt tucked into plain pants. He was wearing some reading glasses and didn’t have much hair on his head.

He glanced at you before looking back at Dean Turner, “Is this your religious studies expert?” He asked.

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked to your superior, awaiting an answer.

“She’s a religious studies graduate student. Her undergrad was a double major in Religious Studies and Psychology with a minor in Hebrew Studies.” Dean Turner explained.

The door the man held ajar had now craned more open, allowing you to see inside the room more. Instead of being the abandoned conference room you expected, it was filled with boxes of files, many whiteboards, corkboards, and chalkboards filled with photos and random joted down notes.

It had taken longer than you had wanted it to, but you finally realized this was the special FBI team that had been called in to investigate the random fires that had happened on campus. A few random fires, a fire that happened in a student’s dorm, and most recently, to a professor while in his office.

A new man poked his head into the conversation from the inside of the conference room. He was wearing a plaid checkered shirt that looked one or two sizes too big for him to wear with a red and gold tie loosely around his shirt collar. Pinned onto the pocket of his shirt was a clip on ID showing that he was FBI. His hair was pushed back behind his ears and cutely, you might add, curled around the bottom of his ears.

“What about the Head of the Religious Studies Department?” He asked. His voice was higher-pitched than you had expected it to be and had a lilt to it which you admired silently.

This time you decided to speak up, “He’s off on sabbatical.” All eyes turn to be on you, “Decided to travel around Asia.”

Dean Turner then turns to introduce you, “This is the FBI team called in for the investigation for the fires. This is Agent Gideon and this is Agent Reid.”

Agent Gideon interjects, “Dr. Reid.”

“Dr. Reid,” Dean Turner corrects.

“Double major and a minor in Hebrew Studies?” Gideon questions you.

You nod, “Yes, sir. Done enough studying to know that the name Gideon in Hebrew means great destroyer.” You confidently reply.

“Good,” is all he says.

You glance between Dean Turner and Agent Gideon, watching out of the corner of your eye as Dr. Reid looks you up and down, “May I ask what this is about?”

“The BAU team is looking for an expert on Hebrew and Judaism to aid on the case they’re working on.” Dean Turner explains.

“The fires, right?” You ask.

“Correct,” Agent Gideon says. You note that he’s not much of a talker, sticking to one to two word responses and getting straight to the point.

The two agents allow you to come into the conference room by moving out of the way of the doorframe and you take a look inside.

Dr. Reid starts speaking behind you as you ignore the stares from the other people in the room and take in the writing on the whiteboards.

“There was a message left on the FBI tip line for the fires that had a voice changer and all it said was simply, ‘I do it for Karen’, however we deduced Karen was instead Charown which is-”

“It means anger in Hebrew,” You finish for him, “Usually meaning God’s anger,”

He stood there for a moment, almost surprised that you finished what he was going to say, then nodded, “We believe that the unsub, the person who’s being starting the fires, left the message as a taunt or reason to the police about the fires. The sooner we can deduce what this means to them, the sooner we can fine and apprehend the person responsible.”

“So, what do you need my help for?” You inquire. “You all seem to be doing just fine without me,” You try to joke. It helps bring a few smiles to some faces in the room. Mostly the younger crowd, you note. Agent Gideon and a man in the suit don’t show as much as a sign that you even tried to joke.

The large musclely man sitting in a plastic seat chuckles and smirks, pointing the pencil in his hand at Dr. Reid, “Well, even with the photographic memory of Reid’s, we still need some help. We’re not really religion experts.” His tone goes slightly sour at the end and you ignore it, knowing that many people heavily do not like religion.

“Eidetic memory,” Dr. Reid interrupts, “I have an eidetic memory not a photographic memory.”

“That’s really cool,” You comment, “Must be a blessing and curse in your line of work,” You offhandedly remark. You give him a small smile before focusing back on what is written on the multiple boards around the room.

“So, you think the person who did this is using religion as an excuse to set fires?” You ponder.

The brunette woman sitting next to the large muscled man nods, “Do you think they could be a theology or religious studies major?” She asks, “I’m Agent Greenaway, by the way. That’s Agent Morgan and over there is Agent Hotchner.”

You give her a grateful smile for giving you names to pair with the people in the room. “It’s hard to say. They could be a religion major, but if they are then they’re most likely a freshman. Fire is extremely common across many different religions. In Hinduism, Brahman is often represented by fire. Christianity sometimes worships god as an all consuming fire and in Judaism god can be seen as a pillar of fire.”

You shake your head, “It wouldn’t make sense for a upper classmen to just be setting the fires now when fire is so common in learning about different religions. Fire’s mentioned multiple times throughout 101 and 102 courses.”

“What about punishment with fire for sins?” Agent Morgan asks.

This time Dr. Reid responds before you, “If that were the case we would see more instances of the victims in parallels with their sins. Matthew Rowland was in his dorm room and Professor Wallace was in his office. Neither were in sinful places and if this were about their sins, I think we would see proof left by the unsub at the scene of the crime of it.”

You ponder Dr. Reid’s words and nod along at his explanation before coming to a more likely conclusion, “What about testing people using fire? Baptism by fire, tested through fire in revelations. If this person feels like they were tested, like by a fire that happened in their life, they could be seeking out to test other people the same way they were tested. Trial by fire.”

You wait for any response from the group, hoping that they even somewhat agree with your idea and it means you helped this group of extremely smart and analytical group. Agent Morgan and Agent Greenaway seem to agree with you, even Agent Gideon gives a tilt of his head before examining the whiteboard, perhaps trying to tie the pieces together.

Dr. Reid makes brief eye contact with you and the corners of his mouth turn up, “Tha-that’s really good, I, uh, wouldn’t have thought of trial by fire.”

You take it as a compliment and return the small grin, “Thanks, Dr. Reid,”

“Please, we’re, like, practically the same age, call me, uh, Spencer.”

“Sure,” You softly say. This was perhaps not where you would have liked to talked to Dr. Re-, Spencer, in a room full of people whose jobs were to profile and observe, but, to put it in a cheesy way, the rest of the room drowned out when you conversed.

“Good work,” A voice ceases the conversation between you and the cute and mildly flustered agent, “However, we still don’t know why the unsub is targeting the victims. Or who will be next on their hit list.”

“Wait!” Spencer halts, you imagine that a light bulb dinged above his head with what seemed to be a eureka moment. He sped over to the computer on one of the desks and tables in the room and pulled up a video. The other agents in the room crowded around and over Spencer to see what he wanted to point out.

“There!” He points, “I noticed this before Dean Turner knocked on our door. The handle to the door at Matthew Rowland’s door. We thought that they had tried to get in and couldn’t so they flooded gasoline under the door, but the door handle continued to turn even after the fire was started. It turned exactly three times. No more, no less.”

Then he spun around and pointed at a crime scene picture, you noticed it was of a nameplate, the nameplate outside of Professor Wallace’s office.

“The brain is wired to see patterns and we’re really good at seeking them out. Ralph Wallace’s office number was 3. Matthew Rowland was in his class on Tuesday, third day of the week, and it was his third class of the day. The first fire, one of the failures, occurred on the third month, on the third day, at 3 o’clock.”

Agent Morgan struggles to see the point Spencer is making, “So this unsub is obsessed with the number 3?”

“Not obsessed, but adeptly notices the patterns of 3 and feels compelled to set fires.” Spencer explains.

You furrow your eyebrows and try to understand, “Like a sick, severe, form of OCD?”

“OCD?” Agent Greenaway questions.

You decide to answer her, before Spencer, “Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Usually it doesn’t manifest in such an extreme manner.”

Spencer continues to explain, “When the unsub notices a pattern of three, it creates such an overwhelming wave of anxiety that it only stops when they do their compulsion. In this case, setting fires.”

“And I think I know who it is,” Spencer admits, “And it’s not a he, it’s a she.”

Hotch catches on quickly, finishing what Spencer is thinking, “Clara Hayes,”

“Clara Hayes?” You question.

“She’s one of the chem-students Hotch and I talked to. When we were talking to her and her classmates, I noticed she had a ring on her finger. She kept turning it in intervals. Intervals of three. And when she counted off the ingredients of a light bulb bomb, she mentioned sugar three times, because she had to. She had to finish saying it three times.” Spencer explains to the rest of the room.

“Clara and her classmates were working on a group project about gravitational pull,” Agent Hotchner adds, “I’ll send campus security to search for her.”

Gideon finishes Hotch’s thought, “The three-body problem.”

You ponder hard, “She’s audited pretty much every entry-level religious studies class. I remember her because she was one of the only students to come for every single class and she wasn’t even properly enrolled.”

The eyes in the room turn to you, “She even waited for me after a class I was TA’ing and tried to get me to let her into the Mythologies class. You need an Ancient History class as a pre-requisite and she didn’t have that as a chem-student.”

Then your eyes spot the word Karen written on a chalkboard.

“Karen. Mythologies,” You mumble, “Karen. Charown. Charon! Like the greek ferryman of the dead! He’s a large part of the myths for the Greek dead. And if we’re turning back to trial by fire, there’s Moloch. The demon sun god of the Canaanites. To avoid his wrath, people would burn their children alive as a sacrifice.” You point out.

Agent Morgan ruffles through student files on the table he and Agent Greenaway are sitting at.

“Here, Clara Hayes. It has on her file that when she was sixteen, she survived a housefire.”

Agent Greenaway pulls something else out of a nearby box and connects it to Agent Morgan’s papers, “Here’s a newspaper clipping. ‘16-year-old survives inferno. The mother Ellen Haye’s called it a miracle.’ Look what she said, ‘My daughter was tested by God. He tested my child and she came through blessed’. And look at the house number in the photo, 333.”

“So, this is a case of magical thinking and severe OCD,” You plainly state.

“Magical thinking?” Agent Morgan inquires.

You go to explain further, “It’s like a superstition. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Except when paired with her severe OCD, Clara actually believes that when a pattern of 3’s line up, she needs to test this person with fire, like she believed she was tested. Like her mother led her to believe. Clara thinks that when 3’s occur, it’s a sign from God to test that person.”

Agent Hotchner checks his phone and then looks back at the group, “Campus security has sweeped the buildings and she isn’t in her apartment. A bomb squad has been called to section off the area, they found 30 plus handmade bombs in her closet.”

Agent Gideon takes command as the rest of the agents (and you) look to him, “We need to get inside every building and start pulling fire alarms. Clara Hayes is somewhere on campus and possibly setting her next, very deadly fire. We need to go.”

Agent Morgan and Greenaway stand up from sitting in the cheap folding chairs at the table and exit the room, Agent Gideon filing after them.

Agent Hotchner looks over to you and gives you a small, yet professional, nod, “Thank you for the help of your expertise with the case, but we’ll need to take it from here. You’re still just a civilian.”

You nod in understanding and give the group a grateful smile, “I understand. I should probably go alert Dean Turner about Clara and everything.”

“That’s a good idea,” Agent Hotchner confirms, “Agent Reid can give you the contact information for our press liaison. She can partner with Dean Turner when the college needs to release a statement.”

Agent Hotchner then leaves the room, turning his walking pace into a jog as the gravity of the situation starts dawning upon everyone in the room. Everyone left in the room, that is. Just you and Spencer.

You both look at each other, him breaking eye contact and looking away first. He turns around back towards the table now littered in files and random papers, grabbing a pen and hurriedly writing something down for you. You note that he’s a really fast writer, until he pauses for a little bit and you can almost see the cogs turning in his big eidetic brain of his.

You assume he makes a decision on whatever he was stuck on and finishes jotting on the paper, ripping it off the notepad and handing it to you.

“Here’s, uh, like Hotch said, the, um, phone number, fax, and email for Jennifer Jareau, our press liaison back at Quantico. Dean Turner’s probably gonna want that to coordinate statements whenever they plan to release them.” Spencer explains, pointing to the piece of paper in your hand.

You leer down at the yellow and red-lined notebook paper, Spencer’s chickenscratch is hard to make out, but you can see where he’s written the name of the liaison lady and the handwriting is legible enough for you to make out the numbers of the fax machine and phone number and the letters of the email address.

Then your eyes gaze down beneath that information to find something else.

You look back up at Spencer, you know what that is and you’d like to guess why he’s given it to you, but you really want to hear it from him first.

He adjusts his glasses and notices that you’ve finished reading the paper, “And that’s, uh, my personal phone number. You helped m-- us, on the case a lot. With your degree in psychology, if, um, you ever wanted to do profiling, give me a call.” His ears are slightly flushed red at the tips and his hands fidget at his sides.

“Or if you’re ever in D.C. and you want to, like, uh, get a coffee and catch up.” He tags on, “It’s just, your brain is amazing, and um, -- that was weird to say, I’m so sorry. You can do whatever with the number, but I just tho-”

“Spencer,” You interrupt his rant and give him a wide grin, “I’d love to get a coffee when I’m in D.C.”

You can see on his face that he notes your wording of ‘when’ and go to elaborate, “I got accepted to a research position in Washington, some ancient writings and artifacts are being moved to the Smithsonian this summer and I’ll be part of the religious translation team.”

“Oh,” Spencer responds, a grin makes a way to his face as well, “That’s, uh, great.” His voice cracks a little bit.

“I’ll let you know when I’m in town, however,” You explain with a playful expression, “Don’t you have a firestarter to catch?”

A spark of realization spreads throughout his face and Spencer nods quickly and gathers his belongings, “Yes!” He exclaims, “Yes, I do! Um, it was so nice to meet you, and I, uh, hope we can meet again soon.”

He says stumbling and stuttering as he goes to rush out of the room, leaving you watching after the lanky and slightly awkward man.

You laugh as you watch him sprints down the hallway with a smile on your face and your hand waving goodbye.

Although, you don’t think it’s gonna be the last time you’ll see Dr. Spencer Reid. Not if you have anything to do with it.

[contrivedcoincidences6]

Photos of us

So I haven’t written for TXF since like early 2019 but I’ve been wanting to pick up some of my old WIPs and write a bit more lately. This is a heavily unedited little thing I wrote quickly just to break myself back into Mulder and Scully’s heads. Just a little moment in a world I wish existed for them. Canon divergent Post season 9 of TXF.

***

The quaint church that sat nestled in the green rolling woods of Kila, Montana was silent that morning but for the sound of the birds that could be heard through the open windows.  Little William Scully squirmed in the arms of the church secretary, the witness, pulling to get to his mother who stood just a few feet away making faces at the baby in an attempt to break him out of his fussy mood. Mulder watched with a smile as Scully puffed up her cheeks at the toddler finally drawing a musical giggle. As if he’d timed it the pastor finally reappeared holding his reading glasses aloft to show the group he’d been successful. “Sorry about that folks,” he said as he took his place standing in front of Mulder and Scully, “where did I leave off, ah yes,” he muttered as he thumbed through his bible, “the only verse Ms. Scully requested: Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken, Ecclesiastes 4:9-12.”

Mulder squeezed Scully’s hand, drawing her gaze to him from where it had been politely placed on the pastor as he spoke, and gave her a wink. She smiled at him and squeezed back, she had that same happy look on her face that he’d been surprised to see most days since they’d had to leave everything behind but he supposed he often wore the same expression. Despite the difficulties of leaving their lives and Scully’s family they were together. “Now your rings,” the pastor said, gesturing at Mulder who let go of one of Scully’s hands to ding the rings out of his pocket. They were simple gold bands that they’d chosen without ceremony a few days before. He passed his ring to Scully and took her left hand, bending to place a quick kiss on it before positioning the ring over her finger. Before the wedding Mulder had indicated to the pastor exactly the wording he wanted, not being religious Scully had let him decide any wording he wanted only saying she wanted the verse from Ecclesiastes included. The pastor began then, “‘I offer you this ring to wear as a symbol of our unbreakable bond. Let it be a reminder of my eternal faith in you.’” Mulder repeated the words and fitted the ring to Scully’s hand, treasuring the slight blush that spread across Scully’s face and the sudden wetness of her eyes. Scully repeated the words then her eyes never leaving his as she slid the ring onto his finger. He’d known for years that there would never be anyone for him but Scully and he’d said these things to her before but it became clear after not so long of being on the run that they needed to make things legal, to protect each other and William. Still it was nice to stand together and say these things. The pastor said a few more things though Mulder was not listening to much of it, he just watched Scully’s face as she looked up at him with a shy smile. He asked them if they each took the other in marriage and both answered ‘I do’ without hesitation. “By the power vested in me by the state of Montana I now pronounce you married, you may kiss,” the pastor said at last with a kind smile. Scully was pulling Mulder’s face to hers before Mulder even realized the ceremony was over. Her kiss was strong and sure, the same kiss she gave him in his jail cell that told him that she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her. William’s babbling drew them out of their kiss and they both looked over to the baby who had his arms outstretched toward them. Mulder picked up his son and held him facing Scully who gave him a delicate kiss on the forehead. “How could we leave you out?” She said in a baby voice that made William giggle. They thanked the pastor and his secretary who took a few polaroid photos of them before they left. In the car Scully looked at the pictures in her hand, one that was just the two of them smiling for the camera holding each other and the other of the three of them. “That was nice,” she said as she traced the photo of their little family with her finger and was quiet for a minute before saying, “this is the first picture of the three of us.” She didn’t say anything else after that, just looked down at the photo thoughtfully until Mulder pulled into the small town grocery store. Looking up suddenly as he stopped, Scully asked, “Did we need something?” “I was going to run in and grab us some champagne, maybe a little dessert to celebrate,” Mulder said as he unbuckled, he grinned at her and exited the car with more than one goal in mind. A few minutes later he came back with a small bag of treats for them. Scully started going through the bag but stopped when she found the main item that Mulder had gone in for. “A camera?” She said smiling as she unwrapped the plastic around the disposable camera. He heard her crank the film up and grinned as she turned in her seat to face William in the back. Scully made funny sounds until William started to giggle and she took a snapshot of the laughing baby. “Thank you, Mulder,” she said, placing a hand over his on the wheel. Mulder twisted his hand around, weaving their fingers together, and brought her hand to his lips. That night they drank champagne and made s’mores by the fire in their one room cabin as Scully took the photo she’d had taken for her mom of the three of them and wrote up a letter to her that would first be sent to a safe box that would then be picked up by Skinner in a few weeks and handed over to her mother. “When you were gone I realized how few pictures I had of you,” Scully said after William was in bed and they sat together watching the fire die down, “when I thought you were gone forever it haunted me that I only had one good picture of us together, and it was old, from some convention or another. I hadn’t even known it existed but I found it in your things and framed it. After you left to go into hiding I regretted every night that I hadn’t thought to take a picture of us before you left.” Mulder pulled her onto his lap then and hid his face in her neck, taking a deep breath and reminding himself it was real and she was there with him. “I’m so sorry Scully,” he whispered into her neck after a couple minutes, “when we get to a bigger town I’ll get you a nicer camera, we’ll take so many pictures we’ll never run short.” Her fingers ran through his hair in a familiar way and he felt her smile. “More pictures will be nice but I don’t plan on ever letting you get that far away again.”

[pinkarsonist0]

Rose Gold Lipstick // George x Eliza (CRAIG OF THE CREEK)

Pimples laugh at Eliza with every look in the mirror.

All Eliza wants to be is pretty.

But what she doesn't know is that she has already achieved her goal.

And George helps her see it.

A George x Eliza oneshot made by me <3

I don't own COTC blah blah-

Eliza and George are 14 in this. I missed these two. Back in 2022 I felt pressured to hide the fact I still liked Tiarabow but then I gained confidence to start making content for the ship again, and maybe I can give other Tiarabow shippers the confidence to make some content for them, or people who ship George with someone who isn't Secret Keeper. Reminder that George has no confirmed sexuality, so don't say that he is gay or sm. That's your headcanon you made to ban other ships. Deal with it.

Now, onto the story!

Eliza stared down at the tea cup wrapped in her fingers, she steadied it with the palm of her other hand and the thumb of the hand she used to hold the cup. George sat in front of her, legs crossed and sipping the same tea Eliza was. “What tea is this?” Eliza finally spoke, she gave the cup a small swirl. “Didn’t know you were still a picky eater” George lowered the tea cup to his chin to get the sentence out with a small chuckle. Eliza rolled her eyes, “I'm not that much of a picky eater…”.

“Unless it's tea”

“Hey!”

“Well, to better answer your question. I actually don't know myself, my family bought it from their trip back to Birmingham. Oh wait, that reminds me…”

George then reached into his pocket and presented Eliza with a small box. Eliza took the box and examined it, “It was for sale, I saw it and figured you would like it". 

Eliza then opened the box, the satin box held a necklace lining itself with shiny white pearls. But on the inside of the lid also held a rose gold lipstick, she slipped the lipstick from its belt that was containing it. The absence of the lipstick made Eliza realize the belt wasn't just for holding the lipstick but she was also meant to pull on it. She pulled the looped fabric to reveal a mirror for applying the lipstick. 

George took another sip of the mystery tea, while Eliza admired the gift. “I thought you'd like it, just like how I thought you'd enjoy the tea you've yet to drink”.

Eliza put the lipstick back in the belt that was keeping it in place and closed the box. She got hold of her forgotten tea and took a sip before it turned cold. “Hm, not bad”.

Eliza then took a second yet longer sip and turned her attention back to the gift, “Well, it's like you know me better than I know myself…”.

“Give some credit to Jane too, she's the one who helped me pick it. She said, you would like the lipstick”.

Eliza gave a small smile and felt her cheeks go rosy, her cheeks matched her dyed hair and she began playing with the wavy strands. 

But, the sweet moment was ruined by Eliza’s cell phone ringing. Eliza took hold of it and stared in shock at who it was.

“Who's calling?”

“It's my mother…”

Eliza accepted the call and moved her hair from her ear to place the phone up to there. “H-Hello?”.

Eliza was convinced this was something bad, her mother hardly called her ever since she divorced her father last year. Even before that, she hardly even paid attention to Eliza. She didn't even try to fight for custody of her and had no issue with Eliza being with her father. Yet on the rare days where Eliza would see her mother, minimal effort was put into having as much as a conversation. And today was one of those rare days where Eliza was at her mother's house, sneaking her boyfriend, George into the house to sip tea. 

George watches Eliza listen to her mother over the phone, she watched Eliza’s expression change from neutral to pure panic. “T-That was today…?”. George heard her mutter.

Eliza listened further, throwing in nods as replacement for talking as if her mother was right in front of her. Ms.Pendragon’s voice was dull when speaking to her daughter, once she hung up the phone Eliza was standing back up.

“What was that all about?” George questioned then finished his tea, “My mother…She's going to pick me up to meet with her friends from work and my makeup isn't fixed…” Panic laced Eliza's voice as she paced towards her purse.

You would think she was an addict who misplaced her vape based on how she was searching her purse, she flipped the purse upside down twice and didn't even go to pick up anything that had fallen out. Her mind flashed back to the reflection of herself that she saw in the mirror of the satin box, her makeup barely covering up the dark spots on her cheeks, the pimples waiting to be popped laughed at her in the reflection, and a new one on her forehead was waving at her mockingly.

Since it was only George, she didn't mind too much. It wasn't like anything he hadn't seen before, yet now that she actually thought of it, she hadn't felt more ugly. Wait, what was she saying? George probably already found her ugly, he probably got used to the makeup hiding her facial flaws. The whiteheads scattered around her cheeks and jawline must have disgusted him. Yeah…Maybe he was considering dumping her for a girl who was god's favorite and never had to go through what made looking in the mirror so hard for her.

Eliza came closer to giving up to start looking in her room. Noticing the concern, George got up from his seat with Eliza's forgotten tea cup in hand. “Miss.Eliza, your makeup is fine, what's the-”

“IF IT DOESN'T HIDE MY ACNE THEN IT'S NOT FINE, GEORGE!”

George jumped back a little from the sudden outburst, thankfully he wasn't too startled. He was used to Eliza screaming, whether it was orders for Jane or him from when they were kids, angry words spewing whenever someone pushed her buttons or a quick shout whenever the day gave her the short end of the stick.

Eliza saw the way George jumped and bit her lip, red lipstick marking her front tooth as she looked down. “I-I'm sorry, I-”. “No no, there's no need to be sorry, I understand. Miss.Eliza, but I was being honest when I said your makeup looked fine…Is there something bothering you?” George used one hand to hold the tea and the other to motion for Eliza to sit down, thankfully that worked and Eliza's tea cup was transferred to Eliza's hand and she slowly sat down with George's newly free hand rubbing circles in her back.

In all honesty, Eliza was surprised with how suddenly she screamed. As a child she remembered being easy to set off, but that improved since then. “Now, will you tell me why your makeup is such a worry for you?”.

Eliza bit her lip as she finished her tea. She couldn't find the words to even speak, she hadn't spoken about her acne with anyone who wasn't her parents or dermatologist. But once George moved a pink strand of hair from her temples, she finally felt safe again. “I-It's my acne…I can't face my mother without it on, I can't face anyone…”.

“But why? Who wouldn't want to see your beautiful face?”

“You mean who would want to look at this?” Eliza looked away with a harsh huff while looking away, her gloved hand pointing at her face. 

George was taken aback, but let Eliza finish. “I know you and Jane aren’t used to seeing…This. But I’m starting to think my mother is sick of it…George, do you remember when I first started wearing makeup that wasn’t lipstick or eyeliner?”.

George gave a nod.

“My mom saw I was breaking out and brought me a bunch of makeup to hide it. I thought she was caring about my well being for once, but then she started making it mandatory that I put it on whenever she takes me out to fancy places with family or friends. She didn't even hide the fact she thought I was too ugly to have in public bare faced with my acne…After that guess it became a habit and without it I started believing I was ugly so I just put it on to convince myself I was pretty…”.

“But Miss.Eliza, you're already pretty…”

Eliza turned her head towards George in shock, when she felt tears threatening to pour she blinked. She was too deep in shock to look away, not like she wanted too, and George didn't either. “What…?”.

“You're already pretty. How can your mother cover you up?” George then leaned in to kiss Eliza's cheek, then her forehead then her other cheek. With every kiss the dam she built against her eyes to block the tears threatening to spill was breaking, until it finally shattered and let the tears fall. Each tear washing away the contour she used to cover the red acne she hated so much. 

“Oh George, how can you do that without thinking I look disgusting?”

“Because you're not, you never were”.

“But George, you don't understand…You and Jane are the lucky ones, you two are so pretty…You two don't need to hide away because you feel gross, you don't cry before picture day and once your pictures come in you want to throw them in the trash…Why does every other girl at school have to be pretty? With their clear skin and everything…They don't even need to try, they're just born to be pretty I guess…”

“If we're the lucky ones, it's for having you in our lives”

This time Eliza didn't answer as she leaned into George while holding onto his back for support. “I remember back when we were kids, me and Jane thought you the prettiest to walk the creek…And now, we think you're the prettiest to walk the world”.

Eliza let out a sigh, “Well those days are over…”.

“Who said they were? If you asked me and Jane, those days are still going strong” George finished his sentence with another kiss on Eliza's cheek.

“Probably everyone…”

“How would you know?”

“They probably all think it…I used to be so pretty back then, my skin was so clear…What happened?”

“Nothing happened, whether or not you think it, you're still Eliza. You always have been”.

Eliza stayed silent for a few seconds, until she finally spoke after some long thinking.

“I…I know, it's just…I got so used to having the makeup on, without it I feel like an ugly beast. Not after my mom got me to start this habit…”

George turned his head towards Eliza's purse, the fallen items scattered around the floor. He spotted Eliza's pink bottle of makeup remover and the packet of facial pads. George ended the hug between him and Eliza and picked up both. “Well, now is your chance to break it”.

Eliza stared downwards at the makeup remover, when she was younger, she remembered hearing older boys say, ‘One wipe and it's over’. At first she didn't understand what that meant, but now she did and she hated it. But it also planted a fear in her, George was giving her the opportunity to free herself at the palm of his hands. But the chance scared her, what if George was gone after one wipe?

But Eliza took a deep breath, took the makeup remover and stopped thinking. “I'll do it…”

George opened the satin box and presented Eliza with the mirror. Though small, it helped just the same as a regular sized mirror, and with that Eliza slowly wiped the makeup from her face. The cold liquid continued spreading as George sat there and held the mirror for her. 

After a few more wipes, Eliza's face was bare. She was staring at the redness and pimples scattered around her pale face. Just when she was going to consider putting it back on, George put the mirror down and wrapped her up in a hug followed by some kisses. 

“I missed looking at your beautiful face”

“You really don't feel grossed out by me?”

“Why would I be disgusted by the most beautiful woman in my life?”

Eliza returned the hug with a sniff as if she was about to cry, and she did, out of happiness.

After a few minutes Ms.Pendragon texted Eliza to remind her she had to take a taxi and that she left money on the counter. Thankfully, Eliza was allowed to bring a friend, that ‘friend’ being George. 

George helped Eliza get ready, this time, Eliza was finished getting ready a lot sooner since there was no makeup that needed to cover the face George found so beautiful. 

“I promise Miss.Eliza, it'll get better. One day you won't even remember when you had acne"George spoke as he brushed Eliza's wavy pink hair, Eliza did the job of applying the rose gold lipstick George brought her. If you asked her, that was the only makeup she liked to apply besides eyeliner. “Oh I know George, now that I think about it I guess the new cream my dermatologist prescribed is working a little…” Eliza slightly turned her head to better notice the small improvements Eliza's insecure minds concealed for her. “Well, you can't rush progress, '' George reminded as he began styling her hair into a half ponytail.

And at the last possible second before they had to go and catch a taxi, George slipped the pearl necklace from the satin box Eliza held to look at her reflection. George placed the finishing touches on Eliza's outfit by wrapping the pearl necklace around her collar bone.

After that, they caught the taxi to where Eliza's mother said to meet. George saw how Eliza was riddled with anxiety for the whole drive, but once he placed a reassuring hand on her dorsal and smiled down at her while looking into her crimson eyes, he watched the worry melt and drip onto the seat of the taxi. 

Ms.Pendragon was waiting for the taxi at the main entrance with her friends from work, she had an impatient look that she hid from the other women who were talking amongst themselves. Once the taxi dropped them both off, all eyes were on them as George got Eliza out of the taxi. 

Though Ms.Pendragon’s friends were rather happy to see Eliza, she couldn't take her eyes off the bare face of her daughter. Thankfully she controlled herself from ripping Eliza from the hug she was sharing with some of her coworkers and stood there at the side.

But once Eliza was done hugging the women and answering the women's questions and George was done shaking hands with them, Ms.Pendragon's companions made their way towards the building leaving Ms.Pendragon with Eliza and George. “Eliza Darcy Pendragon, why aren't you wearing the makeup I got you?! Your acne, it’s out of control-" Ms.Pendragon gave an expected reaction, Eliza had little reaction though George wanted to take Eliza by the hand, call the taxi back and drive them somewhere else.

However, Eliza took her turn of holding onto George's hand to calm him. “Nah, just lipstick is fine” Eliza's words were so simple, yet they shooed Ms.Pendragon greatly as Eliza and George walked into the building where the other women awaited her.

With every kiss on Eliza's bare face, for the first time in a while, she felt pretty. 

[emile-hides]

Actually today seems like a great time to post this. A very Happy Birthday to @ask-chef-teruteru who for the first time in 2 years has been confirmed not super murdered by the Look-See (yet)

This is a Redraw of This piece, which itself is a redraw of this one

[theloveoftoms]

The Proposal - Rooster x reader

Summary: Your boyfriend rooster has plans to propose, and the day of, you decide to do a crazy stunt and end up loosing connection with the tower, leaving rooster worried for your whereabouts. Will rooster's proposal go as planned?

Request: (summarized) from the wonderful @tinfoilhat2719 "hey! could you write something where the reader and rooster are dating and he plans to propose. the reader is a pilot and one day decided to do a crazy stunt in the air, and of course rooster gets worried. when she lands...." (you will see;))

A/N: Well, I watched top gun: maverick again yesterday, and when I say I sobbed, I SOBBED. I got this request a couple days ago, and i've been busy working away at it since - sorry it took so song, i've been so busy these last few days with prep for visiting my uni this weekend (with me luck lol). I am in-love with rooster now, so enjoy this story that is chaotic but fun :) also, i'm not a professional pilot, so enjoy me trying to describe this flight maneuver lol. I LOVE YOU ALL xoxo - Mackenzie :) (ps, the readers call sign is "Shadow").

Wordcount: 4.8k

"You got a ring and everything?" maverick asked, looking at a small blue box in the palm of roosters hand, "when the hell did you get so grown up?"

rooster flashed him a quick grin and then opened the box to show him the faded gold band, with a sparkling diamond in the centre and two smaller ones on either side. the ring was gorgeous and classy in an old fashioned type of way, and that was the perfect thing for his girlfriend, or should we say, soon to be fiancé??

As rooster slipped the box back into the pocket of his jeans, the air between him and maverick fell silent. "Do you have any advice on this sort of thing?" he asked maverick, who's definition of commitment was a three month long fling involving motorcycle rides, steamy kisses (and rounds of forceful sex) , and singing along to the songs on the radio.

"Rooster," he said, putting a hand on the young pilots shoulder, "I'm not the best at this kind-of stuff." Rooster looked away, unsure of why he asked anyways. Maverick noticed and spoke up, "Look at me, it took me thirty years to finally realize that penny was all I had ever wanted in life. And we both know you're way smarter than that."

Roosters lips curled up sideways into a smirk, "You got that right pop."

Any time someone - particularly one of his students, - would refer to maverick as 'pop' or 'old man' they would get a light slap on the shoulder, and maverick would put on a show about how he hated being referred to as a senior. But whenever rooster call him that, his heart (yes, maverick has a heart) would swell a tiny bit just to know that Bradley thought of him as a father figure. And hell, he was here right now asking him for advice on his proposal.

"You're a great guy Bradley," maverick begun, "and y/n's a great girl. the two of you make quite the pair!"

Rooster grinned, fumbling the wallet sized photo of y/n that he kept in his flight suit pocket. It was a photo of you on the beach, yes, that beach. The one beach in Italy that was a favourite spot of yours, where you would spend hours walking the sand and swimming in the sea with your lover. The portrait was of you in an airy white linen shirt, a pair of shorts, and your sun-kissed hair was messily kept beneath one of Bradley's baseball caps. A smile, glowing brightly on your face. The sort of smile that came after a bought of laughter; the sort of smile in which your eyes turned up, and your nose was crinkled. The sort of smile that was only found on your face whenever rooster was near.

"I wish I had more experience in this type of thing," maverick said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "but man, when you have it, you have it."

"And hey," maverick said patting rooster on the back, "You'll be a great husband. Anyone who has you in their life is lucky, because rooster, you are one of the best people I know."

...

"Are you going up today?" phoenix asked, tucking one final bobby pin in her dark hair.

"Yeah," you said, "I'm thinking about trying out a new maneuver."

Phoenix, one of the only other female pilots on base, and your wild roommate, always was keen on hearing about your latest plans to spice things up in the sky. "Really?" she asked, eyes bright, "I want to hear all about it!"

So, on your afternoon walk to the flight depot, you told phoenix everything. Every gruelling detail, and little insignificant note was spilled, and phoenix was glad to hear it. "That is so badass," she said after you told her about your plans, "I haven't even tried the cobra yet!"

You tucked a loose strand of hair back into your bun and grinned, "Hey," you said, smirking, "I can be your wingman anytime."

Phoenix laughed, having picked up on the saying that was often bounced around Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazanzky, some inside joke of theirs from their old days at top gun??

"If I did that with bob in the back, he would never forgive me," phoenix said, putting on her favourite pair of aviators, "I love him to death, but he is so work driven that sometimes he forgets to have fun."

You were glad that you flew solo, just you and your f-18 up in the sky. It also worked whenever you wanted to try something new, because with a bask seater, you have someone else to think about as opposed to just yourself and your jet.

"Be safe up there Shadow," phoenix said, giving you, her friend and flat-mate a squeeze on the shoulder, "I wanna see you for drinks later tonight."

You grinned, "Count me in."

...

At the flight depot, you saw your boyfriend rooster standing there, all suited up in his flight gear which was identical to yours. "Hi," you said, walking over, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Hey," he said, putting his arm around you, grinning at your sight, "Going up soon?" he asked.

You nodded, taking your aviators from the pocket of your t-shirt and putting them properly on, "I'm doing the flight by point Loma today, then the circle loop around generals bay."

Rooster nodded, "I was out early this morning, so its just a fun afternoon of paperwork for me," he smirked.

"I'm thinking about trying a new maneuver," you said brightly.

Rooster shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, "God," he sighed, rolling his eyes as he laughed, "You and your crazy stunts. Your just like maverick!"

You laughed, "well, he was one of my first instructors!"

The clock on the wall read 5:35, it was time to get going, after all, you had booked the 5:45 flight slot.

"I gotta go babe," you said, squeezing roosters shoulder, "Listen for me on the radio if you'd like. It might make your paperwork more interesting!"

Rooster always listened to the radio when you were up in the air. Even before the two of you begun dating, rooster always listened to the radios, back at top gun, even back in flight school where the two of you had first met.

One day in the cafeteria when you were trying to buy a protein bar from the vending machine, the machine wouldn't take your quarters, and lucky for you, rooster was behind you and offered his one dollar bills instead. He got you the snack and instead of taking your change like you had insisted, he opted to hear about the cobra maneuver - which you had just tried the day before, and nearly succeeded - instead.

The two of you became friends and one night at the bar, a drunken almost-kiss lead for unfamiliar feelings for the both of you, which you were forced to face the next day in class when you were assigned a task together.

"About last night," rooster had said, stopping in the corridor outside the classroom, "I'm not sure how you felt about that, but um," he paused, unsure of what to say next.

But then you and your smart mouth interjected, "I like you too rooster."

The two of you had laughed and then arranged a date, and since then, the two of you - despite the jobs taking place an oceans away- have remained close and very much in love.

"Just, be safe up there," rooster said, kissing your temple, "alright?"

You gave him a nod, "You got it lieutenant Bradshaw!"

After doing all of the necessary and required pre-flight checks, the sound of your f-18 roaring to life was like music to your ears. Although, it was a rather gruff sound, that at times could be quite gruelling to listen to due to the power of the dual engines, but it served as a reminder of how hard you had worked to find your place as a naval aviator. Another reminder, one that made you incredibly pleased, was the sticker bearing your name "y/n "Shadow" y/l/n" beneath the canopy that you grinned at each time you stepped into your aircraft.

It wasn't always the easiest thing being a female in a male-dominated career, but your name on this lustrous aircraft proved it was all worth it, now if only the pricks who thought that you didn't belong could agree. The hurtful truth is that no matter how far you got in the navy, there would always be one person with a snide remark for you, always one who would choose to loathe you based on your gender, always one who would go out of their way to make you feel as if you didn't belong. It was hard at first, but after you got a feel for who supported you, and wanted you to succeed, work was more enjoyable than it had been before.

A woman's voice from the tower filled your ears; those four little words that made your heart swell, "All go for takeoff." And with a big groan of force courtesy of the throttle, you were barreling fast and hard down the runway, and before you knew it, you were up in sky, pulling 3g's right off the get go.

The gravitational force sent you back into your seat, a feeling that excited you although you were used to by now. You remembered at first, when you were learning how to fly, the feeling that would accompany takeoff. The feeling that your eyes were going to fall back into your head, and that your legs were being pushed away behind you. The coat of sweat and the tremors that would accompany the first pull into the sky. From time to time, you still found yourself getting nervous, but the more that you thought about being up in the sky, the less the impending thoughts seemed to bother you.

The sky seemed especially blue today, and the clouds were few but gorgeous. "On your six Shadow," Payback said through the microphone, singling that he was behind you as expected.

Usually, when you were just going up for a flight, the commander would send another jet, just to have two eyes and ears checking out the sky. You weren't looking for anything in particular but instead just practicing and maintaining your flight techniques. Today, your wingman was Payback, and his wso, Fanboy.

"Copy payback," you said, turning in your seat, glancing back at the fellow f-18 behind you.

"On the way back, theres something I want to try," you said, grinning.

In the other jet, coyote was shaking his head and payback was smirking, "Another one of your stunts shadow?" he asked lightly.

"Affirmative," you replied, now soaring over point Loma.

"Hey," payback begun, "at least its us and not Yale and Juno flying with you today. They hate that sort of stuff."

"Not us though," payback said, giving you his support, "we love the show!"

"why are you waiting until the end?" fanboy asked, clipping on his mask into the side of his helmet.

Good question? why am I waiting until the end of the flight to do my trick?

"How about I do it at generals bay?" you asked, "Give the people on the beach a bit of a show?"

Payback laughed, "No one flys like you do Shadow."

Generals bay approached quicker than you had expected, and a glaze of sweat was beginning to coax your brow. You felt the sweat along the back of your neck, the wispy ends of your bun messily tangled in your helmet. God, its hot today.

You made the loop around the point, and on your way back north, payback and fanboy flew up beside you. "The stage is all yours Shadow," payback said, fanboy in the back giving you a hearty thumbs up.

The 'stage' or in this case, the clear clear almost-evening sky, was wide open for you, ready for your stunt.

So, giving the jet just a bit more gas, pulling the throttle back ever so slightly, you climbed higher in the sky, and then once at your satisfied altitude, you tilted the front of your jet to a near vertical descent, the water looking very blue beneath you.

You felt yourself catch on the straps of your seat belt as your altitude began to drop, now it was time for the main attraction.

Plummeting towards the ground, you manoeuvred the jet in a spiral pattern, resembling a corkscrew type of wave, moving the control so the spiral turns would pull even more g's than usual. A wave of thrill rushed over you as you approached the earth, the altitude giving you a play by play, each number being read aloud by the automated voice, "15,000, 14,000, 13,000."

When the automated voice screeched that you were around 7,000 feet, you pulled up, but not in the traditional sense. You levelled off your jet to go at a straight line, but however, you were inverted, still facing the ground, the blood rushing to your head, a feeling you thrived to feel when upside down in a jet. At first it was disorienting, but after your third and fourth time upside down, you get used to it.

"How was that boys?" you asked your wingmen, "Like the inverted flying?"

Payback hollered into the radio and fanboy laughed. "There's no one who flys like you y/n," said fanboy.

"Well, maybe except mav!" Payback said.

"One last thing," you said, puling the jet up, now you were going sparing into the sky, speeding beside the other f-18, making payback grip the controls just a bit firmer than he had before.

"What the hell!" Fanboy shouted, but you could tell he wasn't mad, due to his laughter.

You brought the jet just a bit higher and then did a sort of loop in the sky, one that was quick in speed with high velocity. As you completed the loop, going upside down, facing the ocean for the third time today you felt a rush of adrenaline pump through your veins.

As you were finishing off the the loop, a light began to flash on the dashboard at a rapid pace, "left engine." Then a god awful noise, that started off as a murmur, but grew into something loud and rumbling came from the back of the plane. "Payback," you said clearly through the radio, "There's something wrong with one of the engines!"

And just as you were levelling off, the radio made a loud shrill and then a crackling pop, and radio silence filled your helmet. You tired turning it back on, playing with the main radio in the jet, but it was no use, the light for the radio was dead.

"Fuck," you said aloud, the sweat coming hot and fast, making a glossy film over your skin, "I've gotta get back."

Noticing the check-engine light for the left side was flashing more rapidly now, you did what you were taught, and attempted to re-generate it, in hopes of it turning back on. At first, there was some hope, and that same gurgling sound from the back of the jet, but then a cloud of smoke was released into the sky, and you knew that your left engine would likely not turn back on.

Without dual engines, it was rather difficult to keep up with payback and fanboy, who were now long ahead. Even as you followed them from behind, you found it difficult to keep an eye on them as they barrelled along the pattern.

You tried another switch on the dashboard to try to get the radio back on, and for a second it worked, and you were able to scream out, "Request to land immediately, mayday, mayday," but with the static cutting in and out, it was hard to tell what the people in the tower could hear. As you tried again, flipping the switch, the lights on the dash all went dim, something was seriously wrong with your jet.

"No, no, no, no, no," you repeated to yourself as you tried any switch that would flip.

Back at the base, after hearing the stunt play out through the radio, rooster had attracted quite the crowd in the office room. A terrible feeling filled his head, and his heart was pounding once he heard the radio fall silent on your behalf. "y/n!" he said, grabbing the small box in-between both hands, and then he took off into the flight depot, to go find a commander.

On his way there, he ran into maverick, who was alarmed to see him pass by in such an alarmed state. "Rooster?" he asked, seeing him run by in a blur, "What's going on?"

Rooster stopped hastily, looking at the captain with wide, scattered eyes that couldn't seem to focus on anything in particular. Beads of sweat on his forehead, and that same nervous look on his face that presented itself every so often when rooster was particularly stressed or anxious.

Maverick recalled when Bradley was young, that same look - the one with the slightly raised brow and tucked lips, and trembling eyes that always seemed to drift from surface to surface - that usually seemed to present itself before a major baseball game or right before a math test that he hadn't studied for. Even after all of these years, whenever rooster was distraught, he still looked at him with those same wondering eyes as when he was a child.

"Its y/n!" Bradley said, "She did some stunt and theres a problem with her engine. We've lost all contact with her. No one knows where she is."

"But weren't payback and fanboy up there with her?" he asked.

"Yeah, but last I heard, they were ordered to land immediately," Bradly said, looking around for a commander or admiral, anyone with power who could help with the matter.

Then in the corner, the short greying commander Hinton, was sipping his evening coffee. "Commander Hinton!" Bradley shouted, running over to the old man, maverick following suit.

As Bradley begun to speak, his words coming out all slurred and jumbled, Commander Hinton hushed him, "Lieutenant," he said calmly, but when rooster carried on, telling him things he already knew, Hinton said it more harshly, "Lieutenant!" which made the pilot straighten his posture and take a step back beside maverick.

"All we can do is wait and see if she makes it back," the commander said dryly, leaving maverick to chase after rooster who was already in the process of running towards the airstrip.

...

There it was, the runway, the one you were incredibly glad to see, thankful that you were paying attention during takeoff to remember where you were scheduled to land.

The sky was now glowing in hues of golden orange, a heavenly shade of the tropics that you rarely got the chance to fly in. Usually, after a day of flying, the last thing you wanted to do was land, but tonight, after the flight you've had, you were more than relieved to see the landing strip.

The lights on the tarmac were flashing in a particular sequence, showing you where to go and when to do it. Having no radio connection to the tower made it tricky to land. You mainly were worried about another jet trying to land at the same time as you were, but when you finally touched down and parked in your designated stall, you could finally breathe.

You opened the canopy and descended the steps. Taking your first few steps on the concrete, your legs felt wobbly and unsure as you removed your helmet, setting it below the leg of your aircraft. A sigh escaped your lips, you were finally back down on earth.

From the main building, you could see rooster running out towards you at a rapid pace, his dark hair blowing in the wind, and the gorgeous night time sun reflecting on his skin. God, he's so handsome.

Approaching you, rooster's sprint slowed down to a jog and then later an abrupt halt, gasping for air, looking at you with his foggy eyes, displaying an unreadable emotion.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped in an distraught tone.

Rooster rarely raised his voice, especially at you, what was the matter with him? did something happen while I was up in the sky?

"What do you mean?" you replied firmly, "I landed the jet like normal!"

Rooster grunted, pinching that spot at the base of his neck that always seemed to collect stress, his arms flexing tightly in his black t-shirt. "No, y/n," he spat, "That stunt. What the fuck was that! You disappeared from the radio!"

The force of the moment found its way into your veins, making your chest feel tight and head growing hazy. You rolled your eyes, taking a step towards your boyfriend, "God rooster, I had it all under control."

A stout laugh escaped his lips, "Did you?" he hissed.

"Yes Bradley, I did!" you replied harshly, "I value my plane very much, and I took every precaution necessary to land safely!"

"You and your stunts," rooster said hotly, shaking his head, "You're so reckless, do you know that?!" Now he was staring at you, intensely, urgently, his eyes were pressed to yours.

You nodded, stepping forward's rooster, "Yeah, I do! But I don't know why you're so mad at me?"

Rooster stepped back, letting a breath escape his lips, his face red and blotchy from anger, "Fuck y/n," he said angrily, "You could have fucking died up there!"

"But I didn't. I didn't die, and I'm right here on the landing strip fighting with you."

"God shadow," rooster said, calling you by your call sign, still fuming, although now more relaxed, "What the hell would have happened if we were married? Your decisions could have killed you."

married? hold on a minute, what did he just say?

"Married?!" you shouted, arms flailing in the air, "What the hell are you talking about rooster?"

Arms shaking, rooster shoved his hand into the pocket of his dark green trousers and pulled out a small blue box - a ring box. He opened it, flipping the top up with his opposite hand, showing it to you, "This, y/n!" he shouted, showing you the gold ring he had picked out last month, "I was going to propose tonight!" he said urgently.

You looked at rooster with quiet eyes, not making a sound, your mouth falling open from the shock of it all. did rooster just say that he was going to propose?

Your eyes scattered down to the ring box, how it was held gently in roosters strong hands. "Rooster," you said gently, "You were going to ask me to marry you?"

Rooster nodded, closing the box, "Yeah. I had it all planned out. We were going to walk down to the beach and just as the sun was about to set, maverick was going to do a fly-by in his p-51, and," he paused shutting his eyes, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that stuff to you. God, I've just been so fucking nervous lately."

You took a step forward, taking one of roosters hands gently in yours, "Rooster," you spoke, voice trembling, "I'm sorry for what I said."

He shook his head, "don't be, I overreacted. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"No," you said, "I should be more careful, and I'm glad you care enough to tell me that. I did over-do it tonight."

"This whole thing was a disaster," Bradley said, looking down at the box.

"You really meant what you said?" you asked, "You wanted to marry me?"

Rooster looked up, meeting your eyes, "I want to marry you y/n."

He held your hands in his, "I want to know what its like to wake up with you beside me every day of my life. I want to spend all of my time with you y/n, because I love you, every part of you, even your reckless stunts!"

"You're the most important person to me, and I don't want to loose you," he said, eyes misty, looking at you, only you.

If rooster wouldn't have brought his hand up to the side of your cheek to wipe the tears streaming down your face, you wouldn't have realized that you were crying. God, you of all people, didn't think you would be capable of crying at your own proposal.

"What are you saying rooster?" you asked, smiling gently, already sure you knew what he was going to say next.

"I'm asking, shadow," Bradley said, grinning, "Will you marry me?"

As another fat tear rolled down your cheek, a smile spread across your face. You nodded, throwing your arms around Bradley, "Yes. I would love to marry you!"

It felt so good to have your boyfriend's, fiancé's arms around you, his hands on your back holding you tightly towards his body. You were consumed by his scent, the way it filled your head and suddenly brought you home. You loved the way strong arms were holding you, and the way he smiled into your hair. "I love you," he whispered into your ear.

"I love you too," you repeated, your tears getting sopped up in rooster's tee-shirt.

You looked to rooster with eyes of salt, and brought your lips up to his. And there the two of you stood on the tarmac, kissing. The kiss was long and slow and made electricity buzz through your veins in a sweet low tone. No matter how many times he had kissed you, each time it felt new and entrancing.

When you broke the kiss, Bradley brought back out the ring box, concentrating with tears in his eyes, as he took the gold band out of the tan cushion it was held in. You held out your your hand, wriggling your wedding finger as rooster shakily slid the band up and over your knuckle. It was a perfect fit, it was made exactly for you.

You held your hand closer to your face and looked at the ring. The diamond shone brightly in the evening sun, and it looked gorgeous on your hand, nearly too beautiful to belong to a fighter pilot!

You grinned brightly at rooster, looking up from the ring, "I can't believe we're engaged," you said, looking around, the moment finally setting in, "Oh my god! we're engaged!" you screamed.

Bradley grinned, picking you up in his arms, which earned a squeal from you, "Bradley! Put me down!" you laughed to your fiancé who was carrying you towards the flight depot, one arm supporting your back, the other beneath your legs. As Bradley waded forward, the two of you couldn't stop grinning and gazing at one another.

Under one of the canopies where rooster had carried you to, all of your friends (that were pilots and wso's) were there, clapping and cheering for you.

Rooster set you down, and then put his arms around you, brining you into a hug from behind. "Everyone," he said to the other pilots and crew, gathering their attention, "We have something exciting to tell you!"

You grinned, looking up at Bradley, who'e eyes were beaming, "I think they already know rooster!"

"You guys are getting married!" phoenix said excitedly, bring you in for an an embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around your torso.

"We saw the whole thing go down on the tarmac," bob said, giving rooster a pat on the shoulder, "Congratulations!"

Just as you were showing your colleagues the gorgeous band that rooster had picked out especially for you, there was a loud noise in the sky. You looked up, it was a jet!

Up in the sky, one of the f-18's was doing a fly-by, soaring loudly and quickly over the depot. You looked to rooster and exchanged a glance, "Maverick," you agreed.

I guess part of rooster's plan did go as expected, it was during the hours of sunset, and maverick flew overhead, although it wasn't his stunning p-51 and just an ordinary f-18, the moment was perfect, and you were one step closer to spending the rest of your life with the most important and wonderful person, rooster, the love of your life.

[iconocon]

coffee stains | leclerc

summary: a beautiful stranger spills coffee on you

warnings: mostly fluff, cursing

type: oneshot | wordcount 1.7k | ✧ fluff

anybody that has ever been to the airport and has come out of it saying it was a relaxing experience had to be the biggest liar in the world or maybe had to be just plain lucky because everything that could’ve gone wrong for you this morning had. from not being able to find your passport to not being able to find your car keys, to even the worst of all being now, standing in the security line as your bag sets off every censor possible. to be fair you probably would’ve been more put together if it was a trip you had even wanted to go on and not a trip to go meet your brother's new “love of his life”. the quotes surrounding that were very necessary as It was almost clockwork for him to marry some random gold digger then have some big wedding and even divorce a year or two later because he wanted kids while they just wanted him for his money. each year you wish to be the last but instead the visit got sadder and sadder especially when you would try to talk him out of it and ask him to just come back to america with you to settle down instead of making you fly to monaco just to see him. 

“ma’am you can’t keep this.” snapping out of your daze you're brought back to the security guy holding up a random bottle of perfume you didn’t even realize was in there, to begin with yet somehow the fact it took them 20 minutes to dig through your bag to find it made the anger in you grow. 

“that’s all?” you didn’t wanna be rude because after all he was just doing his job but come on man, shaking your head you grab your bag back shoving maybe a little too aggressively all of the stuff that was ripped out of it back in before haphazardly zipping it back closed to finally make your way to your gate. the big LED screen above your head that had colored arrows and jumbles of letters/numbers showed the time brightly in the center of it all. 

6:55am 

boarding didn’t start till at least 7:30 so in the grand scheme of things you had plenty of time to maybe get coffee or even if you were lucky enough maybe even something to eat before sitting on the absurd 11-hour flight that with each step you seemed to be dreading more and more. following the same signs as earlier the smell of coffee hit you in the face before even getting the chance to see the barista at the counter in their bright green apron.

“hi, what can i get for you?”

“can i get a vanilla cold brew cold foam please?”

“size?”

“medium.”

after paying and a couple minutes later collecting what would be the only thing to keep you sane for a few hours you found the closest set of tables you could which also happened to be the furthest ones by other people needing the couple minutes of alone time to reset. hanging your backpack on the back of the chair and searching for your airpods in your hoodie pocket you are able to start to relax with both the music and coffee kicking in giving you some release. sip after sip the time passed as you people watched even playing a game of trying to guess where people were going based on what they were wearing for example the stressed-out guy in the oddly bright hawaiian shirt matched with an ugly bucket hat could only be going to hawaii, right? or the guy in the (uncomfortable looking) 3 piece suit that has done nothing but talk through the little black earpiece connected to ear like a lifeline only could be spending his time in new york. like everything else today that relief only lasted so long because the next thing you knew you heard the loud screeching sound of shoes rubbing against the tile along with a string of colorful curse words followed by freezing cold liquid hitting you square in the chest. 

“what the FUCK?”

“oh my god no no no i'm so sorry”

completely frozen in your seat you didn’t even look up at the culprit only able to concentrate on the huge foamy mess that covered you from your neck down to your thighs as it continued to drip down spreading quickly. next thing you knew the 'coffee guy' was grabbing wads full of paper towels and trying to clean up the mess but instead of actually helping it ended up feeling like he was doing a better job of feeling you up than he was doing anything else. the scene did nothing but draw loads of attention to you both which didnt help make you feel any less embarrassed for something that wasn't even your fault. 

“stop please- just stop”

grabbing the stranger's wrist you end up yanking the napkins out of his hand doing it yourself for a second before realizing it was no use and just taking the hoodie off altogether leaving you in nothing but a random white t-shirt that you found in a random corner of your closet this morning with an ugly pink font that said 'hottie'. great just great. finally getting a chance to look up at the guy you almost felt bad for yelling at him as he was way prettier than you even realized, the light coating of blush got even darker as you just stare at him with what you only could assume as a resting bitch face. 

“i really didn’t mean to drop it on you just your backpack was in the way an-“

“wait you’re blaming me?”

“yes- well no- i just-“

“are you serious?”

“i-“

he was pretty but he definitely wasn’t pretty enough to drop coffee on you THEN blame you when he was the clumsy idiot who did it. grabbing all your things in a rush but also at the same time making time to grab the wet used napkins which you then shove into his own chest walking as fast as possible hoping to find the nearest bathroom. 

“WAIT”

drowning out the pleas to stop you just kept continuing to walk away weaving in and out of the passing bodies coming at you until you reached the bathroom sinks to finally get an overview of the damage. fuck, you looked like a hot mess. there was coffee in your hair, on your jeans, and worst of all your hoodie was definitely ruined beyond saving, at this point you were better off throwing it out than waiting for it to dry on the plane. 

LAST CALL FOR FLIGHT 1622 TO MONACO ONCE AGAIN THIS IS A LAST CALL

and that's when you started running as fast as your feet could carry you back to your gate just in time to make it before the flight attendant officially closed her line which speaking of she was in the middle of doing and you could tell from the look on her face she was not at all happy about. you wanted her to say something so bad just so you could get even the tiniest bit of emotions out from the already long morning you had yet luckily for her and you, she just scanned your ticket and let you go on your way.

22B

22B

22B

with one final sigh you could finally see your seat as you went through first class and then through the rows of economy seats towards the middle of the plane. in approaching the row you realize that the aisle seat was already occupied by a man with his black hood already up and around his ears so the only way to get by was to tap him on his shoulder.

"excuse m- no fucking way" none other than 'coffee guy' was staring you back in the face with his pretty blue eyes and a surprised look on his face as he just sat there looking like an idiot. "are you gonna- uh- move?"

"right right"

finally getting the memo he undoes his seatbelt and turns his body sideways trying to scoot out from between the packed seats to allow you to get in between him to sit. huffing you already knew it was gonna be a long awkward flight having to deal with him beside you for 11 hours.

"I'm charles by the way- and I'm sorry for the um" redoing your own seatbelt you watch as he sits down staring at the coffee stains that cover your jean-clad legs leaving brown splotches as far as you could see from this angle. "how can i make it up to you?"

you didn't want to be mean or be angry over it anymore you just wanted this to be over with and go back home as soon as possible where you could live your boring life until you had to do this trip again the following year. "really it's fine i promise i won't hold it against you for the whole 11 hours just maybe 10 of them”

trying to be at least a little sincere when you say it you actually give him a smile while cracking the joke which he does chuckle at which is a huge win in your book. from then on you and charles didn't stop talking for what felt like the whole plane ride even a few times getting whisper screamed at from nearby passengers as you talk through the night about any and everything. even at one point, you started falling asleep, and being the gentleman he was he offered you his shoulder as it "was the least he could do for ruining your day" to which you responded by telling him he also made it for you so all forgiven.

when the plane eventually touched down in monaco the stewardess came over and gave you both light taps reminding you to be ready for landing but in coming back from sleep land you both realize how you looked with his head resting on your own as you snuggled into his shoulder wrapped around his arm basically holding it hostage in your sleep.

"oh god im sorry"

"hey thats my line"

and we that it was time to deplane which ended with you both promising you wouldn't be strangers, especially in a small principality like monaco which in turn he offered to buy you another coffee this time in hopes of not spilling it all over you giving you his number and telling you to call whenever you're free this weekend.

maybe the coffee stains weren't so bad after all and maybe monaco could be somewhere you want to remember this time.

[adorerdraco]

Not My Type (Like You) ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: you should like do a one shot or even another mini series about amortentia/love potions in general. i’d soooo read that

AU SEVENTH YEAR WHERE VOLDY NEVER CAME BACK <3 f**k that mf !

italics are for flashbacks <3 i love them if you couldn’t tell 

Warnings: mean!draco, cursing, more mature themes/ideas, little bit of spice towards the end teehee but not too much bc idk how to write smut to save my life

Words: 4.5K

A/N: I saw a tiktok that kinda inspired this and i couldn’t get the idea out of my heaaaad if anyone knows which one im talking ab send it my way so i can show !!!! ALSO I LOVE THIS ONESHOT I LOVE DRACO AND I AM IN MY FEELINGS this might be my new favoriteeeee

Draco Malfoy was insufferable.

The Prince of Slytherin was unbearable for many reasons, things you've been taking notice of since your first year at Hogwarts when you accidentally had the ”pleasure” of interacting with him when he called you stupid in a class for reciting a spell incorrectly. That day, a hostility blossomed. A hostility that ensued nothing but teasing, mocking, and criticizing that would sometimes go too far and you'd both have to be pulled away from each other by your friends’ before either of you said anything excessively harsh that had no return.

You often felt like Malfoy sought you out to bother you and only for that. You could be sitting in the Quad with friends, conversing and laughing like nothing in the world mattered, and a few minutes later you'd be hurling insults towards the blond across the courtyard after he would yell something infuriating to you with that smug smirk on his face and his goons laughing wildly beside him as if he just said the most hilarious thing they've ever heard. 

On the days you’d ignore him, not having the patience or the energy to deal with him, he would still somehow find a way to push your buttons. Little things here and there like passing you in the corridors and tugging at the ends of your hair gingerly like a child but enough to tick you off or sending you notes from across the class in the form a small fluttering bird with a lousy drawing of you usually with a message along the lines of, “Y/L/N, hopefully, this note finds itself in the nest of hair you have today xx DM.”

In all honesty, there wasn’t a day you didn’t encounter Draco and it’s been that way for seven long years. Neither of you ever gotten tired of mildly or spitefully bullying each other and neither of you ever dreamed of stopping. He was one of the few constants in your daily life, and you in his. It was like you both lived on annoying the other, and in the midst of all the chaos that you brought to one another; there was a small, teeny, tiny acquaintance - not that either of you would ever admit it. You may have noticed it the time you bet each other ten galleons for who would win in the Triwizard Tournament your fourth year and he bet on Viktor Krum while you on Cedric Diggory. (he’s very much alive i refuse to think otherwise.)

“So you’re telling me, your mother is the reason why you’re not at Durmstrang,” you scoffed. “This whole time I could have been saved four years of headaches.”

“You’re just jealous some of us have more opportunities than others,” he snarks back pompously. “Unlike you, I hardly believe you would be graceful enough to even be considered admission into Beauxbatons.”

You had gone to see the last task of the competition just like the rest of the schools, all packed tightly onto the stands and watching carefully the exit of the maze. Naturally, you had arrived with your own friend groups, but somewhere during the time of sitting there and even being a few rows behind the blond and his minions, the two of you had met in the middle bench after he was trying to prove something wrong to you. 

When Cedric appeared back in front of the stands with the glowing Triwizard cup held high over his head in victory and every Hogwarts student loudly celebrating, you had jumped up from your seat and shook wildly an irked Draco beside you. He roughly shrugged your hands off his stiff shoulder, looking up at you with a sneer that you met with a bright beaming smile.

“Pay up, Malfoy!” You held out your hand towards him, opening and closing your fingers to receive the bet money. “I believe it was ten galleons you owe me.”

He begrudgingly reached into his coat pocket and fished out the coins, counting them defeatedly before tossing them into your palm. “What a waste of galleons.”

“Hey, you made the bet,” you reminded him with a still very bright smile. You shoved the money into your pockets, keeping one of the gold coins in between your fingers, and gave him a small hair ruffle that he harshly recoiled from before you turned to jump back up towards the level of stands your friends were originally sitting at.

“Were you really sitting with Malfoy this whole time?” One of your friends questioned when you reached them, a goading smirk on his face.

“Ooooh, she definitely was,” another friend piped up, wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re obsessed with each other.”

“Shut up,” you smack her arm casually, showing the pair the one gold galleon you were holding. “We are not. I was only sitting with him to get my bet money.”

“Sure,” they drawled in unison, sniggering when you threw your head back in annoyance.

You looked down the rows to see the mop of white hair you just sent into disarray. He was slowly descending the stairs of the stands with Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind him. Almost as if he felt your eyes on his back, he turned back to look at you, his cold gray eyes gazing into yours. It was like everything around you went quiet, the only thing in your focus was him and all you could do was stare back. It wasn’t until your friends started stifling laughter and whispering “aww’s” that you snapped out of the short-lived and odd few second trance you were in. He waited for you to do something before he turned back around, and you did - by holding up both hands; the one golden galleon on your left and your middle finger on your right, grinning to yourself when he rolled his eyes throwing you the finger right back before he finally disappeared into the mob of people below.

You were briskly walking down the corridors, books held tightly to your chest with your friend at your side while you made your way to Advanced Potions with Slughorn after Snape finally made his way into the DADA position. It was an easy class, potions being something you had a knack for and it gave you enough leisure to mess with your “favorite” Slytherin who shared it with you. 

“Look there goes your boyfriend,” your friend teases, elbowing your upper arm roughly and nodding her head down towards the hall to the tall blond appearing around the corner and entering swiftly into the class.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss. “I’m tired of everyone saying that. I hate him and he hates me, end of story.”

“You know when you say you hate him, it just sounds like the opposite,” she says tauntingly. “Besides, hate is a strong word and very misplaced. Maybe, it’s just years of built-up tension that both of you have been too nervous to do anything about.”

“Tension? Yeah, I want to strangle him,” you laugh to yourself at the thought.

“Not that tension, idiot,” she shakes her head, “I mean sexual tension...clearly.”

You gave her a horrified look mixed between being disgusted and being offended. You held your hand over your mouth and pretended to gag as dramatically as you could. “I am appalled that you would even say that. I would rather be locked in a room with Filch and Peeves and hear them argue and fight all day than to be with Malfoy like that.”

“Come on, think about it,” she encourages, stopping the two of you a little ways away from the classroom. “You guys 'hate' each other?” She finger quotes the hate, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “When you hate someone, you don’t go out of your way to talk to them every day.”

“It’s not like that,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Also, this isn’t a cliche, this is real life. We hate each other, that is all there is to it.”

You picked up the walk again, your friend to following behind you while letting out a deep and exhausted sigh. You couldn’t help but think about what she said, sure, perhaps at one point you thought Draco was attractive with his bright silver hair, his glittering gray eyes, his little button nose that he would crinkle up every other word he spoke in his charming haughty voice, or the way he’d tower over you in the middle of a conversation gone wrong and he’d be talking lowly to you but all you’d be able to focus on was the sweet scent of apples and cologne that radiated off of him.

“No,” you whispered almost silently to yourself, forcing yourself out of your thoughts and shaking your head from side to side as if it was going to get the image out of your head. He was mean, disrespectful, arrogant, and insulted you daily - even if you both laughed about it or gave props for the perfect jabs.

The first thing your eyes landed on when you walked into the dingy Potions classroom was Draco, his focus trained on the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. Just as his eyes were about to flicker down towards you, and sensing that he was about to, you quickly avoided his gaze and concentrated onto Slughorn who was waiting patiently by his desk with a bubbling cauldron for you and your friend to join the crowd in front of him.

“Great! Now that we’re all here,” Slughorn began excitedly, fixing the sleeves of his robes as he grabbed the ladle in the cauldron and began stirring it while continuing his lecture. 

You were trying to listen, capturing only the professor’s last sentence as he called on someone who raised their hand. All attention was thrown out the window when you realized Draco was standing near said classmate, a look of annoyance suddenly clouding his features when his pale eyes met yours.

“What?” He mouthed. You ignored him, trying to turn your concentration back onto Slughorn but nothing he was saying made sense, and right as you caught a word you did understand, a shuffling and an abrupt arm knocking into yours threw you right back out of the loop.

“Watch it,” you snap hushedly when you notice who it is. “Why are you over here?”

“I can’t say hello to my number one fan?” He whispers back, snickering slightly when you scoffed quietly.

“Fan? Says the one who shoved his way through the crowd to come over here,” you grumble, crossing your arms. 

“I hardly shoved,” he mutters. “I only moved because I couldn’t see Slughorn from where I was standing. Not everything’s about you.”

“Really? Because to me, it seemed like you came over here for my attention.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, a patronizing smile making its way onto his face. The type of typical boy smile where his mouth is half agape with his tongue smoothing over his teeth as he stared off across the room with his fingertips rubbing thoughtfully against his jawline as he thought of what to say. You stood still as he bent down, nearing his mouth towards your ear and whispering hotly, “you wish, darling.”

Slughorn sent everyone to their paired tables, and as everyone began moving and Draco sauntered off away from you, you stood stuck there, shocked with the lingering chills that were sent down your spine from your archnemesis’ comment.

“I told you, you’re into each other,” your friend sang expectantly from behind you, grabbing onto your sleeve and directing the two of you towards your table. 

You were working peacefully at your workspace, cutting up, peeling, and crushing the ingredients that your friend was sliding across the surface to you. In the table behind you was where Draco was working annoyingly quiet, tossing the stripped stems of the roses at you that you had to peel, tiny thorns pricking at your ankles through your socks since the bigger thorns had been taken off for the potion. As payback, you would throw back loose extra pearl dust you ground up, giggling tauntingly when he would frown at you for getting the coarse white powder all over his Italian leather shoes and most definitely inside of them as well.

When you, and seemingly the rest of the class, had finally thrown in all the ingredients and the potion promptly finished brewing, beautiful clouds of white and pink smoke began rising from the cauldrons, each one having a lovely scent of first; freshly pressed high-priced linens, then a faint smell of a brand new racing broom out of a box with a freshly polished wood handle that then quickly transformed into a sweet harvest of apples, green specifically, and finally...

“Ugh, gross,” you pinched your nostrils closed, turning your body around and sending a scowl towards Draco’s way. “Malfoy, we get it, your cologne is expensive, now stop spraying it. I was smelling all these wonderful things and you ruined it.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you were crazy. “Are you mad? I didn’t spray anything, I think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Well you laid it on too heavy this morning then, it reeks in here.”

“You’re one to talk, Y/L/N. Did you bathe yourself in that dreadful perfume you wear just now? And that ghastly lip shiner thing you use,” He sneers, crinkling up his nose. “I can’t even think straight, I might vomit.”

“Lip shiner? It’s called lip balm, you prat,” you retort, crossing your arms angrily. “Either way, I haven’t used or sprayed anything either so-”

“For Merlin’s sake!” Your friend suddenly exasperated loudly from beside you making you briskly whirl around to look at her, a look of pure annoyance etched onto her face. “Are you two really that daft? Honestly? Have you been paying attention to anything other than each other? For instance, the potion we just made?”

This gained the attention of your classmates around you in the surrounding tables, turning their heads slightly but not obviously with small knowing smirks on their faces while they snickered quietly and listened. It was soundless as you reached towards the book in front of your friend, pulling it painstakingly slow towards you in fear of the words that were written on the open page.

“Amortentia,” you muttered glumly as you read the page, pushing it away from you dejectedly as everything began to click.

“The reason you’re both smelling each other is because you’re what the other desires and is attracted to. Wow, what a revelation! As if the whole school didn’t already know.”

You were afraid to turn around. You could feel the cold and hard pair of eyes burning holes onto your back and the immediate amount of whispers and giggles of the people around you. Luckily, Slughorn was busy at the other end of the room, working diligently with another pair of students who managed to mess up their potion. 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco announces finally.

“What’s so ridiculous about it?” You questioned, your heart falling to the pit of your stomach when you turned again and took notice of the way his lips were curling upwards as if it was the most disgusting thing he could have ever heard.

“Think about it, Y/L/N,” he deadpans. “Why would I ever desire someone like you?”

There had been occasions over the years when you were in this situation. None as drastic and as revealing, but there would be times when friends and others would poke fun and say the exact same thing your friend told you earlier. The usual, “they got the hots for each other!” and you would always brush it off and joke about how you could never, and he’d do the same. It was always amongst laughs and jokes, but as you looked at the Slytherin in front of you - there wasn’t a hint of amusement on his hardened face.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” you seethed, biting down hard on your lip to refrain from lashing out either in tears or in insults, you couldn’t decide. “If I’m so revolting, leave me alone from now on, I mean it.”

“I never said that,” he argues. “You’re just simply not my type.”

For some eerie, awful reason, the words tore into you like a sharpened knife going easily through butter. You were used to his insults, his mocking, his comments about your appearances - but this hurt, and you couldn’t explain why. You thought, for a second, possibly, that maybe your friend was right. Maybe there was a hidden attraction you had for the platinum blond that you buried deep away and one that he had for you. There was no way that was the case now, not at all. 

And for the first time in your life, you couldn’t be more sure of a simple little fact.

You hated him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

You don’t know how long you spent sitting in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, back against the cold tiled wall with your knees brought up to your chest. Your friends had tried to console you after the public rejection and humiliation, but their words only made you feel worse. You felt silly for being so bothered about being rejected by Malfoy, he wasn’t exactly someone you fancied, to begin with.

After dinner, you went off the grid and found yourself where you’re now sitting. The ghostly girl flew restlessly around you, popping out of her stall now and then to chat but then going back into her abyss of nothing when she learned you were still upset. You noticed it made her a little too pleased, considering the fact it was always her who was miserably wailing about her problems in the bathroom. She tried to hide it and let you talk to her about how you felt, but she gave terrible advice most of the time. 

“Well, if it was me, I would have never started fancying someone who was mean to me,” she mumbled. “Like when Paul Wighorn made fun of my hair for a whole year and laughed when I cried. I hated his guts then and I still do now.”

She had a point, but she was also Myrtle. Nothing about the overly dramatic ghost made sense.

“I don’t fancy him, It’s just weird,” you trail off. “I can’t imagine a day without him, even if he is a complete arse. We always joked about how we hated each other, but I didn’t think he actually meant it, I guess.”

“I think you do fancy him, though,” she whispers knowingly in your ear, making you flinch from her cold draft. “Stop denying it, it’ll only keep making you feel worse. Amortentia doesn’t lie, silly. Maybe when you drink it, but before that, all real feelings are there, whether you know it or not.”

You sat quietly, taking in her words before something came crashing down onto you like a wall of bricks.

“I suppose that means he’ll have to stop denying it too,” she adds thoughtfully. 

“Myrtle,” you rush to get up, smoothing your hair down profusely and fixing the wrinkles in your clothes. “You’re a genius.”

“I am?” She asks excitedly. “What did I say?”

You waved her off, giving her another thank you before rushing out of the bathroom and into the empty corridors. You were trying to go back to your dorm to sleep, hoping that when tomorrow came you would be bold enough to confront the Slytherin Prince but it was thirty minutes past curfew, something you didn’t notice until you were bustling down the steps in a rush and came face to face with the man of the hour himself doing his Prefect patrolling duties.

“Go to your dorm, Y/L/N,” he sneers. “I’ll take away house points, don’t test me,”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That I’ll take away house points? Watch me. Five-”

“No, you twat,” you groan, swatting his arm with your hand. “I don’t believe that I’m not your type.”

He stayed wordless for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks and clenching his jaw as he peered down at you from his lanky height. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think you were my type until the amortentia made me aware of it,” you answer quietly. “Actually, my friend had a hand in it, but it was mostly the potion.”

Silence, again. Still and deadly. You could hear the large clocks around the school tick and tock, the hundreds of paintings snoring peacefully or chattering quietly. You avoided looking up at the boy in front of you, all of a sudden feeling small under his gaze until you felt cold fingers brush against your cheekbone and then softly through your hair causing you to finally look up into the soft wandering almost blue eyes. 

“I didn’t find out with the amortentia,” he muttered almost reluctantly as if it was the most difficult thing he had to reveal. “I’ve known I’ve liked you for a while.”

“How long is a while?” You curiously wonder aloud.

“I’m not telling,” he smirks. “Perhaps you’ll figure it out one day.”

Both hands came up to rest on your cheeks, slightly cold but soft and tender. It sent chills throughout your body as he took a step closer to you and then closer, backing you carefully into the diagonally ascending stone wall that went in the direction of the stairs. Your breathing was getting uneven, you noticed the way you accidentally switched to manually forcing yourself to inhale and exhale normally when he leaned down with his face now being mere centimeters from yours. It was torture, having your eyes closed and feeling the way his nose was brushing against yours, minty breath warm against your lips as he ghosted over them with his. He was so close, you smelt everything that was in the damn potion that got you here. It sent flutters of warmth down your body, trickling down and seeping deeply into every bone in your body as if this is was the remedy its been needing. This is what you’ve been missing.

When you finally felt a soft pair of lips being pressed into yours, it felt almost unreal that you were there. It was awkward the first couple of seconds, both of you wondering how in the world had you gotten yourselves in this position, but after you relaxed and he found his Prince of Slytherin confidence - it was magic. His lips moved languidly against yours, affectionately and full of longing. He kept his hands on your cheeks, still timid to move anywhere else while you kept yours resting lightly on his sides. It scared you a little, how fast and how easily you melted into each other, like if this was something you’ve been doing with him for years rather than torment the other for laughs. 

You hated the feeling when he pulled away, a gust of freezing castle air passing through the space between you and cooling your lips and face from his contact. His hands dropped down to his sides and he looked down at you with a small smile, a teeny bit smug, but happy. You wanted to feel the same way, but a question still loomed over your head, overpowering the giddiness you were vividly feeling.

“Why did you lie earlier?” You question softly, directing your gaze to the floor. “In class, I mean.”

He thought about his answer for a second, sighing deeply when he realized he had to uncover more truths about himself to you. You took a mental observation at that, he didn’t like to talk about feelings. “You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me. I thought I’d beat you to it and reject you before you could reject me.”

“What made you think I’d reject you?” You coaxed. “Other than the fact that I made you a sworn enemy at eleven.”

“Exactly that,” he laughed lightly. “You’re unpredictable, Y/N.”

You smiled to yourself at the realization that he finally used your first name. “So are you, Draco.”

“Not really,” he grins. “Like in just a few moments, for example, I’m going to start snogging you.”

You opened your mouth to encourage him but shut it quickly when he closed the space between the two of you again, this time much closer than he was before. He was flush against you, and when you say you could feel everything; you could feel everything. You were almost begging for him to lean down and kiss you again by the time you felt his hands on you again, running delicately around the exposed skin of your hips when your shirt hiked up an inch on accident. He leaned down again, and with the advantage of his lowered height, you let your hands slide up his arms, biceps, and ultimately the nape of his neck where your fingers continued up into his hair. The breathiest gasp escaped his throat as you tugged at the ends gently, smirking to yourself when he closed his eyes in delight at the touch.

His lips came down onto your fast this time and hastily, pressing himself impossibly closer into you. You could feel his grip tighten against your hips, his hold moving upwards onto your waist as he continued to kiss you fervently. His teeth bit down softly on your bottom lip and you wasted no time in parting them slightly for his tongue to meet yours. You tugged at the platinum strands of hair again, feeling triumphant when a low groaning sound emitted from his throat at the sensation as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further.

You knew you were done for when one of his hands slowly slid up your upper body, stopping first at your collarbones with warm fingertips fluttering over the skin, before he moved it upwards completely and he now had his large hand wrapped comfortably around your neck. You gasped in delight into the kiss, a swarm of butterflies going directly to your lower stomach as he squeezed against the artery in your neck meticulously, the coldness from his Malfoy family crest ring only adding fuel to the fire. He tore his mouth away from yours with his hand still clutched firmly around your throat and you were almost sent into orbit with the look he was giving you. A look filled with desire, adoration, and intensity - his pale gray eyes were much darker, almost a dark blue that resembled the starry night sky on a summer night.

Lips reattached themselves roughly and feverishly against your jawline, peppering long and tender kisses all the way towards your ear and then down towards your collarbones where he was beginning to undo the rest of the top buttons of your school dress shirt. You felt him smile against your hot skin when you’d writhe underneath him, emitting weak whimpers that you couldn’t hold back that he ended up having to clasp a free hand over your mouth as he whispered into your ear to stay quiet.

It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of a poorly lit corridor where anyone could walk past and see the frenzy that was unfolding, nor did it matter to Draco that his Prefect duties were long forgotten. Your friend was right, and everyone else for that matter; it wasn’t hate you felt for the blond at all, it was years and years of a craving and a hidden yearning packed with displaced tension.

And now, you were both exactly where you wanted to be; together.

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[kiridarling]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂!

izuku midoriya | tw!guns, single mom!reader, bouncer!izuku, domestic stuffs, tit sucking, mommy!calling ah, AND daddy!calling oh my, breeding kink, breaking the bed (futon). minors dni!

— 5.4k words

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?”

The alley is dark.

There's a disconcerting feeling as you step deeper into the quiet darkness,

You turn to look at the door you entered this dank place from, but it's just as dark and grimy as the walls. You're almost positive that if you rested a hand against them, it would return pitch black, and if you stood in one spot for more than five minutes, the sticky booze would glue your heels to the floor. You're surprised when it doesn't.

"Hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt, pretty lady."

He's a smarmy looking bastard and as thin as they come. It’s clear this isn’t something he does on the regular, the pointed gun quivering so much you worry a trembling might slip and pull the trigger. And you fucking freeze, blood running below zero and heart plummeting because why you?

And fuck, you’ve got a kid at home with a babysitter, and there are many outcomes to this situation, none of them too cute.

"I said hand it over," he grunts, pressing forwards. Your back hits the grimy brick wall as your eyes dart to the mouth of the alley, where life continues, where cars race past, but no one sees a damn thing. Fuck. Fuck.

And it's not like you have much—hell, you may be a mother, but you know how to party. You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening around your purse as you clumsily fumble through it and the man steps closer. You toss all you have to his feet. A fucking twenty. He raises an eyebrow before eyeing your watch. He lets out an unimpressed snort.

"That it?"

You nod, taking a shaky step back.

"Well, that ain't fuckin' enough."

There's a click and you're positive it's him turning off the safety. His face twists like he's about to shoot a bullseye, and you squeeze your eyes as tight as they can go.

Until the looming shadow of the stranger disappears, followed by a sound that's distinctly skin on skin. Er—skin on bone.

You don't watch the fight. Frankly, you don't want to, and you still get to hear your protector spew a litany of curses and disrespectful phrases that should really only come from someone's mother. You don't even open your eyes, still screwed shut with a vice grip around your purse and wallet.

"Um, excuse me Miss? Are you alright?"

Your protector's eyes are much bigger than you expect them to be—and green. You realize you remember seeing those eyes, hardened from across the club.

He's hesitant to touch you, hands rising and falling and rising again. Though you suppose a hug seems like it'd be a little abrasive, it also sounds like the exact kind of thing you need right now.

"U-Um, yeah I'm..." you start, before noticing your attackers body bloodied and wrapped like a pretzel on the ground. "...Fine..."

He sounds like he's going to pass out—he doesn't.

"We should um, we should get you home," As he speaks, the greenette shuffles you out of the alley and into the streetlamp light, blinking himself out of something before holding a meaty hand out of formality. "I'm Izuku by the way. Izuku Midoriya."

For such a big guy, Izuku seems rather timid, and yet, seeing him at the entrance with crossed arms in a black tee and a scowl in the club doesn't give you much insight into his personality. Which makes you wonder why he became the club's bouncer in the first place.

"Um, nice to meet you," you nod, trying to suppress the shake in your hands as you take his. "Y/N."

Izuku smiles at that, and even though you're a regular, you've never actually seen him beam on the job. "Cool! Cool, so...um, I don't really feel comfortable letting you walk home...alone..."

You nod—he panics as if you aren't already on board.

"'Cause it's like, a conscience thing, you know? Like, I really won't be able to sleep tonight otherwise," Izuku defends, shoving a clumsy hand in his green curls. "B-But if you don't feel comfortable with it, or something, that's totally fine! I know what you just experienced was horrible, and you probably do—"

"Izuku."

"Yeah?" He perks up. It seems as if the circuit his mind runs finally comes to a stop.

"I'd...feel more comfortable if you walked me home. Too."

Your innards ache at the stiffness in both your voice and figure, but Izuku doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he beams, standing ten feet taller, and you think—yeah. You'd feel much safer if he did.

"O-Okay! Cool!" He confirms a bit stiff himself, and then, in a smoother motion, holds his hand out to take. "Shall we?"

Your red palm claps over his, and you snort quietly, "We shall."

You two walk in a surprisingly comfortable silence for the beginning of the walk—you lead the way and he silently trails behind, glaring daggers at any passerby with lingering eyes as you march on, unknowing.

"So um, do you come to Club 777 often?"

Which is a question you know he knows the answer to, completely aware you almost come every Saturday. But you smile at his attempt to start a conversation anyways, hands tucking underneath your armpits in search of warmth.

"Yeah, sometimes. Just trying to get out and stuff. Y'know, away from the kid."

"I get that," he nods with a smile, before tugging at the hem of his hoodie. "Oh! Are you cold? Here—wait, let me."

He shucks it over your head and your positive it messes up your hair. But you find that you don't care much, especially in favor of the warmth that it provides.

And then, "You have a kid?"

"Yep," you say, tucking your fists into the jacket pockets. "A big two-year-old potato waits for me back home."

"Oh," Izuku chortles at your description before tucking his hands into his jean pockets too. Licking his lips, his eyes dart to the street, "I...assume your boyfriend watches him for the night? Or husband or whoever."

"Uhm, not quite," you chuckle towards your feet, though it's a touch acrid. Izuku picks up on it immediately.

"Oh I'm so sorr—I didn't kno—"

"It's fine, Izuku really—"

"I—but I shouldn't even be assuming what if you had a wife or girlfriend or—" he takes a second to gasp, and your eyes widen in fear that he'll choke, "—or if they're nonbinary or—"

"Izuku," you knock him on the shoulder and he finally shuts up. "It's fine. I get it all the time."

He falters, but at least he seems to relax. "Really?"

"Yes," you giggle behind a hand, and the greenette smiles at it.

"O-Okay, cool."

Flecks of gold swim in Izuku's green irises and you find yourself noticing them now, suppressing the urge to advance closer for a better look. You stare long enough to watch his smile relax into a comfortable line, but you snap out of it once he kicks a rock, the sound of the gravel skittering across the floor tugging you out of your reverie.

"I'm not very good with kids, y'know," he says as an afterthought. You snort.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Like what am I supposed to feed it? French fries?"

"Toddlers aren't it's, Izu." You can't tell if he flushes from the nickname or from what you said, but either way, it's enough to prompt another laugh. "And maybe start with baby food?"

"Ah," Izuku nods, and you guide him in turning a corner. "That would make sense.

"It would."

By the time you stop in front of your red front door, it's almost three am. You figure you caught Izuku right after he got off work, if the cheesy All Might sweatshirt you're wearing is any evidence of that, but either way, he looks like he's about to fall flat on his face.

"You can stay for the night, if you want," you offer, albeit meekly, and Izuku lifts two hands with insistence.

"Oh! No no no please, I'm fine," he shakes his head so quickly his curls bounce in a flurry, and you genuinely worry he's going to pass out when he tries to blink himself awake. "Just...not used to staying up this late is all."

"Then stay," you offer with a shrug, and your orange porch light flickers. "It's the least I can do. I've got a bed and a futon, and I'm fine with sleeping on either."

"I..." Izuku's green eyes flicker towards your door before back to you, "I really shouldn't. I'm a stranger an—"

"And I'm offering."

Izuku's eyebrows fold with the dilemma, but you grab his hand with a tug and a smile, while your free one shoves the keys into the door. "C'mon. Let's get you some rest, yeah?"

You can't tell if Izuku blushes or if it's just the lighting, but either way, his chest inflates in protest before deflating in resignation.

"Okay."

With a smile, you turn the doorknob. Your door has always taken some shoulder to get open, so you don't hesitate in shoving your collarbone into the hardwood. Izuku cringes at the sight.

"Mama!"

Your hit in the legs first, nearly stumbling back with a quiet oof. You look down to see Max wrapped around your legs like you're a fucking jungle gym, grinning with two missing teeth and a bandaid over his nose.

It's three am.

"I'm done," your babysitter grunts. "He doesn't listen when I tell him to bathe, eat, anything—I fucking quit."

And with that, they slam the door behind them, house rattling under the pressure. You sigh. There goes another one. Fuck.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Izuku grumbles under his breath disapprovingly. You smile at the arms crossed over his chest until Max peeks around your legs to see...

"A new daddy?"

"I—no, baby," you fight the embarrassment (and the urge to say you fucking wish) by picking the little one up by his armpits, smiling when he thrusts his hands in the air and goes weee! After he's comfortably cradled in your arms, you say, "He's just staying the night."

"Like daddy did!" Max defends with a giggle before rushing the greenette with open arms. Izuku just looks at you with a shrug before kneeling to take a hug to the chest as Max chants, "New daddy! New daddy!"

And, well. There's no stopping him now.

You peel your heels off your cramping feet and sigh at the fucking freedom, toes uncurling from the scrunched position it feels like they've been holding the entire night. You curse under your breath when you realize since Max is awake you've got to put him to bed too, and honestly, if you knew this babysitter was going to be just as useless as the others, you would've just let Max run fucking free while you lived life for a few hours. Not like that outcome would be any better.

"Alright Maxie, c'mon."

You take him away from his celebration with the greenette and though he pouts, he allows his mother to gather him in her arms.

"Do you um, need help?"

You turn to see Izuku awkwardly shifting in the doorway from the request, hands behind his back with pursed lips. You shake your head.

"Oh no, it's fine. I just have to put him down really quickly and then I'll be—"

"Mama, I'm hungry. I want chicken nuggies." Max loops his arms around your neck and tugs so hard you worry about your bones. You shake your head with a sigh and a pout.

"It's too late for you to be up, bud. You can have chicken nuggies for lunch tomorrow. Sound like a plan?"

But goodness. In this state, it'll take hours for him to relax—and you still have to unfold the futon for Izuku.

Max whines and kicks his legs but doesn't say no, meaning he's not really that hungry, he just wants to stay awake. "But—but what if new daddy's gone in the morning like the last one?"

Fuck.

"Max," you sigh, giving him a light shake so his matching eyes look into you yours. You speak a little softer, "Izuku's not your new daddy, okay? He's a houseguest."

Max's face drops. "Not eve—"

"No, Maxie," you sigh, squeezing him on the shoulder. "Now let's go to bed, okay?"

"I can—I can put him down if you'd like! So you can get into something more comfortable and stuff. I mean, I've never worn a dress but sweats are so much better, you know? Or shorts, or...whatever you wear to sleep."

You understand the many points he's trying to get across, one being that's he's not a creep, just a nice guy, and you suppose you and Max can live in your "new daddy" fantasy for a little longer. Even if you know this one will be gone by morning.

"Um, okay yeah," you say, voice a little thin, before handing your child over to the greenette—who bounces into his arms excitedly. "I'll be back, then? His room is down the hall to the right. The one with the race car bed."

Izuku's eyes narrow as he processes your directions. "Down the hall to the right—okay! I'll just go take this little guy to bed, then."

"Okay, thank you," you nearly bow, because Izuku just saved both of you so much time and he doesn't even understand how. "Oh! And good luck."

"Good...luck?"

"Yep!" You say with a wink and a pat on the back before scooping your heels and booking it back to your bedroom with a cackle. Time to get out of this dress. Fucking finally.

You realize that being alone is much more unsettling when you've had a gun held to your head today.

Every little noise just seems off, like it could belong to something more than it actually does, even the silence; you find yourself shoving your head through your t-shirt abnormally fast, eyes blinking to take a survey of the room to ensure that you're alone. You are. It's fine.

And that's what you tell yourself when you close your eyes to run a wet rag over your face, and again with the dry one. All of a sudden, you don't like the way your bathroom window faces the open backyard nor do you like how dark it is outside. You don't like how big your bed looks, and goddammit, you haven't even gotten into it yet.

Pushing all uneasy thoughts aside, you stumble out of your bedroom with a fresh face and a new outfit, stilling in Max's doorway when the greenette doesn't notice you. Resting against the frame with crossed arms, you smile.

"I do so like green eggs and ham! Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am. You know, when I was a kid I—oh, he's asleep."

Izuku tucks the snoring boy in his lap under the covers with a gentle grin, pulling them underneath his chin. The greenette takes a second, watches Max's chest rise and fall a few times, before ruffling the tuft of hair on his head with a snort, and walking away.

You don't even think Izuku sees you until he practically sashays out the door, winking, "Good luck, huh?"

To say you go red in the face from that is an understatement.

"How do you do this?"

"Do what?" You ask as you pulling the futon in your living room forwards. Izuku yawns before gesturing to the clock with a shake of his head.

"Take care of a kid, and work, and go to a bar every Saturday evening? It's four am, and something tells me you've been up for a while. I'm practically dead and I wake up at one pm every day!"

You chuckle at that, jumping on the bed with your hands and knees to ensure its lays flat...and ensure that it won't make an Izuku sandwich at seven in the morning. "You build up stamina after a while, I guess."

"No shit," he gestures to you as you utilize the entire length of your body to put the sheets on the mattress. He would help, but you told him no, insisting that he'd only make this take longer. "Are you sure you do—"

"Nope," you huff, clapping your hands together. "I'm done."

Izuku blinks at the made bed, to you, to the made bed again, and then back to you with wide eyes.

"Mommy magic."

"I—" you blink towards the ceiling to see if that even makes sense, but you figure fuck it, it's four am, with a snort. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want to call it."

In reality, you feel like you're about to pass out.

"Um, so I don't really have pj pants and I don't think you'll have any that'll fit, so..."

"Yeah no, I definitely burned all the shit my ex left—"

"Aha okay, cool, um, so just boxers...are fine...?"

He looks down at his black jeans and back to you, raising an eyebrow. You toss a nonchalant shrug in return, and you hate to say it, but your inner school girl goes—dick outline.

"O-Okay, then," Izuku says, and you watch his hands curl around the waistband. "I'm just gonna—"

He shucks his pants so hard they hit the floor, and your eyes widen because...well...looks like he's just gonna do it then.

Until Izuku's hands rush to cover his crotch (which you weren't peeking at, you weren't) and you realize that maybe you should've stepped out of the room or something.

"U-Um—that was fast—"

"I thought—thought you were going to uhm, turn around," he flushes, a funny contrast to the way his muscles fold under that black shirt, and your feet move to turn around like he ordered you to do it.

"Sorry! So sorry," you try to apologize, but now his dick print is burned in your brain, and...it isn't that bad.

"It—It's fine! I'm in the bed now so, you can turn around."

You laugh awkwardly and scuffle to turn, as you do, and Izuku beams at you from the bed with a wave.

"Hi," he says, his lower half-tucked under the covers. You wave back.

"Hi."

Izuku's eyes dart to you living room tv before the come back to you. "So uhm, I guess this is goodnight?"

"Oh right," you perk up at that, hands rubbing the sides of your thighs like there's something on them. "Time to go to bed, right?"

"Uh, yeah!" He nods, chest shuddering before he says, "so uh, sweet dreams?"

You smile tight at the kind gesture, and your hands opt to pull at the hem of your shirt instead, eyes drifting to an old pile of records you haven't regarded in months. "Thanks! You...too?"

Izuku smiles, though his eyes drift, "Yeah..."

You beam back. You figure you should probably go now, or something, until you think of something and slam a fist into your palm. "Oh! Also, I meant to thank you for saving me. I'm not sure if I did that. Did I do that?"

The greenette shrugs, "Uh, I think so?"

"Okay! Okay. Cool," you nod, flashing a tight smile. "Mmk. Night Izuku."

"G'night."

And see, you would move—except it seems as if your feet are glued to the floor and won't move no matter how hard you try, to the point where it feels like your straining and they're going numb, and yet you're still staring at Izuku's pretty fucking face.

"C'mon," he chuckles, scooting over on the futon to make extra space for you. "If you take all day, the beds gonna get cold, and then I'm going to have to crawl into yours like a creep."

"Oh my fucking god," you snort one breath and move to flick off the lights before stumbling through the darkness for the futon. "You're so weird."

"Weird in a good way, I hope," he lifts the blanket and you slide under—and swear your knee grazes his before it's snatched away.

"There's no weird in a bad way," you say once you've settled comfortably, tucking your hands under your head as you lay on your stomach. Izuku mimics your position, though he takes up much more of the blanket, and you find that it drapes over you like a tent over his shoulders. Neither of you close your eyes, for some reason.

"Hi," Izuku whispers.

"Hi," you smile back.

"Okay," he huffs, face twisting in determination, "Now it's goodnight."

"Right," you nod, but your eyes don't close. "Goodnight. Of course."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he says with a chuckle, and you can't tell if his eyes flicker to your lips or if you imagine it. Either way, you look them just in case.

"I better not have bedbugs," you snort. "I clean this place like a motherfucker."

Izuku's nose twitches at that with a nod. Moonlight pours into your living room and colors his pale skin silver, though you figure it won't take the sun much longer to color it a strawberry pink. "You really do. It's...different when it's quiet."

"Yeah," you agree, placing your hands on his chest. It shudders under your palms. "Kinda personal, huh?"

"Mhm," he nods, and though his hands wrap around your wrists, they never pull them away. You lift an eyebrow.

"A bad personal?"

Izuku doesn't hesitate, breath nearly ghosting your lips as he says, "Hardly."

"Would you..." now it's your chests turn to shudder, and sliding a hand up to play with his ear, you bite the bullet. "Like to get more personal?"

Izuku's lips melt into a grin against yours, "I'd love to."

His lips are softer than you thought.

Maybe because you assumed all of him was a bumbling mess, including his chapstick application; but they're fucking pillow-soft, and you don't realize how deprived you are until his hold around your body turns from protective to sensual and you melt from his heat.

"Fuck," Izuku huffs between kisses, growling when your grip around his neck tightens. "Watching you from across the club for weeks can do a thing to a guy's patience, you know."

"Oh?" You snort as he presses enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, hot and wet, and painful once his teeth dig into your collarbone. "A-Ah, Izuku—no marks."

"O-Oh! Sorry," he pulls away, lips red and swollen, and shiny with spit. You smile at the reaction.

"'S okay, Baby," you giggle at the speed to which his muscles go lax, and his eyes droop to your chest when you scratch the back of his head.

"Can I—can I suck your tits?"

He asks so bashfully it's nearly innocent, and you find your eyes dropping to your chest along with his before you're ditching his All Might sweatshirt all together.

"God," Izuku's eyes flutter as he gathers your breasts in both palms, groaning at the sight. "They're fucking perfect."

You shudder as his thumb ghosts a nipple, and Izuku dips an experimental hand under your lacy bra and pinches. Hard.

Your thighs jolt and hands fist the sheets, and a moan comes from the back of your throat before you can stop it. Izuku's hand rocket to cover your mouth.

"Shh—you don't wanna wake him up, do you?"

You shake your head, but it's hard to keep quiet when your nipples are as sensitive as they are. Izuku doesn't seem like he really means that statement, though, lowering his head with a devilish grin as if he knows that for himself.

“Sensitive, Mommy?”

“O-Oh um,” you flush at the nickname, and even more so when his lips close around your nipple and suck. Tangling a hand in his hair, you sigh, “Yeah, a little.”

Izuku hums at that, eyes fluttering to watch you bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to muffle a moan, hissing as his teeth dig into the hardened bud. He pulls off with a slurp and moves to the other, but not without a few kisses across your chest.

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?” Izuku nearly growls out before biting into the opposite nipple, and you shudder as he dips a scarred hand down the waistband of your shorts and panties. He chuckles after sliding a finger through your slit. “So wet for me.”

“It—It’s been a second,” you sigh, grip tightening around his shoulders as he slides a finger in. Even Izuku has to bite a lip at your tightness in anticipation, mouth descending over your nipple once more to send frissons of fire up your spine.

“No shit,” he grunts around your nipple, curling his finger. You gasp. “Think I can fit another one in there?”

“Why don’t you try?” You giggle, but it dissipates into nothing but air as he does, his two fingers filling you up enough to elicit a sigh.

“How’s that?” He breathes, face hovering over yours. As your hands coil around his neck, his free one reaches for your inner thigh and pulls it back far enough to give him a better angle as he presses you into the mattress.

“Good, it’s good,” you nod, and your hips start to move on their own, bucking forwards as if there’s any more finger left for you to fuck. (Spoiler: there’s not.)

“Good,” he breathes, eyes going glossy as he watches you writhe under him. You're positive that you're carving painful red lines into his back, but considering the way his eyebrows fold every time you do, makes you wonder if he doesn't mind. "Fuck I can't wait to fuck you—I can fuck you, right?"

"No Izuku, I'm just letting you finger me for fu-u—fuck."

He slides in a third finger and for some reason, it burns a little—but the burn only makes your eyes roll further, and he's stuffing you with a chuckle.

"What was that?"

"I-I—you're not pla—playing very fair," you huff, chest shuddering as he tilts your hips higher for a better angle. You suppress a scream when his fingers curl, jolting forwards at such a speed it makes the futon creak. Izuku tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from going too far.

"No one said anything about being fair, Mommy," he teases, and you whine when he removes his fingers, tapping them against your lips. "C'mon, you gotta get 'em wet so I can fuck you, right?"

You nod at the idea, enjoying the idea of being filled up much more, and coat his fingers to the point where they're dripping when he pulls him out. Izuku's chest rumbles.

"So good for me," he purrs, using your spit to coat his cock before he's sliding his head between your folds—you shiver, grabbing onto his back again. "Ready?"

“Mhm,” you nod, spreading your legs further—though you swear they do that on their own.

“Oh my, you’re um...tight...”

You whimper from the stretch and look between your legs, eyes widening upon seeing that Izuku’s much bigger than you had anticipated. Or had been warned of.

“F-Fuck, I can’t—“

“Shhhh, it’s okay, just a little more, okay?” Izuku nearly whispers into your lips as his hands move to rub your shuddering sides. Your eyes screw shut, “Jus’ a little more, Mommy...”

Izuku pushes deeper and you’re being split in half—because what else could that burn be—but you’ll admit, the feeling of accomplishment you receive once he bottoms out is surreal.

“Good—Good girl,” Izuku’s nearly quivering and plants his hands on both sides of your head with a huff.

“I-Izu,” you whimper as he starts to move, feeling impossibly full no matter how far he pulls out. Izuku shudders, mouth rounding into an ‘o’ when his hips slowly start to gain rhythm, and though it’s loud, you know the creak of the futon is unavoidable. You squeal as his head hammers into your cervix, pulling out a wanton Daddy before you have half a mind to shut the fuck up. You nearly freeze, and yet, all Izuku’s hips do is speed up.

“Yeah? Want me to be your new Daddy?” He moans, and you dig your nails into his back with a nod. The greenette curses at that, biting his bottom lip and his hand drops between your legs to rub at your clit. With thighs seizing around his waist, you slam a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

“Fuck—I make you feel that good, Mommy?” Izuku nearly wheezes, eyes suppressing the urge to screw closed, “So good you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut?”

“Y-Yeah, I—“ you gasp when he lifts your hips off the bed for a better angle, hands fisting the sheets. “Harder, Daddy—“

“Oh Mommy, if I go any harder I think I might break this bed,” he says, borderline bashful, but you find yourself saying fuck the bed as your hips buck in search of a feeling he refuses to give you. Izuku’s chuckle strains as he says, “So needy, Mommy. You that needy for my cum?”

Clawing at his back, you try your damnest to stutter out a yes. Izuku chuckles at your desperation before he cuts himself off with a groan, eyes rocketing to where you’re both connected as you tighten around him.

“F-Fill me up, I wanna—“

“You want another baby, Mommy?” Izuku pants, and you’re so close you start to feel a buzz in your thighs, praying he isn’t too far behind. You nod vehemently with a gasp and his lips slide into an exhausted smile, "Fuck, of course you do—and you’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you? All of it.”

Izuku finishes his sentence with a growl, pressing you further into the mattress—it squeaks like a squeaky wheel, and when it thunks a level lower both of you yelp, the back of the futon thumping on your hardwood floor with each thrust.

“Told ya,” Izuku wheezes, eyes scrunching in a chuckle. You return it.

“It—It’s old anyway,” you reply, but your eyebrows fold as quickly as they unfold from the crash. The creaking futon increases in pitch as his hips pick up the pace, “Fuck—fuck Izuku I’m gonna cum.”

“What’s my name?” The greenette challenges, and you find yourself shivering at the dominance he exudes. The finger on your clit disappears and you whine, knowing damn well you can’t cum without it.

“Daddy—Daddy please—“

“Good—fuck, so good for me,” his hand returns to your clit and you sigh at the feeling. As the coil in your gut threatens to snap, his hips speed up, and Izuku pants, “We’re gonna cum together, yeah? Cum with me Mommy, c’mon—“

“Fuck!” You drag red lines down Izuku’s back as you quake under the weight of your orgasm, broken bed whining as Izuku thrusts all his weight into you. Digging his teeth into your shoulder, the greenette cums with a broken moan, hips stuttering into yours for the final time that night.

The room fills with a comfortable silence, minus the panting, and Izuku rolls onto the mattress next to you with a bounce. It creaks, whines, and then drops again, catching both you and the greenette by surprise. (Again.)

“I think—I think we broke it,” Izuku says towards the ceiling as he catches his breath. You giggle at that, hands laid across your sweaty stomach, and turn to him with your head in the pillow.

“Gives me an excuse to buy a new one,” you say with a shrug. Izuku chuckles back.

“I guess,” he teeters his head to both sides. “I can...also pitch in, if you want. Since I broke the thing. Technically.”

His offer sounds apprehensive as if he’s encroaching in your space, as if he hasn’t been all up in your space less than a minute ago. You smile. “I’d like that a lot, actually. Thanks.”

"And um, breakfast? I mean," he snorts, though it seems rather defensive, and his eyes rocket to the ticking clock on your wall. Your eyes follow: five am. "I mean—fuck um, I feel like this might be weird but I think you're cool? Um, yeah, so breakfast, I can make it if you want because you're so busy being motherly and stuff and plus, it's Sunday but again, if you don't wan—"

"Izuku," you giggle, wrapping your arms around his gut with a little squeeze. "Breakfast sounds nice."

The greenette beams and his chest stutters. "O-Okay cool! Cool, cool. Breakfast then?"

You snort, driving your palm into his face to shut him the fuck up. "Goodnight, Izuku."

Izuku giggles, getting the message, and coils his arms around your shoulders to provide a comfort you haven't felt in a very, very long time.

"G'night Mommy."

[ponyam]

Heyyyyyy! I can’t express how much I love your writing honestly and I really want to request something if your still taking them. Could you do a Zhongli x reader? Zhongli takes reader on a date to propose to them and could you include the wedding too if that’s too much to ask? I would really appreciate it :)❤️❤️

thank you so much! and sorry this took so long omg

devout

zhongli x reader [gender neutral]

synopsis: zhongli takes you on a proposal-date and sweeps you of ur mfkn feet <3

cw: slightly suggestive towards the end, mentions of a [food] coma, i'm a sap

The light of the morning sun shone brightly, yet the air was brisk as it nipped at your cheeks. The crisp smell of sea air wafted in from the docks, while the rhythmic chime of ship’s bells echoed off the walls of buildings, indicating that sailors had risen to greet the day and the unruly tide that awaited them.

Your hand was pocketed with his, keeping your grip warm and secure as you walked closely together through the awakening streets of Liyue. At the brink of dawn, your lover began persistently nudging you awake, peppering your face in sweet kisses while promising you with an even sweeter meal as a form of bargain. How lucky he was that it appeared to have worked.

Mornings like this weren’t totally uncommon with Zhongli, however this seemingly newfound fervor for planning a whole day trip like this was a little out of the ordinary. When you asked him what the occasion was— out of slight concern that you might’ve forgotten it— he denied that there ever was one; he simply wanted to express his “love and adoration through a little quality time together.”

Before you could press any further, something had caught your lover’s attention, as you were suddenly being ushered in another direction. He escorted you to sit at one of the tables at the Wanmin Restaurant and, once you were settled, excused himself to order food, planting a quick peck to your cheek in the process. Looking around you noticed that the area wasn’t too crowded at this time of day; there was a certain peacefulness that had settled over the atmosphere that contrasted heavily with the normally bustling streets of the harbor. Perhaps that was what he intended by waking you up so damn early.

Breakfast was delicious, as promised. It also served to ease some of the bitterness you felt towards being jostled awake at the crack of dawn. Zhongli didn’t hold back, either. Anything and everything that you might like was placed on the table in front of you, and you weren’t sure how he was able to afford it, nor if you’d manage to finish it all without going into a coma.

On top of all that, your lover seemed to have brought his own food from home, though it was neatly wrapped and sat underneath the small table. Again, when you asked him about it— not having ever recalled him making it— his reply was as vague as ever; “oh it’s just a little something for later.”

After boxing all the leftovers from the meal that Chef Mao so kindly put together despite the large request, Zhongli offered to take you to visit Dihua Marsh to show you a few of his favorite sights, and maybe even enlighten you with some of the history as well.

There was something so enchanting about the way he spoke; his deep, honeyed voice coating over his words as he recounted tales of his many years of living. He exuded the calm and sophisticated aura of a scholar, which he practically was whether or not he chose to admit it, yet his occasional naivety and silliness were equally charming qualities of his.

You failed to realize how quickly you were drowning in his presence until he directed a question at you, which you had to embarrassingly ask him to repeat. Fortunately, Zhongli wasn’t irritated that you hadn’t been paying attention, in fact he found the dumbfounded expression you wore to be quite endearing.

“I said,” he began as he reached out, gently lifting your chin with his thumb and forefinger while tucking a few stray hairs and a glaze lily that he must’ve picked earlier, gently behind your ear.

He then leaned in, arms snaking around and pulling you towards him by the waist as his breath danced along the side of your neck, lips ghosting over your skin.

“...would you allow me to take you to see a few ruins with me? There is still so much that I wish to show you…”

A sudden tingle shot down your spine as Zhongli’s lips moved to decorate your neck in soft, delicate kisses that seemed to leave a burning imprint in their wake, leaving you slightly flushed. It was truly astonishing how easily he could leave you breathless, even with such little strenuous activity. His affectionate demeanor was slightly peculiar, too, but you were hardly in the position to complain about it.

“Then show me,” you replied, managing to tame the swarm of butterflies that had almost completely consumed you.

Letting out a deep chuckle, Zhongli withdrew his kisses while his hand moved to cup your cheek. He hummed in satisfaction, admiring you with his glowing amber gaze for a moment before speaking.

“Gladly.”

That afternoon was spent with Zhongli as your tour guide as you traversed the various decaying stone structures throughout the Guili Plains, Luhua Pool, and finally, Jueyun Karst, where Zhongli recalled some of his early memories of the adepti with a fond smile adorning his face. You quickly discovered him to be quite the archaeological expert, not that you ever doubted it of course, but he seemed to have quite the knack for uncovering intricate little mechanisms that had been hidden away and preserved in stone over the course of the last few millennia.

He was also very adamant about showing you many of Liyue’s great sights, and was not afraid to express this by taking you to every available vantage point, regardless of how far or out-of-reach it seemed. Even if you claimed to be exhausted, Zhongli would simply carry you the rest of the way because you were going to see this view. And what a view it was. From up high it was easy to take in almost the entirety of Liyue in all of its golden splendor, which was the original intention in bringing you here. This was something that he spent years constructing and cultivating, something he took great pride in and fought hard to protect. It was his world, and you were his crowned jewel.

As the sun was beginning to set, Zhongli escorted you back to the harbor before excusing himself to quickly go and “check something,” sending you off once again with a sweet kiss, and asking you to meet him at the peak of Mt. Tianheng in about twenty or so minutes. You smiled to yourself as you waved goodbye, curious as to what he had in mind and slightly amused by his frantic behavior. You thought back to your earlier denied inquiries regarding what was so special about today.

Perhaps now you would get some answers.

When you arrived at the rendezvous point, well, least to say you were taken aback. Laid out before you was a spread of a variety of your favorite foods, including desserts and a tea set, accompanied by an array of flickering candles that illuminated the small picnic blanket as well as the single glaze lily that grew nearby. Just past it stood the man that you had fallen in love with, his back turned as he watched the sun sink beneath the clouds.

“What’s all this?”

Immediately you caught his attention.

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” he said, turning slightly to face you. “Come here. I have something I’ve been meaning to show you.”

He extended his hand out towards you, a gesture for you to stand beside him. You approached him hesitantly in an attempt to not disturb the lovely display he had assembled for you, while letting his arm gently drape itself across your shoulders.

Your breath caught in your throat. By the Archons, the view was stunning. Sure, you had been sight-seeing all day and this could hardly be any different from the last dozen places you trekked to watch the skyline, but there was something about the way in which the glowing aura of the evening sky reflected off of Liyue and the twinkling sea of its harbor that left you in completely awestruck.

Had you not been quite as transfixed as you were in that moment, perhaps you would’ve caught sight of the distant, far-away look in your lover's eyes. Maybe you would have noticed the way he was fidgeting slightly, or the way his eyes were no longer trained on the view, but on something far more radiant.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, snapping him out of his trance.

Zhongli smiled, enjoying watching the awe and wonder twinkle in your irises.

“Indeed it is.”

You felt his arm lift away from your shoulders.

“But I think I have found something far more precious.”

You felt his hand slip into yours.

“Oh really? And what’s tha—”

When you turned, Zhongli, Rex Lapis, the former Geo Archon, was kneeling before you, regarding you with such an adoring gaze as if you were the deity to be revered, answering your question without needing to utter a single syllable: ‘You’

“(Y/N),” he began, giving your hands a light squeeze. “There is much I’ve been meaning to say to you, but I fear that I have such little time,” he sighed. “When I first gave up my gnosis, I found myself wandering aimlessly, unsure of my place in this world now that I was no longer Rex Lapis. I am now just a mortal man, with no duty to my people. It was a… foreign concept to me, at first. I wasn’t sure how to lead a carefree life, with a clear and resolute heart, until I met you.

“I never anticipated to meet someone quite like yourself, nor did I intend to fall in love as deeply as I have, but I hold no regrets. You have shown me true happiness, and for that I must thank you.”

Zhongli pressed a kiss to your knuckles as you felt your eyes begin to well up with tears.

“Each day spent with you is as valuable as gold to me. Our time together is boundless. I knew not my place in this world before, but I now realize that it has always been right here with you.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“(Y/N), my love, I cannot imagine a world without you in it, and I wish to form a new contract with you from here on out, so please…”

Reaching into his pocket, Zhongli produced a small, black box. Inside was a beautiful jade ring, crested and adorned with gold.

“...will you marry me?”

—

It was a warm summer’s night, and the moon rose full, its light ricocheting off of crystalline streams of water as they cascaded down the high cliffs which surrounded you. The air was humid, but somehow the combination of mist and the gentle night’s breeze made each inhale feel more rejuvenating than the last.

Fireflies were out tonight. They were dancing about you and your fiancé as you stood together side by side adorned in matching hanfu, rapidly beating hearts synchronizing to the same rhythm. It was a relatively quiet ceremony. There weren’t too many guests, and the venue was fairly secluded, making the process feel much more intimate.

After lighting the altar candles and paying respects, a tea ceremony was held, followed by the exchanging of vows. A few adepti were present, as well as some close friends and family members. Seldom did you release each other’s hand, regardless of what you were doing or who was looking. It provided a sense of security for the both of you, a silent reminder to one another that ‘yes, I’m still here, and yes, this is real.’

Although Zhongli is known for being a very composed gentleman, he still found it difficult to restrain himself from sweeping you off your feet and twirling you around while kissing you all over; he was overjoyed, though he was not the easiest person to read.

Instead of performing such an extravagant display of affection, Zhongli opted for a single, chaste kiss once you completed in saying your vows. It was extremely tempting to turn that one kiss into many, much more passionate kisses, but Zhongli was still quite aware of his audience, giving him reason to hold back.

After the wedding reception was held and you had just sent off the very last guest, your husband pulled you aside, albeit a little harsher than intended. You let out a small yelp as you collided with him, surprised by his sudden brazenness.

“You look divine,” he spoke softly, admiring you as you were bathed in moonlight.

A hand then moved to brush some of the hair away from your face, while his other remained gently clasped with yours. Soft lips moved to caress your forehead, and then your temples.

“I have been waiting for this moment for a long time,” he continued.

His lips then moved to your cheek, then jaw, lingering there for a moment while his hand cradled your face.

“Longer than you can imagine,” his voice was deep, sultry, and right in your ear.

He moved to repeat the same process on the other side of your face.

“So forgive me if I’m a little selfish tonight.”

He kissed the tip of your nose before moving his lips to hover over yours, warm breath mingling with your own.

“I must make up for the lost time, after all.”

Zhongli sealed his promise with a kiss that was deep and devouring, conveying all the emotions he had ever felt for you as well as one last, simple message:

'I am utterly and wholly devoted to you.'

[padme-parker]

Mizpah // the darkling x f!reader // ch 3

summary: After finally meeting the darkling, the two of you have a one on one conversation. It seems like Mal and Alina also have one. An offer is made to you, one that you could simply not deny

A/N: Please read this before continuing-- From here on, the rest of the fic will most likely be following the book series instead of the show. However there will be some aspects of the show woven in! Also I know the beginning of this chapter doesn’t line up with what happened in ch 2 but its whatever. for the sake of the story, the timeline is going to be dragged out for as long as possible <3 

I also made a playlist, give it a look :))

As Mal walks with the guard towards the room the General had directed for him to wait in, he hears his name being called out. His heart pounds at the sound of Alina’s familiar voice. He turned around, her face being split by a giant smile. Alina runs toward him, engulfing him in a hug, her arms around his neck.

“What’re you doing here?” She asked

“Hell if I know.” Mal said with a weariness that Alina hadn’t expected. “I had a report to make to your master.”

“My what?” There was confusion on her face before a grin took its place. “You and y/n were the ones who found Morozova’s herd. I should’ve known, the two best trackers in all of Ravka.” Alina knew something was off. Mal couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes, where had all the excitement he had felt earlier gone?

“I should go.”

“What do you mean? You just got here.” The sun summoner could feel something topple over in her, all of the anger and embarrassment that she had built up. All the letters she had sent, but never gotten a reply to. All the times she had hoped Mal would come and find her, yet when he finally did, he was just going to leave again. “You know what, sorry. I didn’t realize I was wasting your time.” She sneered, the love in her eyes now replaced with animosity.

“I didn’t say that.” He argued.

“No, no, I understand. You can’t be bothered to answer my letters. Why would you want to stand here talking to me, while y/n is waiting saints knows where.” Mal’s mood shifted into one of confusion.

“I didn’t get any letters.” He whispered.

“Yeah right.” She replied angrily. Mal sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“We have to move constantly to track the herd. My unit is barely in contact with the regiment anymore.” Mal was tired of arguing with Alina. He had come to see one of his bestest friends, he didn’t expect for it to end like this.

Alina hesitates for a second to look at Mal, noticing how much he has changed since she was taken from the Darklings tent. He was no longer the Mal she knew, something had happened to him since the months she had been gone. His eyes were colder, his posture was one of somebody who was always on alert.

“You didn’t get any of my letters?” She uttered, feeling the ends of her heart fraying. He shook his head, she could tell his mind was elsewhere now, a distant look in his expression.

“Mal, I..” She hesitated. “Can’t you stay a little while longer?” She pleaded. She hated the fact that she had to do so just to spend time with him. “You can’t imagine what it’s been like here.” He lets out a laugh, one riddled with sarcasm.

“I don’t need to imagine. I saw your little demonstration in the ballroom. Very impressive.” He sneered.

“You saw me?”

“Yes, both y/n and I got a glimpse of you.” He paused, trying to search for the right words. “Do you know how worried I’ve been about you? How worried we were? Y/n was stationed near the southern borders and when she came looking for us she was so worried. She didn’t know what happened to you and neither did I. I couldn’t tell her the truth because I had no what they’d done to you! We had no way to reach you. Did you know that there were rumors that you were being tortured?” The words left his mouth in a quivering mess. “When we had heard of the opportunity to see you once more, we took it. We did it for you, Alina.”

“Really?” She tried to believe Mal, why would he come looking for her when he could be with anyone else. After all of these years, she had become so used to his indifference.

“Yes.” He hissed. “And here you are, safe and sound. Dancing and flirting like some cosseted little princess-”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” She snapped. “I’m sure the Darkling can arrange for a rack or some hot coals if that would make you feel better” Mal scowled and stepped away from her. She couldn’t believe that they were fighting. Alina lays her hand on one of his arms and feels it tense below her, yet he doesn’t pull away.

“Mal, I can’t help the way things are here. I didn’t ask for any of this!” He looks at her and then looks away, some of the tension leaving his body.

“I know you didn’t.” The weariness in his voice came back, making Alina remove her hand from his arm. “What happened to you Mal?” She whispered. Mal chose to say nothing, staring into the darkness of the hall. She lays her hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble on her palm. She turns his face until his eyes meet hers.

“I can’t…” She lets her fingertips wander to the scar on his jaw.

“Genya can fix this, she can..” She knows she said the wrong thing when Mal takes a step back.

“I don’t need fixing” He snapped. Snatching Alina’s hand from where it had just been seconds before.

“I didn’t mean..”

“Are you happy here, Alina?” The question took her by surprise.

“I don’t know… sometimes…”

“Are you happy here? With him?” Alina didn’t have to ask who Mal meant. She didn’t know what to say.

“You're wearing his symbol. His colors.” He observed, his eyes glancing at the gold charm hanging on her neck.

“They’re just clothes.” She tried to convince him, quite possibly herself too.

“You and I both know that they’re more than just clothes.”

“What difference does it make what I wear?”

“The clothes, the jewels.” He spat. “Even the way you look. He’s all over you!” The words hit her like a slap. She takes her hand from his tight embrace and crosses it over her chest.

“It’s not like that.” She said, avoiding his gaze. Mal could see right through her, he could see the flush that had started to form when he had mentioned the Darkling.

“I saw how he looked at you Alina!”

“I like how he looks at me!” She shouted, a malicious smile forming on Mal’s face.

“Just admit it,” He sneered. “He owns you.”

“He owns you too, Mal.” She bit back. “He owns us all.” The smile falling from his face.

“No, he doesn’t.” He said fiercely. “Not me. Not y/n. Not ever.”

“Oh really? Don’t you have someplace to be? Don’t you have orders to follow?” Mal stands up straight, his face cold and devoid of any emotions.

“Yes, I did. My orders were to wait for you to be taken to me. But I think I found what I’ve been looking for.” He turned sharply and walked out, leaving Alina to her thoughts. She finally lets the tears fall down her cheeks, her body coursing with anger and heartbreak. For months she had dreamt of the day where she would be able to see Mal again. She had spent her whole lifetime chasing after him, but she knew now it was time to let him go.

-

THE DARKLING walks closer to you, while you stay propped up next to the door. You fidget with your hair, moving it to one side as he inches closer and closer until he is a few feet away from you. You anticipated his next moves, he brings his hand to you neck and strokes it.

“Your bleeding.” It seems like Genya had nicked you after all. “Here, let me.” He offered, taking a cloth from his pocket and gently wiping the small amount of blood away. His other hand resting at the nape of your neck for stability. You watched his eyes as he concentrated on his actions. You prayed to the saints that he couldn’t hear the incredibly fast pace your heart was beating at.

“So, what did you need to speak to me about.” You questioned. Deeming his work satisfactory, he takes a step back. Tucking the bloodied cloth back into his kefta.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asked.

“What?” Some of the excitement inside of you had deflated.

“It must’ve been a long ride from Kribirsk, I’m sure you're starving.” He calls out for one of the oprichniki outside of his doors and orders them to bring dinner for the two of us.

“I appreciate the gesture, sir. But surely that’s not why you wanted me to stay behind.”

“No, you’re right. Take a seat.” He points to a smaller table, one that hadn’t been occupied by maps and war strategies. It was a rectangular table, both seats facing the window that had shown the view of the lake. You walked towards the table and took a seat. The moonlight glimmered off of the lake, making you smile. He places a lantern in the middle of the table, assuring that you were not going to eat in the dark. In one swift motion, he sits right next to you, his body angled towards yours. “How do you know Alina?”

“We grew up together.” He looked at you, pressing for more details. “In an orphanage in Keramzin.” You were interrupted by a knock, the food had finally arrived. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until the smell of roasted lamb had made your mouth water. “Is that roasted lamb? It’s my favorite!” The Darkling shot you a smile, motioning for you to dig in.

“I was alone until Alina and Mal had come in.” You said between bites. “I never knew my parents. Ana Kuya said I had just turned up one day on the doorsteps, wrapped in nothing but a blanket. I used to get bullied, but when they showed up, they started picking on Mal too. Alina, being the great person she is, defended us both.” A smile made its way onto your lips as you reminisced about your youth. “From then, the three of us were like peas in a pod. We were never seen without each other. That was until we joined the First Army. Alina and Mal had been stationed near Kribirsk while I was down south in Caryeva. We rarely got to see each other.” The Darkling watched as you shoveled the food into your mouth. His hands clasped together, resting on his lap as he listened intently.

“Are you not going to eat?” You pointed the knife in your hand at his plate.

“No, it’s for you.” He replied, pushing the plate closer to you. You squinted your eyes, bewildered by the movement.

“What do you want from me?” The words had left your mouth before you could think, “Sorry, I..” Truly, what would the darkling want from someone like me? Someone who wasn’t like him. You thought to yourself.

“Stay. I want you to stay at the palace.” He announced, his request shocking you to the core. “..Alina needs a friend here, someone she knows and is familiar with. Someone she is comfortable around.”

“What about Mal?” You set down the fork and knife, forgetting about the food.

“He is welcome to stay too.” A quiet and hesitant knock is heard after he finishes speaking. He calls out for the person, allowing them to enter. “Ah, Alina. We were just talking about you.” He motions for her to come to the table.

She gingerly walks over to you, her arms crossed over her chest. “What about me?” She asked.

“I’ve invited our friend here, y/n, to stay at the palace. Your friend, Mal, may stay too.”

“He won’t be staying here.” She sniffled, a sarcastic laugh leaving her lips.

“What? Why?” You inquired.

“He left.” She explained. You knew she was leaving out some details. Just mere hours ago, Mal had been ecstatic to see her again. Yet now he was gone? Something wasn’t adding up. You’d pester her later about it when you weren’t in the presence of the Darkling.

“My offer to you still stands, y/n. You may stay, granted that you take residence in this hall.” Alina tried to hide her shock, no one had ever stayed in the Darkling’s hall. He had it all to himself. She didn’t even know there were other rooms near his. “If you are to stay here at the Little Palace as a guest, then I’ll need to be able to keep an eye on you just in case something happens.”

You give yourself some time to decide. You had duties to attend to, you and Mal had to track the stag. However, given that the two of you had pinpointed it’s location, there wasn’t much left to do. What the Darkling was offering you had been everything you’d dreamt of. If you stayed you wouldn’t have to wait days just to bathe. You wouldn’t have to starve anymore.

“How long would I stay?”

“For as long as Alina likes.” He said. You turned to Alina, asking if this had been the right choice for you. She gives you an eager nod.

“Fine. I’ll stay for Alina.” You look at her again, taking note of the color of her kefta. She was wearing his colors, which could possibly mean one thing. “Are you two together?” Alina’s eyes widen with humility while the Darkling lets out a brief laugh.

“Sorry for her behaviour. She just doesn’t know how to shut her trap.” She moved from where she was leaning against the table and pinched your arm. Her playful glare made you giggle. She opens her mouth to talk again.

“No, we aren’t.” The Darkling answered for her. He noticed the frown on her face, sending her a tight lipped smile, signalling that they would talk later. “You must be tired. Let me show you to your quarters. Alina, stay here.” He motioned for you to follow. Alina watched as the two of you left the war room, a sigh leaving her lips.

You followed him for a few paces before he stopped in front of a door. “Your room is right across from mine if you ever need anything. However I think everything you need is already there.” He replied. You waited around, wondering what was to happen next. He nodded his head towards the door, allowing you to enter. The room had been dark, no lanterns had been lit up due to the room being unoccupied. The Darkling called for an inferni. One came over quickly, lighting up the candles and lanterns as quickly as she could. The room was quite similar to Alina’s, the only difference being that most of the furniture had his symbol engraved on it. Had this room once belonged to his lover? You were too afraid to ask, not wanting to overstep your boundaries. “I’ll be back in the morning to give you a proper tour of the palace. Until then, get some rest.” Without bidding you goodbye, the Darkling left to go speak with Alina.

Without wasting a second, you ran towards the tub, drawing yourself a warm bath. It had been so long since you had been able to bathe by yourself. You’d gotten used to bathing with the other female soldiers that you had forgotten had relaxing it could be. You wash all the accumulated dirt and grime from your body along with your hair. Feeling the water begin to grow cold, you reach for a robe before heading towards the dresser.

It’s contents were luxurious. Many gorgeous dresses, all varying lengths. Countless nightgowns embroidered with flower designs. At the very end of the dresser was a kefta. No ordinary one, it was gold with black detailing. It seemed to stop mid knee. You wanted to reach out to it, to feel it underneath your fingertips but decided not to. Maybe another day. Instead you reached out for a nightgown and slipped it on. To your surprise it fit perfectly, almost too perfectly. Deciding not to dwell on it for much longer, you blow out the candles, leaving the lanterns alight and slip under the heavy covers of the bed. The fatigue from the journey finally caught up with you, and you found yourself sleeping within the minute.

-

“I won’t let you take them!” A voice that sounded like yours shouted. What were you talking about? Who were you talking about?

“You have no say in this matter.” You couldn’t tell who was talking and it frustrated you, it felt like their name was on the tip of your tongue.

“There’s always a choice.” Before you knew it someone had pressed a cold blade against your throat, gasping emerging from the people around you.

“No! Don’t do it.” Someone pleaded just as another shouted your name.

“I won’t be your pawn, not anymore.” You said, the next thing you felt was the warmth of your own blood dripping on you. You stumbled back, your hands going to the laceration on your neck. You gasped and whimpered in pain as you felt more blood leave you. In the background you could hear someone screaming, another one sobbing whilst saying your name.

-

You woke up screaming, your hands going to your neck as you stumbled out of bed, falling onto the floor. The door to your room flew open and in came the Darkling along with the oprichniki. Some had their pistols drawn, ready to shoot, while others held their arms up. The Darkling and his guards ran about your room, looking for an intruder to find none. Noticing the state you were in, he ordered the guards to leave.

He crouched down to you, reaching out his hand to touch you before pulling back. “Are you alright?” Your gaze met his, you observed the sun's rays coming through your windows, lighting him up like an angel. His eyes held concern as you hesitated to answer him.

“I’m not sure..” For the first time in your life, you were terrified. You shed a few tears as you looked at him, your shaking hands still around your neck. He hovers his hand over yours, stopping just before they made contact. He was asking for permission to touch you. With a nod, he gently placed his hands atop of yours before removing them. The birthmark on your neck was now raw and red, as if you had been violently scratching it.

Your dream had left you in shambles as one thought ran wildly through your mind, was my birthmark a warning of what was to come?

-

tags: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester @runawayolives @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae @batgal96 @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer @kaqua @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa @marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess @comphersjost @telepathdestiel​ @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9​ @s-corpionem​ @pancakeisreading @sanna2020 @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter​ @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard​ @thereeallink @ladyblablabla​ @wolfieellsworld​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​ @louweasleymalfoy

I tagged everyone I could </3

Also not proofread so sorry for any mistakes lmao

[alrightberries]

our sorry little hearts

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x fem!reader

❈ genre: angst. ❈ word count: 1.6k

❈ summary: Levi hasn’t seen your traitorous Eldian face in years.

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. war. mentions of blood, death, and violence.

a/n: you’ve heard of enemies to lovers, now get ready for... lovers to enemies. this takes place during the liberio invasion aka S4 E6. based on a love like war by all time low.

(also don’t tell anyone but this is me lowkey warming up after not writing for so long)

There’s something oddly nostalgic about seeing you again on the battlefield.

Levi recognizes your usual battle stance; feet a shoulder’s width apart and hands tightly clutching the handles of your sheathed blades. You’re wearing the scouting regiment’s outdated white uniform, green cape hiding the leather straps your missing brown jacket usually would. He’s not surprised you’re not wearing your wings of freedom jacket, though; he was, after all, the one who sliced it in half during your escape with Zeke on the Cart Titan’s back. He hasn’t seen it, but he’s positive that a long scar runs down the length of your spine.

“Levi,” he hears you murmur, and he pretends that his heart doesn’t ache after hearing his name slip from your lips for the first time in four years. “I—... Levi,”

He feels his chest tighten. You still look as beautiful as he remembers you to be, and the fact that you still take his breath away is something he hates. It’s been a long while since he last stood on a battlefield with you. Only this time, there were no trees to swing from or titans to kill; no reassuring squeezes on the shoulder or cheeky kisses when no one was looking; no small smiles or stolen glances across the field as your horses galloped through Titan Country. No— this time, you wore different colors and fought on opposing sides.

“Levi, talk to me,” your tone is airy, said in what seemed to be a mixture of built up anticipation and disbelief. But there was something in your voice— something he couldn’t quite place. Was it relief? Longing, perhaps? Maybe even regret. But Levi pushes those thoughts aside in favor of gritting his teeth and giving his traitorous wife a stone cold stare. “Levi, talk to me, please.”

He refuses to reply. His hands are shaking from how hard he was gripping the handles of his blades, and he swears his heart was going to burst out of his untrimmed chest from how loudly it beat at his ribcage. There are about a million and one emotions swirling around his head— betrayal. anger. sadness. melancholy.

And he doesn’t know which one takes over him when he charges at you full speed.

There’s a grunt followed by the sound of metal clashing against metal, and Levi’s not surprised to see that your reflexes are still as sharp as they were before. His own cape whips in the wind when he turns to land another strike. But then he hears sound of your hooks digging into bricks, and he’s quick to take your little fight to the air in pursuit of you.

He knows he has to be at the plaza to save Eren’s ass but he also knows that he had at least seven minutes before he had to go. He’ll make this quick.

“Levi,” he hears you call out. You’ve led him further away from the plaza— maybe intentionally or unintentionally, he doesn’t know— and he’s only now realizing that you both stood on the side of a building, the hooks on your gears the only thing keeping you up. “My love—-”

“—don’t call me that,” his heart twitches and he sneers. It’s the first thing he’s said to you in years and god did you miss his voice, miss him in general. “Don’t you fucking dare call me that,”

“Levi,” you breathe, but the deep growl that escapes his lips is enough for your words to die in your throat.

“Stop,” he says. “You’ve lost the right to speak my name; you’ve lost the right to wear that cape,” his eyes land on the silver chain you wore around your neck, a gold ring hanging in the middle. It matched the one he had back home, the one he secretly held at night and kissed sorrowfully when he felt like breaking down. His voice is quieter, almost pained as he speaks, “you’ve lost the right to wear that ring. You’ve lost the right to even look me in the eye after what you’ve done.”

His words sting and your throat tightens when you once again remember the look of pure and utter betrayal in his eyes when you confessed you were a spy on behalf of the Marleyan government. The way he froze, hoping you were lying; yet the tears running down your cheeks and the apologies that slipped from your lips as you got down on your knees and begged him for forgiveness left no room for contest.

“Levi, we don’t have to fight, please just hear me out. I’m still the wife you loved—-“

“No,” he cuts you off. “My wife is gone. She died in the battle for Shiganshina.” your lip quivers, and he continues to speak. “You? You’re an enemy. You’re as good as dead to me.”

Your words once again die on your tongue when he charges at you, and you just barely manage to leap away. The edge of his blade scrapes against your thigh, and blood paints your trousers red when your feet land on the cobblestone streets.

Every attempt you make after, any attempts at conversation is silenced with a swift swing of Levi’s blades, almost as if he were seeking catharsis through violence.

You grit your teeth. “You’re never going to listen to me, are you?”

His silence and steely glare is all the answer you need, and you sigh. Your stance shifts, and the grip on your blades changes; you were finally taking an offensive stance, Levi notices. Blocking his blows wouldn’t be enough— you couldn’t reason with him no matter how hard you tried, and you couldn’t win with just defense. You had to outsmart him; you had to win. You had to.

“I’m sorry, levi, but losing isn’t an option for me. Not this time,” you murmur.

You didn’t want to fight him, he could see it in your eyes. But you were fighting for something, for someone more important than him. Your eyes— the first things he fell in love with, the ones that were usually fiery and full of life— are soulless, almost solemn when he sees you run at him full speed, and Levi pushes down the hurt he felt at the thought of you loving another as he charges at you too.

A tear silently falls down your cheek. You loved levi, but you loved him more. You were fighting for him, and he was waiting for you back at home.

There’s a grey little building in the Liberio Intermittent Zone, somewhere between the gates and the plaza. The gunshots and explosions just barely reach the drab building, and the smoke rising into the air is the only thing visible to the naked eye of the chaos unfolding at the plaza.

A Marleyan soldier, donned in white and war medals, stands in front of an open window. She’s got binoculars in her hands, and she peeks through the eye piece to watch as two figures fight. Their capes create shadows of black where they flutter, and their silver blades gleam in the moonlight.

She smirks. Your negotiation failed, just like she said it would, and now you had no choice but to fight to the death.

Good, she thinks, that Eldian scum’s doing her end of the bargain.

She leans back and a satisfied hum leaves her lips. She turns to look at the little boy, no more than four years old, sat on the bed. The red Eldian arm band clasped around his arm brings a grimace to the soldier’s face. She can’t believe she got stuck with babysitting some lowlife scum.

“Is mommy doing well?” he asks timidly. He doesn’t even know that you were out there about to murder a man, but the kid was smart; he at least knew your job carried a heavy weight.

“For now,” she replies. The boy’s jet black hair bounces slightly as he nods, and his slanted eyes are downcast, staring at the floor. His silvery grey orbs dare not make contact with hers.

The boy looked almost nothing like you— if anything, she was sure he looked to be the spitting image of his unknown father. Strong genes, the father must’ve had.

She finds amusement in how tense the boy was around her; at least his whore of a mother had the decency to teach the kid his place in the world. He was worse than an Eldian, the lowest of the low— he was half Paradis demon. He should’ve never been born. They should’ve beaten you to death along with your unborn child like she’d suggested when you came back from Paradis knocked up.

“You can kill me, but spare my baby, please.” she remembers you begging. “I didn’t even know i was pregnant. Not even the father knows.”

Still, maybe it was a good choice to keep both you and the demon child alive. As much as she hated to admit it, you were a skilled soldier— one of the best they’ve ever had. Threatening your life meant nothing to you, but threatening your child’s? All they had to do was suggest it, and you’d follow their commands like an obedient dog chasing after a dangling treat.

“When’s mommy going to come home?” the boy suddenly asks.

“Soon,” she replies, eyes once again gazing through her binoculars. “If your mother does her job well, she’ll be back soon.” There’s a telephone beside the soldier, ready to make the call should you ever stop fighting. A sniper awaits her signal.

“If she doesn’t... well,” she laughs. The door to the small room you called home is locked, and the loaded gun hidden in the soldier’s pocket is a weight she’s familiar with. “Do you believe in god?”

“No,” the boy shakes his head. “Who’s that?”

“Tell you what, kid. if your mother fucks this up, i’ll personally see to it that you meet him soon enough.”

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[hansolmates]

one more time (m)

pairing; (former) popular!jk x (former) normie!reader summary; it’s been two years since you’ve seen your former tryst jeon jungkook. you didn’t expect him to be applying for the internship you’re currently running, along with the rate your heart is running at the sight of him in a black suit. genre/warnings; self-deprecating language, your typical (future) co-workers!au, jungkook is a piner and so is oc, a lil bit of sneaking around, adulting, a mutual understanding of feelings (finally!!) smut in the form of—soft n’ dirty baybee, unprotected, cockwarming, overstimulation, minor praise and possession kink, cumplay, &you know that they gon have heart eyes the entire time w.c; 7.3k a/n; darn why am i so... emotional over this??? it started out as a meaningless drabble series but with all my lovely readers and moots it’s grown into such a fun, introspective series. thank u for loving this and joining me on this journey. for those of u who are new to this series feel free to read popular-ish first or as a standalone! [popular-ish masterlist]

if you’ve enjoyed this (whether as a standalone or as a series) please consider giving it a like and a share✨✨✨✨✨

“A mess, I’m a mess,” you sing-song to yourself, organizing the manuals on the clear glass by subject and size. The applications of all your new interns are alphabetized, not a form out of place. Everything’s perfect. “Alright Jessica, all twenty of the interns are accounted for.” 

“Actually, there’s twenty-three,” Jessica quips, and you let your shoulders slump. Being part of the recruiting team of your company has been simultaneously exciting and stressful. Stressful because of the constant travel, but otherwise exciting because you loved your internship at your current company. You remember how nervous you were two years ago, and how much support and help you got from your recruiters. Applying to this team was a natural turn of events. 

“A-are you sure, Jess?” you look through all the applications, count the amount of nametags, triple check the chairs. You’re sweating through your blazer, wondering where you went wrong. 

The head of your recruiting team glues one hand to her hip, while the other hand is holding her iPad, scrolling with her thumb. You swallow, intimidated by Jessica’s golden wavy locks and her black-trimmed white Chanel pantsuit. 

“Yep, but don’t be too hard on yourself. I just added three more recruits last night. I’ll get the chairs and the apps are being printed. No worries,” Jessica assures, gesturing for you to hurry up and get outside, “Call the babies in!” your team leader waves her finger around like a magic wand, commanding you to the front lines. 

Krystal puts a hand on her shoulder, as always looking impeccable. She has virtually nothing to worry about. She’s a woman who has connections, courtesy of her team leader. “Let’s go, newbie,” she teases, pulling you through the door. 

The recruits in the lobby are wide-eyed and vibrant, and you feel a little nostalgic as you watch them line up in front of you and Krystal as you sign them in. You would dwell on the feeling more if it wasn’t for your exhaustion, so you decide you’ll get a chance to take a road down memory lane when you get to the hotel. 

“Name?” 

“Xu Minghao.” 

“Congrats Minghao, here’s your nametag and I’ll see you inside,” with a firm handshake, one recruiter is free to go. 

“Name?” 

“Chou Tzuyu.” 

“Congrats Tzuyu, here’s your name tag and I’ll see you inside,” she doesn’t go in straight away, and moves to the side of the door. “Actually,” you pause mid-handshake with another recruit, staring at the woman in curiosity, “my boyfriend just got a call last night that he was accepted in this year’s batch. Do you have his name?” 

“Yes, three more recruits were added,” you chirp, as if you totally did not hear that bit of information five minutes ago, “What’s his name—Jungkook?” 

The both of you blink at each other. One hand on Tzuyu’s shoulder, eyes wide and mirroring yours. Your heart falls straight to your stomach, wanting to be eaten by acids and bacteria so you can stop any possibility of feeling any lingering affection for the boy you fooled around with in undergrad. Everything about him screams professional. He’s clean cut, a pinstripe black suit you never thought he’d own, and his hair is neatly trimmed and pulled behind his ears. His shoulders look tall and broad under the slight padding, his biceps comfortably stretching against the dark fabric. The golden complexion remains the same however, from the honest brown eyes to the coral pink lips that would always smile at you. 

“Oh, so you do have his name!” Tzuyu clasps her hands together, delighted. He has a girlfriend, too. It’s then you realize you’ll be stuck with not just him, but her for the week. “You guys are so efficient. C’mon Kookie, let’s find some seats!” 

“I still gotta get my nametag,” he replies goodnaturedly, gesturing to you, “save us some seats in the front?” 

Tzuyu thinks nothing of it, squeezing his bicep before skipping off to the front row. Your eyes linger on her form, and it’s only then you realize how tall and intimidatingly pretty she looks in that plaid teddy bear brown skirt suit. You did not look that good when you were a budding undergrad. 

By this time, Krystal has taken all your other recruits from your line, regarding you with a raised brow. She’s fast with her attendance, so you know you don’t have much time. 

“I applied last minute,” Jungkook says, scratching his head, “was running out of options before graduation. I didn’t know you’d be one of my recruiters, though. Lucky me.” 

Jungkook and you never ended up keeping in contact, at least as of recent. A check-in message a few months in, a happy birthday or holiday greeting late at night. But two years later and those messages are automatic, with no feeling or personality. You never thought you’d see him again, no less in the city. 

“You just graduated with your masters, congrats,” you smile at Jungkook, although you’re sure the feigned emotion fails to reach your eyes, “IT Management, right?” 

“You remembered,” Jungkook brightens, reaching over to squeeze your shoulder, “you look good.” 

“Oh please—”  you laugh to yourself, shaking your head, “I just got off a flight and I ran over in a two-day old suit, I don’t even have makeup on,” you didn’t feel this way in the morning, you just rushed to do the bare minimum to be enough and ran over to the convention hall. But now in the presence of Jungkook who looks so handsome and clean-cut, you can’t help but feel a little slighted at the sudden reunion. 

“You’re always beautiful,” Jungkook exhales, and you clutch your clipboard closer to your chest. 

You cough, an excuse for him to stop touching your shoulder, “You should go inside, it’s gonna start soon. We can catch up later.”

“Wait—” you make a scrunched up face that Jungkook can’t catch, but right in Krystal’s view. You can tell she’s laughing at you internally with her devious grin. “I just wanted to say, Tzuyu isn’t my girlfriend. We’re just…” 

“Fooling around?” you didn’t mean for it to sound so sharp, but you wanted this conversation over. You have a job to do and Jungkook is your emotional barrier. 

You and Jungkook used to fool around. 

Jungkook winces, looking younger in his monkey suit. “I mean if you give me a chance to explain later—”  

“Nametag, let’s go newbie.” Krystal slaps on the sticker herself, a little too hard if she asked. She doesn’t even bother to write his full name, just a bright green Jeon JK, IT Management tacked on his breast pocket, clashing with the gold pocket square. 

“Sorry,” Jungkook tucks his tail in for now, bowing at you and Krystal as he scurries inside. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. Krystal doesn’t bother to comfort you or ask what’s up—not that you want her to, even though you do want a breather before you have to go up on that stage and explain the itinerary for a week. The only thing you can do is smooth out your skirt, brush away the flyaways on your hairstyle and plaster a company-paid smile on your face.

The autopilot switch is on throughout the rest of the morning. Not just because Jungkook’s around, but the new position has got you on livewire. You’re glad that you’re not wearing base makeup because you are absolutely melting with all the high beam lights all up in your face as you talk through the week’s activities. 

You could swear Jungkook clapped a little harder than most once you stopped talking, but maybe it’s because you’re not used to seeing Jungkook in the very front of a lecture. In fact, he was a very hard middle person, preferring not to show off his intelligence and let other people lead the discussion. Then again, it’s been two years, you don’t know how much he’s changed. 

Jessica caps off the seminar with a great kick-off, the happy hour. The recruitment team picks a four star restaurant under their hotel so the recruits can enjoy themselves before going off to the training facility for a week. 

And by training facility, you also mean yet another four-star hotel. You knew you made the right decision by joining this company because the benefits are impeccable, and value personal enjoyment just as much as they value work ethic. In the morning you and the recruits will be driving uptown to a private resort where there would be classes in the morning, and recoup in the evening. You’re very much looking forward to the infinity pool on the roof. 

The recruits are ushered out as soon as you’re done, and that’s when you step out of the shadows to clean up the chairs and the brochures left behind. Thankfully Jungkook is probably following the norm and going back to the hotel to freshen up before dinner. Once the room is completely empty, you rip off your blazer and let yourself relax. 

It’s going to be a long week. 

Jeon: where u @?

You: hotel room

Jeon: why? Thought we were all gonna have dinner together

You: nahhh, this night is for the recruits! You’ll be tired of our faces by the end of the week, enjoy it while you can 😉  have a good night

You sigh in contentment, relaxing further into the silk sheets. You just finished your skincare routine, letting some mindless drama play as the essences and serums sink into your skin. All you want is one Jungkook-free night. Tomorrow you’ll be stuck training him and Tzuyu for the week and you want to take tonight to emotionally prepare yourself. 

Your phone rings once more. 

Big Baddie Jessica Jung: krystal and i ordered takeout in the restaurant downstairs. Can u bring it to our  room? Plsssssss 

Little Baddie Krystal Jung: it’ll be faster if you do it, we even got u a lil somethin🍰🍰🍰

Taking in your outfit, you grimace. You’re dressed for bed, a large nightie with your hair pulled back and a little pink bunny tie headband on top. Can’t they get room service to send it up? You admire your boss but you don’t understand why she needs to display her power over and over, she already knows you’ll follow her to the ends of the earth. 

Quickly slipping into a pair of sneakers you run down the expanse of the hotel. It’s easy to spot where the recruits are, livin’ it up in the large restaurant that takes up half the space of the ground floor. Most of them are pretty drunk, hoping to sleep off the hangover on the four-hour bus ride. You have absolutely no judgement, two years ago you were in the same position. 

Thankfully you don’t have to go far into the restaurant, as the hostess immediately knows Jessica’s order. While you wait for her to go into the kitchen and get it you drum your fingers against the counter, hoping no one notices you. It’s akin to when you’re a teacher in a mall, hoping none of your students gawk at you in the middle of Victoria’s Secret. 

“Ah, well Jungkook and I aren’t official yet—but very soon.” 

Your ears perk up at the sweet voice. Tzuyu is leaning across the open bar next to the counter, sipping on a mango mojito. She’s dumped the blazer for the night, showing off her soft skin and slender arms with a sleeveless cream blouse. 

“Then where is he?” another recruiter asks, gesturing to the expanse of the lobby. 

“He’s not much of a party person,” Tzuyu shrugs, tipping back her drink. 

You scoff, plastering on a smile to the hostess as you grab your bags and walk as fast as you can out of the lobby. You’ve never felt more like an old hag until now. Sure, most of the recruits are younger than you, but seeing Tzuyu talk so freely about her relationship with Jungkook has you in a bit of a spiral. The day of graduation, you told Jungkook not to wait for you. Heck, you’re only interested in the idea of what you could’ve had with Jungkook. 

These thoughts only cloud you further as you jab the elevator buttons all the way up to the suites where you and the Jungs reside. You relax a little when you see a strawberry cheesecake sitting prettily on the top of their order, your name written on the label with a little heart. Hanging their bag on the door handle of their room, you make your way back to your suite. 

You freeze when you see a floppy-haired Jungkook roaming the hallway, looking like a clueless child hobbling around in slippers and wide eyes at any sparkly item that decorates the area. It doesn’t even look like he tried attending the happy hour tonight, dressed in an impossibly big heather grey sweatsuit that swallows his form. 

“Are you lost?” you ask tentatively, as if you’re talking to a toddler lost at the mall. 

Jungkook relaxes considerably at the sound of your voice, and he replies, “Was tryna find your room since you didn’t reply to my texts.”

“So… you decided to check all the rooms?” 

“Yep,” he pops the p with a smack of his lips, “I figured the recruiters would be far away from the party so I started at the top. Thankfully I got to Jessica’s room first. Didn’t have to knock on too many doors. Only one old man got annoyed at me.” 

“You’re crazy,” you chuckle, slipping in your keycard to let Jungkook in. 

“Fuck, this room all to yourself?” 

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to kick his slides to a corner of the wall, flopping atop your bed and clutching your baby blue koala plush in his arms. The king sized bed is enough for his legs to stretch comfortably without falling off the edge, and he eagerly pads his feet against the soft fabric. 

It warms you to think that Jungkook is comfy enough to lay on your bed and hug your stuffed animals, a semblance of friends that you’ve missed for such a long time. Last year the team you worked for was great, you loved the people and even now you consider some of them friends. This year the team is a little smaller, and since your two other co-workers are sisters, it’s a little harder to nudge yourself in the direction of friendship. 

As soon as you sit down against the headboard, Jungkook’s eyes soften. Everything feels so different and the same. The threadbare pajamas that either of you haven’t had the heart to throw away since they’re so damn comfy, yet  your bodies are a little more worn and your eyes a little more droopier than usual. 

“So,” Jungkook bites his lip, not in the sexy way, but the nervous way, “about Tzuyu—”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to explain yourself,” you slump on your corner of the bed, regarding Jungkook with guilty eyes. “I really shouldn’t be feeling the way I’m feeling. It isn’t fair and I don’t want to jeopardize your internship.”

“And… what are you feeling?” 

“Dumb things.” 

“Your feelings aren’t dumb.”

“This time they are.”

“I’ve always shared my feelings, it’s unfair that you never want to share yours,” Jungkook sits up, criss-cross applesauce, pensive. “Maybe it’s my fault for not making you feel comfortable enough to share, but I feel like the reason why we never worked out was because we never tried hard enough to have a proper conversation.” 

How could you have missed all the indicators, all the good words, all the kindness Jungkook has given you that last semester? “You’re absolutely right,” you let your insecurities, your apprehensiveness, get in the way. You think in two years you’d do better to eradicate this kind of behavior, but lately you haven’t had many friends to express your feelings to. “Tell you what, I’ll work harder to express how I feel. No exchanges, no nothings. I owe you this.” 

“You owe me nothing,” Jungkook smiles, “I just think it would be nice to y’know, talk. As friends.” 

“Right, friends.”

“So, will you hear me out about Tzuyu?” 

“Let me open my cake,” you pull out your bag with the cheesecake, which thankfully has two spoons, “it seems like we’ll be having that kind of conversation.” 

Everyone is more amicable because of food. According to Jungkook, Tzuyu has a hardcore, ten-year plan for her twenties. After a couple of dates with Jungkook, Tzuyu whips him into the plan. Mentions that she’s well-bred and has a family reputation to uphold. Says IT Management is something completely desirable in a partner, that he’s sensible and wonderful and would like to be committed full-time. 

“And she talked to her parents about me and said that I’m a good prospect for marriage. Like I’m another pillar in her plan!” Jungkook cries, taking a monstrously sized bite of your cheesecake, wallowing away.

This is akin to sleepovers you’ve always wanted to have in high school, down to the food gorging. You can’t help but be fascinated, “So are you wrapped up in an engagement? Is this a scary rendition of Crazy Rich Asians?” 

“You just can’t turn a one-eighty like that on a fifth date,” Jungkook shakes his head, reeling at the emotional whiplash, “she’s really nice. Really organized, really perfect. It really intimidates me.”

“Is she what you reaaaally want?” you can’t help but ask, rolling your eyes at the excessive use of the word, and tamp down the pain in your stomach by eating a forkful of creamy cheesecake. 

“I don’t know!” Jungkook replies exasperatedly, “Obviously I��m worried since she wants to put a ring on it. I told her she needs to back off. Right after the seminar I said she had no right telling other people we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. She didn’t say much, just frowned and walked away.” 

You roll your eyes, scraping the leftover graham cracker crust from the edge of the plastic plate. “According to her, I heard you two are planning to make it official very soon.” 

His eyes widen, “I really bring girl trouble wherever I go, don’t I?” 

“Since I’ve known you,” you half-joke, putting away the plastic cutlery on the nightstand. 

You two sit in silence for a few moments, letting the television fill the room with mindless static about some sappy Hallmark movie. Tentatively, you land a hand on Jungkook’s knee. He looks down at your tiny fingers, giving his skin an experimental squeeze of comfort. 

“I don’t want her,” he finally says. 

“Okay,” you reply, “you won’t even have to talk to her if you don’t want to. I can arrange the groups this week so you don’t have to be around—”

“Give me one week,” his eyes flash to yours, dark and sharp.

“Jungkook. You have your determined face on,” it makes you sweat.  

“Because I’m determined to win you over, once and for all,” you eyes widen, and Jungkook visibly freezes, “was that too much? I’m kind of on an emotional high today. I didn’t expect to see you today and it kind of threw me into a loop. I thought I might be running into you once I started my internship but I didn’t think you’d be my recruiter. And then you went on that stage all bad-ass talking about work and you looked so gorgeous in your suit and I was so proud knowing you made it and IrealizedhowmuchImissedyou—” 

“Jungkook, slower,” you’re feeling a little woozy as well, equally overwhelmed. “You’re just saying this because you didn’t expect to see me—” 

“You’re deflecting, again.” 

“I’m scared, okay?” you blurt, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re right, this is all so sudden. So can’t we just start being friends and see if it takes us somewhere? You don’t have to win me over, just support me like I’ll support you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook moves up the bed, so he’s leaning against the headboard as well. His long legs stretch farther than yours, and it feels oddly domestic as you talk it out and stare at the television screen. “I’m just, worried I’m running out of time.” 

“I'm not going anywhere this time.” 

“I know,” Jungkook shakes his head, ridding himself of his torrid thoughts. Conceding, he gestures to the television, pulling out the remote under your pillow, “wanna watch television, or catch up?” 

You last about an hour until you knock out. However, Jungkook keeps you entertained up until that moment, as you exchange your lives and stresses. Everything meshes together, you’re not sure if it’s the charm that comes with late night talks, but you feel like you can talk to Jungkook about anything if given the time. You melt when he strokes your hair till the last minute, wishing you a goodnight and a promise of more. 

“Okay, I’ve gone over most of the work ethics in the manual,” you smile nervously when you see your glazed over recruits, nearly falling off their chairs. Even Krystal is bored out of her mind, discreetly playing with her phone in the back under her manual. Of course you’d get stuck with teaching the boring classes. “Any last minute questions before we head off for dinner?” 

Tzuyu shoots her hand up, “Are romantic relationships allowed in the workplace?” 

Jungkook promptly chokes on his water bottle. He looks up at you, panicked. Ignoring his terror, you paint on a thin smile towards the young woman, “Like I mentioned earlier, romantic relationships between employees are not frowned upon, so long as you’re not working under or over someone in the same department.” 

“Right, just wanted to make sure,” Tzuyu is all chipper smiles as she thanks you.  

If you were still twenty-one, you’d gag at the pointed look she sends Jungkook. They’re sitting diagonal from each other, and Jungkook makes a point to pretend to be interested in your lecture until the very end. 

You’re halfway done with recruitment week, and while you’re not shocked at how fast the week has gone by, you’re fairly disappointed that Jungkook and you haven’t had time to meet up in private. So far it’s been easy enough to keep your friendship (and past sexual relationship) a secret, but something dark and eager tells you how much you want more. The recruiters are eager to leave, all twenty-three of them grouping off and talking about what they want to eat for dinner. Everyone except a certain dark-haired fellow, who’s hair is currently bouncing off it’s styled coiff, wanting to return to it’s normal non-gelled self. 

“Kookie,” you raise a brow at the interaction, Tzuyu leaning over her chair to Jungkook’s, “wanna get dinner tonight?” 

Jungkook’s taking an excruciatingly long time to pack his things, raising a brow at her, “I’ve told you already, I don’t want to be involved in whatever plans you have.” 

“Oh-kay,” Tzuyu rocks back and forth on her oxford heels, pursing her magenta pink lips, “then why don’t we at least walk back to the hotel together? I really want to talk about some things that might change your mind.”

“Nothing will change my mind,” Jungkook’s determined face has been staying strong for the week, from the way he makes sure he’s first in your class to the simple “good morning” and “good night” texts you exchange. “Besides, I have a date tonight. And I really want to talk to the recruiters about a personal work matter, so can you please leave?”  

You try not to snort at how blatant Jungkook was being. You pretend to organize your folders, throwing whatever random notes you have in your bag for later. 

“A date,” she twitches,  “with who?” 

“Someone that doesn’t treat me like a stepping stone in her career path,” Jungkook deadpans, and that’s all it takes for Tzuyu to huff and walk away from the hall. 

You think Tzuyu is like a bug, relatively harmless, but someone who gets on your nerves. 

“A date, huh?” Krystal quotes, finally looking up from her phone. Her sharp, cat-eyes linger at the door, wondering if Tzuyu is going to pop out and try to drag Jungkook by the reins. Finally, she plants her stare between you and Jungkook. “So, you two fucking?” 

“Former fucking,” Jungkook supplies helpfully, and you jump off your podium to elbow him in the ribs, “ow—what?” 

“You just don’t tell Krystal we’re fucking!” 

“Former fucking,” he chastises, but the eyes he sends you are a little sultry, and you wonder if he’s thinking of fucking in the future. You reel yourself back, focusing on the third party.

But you anticipate that Krystal couldn’t care less, and you’re grateful for that. While a smaller work team means a smaller possibility of close work relationships, you do like the drama-free environment. “Like you said,” Krystal shrugs, slinging her briefcase over her shoulder, “romantic relationships in the workplace are not frowned upon.” 

You wring your hands between your bag when Krystal finally makes her getaway, and you look up at Jungkook. “So,” you smile wryly, “you have a date tonight, huh?” 

“With a pretty working woman,” he sighs dramatically, putting a hand over his chest, “that is, if she’ll have me.” 

“Consider yourself taken.”  

Jungkook and you sneak away to your suite once again. To your surprise, the suite is decorated in rose petals and a bottle of champagne sits in an ice bath on your bedside. A large pizza pie sits beautifully on your coffee table, and the television is playing lo-fi hip-hop. 

You feed Jungkook champagne-dipped strawberries as you gorge on the joy that is baked bread and cheese. 

And when he kisses you, it’s slow and sweet, like you have all the time in the world. 

It’s the last day of recruitment week, and all classes ended at noon so the interns can use all the resort’s amenities to the fullest. Many of the interns, including yourself, Jessica and Krystal, are on the rooftop celebrating a successful workweek. Staff and interns alike are buzzing around, eager to top off their weekend with some relaxation and sun. 

Jungkook is with his new team, conversing with other IT employees. You try not to stare too hard at your reignited flame, tipping back a cutely decorated glass of fruit. His arms ripple as he tips back the liquid. He’s wearing a tank top and you could swear his biceps have gotten meatier. Unfortunately you hold yourself back, after all the internship isn’t quite over and you still are a professional. 

At the end of the weekend you really have nothing to worry about, you know that. 

But Tzuyu? She irritating. 

“I just don’t understand,” Tzuyu suspects nothing of your budding relationship with Jungkook. You’re thankful for that because towards the end of the week, it was getting harder and harder to be subtle when you two send each other heart eyes from three meters away. 

Tzuyu sounds like she’s talking to herself, the way she stares into the infinity pool, despite the fact that her friends are surrounding her with rapt attention. You’re a cabana away from her, sipping languidly at your drink while Jessica and Krystal nap next to you. Even though you can’t see Tzuyu, you can practically feel her pout emanating through the fabric that separates you two. Despite the fact that she’s been offered a great intern position given her degree and experience, she’s still upset. For her, is that not the most important part of this whole week? 

“Jungkook’s really not that great if he’s going to turn me down like that,” Tzuyu seethes. You should write up her nonsense in a book and publish it, really. “Why waste time when he has the whole package right in front of him?” 

It’s then you realize why you’ve been so torn, so strung up and wound tight all these years. Just like college, all shy and hesitant to take a step forward while Jungkook was ten steps ahead, you were worried. You let other people’s thoughts stop you from making the leap, girls like Tzuyu that never meant to intimidate you, but you let their presence get up in your head and control the nonexistent hierarchy. 

But two years later, and that doesn’t matter. It never mattered. Jungkook is no longer the all-star lacrosse player, but what remains is his heart, full and willing. 

Everything Tzuyu just said was… wrong. Irrevocably, inexplicably messed up. But the idea of “wasting time” does strike a chord within you. Are you wasting time? At this point, your feelings of each other are pretty clear. What are you two waiting for, again? 

You thought Krystal was sleeping, considering her sunhat sitting atop her face, but once she hears you packing away your bag she whistles, “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

Sending a quick text to Jungkook, you make a beeline for your destination. You don’t even bother looking for him in the crowd. 

You: meet me by the elevator at the very end of the lobby. 

Not a minute passes by when Jungkook joins you at said elevator. He has two glasses of champagne in his hands, and offers one to you, “tired of the party?” he asks.  

You clink drinks, easily tipping yours back. “It’s not our thing,” you declare with a small smile. Jungkook's eyes soften, glancing back and forth between your face and the soft pleats of your marigold sundress. His hair is pushed back, sticky from sweat and chlorine, dark bangs hanging over the shaved sides of his head. You turn your head slightly as you wait for the elevator, biting your lip as you're sorely reminded of how sexy Jungkook looked at the dive pool half an hour ago. 

The elevator dings, and it’s wide enough for you to slip in at the same time. You put your champagne glass in the corner of the elevator for now, hoping you don’t accidentally step on it. In closed quarters, you can smell the slight tang of chlorine coming from Jungkook, combined with his own brand of musk. 

Jungkook looks younger tonight, happier. Having just finished graduate school and working towards a full-time gig, another chapter in his life has started. His hair is no longer in that tight-whipped coiff he struggled all week to maintain, loosened in its natural wave due to the pool water and heat. His cheeks are a little ruddied and plump, a sign he’s been enjoying the food this week. 

The door barely closes when you get it out, pulling at his hand to face you.

“Jungkook, I like you,” you blurt, and his eyes bug out considerably. Out of reflex, his hand sharply squeezes yours. “You don’t have to say anything, because you’ve been saying everything for the majority of our relationship. I really like you, I really liked you back then too. You’re still so sweet, and loving, and smart and I’ve just been too dumb and insecure to—” 

Jungkook seals your confession away with a desperate kiss, and you turn into a pile of mush at the contact. Relief seeps into your bones, sings into your system. When he pulls away, he looks serious. He doesn’t let you get far, and clutches your face between his two hands so you can’t turn your head. Your soft cheeks fill between his fingers, warm and cradled. 

“Never call yourself that,” Jungkook exhales, regarding you with firm eyes, “you’re beautiful, and intelligent, and the person I want.” 

“I don’t wanna take it slow anymore,” you mumble against his lips, leaning in so that you can barely nip at the pink skin. “Want you now, need you now.” 

“You have me now,” Jungkook agrees, and as soon as the elevator dings open to your floor, he scoops you up into his arms. 

By all means it’s not graceful, he’s clutching you like a baby with his hands over your butt as he jiggles you all the way to your front door. Clinging onto him like a koala, you press kisses to his cheeks as he leads you to your room. You laugh and giggle like teenagers, as he fumbles between your breast to grab the card key that’s nestled between your bra. It’s warm in his hand as he swipes it through the reader, pushing you inside. 

“Is it bad that I’m kinda turned on by the fact you got my key out of my boob?” you joke, although the contact of his rough fingers against your breast is a feeling well missed. 

“Is it bad that I’m always turned on when you lecture in seminars?” Jungkook retorts, kicking the door closed with his slipper-clad foot as he walks you to the bed. “Fuck, I can hear you talk about insurance benefits all day.” 

“Didn’t know my sex appeal extended that way—oh fuck—” 

Your vibrant marigold sundresses provides easy access to Jungkook as he throws you onto the mattress, your skirt billowing over your waist as he makes quick work to expose more of your skin. 

“No more talking, more loving,” he’s crazed, doesn’t hesitate to move your bikini bottoms to the side as he rubs lovingly at your long-lost bud, “need to fuck you, now. It’s been so fucking long.” 

“Kook,” his breath is warm against your already sopping cunt, and you lift your hand to run through the strands of his messy hair. It only takes one firm tug and you’re able to pull him up by the root of his hair, cranberry juice tinted lips with a faint sheen because he couldn’t help himself to have a little taste of you. “Baby, let me touch you. Let me show you how much I want you," you coo with a pout, hands trailing over the drawstrings of his trunks.

You can see how much Jungkook wants to say yes. His eyes glow with the possibility, bright and wanting in the afternoon sunlight. The image of him shoving his cock deep into your throat, so far that you can taste it in every crevice of your mouth. Your nails gripping into his ass as you go deeper, tears pricking your eyes as cum seeps out of your pretty lips. 

But he firmly shakes his head, fingers doing the devil’s work as he eases a digit in you. A little noise of protest bubbles in your throat, but it soon dies out as soon as he finds the right spot to reduce you to mush. 

“Next time,” he exhales against the juncture between your thigh and pelvis, picking up the pace and adding another finger, “if you touch me, I’ll cum right then n’there. This is enough for me, you’re enough.” 

So you let him have what he wants. You’ll make it up to him in the morning, and the day after, and the day after. You shed your clothes, the sundress extra forgiving as it slides off your body, revealing a swimsuit that hasn’t even touched the pool. You feel a little self-conscious as he drinks you in after so long, but he quickly shucks off his clothes to match your state of nakedness. 

You remember how you tiptoed around your first night with Jungkook, taking great care to make sure it was fleeting, how dark the room was as you let your pleasure take over your senses. Two years later and the sun is setting, gold bleeding through your sheets and illuminating the room. There's no need to hide.

“I must say, we’ve both kept it tight,” Jungkook teases with a wink, squeezing your hips so he can change positions. 

You silently agree, your fingers slipping across the washboard of his waist. 

“Mm, and still so fuckin’ cute,” Jungkook marvels as he pulls you up on his lap. Your whole body is flushed with want, one hand squeezing your breasts while the other plays with the curls of hair that lead to your sopping wetness. You glide your core over Jungkook’s stomach, sighing as you take note of the abs that clench under your heat and his hot member that rubs between your ass. 

It’s a tight fit when you finally sink down on him, but the burn only fuels your desire as he stretches you wide. His grip is helpful as he guides you through the motions. It’s been awhile since you’ve been this physical with someone, and it’s almost comical when you both sigh in contentment at the contact. 

“I’ve missed this,” you mumble, biting into his shoulder as he thrusts up. 

“Mm, it feels different, right?” Jungkook hums, keeping a slow pace. The drag is wonderful, and you know that he’s trying to prolong the moment. He reaches for your head, presses his forehead to yours as he speaks, “you’re mine now, right? For real.” 

“I’m all yours, Jungkook,” you press kisses everywhere. No need to hide anymore. You bleed love into every kiss, to his jawline, the little freckles across his chin, his lips. “This is romantic and all, but I really want you to dick me down. Which is why you need to go a little faster, you sap.” 

Jungkook scoffs, “A pillow princess is what you are.” 

He stops moving, and you two sink further into the mattress without its springs bringing you back up. The both of you are acutely aware of how wet you both are, your combined arousals seeping between your seams and dripping onto Jungkook’s thighs. But the young man simply relaxes against the headboard, baiting you. 

“Kook,” you whine, clenching against his member. Your hot walls have a mind of their own, unable to stifle their desire. Sweat lines Jungkook’s brow as he tries his hardest not to move, just simply be. 

“Tell me how much you want me, princess,” the pet name has you clenching harder, and you pout. 

“Baby,” you whine, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. There’s no one in the room, and you’re sure no one is on this floor because everyone’s on the rooftop, but the words you’re about to say are for Jungkook and Jungkook only, “please, I want you to pound me into this mattress until I can’t walk anymore. I want to cry out your name so everyone can hear I’m yours. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you nip at his lobe, and let your thumb nick at the simple silver rings that adorn his ear. You hear a click of his teeth, indicating the clench of his jaw as his muscles flex around your body, "I want you to fill me with your cum until I’m eating it, and—and—oh Kook!” 

Your words aren’t enough to distract you from his large dick sitting prettily between your folds, and you’re suddenly cumming, all by the mere thought of what’s to happen. You’re shuddering in his arms, and Jungkook soothes you by running his fingers over the spine of your back, distracting you from the utter mess you’re making on the sheets. 

“Such a good girl,” Jungkook coddles you, stroking your hair, “can my good girl take it?” 

“Y-yes, Kook,” you nod eagerly, fighting the overstimulation as he nudges you off his lap. You’re pliable, as Jungkook sets up the pillows for you to rest comfortably as you get on your elbows and knees, “your good girl.” 

You shudder as your bare pussy starts to feel cold, immediately missing the warmth Jungkook can provide. You can practically feel his hot gaze burning in your back, his large palm squeezing your ass as he marvels at how ready and eager you are for him. 

“It’s so easy to slip inside,” Jungkook rubs your nectar across the head of his cock, swirling around your engorged skin as he slips right inside. You both moan at the stretch, “Finally, my adorable baby, you like this? You like getting pounded like the dirty girl you really are?” 

“Mm, yes!” you squeal, clutching onto the feather down pillows for dear life as Jungkook displays his strength, one hand gripping your hips as the other weaves itself into your hair. It’s a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, and the lewd sounds of each other’s juices and his balls against your ass echoing in the room. 

“Y-yeah,” despite his power, his thrusts are sloppy, and you know he’s almost at the edge, “and I like you, so so much. I want to make you cum everyday, make you happy and—mph—” he gives up on talking, focusing entirely on his destination. 

“Cum, baby,” you urge, melting when his one hand comes to thread with your own, “fill me up with you.” 

He flips you on your back, and you finally see how desperate Jungkook is to cum. His eyes are glassy, filled with emotion as he strokes himself to completion. Your hand reaches up to cup his damp face, and that’s when you feel him loosen. Hot, pearly strings cling to your pussy, decorating your skin in his essence. Your fingers immediately reach down to swirl the cum between your folds, and Jungkook groans at the picture, immediately throwing your hands to the side to kiss you senseless. 

There’s so much pouring between the two of you, affection, the feeling of being cherished, so much that you can feel the whole world reducing to the two of you. 

“All mine,” he whispers to himself, as if he still can’t believe it. And then, he puts up a poker face as he leans into you, resting his head gently on your breasts, “I knew I only needed a week.”

You narrow your eyes, flicking lightly at his forehead. You’re sticky, sweaty, and covered in cum and while you’re exhausted, the built in jacuzzi in your washroom looks very enticing right now. “Jungkook, this happened naturally. I said we would try as friends first and we did. We just so happened to escalate pretty fast.” 

“I don’t think it was that fast,” Jungkook nuzzles his face into your skin, “it’s been two years since college. Being popular did do a number on our relationship, but we caught up." 

“You were popular-ish,” you roll your eyes, teasing him. His face falls, and you can’t help yourself. Your hands reach over to cup his cheeks, and you happily squish the supple, pouty flesh. He’s adorable. “Kim Taehyung though? Park Jimin? Absolute heartthrobs I couldn’t stand to be near them—ah!” 

Jungkook seems to read your mind, lifting you bridal style to drag you over to the bathroom where the marble jacuzzi sits tauntingly. The stone is ice cold as he brings you both inside, immediately turning on the nozzles to fill it with steaming hot water. You find the tiny bottle of lavender suds, spilling the soap in an arc. His legs slip over yours, cradling you so that your back is pressed against Jungkook’s chest. 

“Being popular never mattered,” Jungkook shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “I realized the only person who I really needed to notice me was you.” 

bonus. 

You wake Jungkook up the next morning with your lips wrapped around his cock, fresh cherry balm rubbing down the thick veins until he's cumming down your throat. 

"Wow," Jungkook whistles, licking his lips at the sight of you sucking the arousal from your thumb. He huffs against the pillow, eyes darting to the open organza window, letting in the early morning light. The rooftop of a multi-star hotel, white Egyptian cotton seats, a full time job on the way and waking up in the most blissful way possible. 

"I have a proposal," you crawl on top of him like a koala, hooking your thighs between his blanket clad body. 

"I do," he replies instantly, looking straight at you with droopy puppy eyes.

"Not that kind," you slap his chest, "where are you living once orientation is over?" 

"Mm, there's a boarding house near a local translation. It's probably an hour commute? Not too bad." 

"So, I just leased a townhouse last month," you bite your lip, tucking your head between his neck to hide your embarrassment, "I was gonna rent out the spare room and put an advert in the paper but…"

"I do."

"I said it isn't a marriage proposal."

"Asking you to live with me is basically a marriage proposal."

"There will be no benefits," you sit up, wagging a finger in his face, "you'll be paying rent and half the utilities. And you will be doing all the laundry." 

"Sure," Jungkook replies loftily, squeezing your ass, "you're benefit enough."