#I return to this reread like once every six months | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

randombush3 · 2 years ago

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Floss Got Hot II

florence pugh x reader

[series masterlist]

summary: things changed after you and florence slept together.

words: 8930 (was gonna be 10k but that is WAY too long for one part)

warnings: alcohol, smut, mentions of drug use, foul language, general mature content

notes: GUYS this was such a stop and start thing to write, so maybe it’s choppy?? i cannot bear to reread it once more so complain to the wall

New York is shit. Not the city itself, though you don’t like it nearly as much as Oxford, but rather the fact that American accents were annoying enough before they started to inquire about buying your business. A business that is very much not for sale.

Though your brother stood up and conducted the choir of ridiculous bidding, he scarpers back to London to avoid the wrath of one pissed off you. No one else offers to help quiet the aggravating Americans, so New York becomes shit because it’s just you, alone, dealing with things you ideally shouldn’t have to deal with. You hate the feeling settling in the pit of your stomach, you hate the idea of becoming an island.

Except, you’re not quite drifting away from land, because someone calls you everyday — the same someone — and tells you she wishes she could see you (and you believe it). The first time she called you, she asked where you were staying. You didn’t answer, waiting for her to get it, and when she did she was glad you couldn’t see her embarrassment. But you always make her embarrassed, because if it’s not the way you make her brain cease to function, it’s the fact that she wishes she could worship everything you do. Your instagram has been flooded with her fanpages because if she loves you, they love you, and while you’re not opposed to an extra six hundred followers you find it tiresome that your relationships aren’t just yours anymore. It’s not her fault that she’s famous and that you’re well-connected and that the media are either deeming you a power couple or a match made in honour of capitalism. Your favourite description of yourself is ‘socialite turned businesswoman’ (the Sun, 2nd May) because they love to mention the features in Vogue — your hotels, not you, and even then they technically belong to your father — and the friends who are friends with friends of A-listers. You usually think aloud when the papers get plonked on your desk; “when did I ever do that?” and “who?” are the most common mutterings. Your life hasn’t changed drastically, but now more people look out for you when you’re sitting in a coffee shop because there is a chance you’re waiting for someone they’d know. Usually you’re sitting at a coffee shop because you need to cry and can’t in public.

Florence wonders if she may scare you off eventually. You meet her almost every week, sometimes postponing to a fortnight in order to get your life together before escaping for the briefest of evenings of blissful nirvana, and she marvels at the realisation that your world is larger than she used to think it was. In her naive, obsessive youth, she would watch you disappear into a faint summer memory and assumed you would leave Greece and return to your own life in Kensington (and with that assumption she believed your persona was completely different with Kensington people though she decided she’d continue to adore you either way), but your most frequent texts to her are to do with taking off and landing and she realises you are ultimately global. It feels like her girlfriend’s pit stop is a night or two at her place where you drink and kiss and fuck and sleep, before she becomes a figment of one’s imagination. She calls you to remind herself you’re real, most often when she’s tired and in need of your humour and your laughter and your voice, and she always forgets you’re in a different time zone because you never fail to pick up. You’ve never broken a promise you’ve made to her, throughout one whole month of dating.

Is it dating?

“Of course we’re dating,” she says as she opens another bottle of rioja, lips cherry red from kissing and cheeks the same colour from the drink. “Do you want me to start talking about you more?” She doesn’t want you to feel ignored, and she doesn’t want to keep you a secret. You haven’t come up in conversation in a way she’d like to discuss you, but she instantly resolves to find a way to fix that.

“No,” you tell her, “because then I’d be hounded like you’re hounded and I’d hate that.” You hate that she’s never left alone. “I was just wondering because…” She waits. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.”

Instead of pouring the wine into a glass, she tips the bottle back between her lips. You kiss the residue from them, licking your own before going back in for more, this time tasting a version of rioja you’d only access through her mouth. “I think we should go to the bedroom.” You chuckle, low and steady, drunk on her more than anything else.

- - -

“You know that phrase, ‘drunk on love’?” you ask Scarlett as she keeps you company while you trudge on through paperwork. She was passing through Lisbon when she spotted you two-hundred metres away on FindMyFriends.

“I think you’re actually drunk when you’re with her.” It happens slowly; she offers a glass and then another, until you find yourself completely intoxicated and on top of her with no top on. There’s nothing wrong with that.

(There is so much wrong with that.)

You gather the documents and tap them against the desk to make the stack tidy, pressing a button to call your assistant to come and collect them. Scarlett steps aside to let her in, surprised to find you’ve fired her predecessor. “These need to be with me on my flight tomorrow, along with you and one of your interns. I don’t care which.” New Assistant nods enthusiastically, a bit much considering your monotonous tone. “Make sure they know I’m coming and they have my apartments ready. I’m not having a repeat of my visit to Agadir.” Flo’s already there, reporting back about the new competitor; she likes to fancy herself a secret agent on an undercover mission. She finds it nice, says the layout’s genius but it does indeed lack an element from its atmosphere.

“Jesus,” Scarlett mutters, keeping to the side so as to not get in the way of business. “Y/n, are you going to have a break?” You could rephrase that to ‘Y/n, you are going to break’. Both answers would be ‘no, I’m not’ of course.

“I have breaks every week where I get drunk and sleep with Flo.” She laughs, shocked. Appalled. You decide to take it as humorous as to not defeat your bubble that tells you everything is okay how it is. “The bad thing about owning hotels is that you can never go on holiday, because I have to stay at our resorts and therefore I have to work. Ibiza feels neglected.”

“Won’t Flossie feel neglected?” She makes a good point, but so do the managers who call you up to warn you of strikes and lack of funding and love. “She thinks you’re going on your first couples’ holiday.” You leave your desk as it is (messy and unworkable) and walk out of your office, your worried friend hurrying after you.

In truth, you’d very much like to sleep for a week and never do anything again. A coma seems like your idea of a holiday nowadays, though you’d hate to do all the catch up once you wake. If it’s not work-related it seems to be unimportant, bar Flo and her wonderful ability to keep you happy without pushing too hard. She feels like you won’t want her if you really get to know her, and being incomplete (wasted) means you don’t view her as your best friend’s little sister.

“It will be fine.” You try to convince yourself as well as her. “Like everything ever, I will figure it out and fix it.”

Your assistant appears before you can fully leave, slightly scared of you, with a teenager who closely resembles Raffie due to the fact she emulates the same ‘vibes’. She slouches when she walks, looking uncomfortable without a phone in her hand. When she sees you, she stiffens, quickly and professionally, and you wonder if she’s about to curtsy.

Scarlett catches your eye and you’re both thinking the same thing: are you really that scary? Self-conscious, you glance at your reflection in the dutifully polished windows of Chaos Lisbon’s office (it’s a sizable room in which one can try to leave and still not manage to get out). In your reflection you see a tired little girl whose father is an arsehole and mother is a cunt. Everyone else sees a stern businesswoman (apart from Scarlett, who knows you too well to see anyone other than a lost teenager who doesn’t quite know what to do with so much money).

“This is Bella,” says your assistant in a similar tone she once introduced herself to you with (“I‘m Millie”). She was chirpy, but not too much to give you a headache, and she already knew your schedule for the next two days by heart. “I personally selected her and another girl to fly to Lisbon, and I think she’d do brilliantly in Ibiza.” You hadn’t even noticed two extra faces following you around with iPads loaded with mass amounts of emails.

“Good evening, Ms L/n.” Scarlett bursts into a fit of laughter. Bella looks awfully alarmed.

“Call me Y/n,” you inform the deer-in-headlights. “How come you’re here then, Bella?” You gesture to the armchairs surrounding a coffee table that you’re pretty sure your father used as a makeshift bed for numerous affairs, kicking your friend discreetly to get her to shut up. Bella gladly sits, in awe of the office now that she’s not just peering through the glass door.

“I’m taking a year out before university.” She's well-spoken. She sounds like the product of an all-girls’ private school somewhere in London – no wonder she’s not at uni just yet. “I got all A*s and everything,” she hurriedly explains, “but I wanted to be able to write more than just my grades on my application.”

“That’s a smart plan,” Scarlett contributes. Bella questions who she is silently, glancing at your assistant for an answer. “Oh! I’m her friend. Well. You know the Greece resort? Funny story: I’m dating her best friend who she met while he was staying there. I was also staying there, but I don’t think your boss liked me very much until my boobs grew.”

“That is not true!” you protest. “I’ve always been on your side. I told Toby you were so far out of his league that you were in mine.” Millie laughs, giving her mentee the okay to copy her. “Bella, do you know what we’re doing in Ibiza? I don’t.”

She seems surprised that you’re not a statue. You like that you’ve proven a personality, but don’t like how out of place she thinks it is.

Frankly, it’s embarrassing to be considered so formidable.

“I, um, wasn’t told exactly—”

“Bella is a big fan of… While I think she can handle herself respectably, I didn’t want to tell her just yet.” You nod, and it means more than just acknowledgement. From the movement, Millie is given permission to delve into your private and personal life that she gets to know better than anyone else alive today. Apart from Toby, perhaps, but Millie has met your family far more as she’s paid to work for you and doesn’t have the option of leaving if she thinks they’re monsters. “In comparison to most visits, they’d simply like to meet with you for multiple changes they wish to make. A few investors have shown interest in Ibiza exclusively, your approval is necessary. I’d estimate your working hours to be averaging at four a day.” Usually you have an additional twenty.

“So am I allowed to try out the pier cabanas?” you ask. Best feature of the resorts and five-year-old you’s idea (back when your father listened to you).

“You own the pier cabanas.”

“Yeah, but she’s bringing her friends and I’m not sure they’d want me to hand them everything on a platter.” Bella whispers to her boss (not you, Millie), wondering who ‘she’ is and asking if she gets the pleasure of knowing. “It’s Flossie.” You pause. Rethinking your answer. “Florence Pugh.” She grins the way every teenage girl does when they hear her name.

- - -

Flo’s texts flood through, buzzing your phone out of your pocket the moment you land. You chose to spend all of one hour and forty-five minutes conversing with Bella, grappling to understand why a TikTok account for your hotels would be a perfect business move. She threatens to create one there and then, using the Business Class wifi to full effect.

Her excessive notifications help you locate a very lost text chain. Bella suggests Snapchat. You scoff.

Flossie: We arrived two days ago but they won’t let me stay in your room.

Flossie: Dw - been staying with L + W

Flossie: Greece is better than this one Y/n

Flossie: Can’t believe this one doesn’t have a waffle bar

Flossie: Nvm found the waffle bar

Flossie: Ok waffle bar trip turned into actual bar trip

Flossie: I love all inclusives

You expect to walk through the lobby quickly and without too much hassle, but it seems the hotel manager is too eager to please you and has lined up most of the staff. It blows your cover.

“Miss L/n,” he says with a thick Spanish accent. You’re surprised he doesn’t kiss your feet with the welcome he’s provided you with. Two platters of fruit get offered to either assistant, to which they shake their heads and watch you closely. “It’s a pleasure.”

Most of the guests are staring at you, wondering why you deserve this and not them. Flo and her friends are sitting at the lobby bar when Will taps her and mutters, “has royalty just graced us with her presence?” He doesn’t know you. He thinks it’s rather pretentious, the way you walk down the line of workers and greet them all.

“Oh my god.” Your back is to her. “Unbelievable.” Most of the guests take offence in the fact that the staff serving them left them mid-sentence to be addressed for a singular second by someone she doubts they know. “One of my family friends would get that kind of welcome. It’s too much.”

The manager then walks you to the check-in desk, cutting in front of an exceptionally long queue (a good sign — people are actually staying at the hotels). “Your apartments are ready.” His dark eyes pierce through the forming crowd, finding a bellboy. “Is there anything you need before my friend escorts you there?” You shake your head, slightly scared of Señor Hotel Manager. He reminds you of the sous chef in Ratatouille, but Spanish, taller, and more intimidating by tenfold.

“Perfecto.” You turn to your assistant, asking silently for a drink. It’s in your hand before you start walking; a bellini that you’d rather was just the prosecco.

Flo, Livvy, and Will watch the exchange like a captivating movie, not close enough to catch the conversation. Will makes a point to imitate what he thinks is going on; “your extremely luxurious suite is on the small side, your highness. Would you like me to carry you upstairs or would the elephants be your preferred mode of transport?”

“Don’t worry, my queen, I won’t let you walk on the poor people floor,” Livvy adds before you turn to face them directly. “Oh, fuck me.”

“Y/n!” Flo squeals, jumping off the bar stool, forgoing all elegance and poise, running up to you. Everyone else looks alarmed at the fact she’d dare. Her legs wrap around you as she practically leaps into your arms, making you stumble. “I didn’t think you were that important, to be honest.”

Your suit is now crumpled and creased and you’re sure some damage has been done to your very expensive shoes, but you hold her like the loving girlfriend(?) you are. She buries her face in your neck, suddenly very aware of the amount of people in the lobby.

“Thanks,” you reply, registering what she said. “The apartments are ready. Do you want me to have your things moved? Do you want to come up with me?”

“Fuck yeah. I want to see— Did you say apartments?!”

You nod. “The owner’s apartments.”

“I thought it was a suite.” Yeah, it’s not quite a suite. “Like we have a suite, Will, Livvy, and I. Sea view. Will got a discount; he’s got so many points from that Chaos Club thing.” You’re flattered that he stays in your hotels. “Does your apartment have a sea view?”

You put her down. “Floss, babe, I said ‘apartments�� plural.”

- - -

The owner’s apartments are a staple of your childhood. Every one of your hotels has one, featured on the top floor and solely for the private use of your family. They’re obnoxiously decorated to fit the theme of wherever you’re staying, with large rooms and comfy beds in abundance. Toby once came up in the lift with you in Greece, but even he hasn’t been inside. There’s a private lift with doors that open into the living room and a second lift that takes you from the CEO’s conference room and office to the lobby. The office anchored your father during your childhood, meaning you mostly had free reign over the place while your brother partied and your mother lived at the spa. The place does have its own spa features, but your mother enjoyed being as far away from you all as possible.

“I’m going to tell them you can bring whoever you want up here, okay? And if they don’t let you or there are any problems, call me and I’ll sort it out. They’re snobby up here.”

Your bags have been unpacked already when she fiddles with the remote that controls your wardrobe. She finds the button for your underwear drawer, and smirks profusely at what she discovers.

“You are a filthy, filthy flirt,” she mumbles, blushing. Everything in there is either lace or very tiny. You’re planning to put that big, fat bed to very good use.

She finds her way to the bedroom, memorising the route for future use. Her suitcase is in there, placed in the corner and… cleaned?

Millie clears her throat, making the inquisitive blonde jump. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she says, knowing they definitely haven’t. Jealousy surges through Flo before she sees how the woman is dressed. “I’m Y/n’s assistant.” She wonders why you’ve brought her on holiday with you, until she realises you’ve disappeared because you have a meeting. “She asked me to make sure you had everything that you needed. She’ll find you in an hour or so.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. I left my friends in the lobby, I’ll probably just go back to the beach with them.” Will and Livvy are going to think you’re shagging if she stays any longer, which is far from the truth seeing as you’re not on a holiday but rather a business trip. They stand there awkwardly, until Bella walks in with a sprite and hands it to her boss. “Hi.” The teenager almost falls over.

“Hello, Ms Pugh.” God. Millie laughs quietly. “Sorry. Y/n said to call you Florence, but I didn’t want to offend you. I’m her assistant too. Well. Her assistant’s assistant. Millie’s my boss.”

Flo finds it daunting that your assistant has an assistant, even if she looks like she’s very under-qualified and plucked from the nearest school you could find.

“It’s nice to meet both of you.” She wishes you were here. “Could one of you show me out? I need to get to the beach.” She texts her friends to meet her there, saying you’ve gone off and that she’ll be joining them for the rest of the day.

Will and Livvy quickly decide to get Flo drunk. She comes back with her tail between her legs and is thrust a bottle of champagne that Will got for free from a yacht that docked while Flo was with you. “Rich people are unreal,” he says, “but I’m sure your rich person isn’t bad. Where is she?”

“Working.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know why I thought she was allowed holidays. That was stupid, wasn’t it?”

“I bet you’ll have good makeup sex,” Livvy comforts, four glasses in.

Flo pouts, whining. “She’s so good in bed that I hate her.” Both her friends whack her with whatever springs to mind first. “Just because you don’t get to shag your childhood crushes—”

“Childhood crush?” Will isn’t particularly close to her in respect to knowing everything she’s ever done. She’d easily vent to him, and she does, but he has a tendency to forget facts and get lost. Livvy can draw a timeline of Flo’s life with a smudgy ink pen and her eyes closed.

“Y/n was Flossie Rose’s gay awakening. If you were to pinpoint the exact moment, I believe Flo told me it was when she was thirteen and Y/n asked her to tie her bikini. It slipped ever so slightly.” Flo reminds herself to never let Livvy drink champagne if she wants to maintain any dignity from her quickly depleting stash. It really loosens her lips.

“You’re not straight?!” She shakes her head. “That makes so much more sense.”

“Thanks.”

“No, as in, like… No! It was a compliment, I swear.” Will was last updated on his friend’s love life when they filmed Midsommar. He’s very behind. “So you and Y/n are…? And you’re not with Zach.”

“She wouldn’t be fucking someone else if she was still with him,” Livvy sighs, frustrated with his incompetence. “And who knows what’s going on with those two. Have you guys ever slept together sober?”

“Yeah!” Flo is very quick to defend herself. “Yeah, we have.” She pauses for a moment, finishing the bottle before she continues. “I think we’re dating. She asked me, and I said we were.”

“Is this a ‘never meet your heroes’ situation?” Will asks slyly. “Are we liking the fact she’s, like, loaded?”

“We’re more scared that she will stop finding us attractive and go back to seeing us as her best friend’s little sister.” Her friends nod; it’s a totally valid point. You’re quite good at separating Flossie and Flo however. “And I don’t care if she has but a penny to her name.”

“Point out her suite.” The three of them stare at the main building. “With the amount of points Will has, it must be near us.” You’re on the top floor. The whole of the top floor.

She points there.

“We’re only two floors below her,” Will says. “It’s not weird for her, right? Chaos Hotels are really nice. They use lovely bed linens.”

“That’s… not normal. Don’t tell her that.” You’d be flattered, to be honest. Sometimes you convince yourself that all one-hundred and twenty-eight hotels are completely empty, no one likes them, and that you’re a failure who should retire to her sofa never to be seen again. “But she has the whole floor. Owner’s apartments.”

Livvy really wants to see. “Fucking hell. Where’s my childhood crush? I need a new fridge.”

“Her assistant has an assistant.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Sounds like you’re a stress ball,” mutters Will. He hasn’t solidified his dislike for you yet, but the disappointment in his friend’s voice saddens him a lot more than he thought it would. “If she completely ignores you the whole time we’re here then we’ll go out clubbing like the celebrities we are and stir up some drama. I can’t guarantee that I won’t stop staying at her hotels though.”

- - -

Millie complains about the sand ruining her shoes, saying she’s not at all dressed for the beach and that you won’t find her in the crowds. You reply that you will, tell her that her intern is outshining her, and offer her your sandals. Sighing, she accepts, taking your bag and carrying it for you (so far you’ve insisted on being independent because it’s genuinely embarrassing to be so pampered in front of a woman who clearly is not fond of that lifestyle). “Pretend it’s your bag,” you instruct her as you spot her friends. They’re sunbathing in a quieter area. You can smell Flo’s cigarette smoke. Millie doubts anyone would assume the Birkin is hers.

Every time you glance behind you, the entourage acts busy with other matters. You know that the five or so waiters and waitresses are hovering, listening to your conversation. If you so much as mention a slight desire for, say, strawberry gum, it’s their job to fetch it. Again, that’s embarrassing. Millie disperses them when you’re looking, but calls them back once you’re not. One day you will not only blush tomato red but grow a stalk and fatten until you are the damned fruit.

Flo sees you trudging through the sand with heels in one hand and your phone in the other. You seem to be talking to someone (your brother — “how come you’re partying without me?”) and she wonders if you’re walking towards her or doing rounds of the resort. It’s a bit of both, but the space beside her looks too enticing to move on so you sit down. Every person other than Flo looks shocked that you didn’t click your fingers, call ‘garçon’, and demand a throne.

“Hi,” Flo says brightly, happy that you’ve chosen her over what you were supposed to do. You subtly shoo Millie and Bella and all five members of staff, and they retreat to the nearest set of sun loungers. She tells them that they are to spread out and look like they are not only waiting on you. “How was your meeting?”

“Boring.” You have a view of the beach from your office. You played Where’s Flossie. “Top secret information: the Standard hotel’s prospective customers saw this place and rethought their bookings. You’re our lead woman on this case, Pugh. Your service was greatly appreciated.”

“This is the part of the movie where you’d pull a knife out and stab me.” She leans on you, getting sand all over your linen trousers. Her fingers brush the grains off, resting on your thigh once she’s finished. “And while that sounds incredibly sexy, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Mm.” The noise kisses her ears. It sounds familiar. You’re a tease. “You sound pretty into it,” you whisper, lips almost touching her ear, your breath stroking her skin and giving her goosebumps.

Her friends try not to look at the two of you as Flo sprawls on your lap, sunbathing in a better position. You run your fingers through her hair as she lights another cigarette, holding the pack up to you. You take one, feeling Millie roll her eyes from her stakeout a hundred metres away. “Here,” she says, pulling you down to her by the chin, bringing the lighter to the end and igniting it. You mumble something about being able to light your own fags, but it comes out croaky and half-finished because she is turning you on by being so touchy and close and… “See. Now everyone knows you’re mine.” Possessive.

You exhale your smoke in her face to get her back for the way she’s made you feel. “Wanna play a game?” Flo has lost sight of everyone else in the world who isn’t you. She nods slowly, cautiously. “Okay. If you guess what I’m wearing underneath my clothes, you get a kiss.” You’re being childish. It’s funny.

“What are we thinking for dinner?” Will bursts the sexual tension with such a mundane question that you almost laugh. “The buffet’s quite good. Have you tried it?” Flo ashes into the sand and flicks it at him.

“I’ve tried all one hundred and fifteen the buffets.” The remaining thirteen don’t have them. “Personally, I believe the experience isn’t properly had unless you go at peak time. If we eat at 6.30, we can drink until tomorrow.” You’ve noticed the empty bottle of champagne, and you’ve smelt it on Flo’s breath. Loudly, you announce, “the answer is nothing,” looking a bit like a madwoman to her friends. She tenses in your lap, trying her best to not go bright red.

“Can we go?” Flo asks you, voice weak and hushed and desperate. She speaks up; “I’m going to help Y/n unpack before we eat. See you in an hour?”

She knows she’s forgetting something when Livvy frowns and nods to Will.

Remembering once she’s stood up and not as close to you, she goes, “fuck. Sorry. Y/n, this is Will. Will this is Y/n. You’ll get on splendidly. Y/n owns hotels, Will. Will acts, Y/n. We were in Midsommar together, but you both know that so there’s no point in telling you.” She senses the two shadows behind her, readying themselves to leave. You shake your head once, not turning round to look at them, focusing on the fool Flo is making of herself. It’s rather cute. “Y/n really needs to unpack because I can’t stand her living out of a suitcase.” She makes you keep clothes at hers. And a toothbrush. Sometimes the clothes will smell of her instead, so you take her sweatshirts with you when you leave as payback.

Good thing Will and Livvy don’t know that your things were sorted and placed in the wardrobe the minute your bags made it to the room.

“Hasta luego,” you say, chuffed.

Flo restrains herself from sprinting to your apartments with you in tow, walking awkwardly past the line of staff who wait for you to be two metres ahead before trailing after the two of you.

You are clear with Millie about what is going to happen. After a few run-ins with previous assistants, you’ve realised that being open and feeling embarrassed for a second is far better than when they walk in and can’t look at you the same for months.

“I hate how tall your building is.” The lift has a security camera that you’ve warned her is very much monitored. She almost ignores you, but the second the thought seriously crosses her mind is the second the doors ping open and you pull her inside.

You’re pressed up against the same doors the moment they close.

She kisses you hard, hands fencing you in as they thud against the metal. You grin. This is what you wanted to do.

- - -

“You guys really thought you got away with being late,” Will laughs, not drunk, but not tipsy, “by Y/n coming from the kitchens because she had to ‘check something’. Was she checking you out, by any chance?” It was a good plan in the heat of the moment. Seemed believable.

“Was it my acting or hers?” Flo asks, faux secrecy, leaning into the middle of your round table. After dinner, most guests migrate to the rooftop bar because they can smoke and get drunk and be away from any children at the resort. Your table overlooks the sea, a similar view to your place.

“Honestly?” You both nod, eager to see if you’ve outdone the actress. “Your cheeks go red when you lie, Flo.”

“Ow! That was my foot,” Livvy shouts, obviously having been kicked under the table by accident. It must have hurt. Flo’s wearing heels.

“I’m a good liar,” you proudly announce, wanting to piss off Flo even more. You’re about to delve into an anecdote about one of the many times you lied through your teeth to get out of being cut off, disowned, or (and you will defend the fact that you were a typical daughter of a billionaire with this one) taken into custody, when you hear a squeal that sounds like its home is in a boarding school dormitory accompanied by a very familiar ‘oh my gosh’. A chorus of them, actually.

Three girls wave at you from the bar, and now that they’ve locked onto their target, you know that they won’t stop until you go up to them. You want to strangle yourself with their alarmingly abundant necklaces.

“Oh god,” Livvy says, amused at your terror. Flo questions you silently, offended when you get up abruptly and approach them. It’s like you’ve stepped into a role. You walk differently — standing up straighter, more purposefully — and you replicate their condescending tone with your own shrill greetings.

Each girl embraces you. One holds on a little too long for your girlfriend’s liking (you still haven’t discussed the label, but Flo feels like declaring she’s your wife when you’re hugging her like that). They haven’t yet stopped partying and started working, so they smell of the usual champagne/fags/cocaine combo. Your brother smells like that, too, but you forget because you haven’t hugged him since you were ten.

After excruciating small talk, they wave at the three you left behind. “Is that Florence Pugh?”

“Yeah, she and I—”

“Y/n, why haven’t you introduced us yet?” She says it loudly, that one. She’s the most annoying. Her volume causes a few others to turn around but they quickly return to their chatter. Florence, however, is seething at the fact that her hand is resting so comfortably on your waist.

Now unavoidable, you walk them over to the table, grimacing at the steely look Floss gives them all. “This is Hattie, Mattie, and Lottie.” You look at the three witches from Macbeth; “this is Will, Livvy, and Florence.”

“Flo,” corrects one very unimpressed blonde. “It’s lovely to meet you.” It’s not.

“Also a pleasure! You might know my father…”

You tune them out, quite experienced and very used to it. What you don’t realise is that they’ve been looking at you expectantly for the past thirty seconds as the conversation falls into your lap. Flo whispers in your ear a brief summary.

“How did we get to bodycounts?” you ask, wide-eyed. You don’t want to talk about this near Witch One, Two, or Three, because…

“Yeah, so mine isn’t actually that alarming once you hear hers.” Lovely. “It’s in the triple digits, right?”

Flo’s mouth falls open, about to comment. You notice that she’s sort of… impressed? And so is Livvy, but she’s an animated person who never learnt the art of emotion concealing.

Before your brain can catch up with your mouth, you say, “yeah, but it wasn’t all one-at-a-time.” That seemed like a good defence until they’re all looking at you. “Don’t.” You’re addressing the uninvited guests at the table.

Lottie has had far too much to drink, because she shares with the group that you were her first and a bloody good one at that. You decide three things there and then:

You are too sober to not care.

Florence is so hot when she is jealous.

Never let old friends meet new friends, because you have changed too much for them to get along.

“Have you all slept with Y/n?” Will asks curiously, earning a kick to the shin from Flo.

“You know what, Will? There are only so many people in a boarding school.”

“You don’t have to shag them all.”

“Some people sleep with every living, breathing thing they see, some live alone in East London,” philosophises Livvy. Ever since the champagne earlier, she’s been knocking back quite a few long island ice teas (you told the bar to stop serving her after her third). “And some people pine for their childhood crush for so long that they actually pull them.” She looks at Flo. “And s’all okay! If Y/n’s had her hands down hundreds of pants, why does it matter? What’s important s’that the only pants they go down now are Flo’s.”

“Hear, hear!” Lottie shouts. Drunk people tend to get on quite well with each other. You know you’re blushing, and that they can see it. You know that Will is going to take the piss. You know that Flo is going to ask you questions later. Surprisingly, you don’t care. Being with friends (they are your friends, even if you can’t bring yourself to call them that) has made you feel weirdly elated. It’s easy to ignore the part of you who argues that you’re working way too much and that it’s going to blow up in your face.

It will, inevitably. Maybe you’ll handle it better than those before you (your father fucked off for a good few years – he might have mentioned you have a half sister, you’re not too sure), and it’s not like you don’t have people behind you. Supporting you. Like Toby and his family. Very much Toby’s family, particularly his little sister.

- - -

For some reason, you and Flo don’t pounce on each other the minute you get into the living room. It’s not like she’s had enough of you – she was horrified when you suggested you cut your earlier activities short so as to not miss dinner altogether.

“You okay?” she asks as you begin to form a sentence and forget it the minute she looks at you. She walks towards the corridor adjacent to the one you showed her. “How come I never looked round here?” All the doors are closed.

“That’s…” Her hand curls around the first door’s handle, pushing down but not opening the door before you tell her she can. “Have a look.”

The corridor is a mixed bag, Flo finds.

Her first discovery is a boring spare bedroom, decorated similarly to the one you’ve had made up for the two of you, which sparks the question of where your actual room is. It isn’t the next door down, nor the one opposite, because they are a games room and a cinema respectively.

She hums in approval at the posters lining the cinema’s walls once she sees her face (Midsommar) and sends a wink your way when you attempt to splutter out an explanation. And this is you before she gets to the last door.

“This was thoroughly disappointing. A cinema: expected. A games room: expected. Your brother’s wine room with a bed: expected.” She frowns when you remind her that ‘wine room with a bed’ is his bedroom. “Bedrooms have bedside tables and bookshelves and, for normal people, their desk and dressing table. It’s a wine room with a bed, Y/n.”

When she opens the supposedly disappointing final door, you are already in position to shut the mouth that hangs loosely. Without your hand supporting her chin, she returns to her jaw-dropped state.

“Whose bedroom is this?”

Sheepishly, you say, “mine.”

“This is like walking into Sleeping Beauty’s arsehole. It’s amazing!”

In all fairness, her description is quite spot on. They had the floor stained hot pink for a demanding five-year-old Y/n, and the walls painted a matching shade. The bed used to be your claim to fame in year one because it’s shaped like a castle, turrets and all. She runs to climb it, wanting to try out the slide that entertained you for hours. It was a step down from your original request of a waterslide that took you from your bed to the swimming pool, but once they added in a carousel, you were sold.

The slide bores Flo after a few tries because it’s not made for an (albeit small) adult woman, so she moves her focus to the ornate fairground ride, smirking because this glimpse into your childhood is so very entertaining. She sits on your favourite horse out of the three, and begs you to turn it on.

“It plays music,” you groan, sick of the same tune having heard it thousands of times before. She gives a look that you stupidly can’t say no to, so you plug your ears and hit the on button. Flo informs you that this is the best place in the world.

After she has gone on every horse and quizzed you about the names and personalities you gave them when you were younger, she asks if any other room beats this one. “I am never leaving.”

“You better leave, because I’m not fucking you in here.”

Suddenly she is not so enthusiastic about staying. In fact, she declares she hates the bloody place and pushes you out of it, not stopping until the route that she knew would come in handy leads you to your bed (adult you’s bed). You sit down on the edge of the mattress as she straddles you, teeth crashing messily against your own, hands tugging at the dress you had to change into for dinner. She pulls it off, moaning at the sight of your dangerous decision to only wear a thong.

“Not fair,” she grumbles.

“Suck it up, buttercup.” She doesn’t hear you, too busy staring at the curve of your breasts, wondering how long it would take for you to beg her to touch them. You notice that she’s not touching you, sitting up in your lap. “Go on then, Miss Ravenous.” It doesn’t work. It usually spurs her on. “Flo.”

“Y/n.”

“Flo.”

She copies your tone again, “Y/n.”

You have to try other methods. “Did you know I have a strap in my drawer?”

“Which drawer?” You smirk. She can’t stop herself. “Which one?” she whines, eyeing the bedside table.

“Not that one.”

She gets off you, taking off her top because that may convince you to tell her. You’re offended at her perception of your self-control, but enjoy sitting back and watching her rummage through each and every drawer. Occasionally, she makes a face, having found something suitable for that emotion, and slowly but surely she gets through the drawers it could have been in.

“Getting hotter,” you say as she retraces her steps. She raises her eyebrows and confidently yanks open a drawer that contains a singular hair bobble. Flo realises your comment was more of a cat-call than a clue. “You’re never going to find it.”

“I so am!”

Smugly, you pull on the handle of the bedside table. Florence has never wanted to maliciously choke you until that moment. And then her anger fizzles out.

Arousal hits her like a tsunami, and you can tell. She hates that you can tell, but she’ll bring it up later because you’ve managed to wriggle her out of her shorts and underwear until she’s fully naked and standing dumbfounded in the middle of your bedroom.

How you get her like this is a mystery.

She is shameless in the way she kisses you; hungry, fast. It’s almost too fast, considering the state of undress you are both in (the thong really doesn’t count – it’s that small), because when you knock against the corner of a shelf there is nothing to stop you from yelping as it makes sharp contact with your back. You hear a mumbled ‘sorry’ from Flo as she guides you back to the bed, taking care to lie you down on the egyptian cotton.

Her hands go to your chest the minute she’s sure you’re not going to get injured again, kneading the flesh before sliding down, permitted by the sheen of sweat that makes you glisten under the dimmed lights, to the apex of your thighs. You grab her wrist before she can press a finger to your clit, using her surprise as an opportunity to flip the two of you. She sort of fights this decision, being energetic and intense and the one who usually takes the wheel (only because you let her). You tell her that if she is patient, you’ll have a chance to actually use the strap rather than both of you ogling at it. “I can’t put it on if I have to pin you down,” you mutter, despite finding her devotion to your pleasure adorable.

She’s adorable.

She’s also very horny. To the point where watching you blow your nose would turn her on. As long as it was you. You turn her on really easily, really quickly, and too much for her to not feel like a teenager. Especially when your hair is damply sticking to your face and your chest is rising and falling quickly. And the best thing about you turning Florence on, is the fact that she knows she has the exact same effect on you.

You’re not going to hide it.

Flo moans when you join her again, kissing you because she missed you and not allowing you to push her flat against the bed because she is not about to let you win your little power battle for control. (Technically, you’ll always win – your intentions are to be doted upon and that is exactly what you get.)

“Why can’t you just–” She cuts you off by somehow getting on top of you, dipping her head down to your lips, and then your neck, and then your chest. She hovers above your lap. You lie back, hypnotised by her.

“I want to ride you.”

She didn’t realise that would make you moan.

“You are going to kill me one day,” you breathe as she grins at the sight of you; a complete wreck. Your eyes follow her as she slides her hand down to the base of the dildo, and your eyes shut when the movement rubs against your clit. Flo quirks her eyebrows at your reaction, finding it theatrical but wholly erotic.

She sinks down onto the strap with a sharp intake of breath, head falling backwards as she does so. You watch her as she begins to grind down, revelling in the noises she makes a point to not hold back, until it becomes insufficient to gawk. You sit up, her breasts pressing into yours, your hands gripping her hips as she begins to move faster. The strap pushes harder into your clit as she bounces up and down, drawing out whines and whimpers and a “don’t ever stop” distorted by the both of you panting.

Her hands rest on your shoulders as she increases her pace, seeking out her own orgasm, pulling you into her and kissing you. You open your mouth, waiting for her tongue to slip inside, moaning into her. She seems to melt into you, teeth crashing against your own, lips swollen once she breaks for air. When she does pause, you wrap your arms under her thighs and flip her, but she remains clutching onto your shoulders, back arching.

Once you begin to thrust your hips, she is quick to let go, head hitting the pillows with a thud inaudible over the obscene sounds flowing out of the both of you. Her nails dig into your back, adding to a map of marks made today, and you can feel her tense. It will only take another–

“Y/n, where do you keep your cocaine?” The voice is new to Flo. She hates it. She was about to come. “Also, I love that you’re fucking her on Daddy’s bed, but be quieter. Way quieter.” You yank the bedsheets over yourself and Flo, mouthing ‘sorry’ to hopefully prevent her from a heart attack.

“Go away,” you reply. He rolls his eyes and taps his watch. “There’s some under my bed.” Just to get it over with, you omit your questions of ‘how the fuck did you get in here?’ and ‘why are you asking me if you knew I was in the middle of something?’, glancing down at Flo to see how she’s doing. She’s no less red than she was before, but instead of parted and kissable, her lips are pressed together in a tight frown.

“I need to finish,” she pants, wondering how you’ve managed to turn her into a minor exhibitionist. “Y/n, I need to–” It takes one hard roll of your hips for you to make her come, Flo’s body swept up in a rush of pleasure. Her legs shake as you continue chasing a release. She’s coming a second time when you collapse onto her, head resting in the crook of her neck, being able to taste her sweat as your lips caress her skin.

She kicks the sheets off as soon as you pull out, breathing not yet returning to normal. Between her thighs she can feel the stickiness you left. You suggest a shower.

“Wait,” she says as you stand, loosening the straps on the harness. “Who was that and this isn’t really your parents’ bed, is it?” At your diffident expression, she sighs dramatically.

You launch into an explanation: “This place is super outdated because we never used to stay here, but the Master bedroom belongs to the current CEO. I’m the current CEO, therefore it’s rightfully mine, and I told you that we’re not fucking in my childhood bedroom.”

“You had no problem doing it in mine!”

She’s not cross with you, just frustrated about the interruption. “I last stayed in my room when I was six. It hasn’t changed since then. If we were at my actual house, it would be fine.”

Flo stands up as well. “Y/n, you can’t fuck me on your dad’s bed!” She moves away from the mattress, towards the door of the ensuite. “It’s weird.”

“He hasn’t stayed here in decades, and my parents can barely be in the same room together.” You toss the harness into the corner. She steps into the ensuite with a grouchy face, and you can tell she’s debating whether or not to let you join her. “We should be more worried about the fact that my brother’s here.”

- - -

Will’s first reaction to Flo’s story is to ask which one of you has worse daddy issues. “Pretty sure her dad’s girlfriend is younger than her,” Flo answers, grimacing at the thought.

“Is Y/n’s brother hot?” Livvy hasn’t really been focused on the story ever since Flo started telling it.

The trio almost get deja vu when you parade down the beach to them, right on time. You’re right on time because a fourth member of the crew is now prominent; shirtless and muscular and handsome.

“I think so,” Will whispers, patting Livvy on the shoulder when her eyes widen. Your brother doesn’t bother to stop when you sit beside your girlfriend – you’ve now talked about it: girlfriend is a yes, but beach sex is a no (the conversation was in the shower and you got carried away).

“Hello,” you greet them all, kissing Flo on the cheek because you’re still making the fact that you got walked in on up to her. “I come bearing good news!” You nudge Flo’s shoulder. “A boat is docking tomorrow morning at 10 under the name ‘Poulter’.”

‘Pugh’ would have been too suspicious. Another thing brought up in your very healthy and communicative conversation was that you were not going to treat her like she’s your sugar baby, even if she’s younger and you like buying her things.

“Are you joining us?” Flo asks, sceptical.

“Is your brother joining us?”

“Livvy, my brother is not good enough for you, and I don’t think you guys would want to be caught up in his snowstorm.” His literal snowstorm.

Will catches up eventually, realising you’ve gotten a boat for him tomorrow. “Am I now a Chaos Club Diamond member?” You laugh loudly, startling the entourage who sit behind you and hang onto your every word in case you drop the name of a drink. “Also, it’s your boat, right?”

You shake your head and now it’s Flo’s turn to laugh. She covers her mouth quickly. “I’m banned from our boats. This is my friend’s rental company. And, Will, you have enough points to own the hotels.”

“You don’t want them,” speaks another voice.

There’s a moment of silence as you feel a hand patting your head (older brothers are the worst).

“Oh, you were the chap I gave the champers to!” He’s a pretentious snob, your brother. “Small world.” Flo reaches for your hand when she notices your jaw tense. “Y/n refuses to introduce me, though I’m not sure why.” You lean into your girlfriend’s side as she presses a kiss to your temple, wanting nothing more than to throw sand in his face and kick him. “She’s always hated when I befriend her friends. Must be terrified that I’m going to nab them!”

“Enough,” you tell him calmly, not rising to his tone. He keeps eye contact with you as you hold his gaze; a challenge. A stupid one, but stil something he will not win.

After a tense few seconds, he backs down; “I’ve been beaten, my friends.” They laugh as he does. “Y/n, I shall see you later, darling, hopefully fully clothed this time.” He kisses your cheek three times, alternating and starting with the right just like the French. He’s a posh twat that is easy to love behind closed doors when he’s not embarrassing you and whoring himself out for attention.

“I am so sorry that I called you snobby and rich and stuck-up,” states Will hurriedly.

“You didn’t–”

Flo whispers in your ear, “behind your back, babe,” as the other two take in that whole interaction.

While you struggle to find a positive equally as much as they do, you can at least cross off one impactful yet traumatising person in your life that your girlfriend has to meet. The next big two are your parents, but you’re going to need to prepare her intensely for that.

tags: @pewpughpew @ridlz @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @sophie-xox @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz

#florence pugh fanfiction #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh #florence pugh x you #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh one shot #florence pugh fluff #florence pugh smut #florence pugh angst #florence pugh imagine #florence pugh imagines

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wordofthewicked · 2 years ago

Text

Showtime- Paul Lahote

Fic description: A chance meeting one sunny afternoon on La Push brings you face to face with Paul Lahote. Your strange connection with him, and the fact that it was his soccer ball that broke your nose, you were wrapped up into an unseen world that lived in tandem with yours. How far are you willing to go for true love? How far are you willing to go to protect the people you love?

TW: Slight NSFW, making out, nothing crazy

Showtime Masterlist

General Masterlist

Part Six

~~~

Part Seven

Being away from Paul was harder than you anticipated. You found yourself much more agitated than usual, snapping at your parents when they asked you questions, and finding it hard to sit still. You did your best to hide this, not wanting to give your parents any more reasons to be suspicious. Still, they took your new attitude to heart, and one night at dinner, they decided to approach you about it.

“Sweetheart, we’re just worried about you. You’ve been… different the past few weeks.” Your mother began, gently placing her fork down on her plate.

“Oh have I? I haven’t noticed.” You grumbled, pushing your mashed potatoes into a pile before flattening them down again.

Your father sighed, shaking his head. “Y/N, please don’t be difficult. You’ve been so hostile and closed off recently. We just want to know what’s going on in your life. How are your friends?”

“They’re fine. I only see them during lunch, so I don’t really know what’s going on with them.” You answered curtly, not having the will to give them additional information.

Your parents shared a look, before returning their gaze to you.

“Is this about that boy?” Your mother questioned, picking her fork up and shoveling peas onto it. “I can’t imagine another reason for this behavior.”

You laughed a little, which surprised them. “You really can’t? Mom- you grounded me and took my phone away during the last few months of my senior year. All I do is go to school, then sit alone at home until you guys get off of work. I can’t even talk to anyone to pass the time, so I just sit and reread everything on my bookshelf. Of course I’m going to be annoyed all the time. It has nothing to do with Paul.”

“You understand we’re just trying to keep you safe, right?” Your father asked, his voice soft for such a bold statement.

“Yes. You’re keeping me safe from the dangers that Bella made up.”

Your mother sighed, her voice heavier than your fathers. “Charlie said Bella had expressed the same concerns to him, Y/N. Why would she lie to her father, the chief of police, about these people being dangerous?”

“Because she was hurt! Her and her friend Jacob got into a fight, so she was worried it was because he had fallen into a bad crowd. She realized she was wrong, and she apologizes to me every time I see her. Yes she told Charlie what she thought, but she still spends everyday on the Reservation with them! Charlie’s best friend is Jacob’s father, who is more than knowledgeable about that everyone is up to. They both know that no one’s in a gang or doing drugs.” You argued, frustration sweeping over you.

Both of your parents seemed unsure of what to say, so the conversation fell away. You finished eating and headed up to your room once you had cleared the table and washed the dishes.

You had finished your homework during the day, and it was too early to go to bed. You felt restless- like an animal with their arm caught in a trap.

You’d barely been able to talk to Paul, except the few times during lunch you would borrow someone’s phone to call him. He started recognizing the numbers, and usually picked up during the first ring. You knew he should have been sleeping, since nights were spent patrolling, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care much about disturbing him, since you knew that both of you were struggling being apart.

The hold that the imprint bond had on you wasn’t something you were prepared for. Aside from feeling bummed about not seeing Paul, you didn’t think much else would happen. Yet, after the first week of being grounded, you started having problems falling asleep. You’d lay awake at night and wonder where he was, what he was doing. It was like he had consumed every thought you had- everything led back to him. You knew in your heart that he must be in even worse shape than you were, and with his head clouded by thoughts of you, worry over his safety became unbearable. He was out hunting vampires- how could he do that while spending all of his time thinking about you?

After a while of being lost in your own thoughts, you heard a knock at your bedroom door. You grabbed the book that was on your nightstand in attempts to look busy, and called them to come in. Both of your parents appeared in the doorway, small smiles on their faces.

“Hi honey. Can we come in? We wanted to talk with you.” Your father spoke, entering your small room anyway.

You crossed your legs to give them room to sit on your bed, and they both did. They looked at each other coyly, before handing you your cellphone without a word.

“Woah- wait. What’s going on?” You asked, clutching the phone in your hands.

“We… talked to Charlie a little bit ago, and he corroborated everything you said. He apologized for Bella’s behavior and any inconveniences she may have caused, and said that the boys on the reservation were probably better influences than the boys in Forks. We’ve decided to unground you.” Your mother answered, reaching out to grab your arm gently.

Your father cleared his throat, his stern eyes looking at you over his glasses. “There are some more rules, however. We would like to meet this Paul fellow as soon as possible. We trust you as an adult to make your own choices, but we are still your parents. You seem to care quite a bit about him, and I’d imagine you’ll want to have him around here, too. If you’re hanging out at our house, you need to stay in the living room. He needs to leave by 9 during the week, and 11 on the weekends. Additionally, if you are going to out, your curfew is still 10 on school nights. However, seeing as you are leaving for college soon, we’ll extend your weekend curfew until midnight. You need to keep your phone on you at all times, and respond when we call, alright?”

You squealed a bit and lunged forward, taking both your parents in a huge hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me.”

They hugged you back lovingly, your mother whispering to you. “We love you.”

“I love you guys too.”

~~~

The next day at lunch, you sat down at the table, and pulled your phone out of your pocket, holding it up triumphantly.

“No way! You got your phone back? Does that mean you’ll stop using my minutes?” Jessica asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Yes! Aaaaand, it means I’m officially no longer grounded.” You yelled, smiling widely.

Everyone cheered, Mike especially since he had been so keen on breaking you out of your house.

Bella sat down in the middle of the commotion, and eyed everyone weirdly. You filled her in on the news, and a wave of relief visibly coursed through her.

“Oh good. Paul will stop moping around when he finds out you’re ungrounded. Have you talked to him yet?” She asked, picking up her sandwich and taking a bite.

You shook your head, “Actually, I was thinking of surprising him. I need your help.”

Bella readily agreed, seemingly wanting to do whatever she could to make up for the chaos she inevitably caused. You didn’t mind that she felt she needed to make it up to you, even if you weren’t upset anymore.

You finalized the details for the next day with her and Jacob, before your lunch period ended.

Jacob was going to get the pack to First Beach the next afternoon, where you and Bella would show up and surprise them. You could imagine the look on Paul’s face when he saw you, and the thought of that alone made you giddy.

You glided through school, all thoughts consumed by the boy with the leather jacket and kind heart who was waiting desperately to have you back in his arms.

~~~

Bella pulled into the first parking spot she found, and you were practically bouncing in your seat. As soon as the engine was off, you were out of the truck and moving toward the beach. She laughed at your excitement, smiling at the way you couldn’t seem to help yourself.

When you actually got onto the sand, there wasn’t anyone else around besides the pack. They were lounging around by the water, laughing and joking with each other loudly.

You would recognize Paul anywhere, just by seeing him from behind. He was half heartedly kicking a soccer ball around with Jared and Seth- his slumped shoulders evident even from across the beach. He looked tired, much more than anyone else did. His movements were slow, like he was on autopilot instead of actually meaning them.

The familiar tug in your chest pulled at your heart, beckoning you to get closer. You couldn’t help yourself, essentially moving at full speed to run to him, leaving Bella behind.

The sand on the beach was damp with fresh rain, so it made it easier for you to move quickly. Jared noticed you first, and he called out to Paul, telling him to turn around. He did, just seconds before you had made your way over to him. He didn’t even have time to react to seeing you before you jumped into his arms. He picked you up at once, and swung you around, pulling you tightly against his body. The two of you laughed, happy to be back in one another’s arms.

“It’s you. Jesus it’s actually you.” Paul murmured, once he placed your feet back underneath you.

“It’s me.” You breathed, inhaling his scent as deeply as you could.

Paul rested his chin on the top of your head, and the two of you stayed entwined. You felt the stress of the last few weeks melt away at his touch, and high at the feeling of being with him once more.

Paul pulled away to look at you, smiling widely. “How are you here? Did Bella break you out of prison for the day?”

“I’m actually free. My parents talked to Charlie, and he told them that you guys aren’t gang members or drug addicts. Plus they were getting annoyed with my constant moping around the house.” You responded, resting your hands against Paul’s large chest.

At this, he pulled you against him again, and whispered to you. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” You responded, “More than I think I should have.”

He released you with a kiss on the forehead, and you felt your face warm up at the gesture. He took your hand and intertwined your fingers together, tugging you over to sit down on one of the many beach blankets they had laying around.

Leah gave you a soft smile, “Glad you’re here, Y/N. Paul’s been absolutely insufferable without you.”

Bella had finally made her way over to the pack, and she sat next to Jacob, their sides touching. “Yeah, Y/N wasn’t much better.”

You shrugged in response, letting your shoulder rest against Paul’s. “What can I say? I’ve grown fond of this idiot.”

Everyone laughed lightly, shaking their heads at the way you and Paul seemed to glow together. The pack filled you in on the last few weeks apart, and you and Bella gave them updates on your life.

“Oh by the way, are you coming to Tyler’s party next weekend?” You asked Bella, tilting your head.

She shook her head in response. “I didn’t know Tyler was having a party. I wasn’t invited.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s a party, Bella. You don’t need an invitation, there’s not going to be a bouncer.”

She laughed lightly, smiling at you. “Oh, I guess you’re right. Parties aren’t really my thing, though. Not a fan of the whole teenage drinking culture.”

“Totally understand. Tyler’s parties usually get out of hand, anyway. The amount of times it ends with us running from the cops is bad. Probably better to stay away.” You answered honestly.

“Yeah, Mike had filled me in. He’d been really stressed about you not being to go, for some reason.” She responded, but then immediately looked like she regretted it.

Paul stiffened at this, and you could tell that he was imminently jealous of Mike, and his desire to be near you. You knew Paul didn’t have anything to worry about, but you also kind of enjoyed the way he was becoming protective of you.

“Yeah, Mike and I are kind of a package party deal.” You shrugged, tossing the hair off of your shoulder. “Jessica and Eric are much more… tame when it comes to parties. So Mike and I have to work together to do as much stupid shit as possible before they stop us.”

“That is wildly concerning.” Bella replied, furrowing her eyebrows. “What do you even do at parties? The ones in movies always seem so dramatic and fictitious.”

You groaned in excitement, sitting up. “Uhm, Bella. They are exactly like the movies, and completely not. If you’re drunk enough, it feels empowering and exciting- like the lights are there for you, and you’re the only one that matters. If you’re not drunk enough, it’s a bunch of sweaty teenagers dry humping each other in someone’s living room. It’s awkward and weird and fantastic. You should really come to Mallory’s graduation party. Big of a bitch as she is, she knows how to throw a damn good party. Last summer, her jungle juice was so strong, I ended up…”

Jacob and Sam had both sent you slight glares, and you cleared your throat uncomfortably.

“Maybe that’s a story for another time.” You spoke, your face heating up.

Emily laughed a little, shaking her head. “Didn’t realize you were such a socialite.”

You blushed at her words, feeling perhaps that the pack was carrying much more important things than high school drama and shitty house parties. “Sometimes.”

“Should you really be using your new found freedom to go to a party like that?” Paul asked, looking down on you with concern.

“It’s not my friends that my parents were worried about.” You shrugged, dismissing his words. “Plus, I only have so long before I’m heading off to the other end of the country. How likely am I to see everyone together like that?”

Paul hummed, frowning a bit. “Right, college.”

“Have you made your official decision yet?” Emily asked, her curiosity seeping through her tone. “I know you have one in mind as your top school.”

You shifted a bit, suddenly feeling anxious about your future for the first time in a while. “No… I haven’t made anything official yet. I’ve declined a few schools, but that’s about it. I’ve applied to a couple more in Washington, too.”

“Washington? I thought you just said you were heading to the East Coast?” Kim questioned, glancing between you and Paul.

“That was the plan, but things change, you know? Better to be prepared and have plans than for your life to come to a grinding halt.” You answered, brushing nonexistent sand off of your pants.

Paul tensed slightly, and when you looked at him questioningly, he smiled and kissed the top of your head. You melted into his touch, the euphoria of being around him almost overwhelming.

The afternoon sun was waning, and Emily suggested that the group should pack their things and head back. Paul pulled you aside, smiling coyly.

“Would you wanna come over? We can ditch everyone else and watch a movie at my place.” He suggested, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Your parents won’t mind?”

He shook his head, his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes. “No one else is home.”

Your eyes widened at that, and you agreed quickly. Paul seemed visibly excited, and he announced that you two were heading off on your own, and he’d drop you home later that night. You said your goodbyes to the group, as he dragged you off the beach and towards the street.

You could barely keep up with Paul’s long strides, your short legs failing you. You laughed at his relentless pace, but didn’t say anything about it. His house was only a short walk away, and as soon as you had shut the door, the silence was heavy between you.

“Er, we can watch a movie down here if you’d like. Or I have a tv in my bedroom, as well.” He offered, gauging your reaction.

“Your bedroom would be great.” You answered, letting him lead you to the back of the one story home.

When you entered his room, you could see how absolutely fitting it was for him. The walls were mostly bare, and there wasn’t much furniture aside from his bed, a night stand, and the dresser that held the tv. You immediately took off your shoes and coat, dropping yourself onto the plush covers of his King sized bed.

Paul laughed at your movements, and turned the tv on. A movie was already loaded into the VHS player, and he rewound it, unconcerned about whatever title it was. When he reached the beginning, he pressed play, and joined you on the bed.

You noticed how he kept a bit of distance between you two, and you felt your chest heat up at the notion. It was obvious your comfort came first to him, regardless of what intentions he may have had for the evening.

You sat in silence as Pulp Fiction continued on, both of you unsure of what to do with yourselves. You weren’t completely certain if it was the feeling of being by his side again, or some deeper connection, but you couldn’t stop imaging his hands running down your body. Your thoughts were plagued with dirty images of what could happen while you were alone, and the realization that you could make them come true dawned on you.

Carefully, you turned over onto your stomach, moving closer to Paul so you were nestled into his side, with your faces only inches apart. He cocked an eyebrow at your movements, but you just smiled slightly at him instead. You glanced at his plush lips, and the sudden urge to have them against yours took over.

Like lightening striking, you kissed him deeply, pushing yourself upwards a bit to be closer to him. Paul didn’t question you, his hands instead sliding up to rest on your hips, squeezing them gently. Since you hadn’t kissed since his near phasing, you had forgotten how absolutely addicting he was. You wanted to drink him in, become absolutely intoxicated on nothing but his taste.

Your hands came to rest in his hair, and you pulled on the short locks gently, causing him to moan into your mouth. The sound stirred something inside you, and you yanked harder this time.

Paul groaned, and his hands grabbed your body, moving you so you were entirely pressed on top of him. You slid your legs open, so you could straddle his waist comfortably. He pulled away from your lips, bringing his mouth down your neck, and biting slightly.

“Fuck, Paul,” you moaned, tilting your head to give him better access.

He took the opportunity to bite down harder, before his warm tongue darted out to soothe the red skin. He trailed kisses down lower, finding your sweet spot just above your collarbone.

The room was unbearably warm, and you pushed him back so he was laying down fully again. You reached for the hem of your shirt, and tugged the garment off, tossing it behind you. His eyes widened at the look of your bare chest, your boobs spilling over the cups slightly. He sat himself up then, scooting you both back so he could lean against the headboard. His hands trailed to your back, unhooking your bra swiftly.

Paul’s eyes trailed over your bare form, and he licked his lips as a toothy grin broke out on his face. “You’re going to the the death of me.”

~~~

Tag List:

@sorrow-and-bliss @fangirling-4-ever @emme-looou @swidkid @sunsetevergreen @yourwonkywriter

Reply to be added! I don’t respond to replies since this is a side blog, but I’ll see it and add you!

#twilight #paul lahote #leah clearwater #sam uley #embry call #jacob black #quil ateara #wolf pack #seth clearwater #jared cameron #paul lahote x you #twilight wolf pack #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x y/n #wolfpack fanfic #Paul Lahote fic #Paul Lahote blurb #Paul Lahote smut #Paul Lahote fluff

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silv3rswirls · 3 years ago

Text

Please, Lie To Me

Note: I’ve been on this blog for a whole year today! Honestly, I had no idea what do do for this, so I decided to re-write the very first imagine I posted here.

Summary: You wished he was lying to you, but you know its time to stop pretending this is a perfect, novel ending.

Warnings: Breakups, falling out of love

When do people know when they’ve fallen out of love?

Carefully you set your book aside, the worn novel propped against your thigh as your shoulders drown and lips tug downward. The recent pages of your book had asked that question, when was it time to accept a fleeting relationship and part ways. Granted, you knew the answer the novel would give as this was probably your billionth time rereading it. You knew, in the end, the petty problems would be solved and the main characters would meet again, a flame would rekindle and they would spend the rest of their lives together.

Still, you were always left to ponder the scary idea of falling out of love with someone. To part ways for the good of one another, to cut ties and go on without the person they thought would be there forever. Do you just know, or is it something to learn? Accept? You had no idea, but with how things were shifting in your life you could feel the anxiety over it pooling in your stomach.

You had first met Namjoon while in your early years of university. A small, old second-hand bookshop was just a few minutes' walk away from campus, so you found yourself there studying or reading in your free time. It was usually pretty empty, so when other patrons were found wandering around you took subtle notice. You had found Namjoon between the cramped bookshelves, awkwardly trying to avoid each other while browsing and eventually making light conversation. When you expressed your struggle to pick your next read, Namjoon thumbed out a thick, blank-covered novel and recommended it.

You took it, said goodbye, and ended up finishing the novel within the week. It had been a tad boring and predictable at times but enjoyed the cute stranger's recommendation nonetheless. Every time you returned to the bookstore you hoped to catch him again. He seemed so interesting, so kind from the conversations you shared that day. You wanted to tell him your thoughts on the book, see if he thought the same, but it appeared as if fate had other plans.

Until about six months later when you returned, having stopped hoping for the stranger by now. You just needed a book for school and found it cheaper here than on campus. Then you spotted him, between large bookcases and reading nooks he was there browsing. You doubted he’d remember you, but you took the chance and after some explanation, he did. So, the two of you talked for what felt like forever, because to you time didn’t exist in that tiny bookstore. Namjoon and you got closer and after almost a year of friendship he asked you out. The rest was history.

But now, after two long years together things had begun to feel off.

Hence why you were alone in the living room, curled on the sofa and struggling to reread the novel Namjoon had picked out for you once upon a time ago. After all these years you still found it a tad boring, but you loved the novel that had started this whole thing with Namjoon. It was so worn by now and Namjoon had insisted on buying you a new copy but you couldn’t part with the original copy. It was special in a way.

Normally you could speed through the novel, but today as you waited for Namjoon to come home your nerves kept you restless. He had texted you earlier that he wanted to sit down and talk about your relationship and you had no choice but to do it. For as long as you pushed all the problems away and ignored that your relationship was any less than perfect, Namjoon made it clear this time that things weren’t okay anymore. You knew they were, you just didn’t want to face the harsh reality; instead, you wanted to reread that novel and marvel at the happy ending.

But life isn’t a novel, and your relationship wasn’t written to be perfect.

You had expected it. Things had been off for weeks now, maybe even months but you lost track of how many things you ignored. You hadn’t spent much time together lately, you couldn’t even remember the last date you went on together. When you did go out it was always with friends and you could see the interest and light in Namjoon’s eyes when he interacted with everyone, only for it to drain away when his eyes settled on you when it was time to go home together. He just seemed so much happier to be with the boys or your mutual friends, there was no spark between the two of you. No matter how many times you excused it to stress from work or school, you couldn’t deny that the two of you just never clicked anymore. You would go home together, but not together. Barely speaking a word and going through your separate night routines as things grew worse. When he held you on those kinds of nights there wasn’t any adoration in his eyes, his arms wrapped lax around your, almost bored. Maybe you should have addressed it then, but you couldn’t bear the thought of things breaking. Because you still loved him so much, even if it seemed like his affections were lacking.

You heard Namjoon unlock the door and close it. The rustle of his coat being hung and his shoes slipping off. He moved slowly and when he said hello his tone wasn’t happy or fond like it used to be. This was no cute rambling after a long day of work. He found you in the living room, sitting in dim stillness with the pitter-patter of rain keeping you company. He walked in, he had brought you food, but you weren’t hungry. In fact, your stomach almost hurts at the tense silence in the room.

“Hey” Namjoon spoke, tone drawn out and tired. “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, we should talk about this.”

“I know” you murmured, suddenly feeling tired yourself. “Just say it, I already know.”

“I’m sorry” he sighs, “I don’t know how it happened or when, but suddenly things just stopped being good.”

You had no idea how things could start to fade so easily. From dates that took your breath away to quiet glances and cold shoulders. Your first date together had been like a dream-like you were the princess in a fairy tale, but now it appeared that Namjoon had no princess and you had an unwilling prince. “We’ve grown apart.” You add, shyly as if saying anything right now would make him leave.

“I’ve been distant and I can’t…” He searches for his words carefully, “I can’t be the boyfriend you need any more, I just think it's time we part ways.”

You close your eyes, nodding as you feel the hot wave of tears flush your face. “I know.”

You don’t talk much after that. You leave the food untouched and go to the bedroom. You’ve already called a friend to stay with, you just need to pack a bag. You’d come for the rest of your things another day, hopefully, while Namjoon was gone. You retreat to the bedroom before you can cry in front of him. He seems so calm, so understanding over the situation. You wished you could feel the same. You wished you could be content with how things were ending, but you couldn’t. You loved him. You shared so much of your life over the past few years with him. It wasn’t as easy as he made it seem.

You ignore him in the doorway, chewing the inside of your cheeks as you try to keep a straight face.

But you can’t help but to look over to him and the tears start to fall. You bite your lip as they rush down your face and Namjoon is at your side the moment they fall. You’re pulled into his chest as he rubs up and down your back, telling you that it was okay to cry. You look up to him, tears still slick down your cheeks. He’s smiling at you and for a moment you think that maybe he’s crying too. “What did I do wrong?” You ask, voice uneven as you stop caring about sounding pitiful.

“No, no” he murmurs, “you didn’t do any wrong” he soothes, his voice faltering a bit towards the end. “You did everything right- everything you could, but I...I’m sorry.”

He didn’t regret it, not a moment throughout your relationship. He loved you for so long, he still does, but he knows that he’s just not in love with you anymore. He doesn't want to let you go, he wants to be selfish and keep you at this side, but he knows it's unfair. He was right to break things off now before things got too far and he hurt you more than he had already. Because, as hard as it was to admit, he had fallen out of love. Your days together stopped being something he looked forward to, you became another motion in his life to go through. Draining his free time, nagging in the back of his head, and stealing his focus away from his life. He never wanted it to, he hadn’t even noticed himself drifting away until Yoongi mentioned it, sat him down, and asked what had been wrong with him lately. That when he realized it all, but you still seemed so happy with him, he couldn't just break it off there. So he tried, he tried so hard to fall in love with you again, but fate said otherwise.

He knows you may not want to see him after this. He doesn't like the thought, but he knows he should accept it. Because he’ll do whatever is best for you in this situation. He’ll never forget the good times, the shoulder you gave him to cry on, taking care of him and encouraging him with work wasn’t going as planned. He’d never forget that.

“Namjoon?” You asked, tears beginning to subside. “Tonight, just one more night, can we just…”

You’re unable to finish, but he understands. You spend the night together. Quiet and in each other’s arms. He holds you like he never wants to let go and you do the same. He whispers “I love you,” and you know it's a lie, he’s trying to make things better for you, but you don’t care. You drink up your final moments in his arms, taking in his false moments of adoration before falling asleep.

You wake up before him and slip out of bed, his arms had left you long ago and he faced the wall away from you. You wished last night had been a bad dream, but you knew it wasn’t. You get dressed and finish packing your bag quietly. When you come to the living room you find the novel. You stare at it for a long time before finding a pen and opening it up. On the back of its cover, you carefully weave a note for him. You tell him you love him, you always will, and that things will be okay. You reminisce about the bookshop you met, tell him that you loved the novel even if it was a bit boring.

You return to the room and lay the novel on the pillow beside him and take one last glance at him. Peaceful in his sleep, a picture you’d miss waking up to. You kiss his cheek and tell him that you’ll be fine and that everything will be okay.

But, it's a lie.

#bts #bts x reader #bts imagine #rm #namjoon #kim namjoon #bts namjoon #bts rm #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagine #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon imainge #namjoon fluff #angst #bts angst #namjoon angst

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spencerreidsconverse · 3 years ago

Text

When Evil Doesn't Sleep

summary: Spencer has been gone far too long on a case and when he finally returns home, reader shows him just how much she missed him.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, implied dom/sub undertones, pet names

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Female Reader

A/N: My first fic!!! I hope you all enjoy! <3

“Y/n I’m really sorry but it looks like the case is going to take a lot longer than we thought. We had a recent development and the profile is now pointing to a partnership so now we’re hunting down two unsubs”. You sighed as Spencer rattled off his apologies through the phone before putting him out of his misery “Spencer honey, you don’t have to apologize. Quit worrying about me and focus on catching the bad guys.”

To say you missed Spencer would be the understatement of the century. He had been in Utah for six days already and now with a pair of psychos your odds of finding him in your bed by the end of the week were growing increasingly slim. It didn’t help that you had been swamped prepping for an extra class you’d agreed to take on at Georgetown where you worked as a Criminal Psychology professor. Between both of your hectic work schedules you hadn’t had a real weekend to yourselves in a few months, and while you knew when you first started dating Spencer that it was an inevitable of his job, it had never been this crazy before. They say evil never sleeps but lately it hasn't even taken a catnap.

“I love you Y/N. I promise I’ll come home to you soon and take you out on a real date. I’m sorry darling, I have to go. I’ll text you when I get to the hotel tonight and if you’re still up we can talk for a bit okay?”. “Alright Spence, I love you too. Stay safe okay?”. “I promise, goodbye love.”

Your farewell barely made it past your lips when the dial tone cut you off and once again your boyfriend of three years vanished from your side of the country. You let out an exasperated sigh before reminding yourself that there were other people who needed his help and that you could wait for his attention - at least until that night. Continuing the trek up the stairs of your and spencer’s shared apartment, you managed to haphazardly balance your grocery bags in one hand while unlocking the door and disabling the security alarm, internally cringing at the high shriek that rattled through your brain.

Walking through the living room, you sat the bags on your kitchen counter and began reorganizing the small fridge space to fit all the perishables you had brought home, absentmindedly hoping they wouldn't spoil now that it would be just you for several more days. Moving to the cupboard you replaced the few grab and go snack boxes you had made up to try and encourage Spencer to eat more throughout the day and refilled the paper plate stash that quickly became a requirement after you realized neither one of you could tolerate doing dishes every night. You ripped open the cardboard packaging of yet another microwave dinner and set the timer before leaving to change into more comfortable attire.

Opening the door of your shared bedroom, the smell of vanilla wax melts and dryer sheets hit you like a brick and immediately sent a pang of loneliness through your chest. Spencer was usually around by the time the chores needed done, and you rarely had to do them yourself. Unfortunately, the laundry was piling up and you needed something to distract you so you spent the day running errands and cleaning the apartment more thoroughly than necessary. You walked over to the stack of black dresser drawers and pulled out the first pair of pajama pants you touched, Spencer’s old caltech sweats that now fit you far better than him considering he had received them when he was 14. They looked more like capris on him now and it was embarrassingly difficult to convince him to buy a new pair that fit him properly. You slipped on a tank top and pulled your hair back before making your way lazily to the bathroom to take off the remnants of your simple makeup.

After scrubbing your face clean and pulling your dinner out, you moved to ready the couch for yet another night of binge watching cheesy 90s movies. You selected Clueless and watched the vibrant colors pop across the screen while you dived into your meal, making a poor attempt to ignore the slight freezer burnt taste that lingered after every bite. You finished your dinner and set the bowl aside before covering yourself with a blanket and allowing yourself to sink into the cushions, desperately awaiting Spencer's text.

You were jolted out of your doze by the loud buzzing of your phone against the wooden coffee table. Clumsily you reached for it and managed to swipe the answer pad before it sent your genius to voicemail. “Hello?” you managed before a yawn ripped its way through you suddenly. “Hey Y/N, I’m sorry it’s so late. I didn't mean to wake you, I figured you’d still be up. You should go back to bed love.” For the first time, you noticed the neon green numbers on the microwave. 12:30. You stifled another yawn and shook your head in an effort to wake yourself further “No way, I just dozed off while watching a movie. I was waiting to talk to you. Besides, I’m up now anyways so you might as well stay on with me for a bit. Did you get any further today?” “Well, JJ had the idea that the partners were originally a typical dominant/submissive partnership but that something in the dynamic must have changed because the MO began to deteriorate. We think the partners must have split up now, because we’re finding similar pieces of the previous MO at separate crime scenes.”.

You processed the information he fed you slowly due to your semiconscious state but eventually you put your words in order well enough to respond. “That should be helpful though yeah? I mean, they’re used to working in a partnership so being suddenly separated from your other half so to speak would throw you off track quite a bit right?”. You could practically hear him smiling through the phone as you drew the conclusions the team had come to only a few hours prior. “Yes. We’re hoping to be able to draw them out and trap them. Play them against each other.”.”Does that mean I can stop sleeping on the couch soon?”. You heard him let out a dejected sigh - you knew he hated that you would force yourself onto the cramped couch when you had a king sized bed a few hundred feet away but he understood.

When he had come home in the early hours of the morning after an abrupt end to a case a few weeks after you had moved into his place, he had caught you curled up on the sofa with a throw pillow stuffed under your head. When he questioned you about it the next morning, you simply answered that the bed felt too big without him and that you couldn’t stand the empty feeling. “Sooner than later I hope my love. Y/N I really wish you wouldn’t do that to yourself. It’s horrible for your body. It can put you at a much higher risk for chronic back and neck pain as well as-”. “Spence. I’m not a giant like you are. I fit on the couch much better than you do, and I barely notice the difference.”. You both cringed, hearing the lie clear in your voice. Still, Spencer must have felt bad because he humored you. “If you're sure. What did you do today my love?”. You smiled sadly hearing in his voice just how desperate he was to escape from his reality and come home to you.

”Well, I straightened the house. In fact, it’s so clean i think we could use it as a sterilization room.”. He let out a soft chuckle and you could hear him begin to relax as you recounted the rest of your day, excluding the part about the microwave dinner. Spencer loved to tell you how many of the ingredients were one step away from processed garbage and you decided to opt out of the lecture for the evening. He had more than enough to worry about without having to focus on your diet while he was away. After a half hour of light conversation, a loud yawn betrayed you as you were excitedly discussing the cute puppy you had met on the way to the market. Spencer immediately requested that you hang up and get some more sleep but you refused. After a few minutes of bickering, you relented on the condition that he would read to you until you had fallen asleep. You curled up under the fluffy blanket as Spencer’s even voice recited the collection of Grimm’s fairy tales quickly lured you to sleep.

You woke up the next morning as sunlight peered through the curtains, stretching your body out to ease the aches from the previous night. You smiled softly as your screen lit up with a text from Spencer wishing you a good morning and an update that they had a solid plan for boxing in the two unsubs that afternoon. “If all goes to plan I should be carrying you to our bed before midnight tonight.”. Your smile widened and you sent back “Can’t wait to truly see you - and love you- tonight. I’ll be waiting.” You plugged your phone into the charger and straightened up from the night before when your phone went off again. The one word message glared at you from the screen and you let out an involuntary giggle. “Tease.”. You hoped it gave him something to look forward to until he was back in your arms. You sent back a simple “XO” before deciding to reread one of your favorite books for a few hours to kill some time. You made yourself a sandwich for lunch and had a few glasses of water as the clock slowly ticked by. You were over halfway through the lengthy novel when you received another message.

“We apprehended both unsubs. Hotch is postponing the paperwork until Monday so we can go straight home. I’ll see you in a few hours baby.”. You jumped slightly in celebration before finishing your current chapter, marking your place, and all but skipping to the shower to shave and exfoliate your skin. You knew Spencer would still be heavily worked up once he arrived home and luckily, his favorite release included intertwining your bodies as close as possible and loving you sweetly and slowly.

You took your time in the shower careful not to nick yourself with your razor. You scrubbed your scalp with your nails, letting your stress and soreness melt away under the steam. You waited until the water ran cold before turning the knob and stepping out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel and blow drying your hair until it layed perfectly even. You applied lotion all over your skin and stepped out of the bathroom to slip on your black silk robe, knowing it wouldn’t be worth it to dress up further. Spencer would be desperate to feel your skin against his and any fabric in his way didn't stand much of a chance.

You made an actual meal for dinner, a pasta dish with chicken that could be easily reheated for Spencer when he grew hungry later in the night. You helped yourself to a serving and after quickly cleaning up the kitchen and storing the leftovers, you retreated to the bedroom to wait for his return.

You were half paying attention to the feed you opted to scroll through on your phone when you heard the door creak open and bags drop to the floor. You set your phone on the bedside table and ran towards the foyer, all but throwing yourself at the exhausted man in front of you. He took a step back from the impact but still enveloped you in his arms and pulled you impossibly tight into his chest. “Hi baby.” you whispered against the scruffy skin of his jawline, peppering kisses up towards his earlobe. He let out a long sigh of relief and picked you up off the hardwood floor, wrapping your thighs around his waist resulting in a high pitched giggle to erupt from your throat. He kissed you then, slowly at first but quickly building more passionate. Your lungs were burning when he finally allowed you to pull away, opting to kiss down your neck to your collarbones and the skin of your chest that was newly exposed as your robe slipped open.

He carefully made his way back to your room, continuing his kisses back up to your shoulder, stopping only to leave marks you knew would only grow darker as time passed. At the very least he was sure to only mark you in places you could cover with little difficulty. “I missed you so much Y/N. The entire ride home all I could think about was you waiting for me in our bed. My gorgeous girl.”. You felt your chest heat up at his words of admiration, wrapping your fingers into his curls and pulling his lips towards your own once more.

You felt him groan against you and moved to quickly unbutton his shirt, slipping it down his arms and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. He pulled you up with him then, so you were both on your knees, chest to chest as he pulled your robe fully down your back to the swell of your ass where he grasped at you through the slick fabric. You let out a whine and you pulled his belt off, undoing his jeans desperate to continue. He grinned against your neck and pushed you down so you laid flat on your back, completely exposed to him. He kissed at your stomach, making his way down to your inner thighs. He licked a slow wet trail from your pelvic bone to the top of your clit as you whimpered desperately. “Spence, please… I need more”. He humored you, creating slow small circles with his tongue moaning at the taste. You cried out as he created the perfect amount of pressure on your clit, legs threatening to close around his head when he moved to slip one of his fingers easily inside you as the mix of your own wetness and his saliva aided him. He smirked as he felt your thighs flex before using his left hand to throw one of your legs over his shoulders at a time. He pushed a second finger in, curling them up to perfectly reach your g-spot with every thrust. Soon though, you grew impatient with just his fingers. You needed more and you knew just how to get it.

“I want you so bad Spence. I’ve waited for so long and I just can’t anymore. I need to feel you deep inside of me.”. You were positive those words would leave him just as needy as you were and he proved you right when he kicked his pants the rest of the way off and went to line himself up against you. “Wait.”. He stopped immediately, examining your face for any indication of what was wrong. “What’s the matter baby? Are you okay?”. You shook your head and smiled at his concern before switching your positions so his back was resting against the pillows as you straddle his thighs. He smirked at you as he caught on, trailing his hands up the front of your legs to rest at your hips. “You gonna ride me angel?”. You responded with an eager nod and he squeezed your hips, pulling you up further so you were hovering above him. “Sit pretty like my good girl then.”. You whined softly at his words before slowly sinking yourself down around his length, sucking in a harsh breath at the stretch. Even with how wet you were, the adjustment took longer than usual due to the dry spell you were both suffering from as of late.

When you finally felt stretched out enough to move, you slowly ground your hips forward flush against his. He groaned out, lifting you back up so you were almost completely off of him before pulling you back down. You moaned both at the sensation and the idea of being manhandled by the genius below you. You realized what he was asking though, and began bouncing yourself up and down his cock, stopping every few thrusts to grind your clit down on him. You let out soft moans, and after a few more minutes you felt his fingers dig deeper into your hips and his breaths quicken. You knew he was close and as if on cue you started rubbing fast circles against your clit as he spoke again.

“Baby girl I’m getting close. You gonna cum with me angel?” You nodded furiously in response and you felt him start thrusting up to meet you. You panted as you hurried towards the edge of your orgasm, holding on until his thrusts grew sloppier. “You ready to cum with me baby? You gonna cum on my cock?” “Yeah.. gonna cum all over your cock Doc.” You fought to keep the grin off your face when he moaned at the title. He thrusted deep into you twice, before he ordered your release. “I want you to cum now baby. Cum all over my cock.” You felt your orgasm rip through you, electricity shooting through your limbs. Spencer groaned loudly as you tightened around him before pulling you down deep and releasing inside you.

You both fought to catch your breath as you rode out your highs before you found yourself slumping against his chest, suddenly drained from your activities. You felt him chuckle at your drastic change in energy as he wrapped his arms around you again. “I know you just washed the bed sheets and we’re both sweaty but do you think a washcloth will suffice for tonight?”. You nodded against his chest before slowly lifting yourself up and off of him, rolling onto your back on the other side of the bed. Spencer swiftly made his way across the hall, returning to wipe you down gently with the warm fabric. You shivered as the cool air dried your skin, watching him move throughout your room.

He slipped on a fresh pair of boxers before tossing the washcloth in the hamper along with his previously discarded clothes. He hung your robe on the back of your bedroom door then flipped the light switch off before rejoining you in bed to slip under the blankets with you. You immediately curled up into his chest, sighing contently as the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears. You kissed his chest and whispered goodnight, drifting into your first real sleep since before he left.

The next morning you and Spencer went shopping after you successfully convinced him to upgrade to a smart phone with video call abilities. He had begun to shut down the idea as he always had before but after the mere suggestion of what it could do to better your late night hotel room chats he was the one pulling you towards the nearest phone shop. You smiled politely while Spencer took his sweet time weighing the pros and cons of each model, letting your mind drift to the first time it would come in handy. As you finally neared the checkout counter, you took Spencer's hand in your own and gave it a gentle squeeze. After running his card through the machine, the salesgirl gave him the small plastic bag and wished you both a good afternoon.

As you exited the shop, you looked up at him, nudging him to get his attention “What do you think of an app controlled vibrator?”. He stared at you incredulously for a few moments, almost stopping dead in his tracks. After recovering from the initial shock at the vulgarity of your suggestion, he shook his head with a soft smirk and nudged back against you. “Tease.” he called you once more. “That’s the reason you love me right?”. He pulled you into his side, kissing you softly. “One of many Y/N. One of many.”

#spencer reid #Spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #cm #Spencer reid smut #smut #Spencer reid x you #Spencer reid fanfiction

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stiltonbasket · 3 years ago

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after rereading tmaaf recently--any behind the scenes commentary on lwj's thoughts about love/romantic love and his relationship with wwx before he confesses at the end?

It's been a while since I thought about this (aka six months since TMAAF was completed!!) but here we go!

Regarding Lan Wangji's mental and emotional journey over the pre-wedding year--by the time he says goodbye to Wei Wuxian in Caiyi, he neither needs nor expects anything from him other than close friendship. In fact, before Wangxian start living together at Lotus Pier, Lan Wangji doesn’t care very much about having his romantic feelings returned; and in Chapter 9, he summarizes his opinion on the matter this way:

Grieving Wei Ying took all of his heart but the piece saved for Wei Ying’s son; the thought of grieving for his affections never occurred to him even once.

A common theme in many MDZS fanworks is Lan Wangji pining for Wei Wuxian, but the way he was written in TMAAF, he’s...not. He’s wholeheartedly devoted to Wei Wuxian, and desperately in love with him, but all Lan Wangji wants (aside from Wei Wuxian’s happiness and safety) is to spend time with him in a safe, peaceful setting. This only rarely happened during Wei Wuxian’s first life, and to Lan Wangji, every comfortable moment they share after his resurrection feels like a dream:

He knows what it is to sleep beside Wei Ying[...]knows that Wei Ying delights in receiving gifts with all the simple pleasure of a child, knows that he rests on his back when he sleeps alone and lies on his side when Lan Wangji and Xiao-Yu share the bed with him[...] and it is knowing these things that makes him happy for the first time in his life, because Wei Ying (blind to Lan Wangji’s love though he is) has chosen to share them with him.

Lan Wangji knows that Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a clue about his feelings, but at this point, he doesn’t care. He offers Wei Wuxian half-ownership of the Jingshi, and preemptively adopts Xiao-Yu into the Lan clan because he wants to give Wei Wuxian a home of his own; but then the night-hunting arc happens, and Lan Wangji is forced to watch as Wei Wuxian almost marches to his death yet again. He stays back to wait for Wei Wuxian at Lotus Pier, like Li Shuai is forced to wait for Yu Zhenhong, and nurses Wei Wuxian through the aftermath of his qi deviation almost single-handedly--and around the same time, he begins to wonder if knowing how deeply he was loved might have helped Wei Wuxian heal faster.

Looking back on it, this was the turning point where Lan Wangji went from accompanying Wei Wuxian to outright pursuing him. Lan Wangji first uses the word xingan to address Wei Wuxian during the night-hunting arc, and starts cooking for him and showering terms of endearment on him every other minute while he recovers. A few weeks later, Wangxian head off to Qinghe, where Lan Wangji makes his romantic intentions public in front of the entire cultivation world and gets a taste of jealousy when Nie Huaisang tricks him into thinking that Nie Zhuxi (young, handsome, close to Wei Wuxian’s age and Nie Huaisang’s assumed successor) has improper designs on Wei Wuxian.

By then, there’s no turning back. Lan Wangji wants Wei Wuxian to love him back, and to make it known that Wei Wuxian is his person. He could still be satisfied with friendship, but this arc is the stage where he makes it pretty clear that his intentions are to court and eventually marry the love of his life. He even says so to Jiang Cheng, though their last conversation about his place in Wei Wuxian’s life was more along the lines of “Wei Ying wants me here, so get over it” rather than the “I’m going to marry him with or without your permission” talk after Wangxian’s family date in Qinghe.

Because now, Lan Wangji knows that his love is returned. His interactions with Wei Wuxian had some sense of boundaries and propriety before the Qinghe arc, but when they reunite at the Unclean Realm, this happens:

“I was the one who was supposed to kiss you,” he laughs, drawing a hand through Lan Wangji’s hair before kissing that, too. “Not the other way around, xingan!”

That promise—the promise of a hundred kisses exchanged when they should meet again, to make up for all the ones they missed during their ten days apart—is fulfilled most thoroughly by the time Wei Ying finally drifts off into sleep, and when Lan Wangji wakes the next morning, they fulfill it again, and again.

Overall, Lan Wangji’s path in TMAAF is one of deepening love, just like Wei Wuxian’s. Both of them are already fiercely devoted to each other, but neither of them dared to want the other as a spouse and mate until very late in the narrative. It took time for them to learn how happy they make each other, and to realize that being separated or leaving the other bereft was the worst possible fate they could endure--and despite Lan Wangji’s long-standing devotion, it took him months to accept that their future union would be Wei Wuxian’s happy ending as much as it was his.

This was also why he left after confessing his feelings near the end of the fic; he hoped that Wei Wuxian would accept him, but refused to influence Wei Wuxian’s decision in any way. Removing himself from Wei Wuxian’s presence was the only way he could feel sure that the choice was being made freely, which was why he was so overwhelmed (and yes, a little surprised!) when Wei Wuxian and Xiao-Yu finally made it to the Cloud Recesses:

Hanguang-jun looks as if he might faint at that revelation, staggering slightly to the left as he helps Sizhui back up, and his eyes hold so much longing that A-Qing can hardly bear to look at them.

“Are you certain?” he whispers, as Jingyi rushes over to join them. “The back hills are too far for the sound of his dizi to reach us, A-Yuan—are you sure you heard it?” [...]

There is a change in Hanguang-jun’s face just then: as if the cares of the last twenty years had suddenly crumbled away from him...

And from this point on, Wangxian refuse to part from each other, and the story devolves into shameless, sappy, fluffy romance with a very happy ending. <3

#asks #wangxian #mo dao zu shi #twelve moons and a fortnight #tmaaf meta #reference #oh boy this was a long one #sorry for the delay anon!!

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girlhomosonly · 3 years ago

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Smuca, oh Smuca [ Alberto x Luca ]

Inspired by @luca-x-alberto-prompts

Also posted on Wattpad.

This is my first Luca related fanfiction! I fell in love with the movie, and I had to write more content of my sons and daughter hehe. Hope you like it!

Six months.

It's crazy to think half the year has already passed. Alberto never expected his past summer to turn out the way it did but he's pleased nonetheless.

Meeting Luca, and then Giulia, winning the Portorosso Cup...

Spending years admiring the town from afar, he was still adjusting to calling this place home. Sure, the town and its people adapted quickly from being sea monster hunters to lovers of sea monsters. But it was different from the time he spent on the island.

He now has friends that adore him and gained not only one family Massimo and Machiavelli, but also Luca's parents and grandmother. He also got along with the other kids in town, and he helps the elderly sea monster couple from time to time.

Again, it will take some time to fully adjust, but everything will be fine.

Perfectly fine.

Alberto will have to wait five more months tops for Luca to return. Only then will he be a hundred and ten percent fine.

"You are drifting again, Piccolo (little one)." Massimo's gruff voice brought the young boy out of his thoughts. He looks up at the older man, who he now sees as a father figure. "Anything you want to discuss?"

Alberto hesitated, mouth hanging open but no words came out. It would be silly anyway, wouldn't it? He thought shyly, breaking his gaze from the man. Not that Luca is silly, no! Well, yes, but not silly to be thinking of him... Right? The young one is once again brought back from his thoughts with a grunt.

"Nah," Alberto replied with a dismissive wave and he tried giving a reassuring smile to the fisherman. Who didn't seem convinced but didn't want to keep pressing on the topic for his son's sake.

"Alright, give me a holler if you change your mind." Massimo reminded, and the boy nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Finish up your plate-" Alberto instantly grabbed the last handful of pasta and shoved it in his mouth, "wash up and try to get some sleep. Got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Don't gotta tell me twice!"

He jumped out of his seat and raced towards the stairs. Heading to the washroom, he washed up and went straight to his room. Hearing the click of the door closing Alberto lets out a soft sigh.

He plopped himself at his desk, where several letters from both Luca and Giulia scattered the surface. There were pictures of the two of them, sometimes just Luca. Many drawings and trinkets were sent to him.

His favourite of them all being two photos of Luca. The first showing him intently writing a letter to Alberto, with his eyebrows furrowed and the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration. The second was taken a few moments after the first, a frantic Luca covering his writing with his arms, big brown eyes staring at the camera. With flushed cheeks that would shame a tomato.

Alberto often reread his letters, searching and scanning which one he wrote that would have made him so shy about.

All of a sudden, his fond memories that spread warmth and a sense of belonging, now felt bitter.

<◉ )))><< <◉ )))><< <◉ )))><<

Once he was absolutely sure Massimo was asleep, Alberto quietly crawled out of bed and tip-toed to the window. Opening the window, he winced as it creaked.

His heart about dropped to his stomach when he heard the creaking of his own door opening. Jerking his head to peer over his shoulder, he slumped in relief.

"Machiavelli!" He hissed at the feline, who sat at the doorway. Eyes peering into his soul, judging him. "Ai, I won't be gone long. Don't wake up papà!" He ushered out.

With that, the boy lept onto the tree branch that leads to the treehouse. He climbed down, careful not to let gravity take him. Looking up at the house, he held his breath and he only left when he heard Massimo's snoring.

He snuck through the back and ran to the town square.

There, awaited three statues humbly named after The Underdogs. Luca and himself were in their sea monster forms, standing proud with an even prouder Giulia standing between them.

He walked to the smaller sea monster statue. Smuca, he liked to call it. It was an inside joke between him and Luca after he first showed Alberto his makeshift lookout.

"Ciao, Smuca." The words were barely audible.

This is stupid, Alberto huffed in annoyance but immediately shook his head. Silenzio, Bruno. Coming to talk to this version of Luca did help to a point but he wanted the real person. Alberto was craving the real thing.

"Sometimes... When I feel selfish- Shellfish," Alberto chuckled to himself, a small yet sad smile reaching his lips. "I wish you stayed here. Wished you didn't have to be so far."

"I miss you every day. Both of you guys... But especially you." His eyes began to sting with tears. "I get lonely."

Alberto lets out a shuddering breath in an attempt to calm down. He didn't mean to come here to cry. He just wanted to talk... Vent about how he's feeling? He should've just spoken with Massimo.

"I'm really proud of you, Luca. I really am, and I can't wait to see you again." Alberto rests his head on Smuca's leg, tears freely rolling down his cheeks. "I just-" a loud sob escaped from his mouth.

He hunched over, bringing his knees to his chest and lets himself cry. Not caring if anyone can hear.

"I want y-you to come home now. What if you d-don't come back?" He sniffles. "Ever?"

"Please don't.. forget about me, Luca. I miss you." Luca looks up at the Smuca statue. "I love you..."

#one-shot #luca 2021 #disney pixar luca #luca paguro #alberto scorfano #giulia marcovaldo

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caelestis-composition · 3 years ago

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⭒ misa amane friendship hcs ⭒

request for @allovertheplace-writing: Hihi, I hope you're doing well! I was wondering if I could request friendship hcs for Misa from Death Note? Feel free to ignore/delete and remember to eat and hydrate ❤

sure thing! man it’s been a while since i’ve even thought about death note. i should finish rereading it again... i stopped halfway through the manga like six months ago LOL if anyone ever wants to talk to me about death note pls do it’s my favorite series ever.

important note: this was a special request i was still willing to do; right now only genshin requests are open.

⭒

pairing: misa & reader

characters: misa amane

genre: fluff

word count: 355

⭒

⋆ be prepared to be dragged all over the place

⋆ she’ll take you out shopping, to cafes and coffee shops, even to her modelling shoots and film or rehearsal sites

⋆ she’s a very busy woman, so be honored she’s making time for you! kidding, but do appreciate her efforts to spend time with you

⋆ like i said, lots of shopping. misa loves trying on new clothes with you; don’t expect to stay in one shop too long, though. there’s a lot of places she’d want to hit when you two go out.

⋆ definitely gives you fashion tips; trust her, she knows what she’s doing

⋆ always knows what looks best on you and why. probably comes with the years of modelling.

⋆ the most supportive friend ever. seriously she loves you so much and encourages you in literally anything you do.

⋆ you do have to deal with her whining and complaining, though. especially in the midst of her relationship with light; but in return, she’s more than happy to listen to you, even offering solutions when she can

⋆ if we’re thinking mid-death note, misa would tell you she’s the second kira if she trusts you won’t tell anyone else or judge her for it

⋆ would definitely offer to kill someone for you as a solution to an issue you’re facing

⋆ let her be your stylist every once in a while. she’s always down to dress you up, do your makeup or hair, etc.

⋆ she’s very invested in your interests (even if she won’t personally participate) and your life; honestly misa is the best cheerleader! she gets so excited about your accomplishments and good news. as previously stated, she’s just so encouraging.

⋆ loves showering you with gifts. if you insist she doesn’t need to get you anything, she’ll roll her eyes and buy you more

⋆ also showers you in compliments. if you try to protest, you’ll get the same result as above.

⋆ definitely tries to play matchmaker for you

⋆ overall just wants you to be happy! and misa will use anything in her power—be it the death note, money, status, or influence—to get you what she thinks you deserve.

#brynn’s writing #brynn’s headcanons #brynn's requests #death note #misa #misa misa #misa amane #misa amane x reader #misa x reader #fluff #death note headcanons #death note x reader

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thanksjro · 4 years ago

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More Than Meets the Eye #33: In Which I Write the Word ‘Quantum‘ 19 Times

Dang, I forgot what happened at the end of the last issue. It was pretty important, too, but I don’t have time to reread. Maybe the establishing shot can help me out?

Oh, that’s right, Rewind happened!

Everyone’s pretty jazzed that Rewind is here, non-exploded, and supposedly alive. Megatron carries this ridiculously small man over to a table, while Skids is busy admonishing Nightbeat for trying to put the pieces of this mystery together.

That’s one of the two first canonically, openly gay Transformers, Megatron. You bet your ass he’s important.

Nightbeat’s dragged Nautica over to look at that poster for Crosscut’s play they saw last issue. Together, they discover something interesting, and it’s not that Nightbeat’s chin has elongated to the point of absurdity. On this future ship, the play was completed and produced a mere few weeks after the initial launch of the Lost Light.

While this is going on, Rewind wakes up and asks Skids what the hell is going on. Skids, likely not wanting to poke at farm-fresh trauma, glosses over the fact that everyone on this ship was violently murdered, and that they found Rewind blacked out inside the hollowed torso of his brother-in-law.

…This is a dark story line.

You see, the joke here is that “Dark Cybertron” sucked major chrome.

Megatron reminds everyone that they’re still in grave danger every moment they stay aboard this ship, but Skids is more concerned with Rewind’s mental health. Which is sweet, but maybe not the thing to prioritize in such a precarious situation.

Rewind takes the fact that Megatron is an Autobot now pretty friggin’ well, as well as the introduction of gender into his species. That is, until Nightbeat, the king of social graces, saunters up to the scene to ask Rewind what the hell happened to the ship. He does get his answers, despite Rewind being horrified to the point of speechlessness.

Over at the hole in the wall, Nautica and Riptide are taking a gander at the quantum drums, which house the quantum foam for the quantum engines so quantum jumps can happen.

As Nautica explains the process by which quantum travel works, she realizes that the answer to what happened to everyone who disappeared was right in front of them this whole time.

Quantum, quantum, quantum- doesn’t even sound like a word anymore, does it?

The data slug Rewind made corroborates this theory, showing a series of events that definitely didn’t happen to the Lost Light we’ve been following throughout this story so far. The data slug contains this Rewind’s version of dead Rewind’s “Little Victories”, the travelogue that was never completed, where the question “are you happy?” revealed just how emotionally unhealthy most of the crew is. I’d like to imagine this Rewind’s film is called “Small Achievements”, or perhaps “Dear Fucking Lord, We’ve Been on this Trip for Three Hours and the Captain Has Been Killed by a Goddamned Soul-Vampire”, or maybe even “Where the FUCK is Our Therapist”.

The DJD came into the equation by way of someone having led them to the Lost Light. We get a flashback panel of the gorefest, in which Tarn appears to have learned how to fly, given the angle he’s coming from.

Because Rewind’s big thing in this series is being the guy who records stuff, the DJD take the opportunity to make some movies of their visit to the space yacht.

James, why do you keep getting Rewind involved with snuff films? I’m starting to get concerned.

Now, the thing about Rewind is that he’s almost always accompanied by his other half. Where is Chromedome, anyway?

He’s dead, that’s where.

Turns out, when you tell the DJD that you won’t do the thing they want you to do, they have a habit of doing nasty things in retaliation. Chromedome got stabbed in the friggin’ visor with his own finger needles, because Vos enjoys ironic deaths, I suppose. There’s some other stuff that’s implied to have happened, but we’ll get to that once we learn a little more about the DJD themselves.

While Rewind recounts the grisly tale of his husband’s demise, Riptide notes that the quantum foam has begun to spread at a remarkable rate. This is a bad thing, because that shit can and will explode, given half the chance, and this wreck is floating right above a potentially-inhabited planet.

Though I could have sworn we established that this planet was a Smartplanet, and therefore very much populated by students and staff. I don’t know. Maybe we conveniently forgot that, so we could make this a learning moment for Megatron.

Jiminy Christmas, Megs, do you even listen to yourself?

Skids, who has had a very long day of finding corpses and learning about quantum theory, snaps at Megatron, telling him that in order to actually be an Autobot, you have to have a little frickin’ compassion for those outside of your peer group.

Which is sort of contradictory to the Aequitas trials, the Killswitch debacle, the POW situation back on Cybertron, and whatever the fuck Prowl’s whole deal is, but maybe Skids is speaking about his own, personal relationship with being an Autobot. Hopefully so, otherwise he needs a class on critical thinking, STAT.

Never mind all of that though, because the problem just got a lot worse- the quantum foam has expanded to a point where any holes in the stuff are too small for the Rod Pod to get through. We’re going to have to get creative if we want to save the day.

Luckily, we’ve got a quantum duplicate of just about the tiniest little dude in the franchise here to do the job. Now we just need another, equally tiny little man, so the quantum drums can be shut off at the same time. Nautica commits more microaggressions, and this gives Getaway inspiration for a witty quip, which in turn gives Skids a brilliant idea.

The gang heads down to Brainstorm’s lab, to look for the mass displacement gun that was used for treating Ultra Magnus’s nanocon infestation back in the 2012 Annual. While they search, Nautica explains just why the hell the Lost Light disappeared in the first place. You see, quantum duplication acts on the Cain Instinct— it’s fine, as long as the duplicates don’t perceive each other. However, the moment contact is made, it says “oh man, guess I’m gonna have to end you” to one of the duplicates. The contact in this case happened when the Coffin Rodimus was brought aboard the ship.

Anything that wasn’t aboard the Lost Light at the point of the takeoff/explosion was never duplicated, and thus wasn’t erased from reality once shit started going to hell. This is why the Rod Pod is still around, and why the remaining cast are— well, the remaining cast.

While this conversation is going on, Nautica and Nightbeat uncover yet another dead body; it’s Brainstorm, and he’s a little underdressed.

…Someone run a paternity test, I think Cyclonus might be the father.

Also, Brainstorm’s a double agent.

Fucked up.

Getaway is furious that a Decepticon has been living on the same ship as him for the last six months, right under his proverbial nose. Even Megatron’s surprised, stating that Brainstorm isn’t usually who the recruiters aim for.

So, no mass displacement gun, and now they’re aware of the fact that there’s a traitor on the ship who’s had access to a LOT of weapon tech. It’s at this point that Megatron decides to stop lying by omission and tells everyone that he can mass-displace, since he used to turn into a handgun.

Smashcut to Megatron and Rewind floating out in space, the former now not much taller than the latter, as they traverse the web of quantum foam to get to the drums. Nautica instructs them from the Rod Pod. If this works, anything produced or connected to the quantum engine will be neutralized, and maybe we’ll even get the other Lost Light back! YAAAAAY!!!

Y’all really let this man go out there to fuckin’ kill himself for the greater good, didn’t you?

Rewind is honestly pretty chill with ceasing to be, seeing as he watched 200/+ people die today, including his long-time spouse.

Jesus. I’d say get him a therapist, but in order to do that, we’re going to have to wipe him off the map anyway.

Rewind asks Megatron if the Chromedome that isn’t his and his duplicate are still together. And I mean…

Luckily, Megatron has the good sense to lie.

With that, they flip the switches, and deactivate the drums.

And that’s a series wrap on Rewind! Congrats to Mr. James Roberts for the esteemed honor of burying the same gay twice!

Later on, everyone is back inside the Rod Pod, as their disappeared shipmates return from being nonexistent. Chromedome pops back in, and Skids is on him like a shark, telling him to go on the roof. Skids doesn’t even try to explain why. Which, fair. How the hell do you explain to someone that their dead husband’s quantum duplicate survived both a terrorist splinter cell attack, and the laws of quantum sci-fi bullshit crashing down on his tiny, tiny body, and that he’s right there on the roof waiting for them?

Welp, there goes the Chromedome/Dominus endgame. Shame, that.

Looks like Chromedome finally hit the threshold for having earned Roberts’ pity, and won’t be directly targeted by the plot for a little while. This isn’t something you see very often, so let’s really soak this in.

…Someone had to have told Rewind what happened to the other Rewind, right? I wonder what that conversation was like.

Back inside the ship, Blaster gets word that the Lost Light has reappeared. As they navigate towards it, Megatron requests that an encrypted call be made to Rodimus, to discuss the Brainstorm problem.

In the interim, Ravage is offered the opportunity to be a part of the crew, so he doesn’t have to keep skulking around in the shadows. We don’t get an answer from him, as our focus shifts over to Nightbeat and Nautica.

Nightbeaaaaaaaaaat, stop stating the themes of the comic verbatim! People are going to start thinking you’re a shonen anime protagonist!

Nightbeat’s somehow managed to keep ahold of the briefcase that they found on the other Lost Light. Unless Brainstorm’s boyfriend is in there, I don’t think this one was the work of Huey Lewis and the News’ hit single from the Back to the Future soundtrack.

Over on the Lost Light, specifically in Swerve’s, Brainstorm’s making his way through the crowd, briefcase held gentle like hamburger as he goes. He makes it to the bar, where Atomizer tells him he can’t have his briefcase in here. Brainstorm has what most would accept to be a healthy response to being told “no.”

It’s what I would do.

#transformers #jro #MTMTE #slaughterhouse #issue 33 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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stevetonyweekly · 4 years ago

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SteveTony Weekly - May 2

I know I say every week that I read a lot this week but I have been indulging in my favorite coping technique and so this list is ridiculously long. Twitter encouraged me. Blame them.

**Indicates my recent favs

~*~

On the inherent homoeroticism of cake decoration by welcoming_disaster (616/8K)

“She’s matchmaking, Barton,” Carol sighed.

“We,” Thor corrected, thumping himself hard in the chest, “art matchmaking.”

“Who, Cap n’ Tony?” Clint asked, his mouth full.

“Cap and Tony,” Janet confirmed, cutting herself a thin slice of egg and gently depositing it on her whole grain avocado toast, “it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Wait, I thought they were—“ Clint frowned, glancing around the room as though to confirm. Nothing but confused faces met his questioning gaze. “Huh. I really thought they were fucking.”

“And there is the crux of the issue,” Jess licked a bit of spaghetti sauce off her lip.

“Aye,” agreed Thor, “there’s rub.”

-----------

The team tries to set up Steve and Tony. Things don't go as planned.

Baby lovers like you and me (never say die) by FestiveFerret (Old Guard AU/7.5K)

The Avengers. They'd found him frozen in the ice, told him he was immortal, of all things. And with the way he'd lived through seventy years deep in the Atlantic, he found himself inclined to believe them. They'd also been very… convincing.

Without question, they integrated him into their unit - The Avengers, a secret team of unkillables seeking wrongs around the world and making them right, supported and housed by an enigmatic billionaire named Tony Stark. Their immortality, it seemed, was a secret to everyone but him.

Ready, set, bake by ChocolateCapCookie (Great British Bake Off/11k)

The Avengers are on a nationally televised baking competition, but nobody seems to have warned the producers that the Avengers, while they save the world everyday and put their loves at risk doing so, are a) insanely competitive, and b) absolutely terrible bakers. Steve Rogers, especially, has a competitive streak a mile wide, and he's determined to win this competition, but it's not easy when his only real opponent is also the man he's been in love with for years.

***To make flowers grow (in this barren heart) by SoldiersShield, KakushiMiko (Hanahaki AU/16K)

“You hide yourself away in your technology, but you are just as human as the rest of them. Your heart betrays your desire to possess.” Her gaze falls to the arc reactor, and Tony's blood runs cold in his veins.

“The Earth will reclaim what we have lost,” she says, dragging a hand over the chestplate of the armor. “It is you, and your kind-- your greed that pulls life from the soil as if it were nothing. You will reap what you have sown, Stark. The avarice in your heart will strangle the very life out of you.” Arna meets his eyes once more, a serene smile on her face as she leans forward.

“I hope he is worth dying for,” she murmurs, before digging her hand into his ribcage.

(Tony Stark falls in love with Steve Rogers. A rogue enchantress ensures he pays for it.)

Shelter from the storm by silkspectred (KidFic/5k)

Tony adopts a baby. Guess who's Majorly Fucked Up™ about it.

Keep on beating by itsallAvengers (Domestic Fluff/6K)

There were an awful lot of things Steve loved about Tony. But one thing in particular Steve could never get enough of was his heartbeat.

The good or bad thing by petreparkour (Multiverse/10k)

“It’s the metal suit,” Thor informed Steve, his normally-booming voice tinny over the SHIELD comms. “What did Stark call it—Iron Man?”

“But he’s down here,” Steve protested as the Hulk roared in Stark’s face, startling him into waking with a shout. “How could—”

“It’s damaged,” Thor reported. “But it looks different. More advanced. And he—ah. He’s carrying you, Captain.”

“Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark breathed out, and then Stark’s voice suddenly came over the comms, but the man lying next to him hadn’t moved.

“Guys, come on, you’re killing me here. What is it, 2012? God, I hate time travel. First, I'm fighting Thanos. Now, I have to deal with my past self and Thor's bad haircut? Oh my God, Cap, yes I hacked their comms, they’re my comms.”

Steve nearly opened his mouth to protest that he hadn’t said anything when he realized that this replica of Tony Stark wasn’t speaking to him.

***The tipping point by nightwalker (Domestic Fluff/7K)

Tony has a few quirks. Steve's still trying to figure them all out.

We two, how long we were fool’d by glassessay (Soulmate AU/9K)

Steve Rogers comes into the world as unblemished as his mother. When Anthony Stark is born, his soulmark is an obvious pattern of ink across his tiny chest.

It only takes a century, two names, and a shared love of Walt Whitman for them to find each other.

The tape in the cave by betheflame (Canon Divergent/5K)

Steve had no idea what was happening.

“You think I didn’t know that?”

Tony was staring Zemo down as though the Sokovian was actual vermin - which, Steve reflected, he kind of was.

“You think that I,” Tony continued, not hiding the sneer in his voice, “Anthony Stark, who has more powerful technology in my literal fingers than most nations have, that I wouldn’t know everything possible about how my parents died? That I wouldn’t know it wasn’t an accident, that your silly little HYDRA Nazi knock-off pals are the ones who murdered them? Please, you are pathetic.”

Happy ending by Robin_tCJ (No-Powers AU/28K)

Steve is a mobile massage therapist, and Tony is a stressed billionaire. What could go wrong?

With a decent happiness by torigates (Teacher AU/16K)

Tony Stark is Iron Man. Steve Rogers isn't, and never was Captain America.

Or, the one where everything is the same except Steve is a kindergarten teacher.

Nothing left but scars by SailorChibi (MCU/6.7K) - Reread

Steve wakes up to the fact that no one ever compliments or even says thank you to Tony, and that he has fallen into the same trap of painting Tony with a specific paintbrush.

This is how he showers a very confused Tony with praise to make up for it.

Our hearts should remember and follow by frostfall (MCU/5K)

Steve hums. “I didn’t know you could play. Or sing. Don’t think I’ve heard anyone mention it before.”

Tony shrugs. “It’s one of the few things, skills, I don’t flaunt. Not something people are interested in, anyway. Not gonna sway any board members by playing fucking Für Elise for them. Sides’, there’s a high chance I wouldn’t even play. Well, maybe if you get me drunk enough and near an instrument. Then, I might reconsider.”

(After a dream leaves Tony rattled, he turns to the piano as a way to distract himself.)

Finally, you and me by pensversusswords (Multiverse/10K)

Because in every layer of time, in every conceivable dimension, he was always meant to love Steve.

By some miracle, Steve was meant to love him back.

***Full disclosure not required (but appreciated) by Potrix (Identity Porn/16k)

The one where Steve knows more than he lets on, Tony knows less than he pretends, Clint has a big mouth, Bucky is a little shit, and everyone learns why keeping secrets never ends well.

Almost never, anyway.

Heartlines by nanasekei (MCU/7.9K)

“Let me,” Tony repeats. He regrets it deeply, so much, he wants to stick the words back into his mouth again, and it must show, in the way his voice wavers. He feels exposed, all of a sudden, as if he’s asking something bigger than what he can actually say. Let me touch you, let me take care of you. “Just… Let me do it.”

i found a way to let you in, but i never really had a doubt (marriage series) by quidhitch (Marriage Series/16k)

Tony Stark doesn’t believe in marriage. It’s nobody’s fault. —Well, it’s Howard's fault, probably, but Tony doesn’t like to think about that for too long, finds that it dredges up all sorts of issues he’d rather keep buried under a mountain of strategically employed sarcasm, humorous self-deprecation, and the occasionally effective substance abuse.

***Hide your love away by sineala (Soulmate/33K) - Reread

Tony has suspected for a long time that the soulmark on his chest matches Steve's -- but he's never told Steve about it. And then it's too late to tell Steve anything at all ever again. In the wake of Steve's death, the Skrull invasion, and Norman Osborn's rise to power, the identity of his soulmate is just one of the many things Tony cuts out of his memory forever.

When Tony returns to consciousness, he's forced to deal with the aftermath of a war he no longer remembers fighting, not to mention a Steve Rogers who can barely stand to be in the same room with him. Surely the last thing Tony could ever need in his life is more amnesia. But that's what he gets. And Tony's new missing memory just might be the key to finding out the truth of his soulmark... as well as his chance to make things right once and for all.

Break the chain (can’t live in circles again) by orphan_account (FWB/19K)

There had been seven amazing weeks of dating Steve Rogers before Tony realised that they weren’t dating at all. And then it was a scramble to adjust to the situation as it had always been: being Steve’s friend-with-benefits.

And if Steve seemed a little confused and bewildered by the way Tony was acting, well. Tony was probably just misreading that, too.

Five times steve and tony (tried to) bail each other out of jail by Teyke (MCU/6k)

Twice before Civil War, twice after, and once during. For very loose definitions of both 'bail' and 'jail'.

Cracked hearts under iron ribs by XtaticPearl (Established Relationship/14k)

Rhodey is away for almost six months now and comes to meet Tony after the mission. He doesn't understand the domesticity of the whole Tower and unknowingly sets off a whole truck of insecurities which make Tony crawl back into being a Stark instead of just Tony. The team is not at all happy and Rhodey joins them in trying to figure out a way to help their resident genius feel better in his skin.

The single biggest problem with communication by BlossomsintheMist (616/108K)

In the wake of Steve's return from the dead and the end of Norman Osborn's reign of terror, the superhero community is recovering--Steve has taken on a new role and Tony is trying to put his life back together. Things are still awkward between them, but they're determined to put things to rights. But when a discussion about their feelings leads to further misunderstandings, they discover that might be more difficult than either of them realized. Set in the early Heroic Age after the end of Dark Reign, this is a get-together story about crossed wires--and second chances.

What are friends for? by bobertsmallismydad (MCU /2.8K)

In which Steve is targeted by a virus. Will the Avengers be able to save him in time?

Starving by festiveferret (Vampire AU/2K)

Steve woke up starving.

***Everybody wonders (What it would be like to love you) by SoldiersShield (MCU/3K)

“...Is that what this is about?” He asks slowly. Steve blanches.

“Oh my god. It is.” Tony has no right looking as giddy as he does. “Steven Grant Rogers, are you jealous?”

Or: Steve and Tony have been dancing around each other for a while now, and Steve's rather content with it. Attending a gala together just might change that.

Re(A)d all over by brandnewfashion, MusicalLuna (Drunk Flirting/3k)

Contrary to popular belief, Tony Stark can blush.

It just takes Steve getting drunk on some magical Asgardian mead for it to finally happen.

***The Do-over Proposal by nightwalker (Established Relationship/1.2k)

Steve wants to go on a journey, Tony doesn't think it's a good time, and Bucky needs to beat some sense into both these idiots.

A Winter’s Ball by alliejowrites (Victorian AU/3.8K)

Steve moves to London in search of a patron, so that he can finally devote himself to painting. He is not expecting everything he finds upon meeting Lord Stark. A fluffy little Victorian AU. One-shot.

What’s a fanfic by starksnack (AvAc/1K)

Kamala introduces Tony and Steve to the world of fanfiction. There is a surprising amount of content about them being gay.

#stony #superhusbands #stevetony fic #stevetony weekly #stevetony #fic recs #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain ameria

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saintcanary · 3 years ago

Text

The Letter

Summary: A tale following Irene Banks, a warrior candidate who awaits the return of her beloved, Reiner Braun. Which never comes.

I’m coming home Dove, see you soon.

- Reiner

Four months. Four long antagonizing months since the words on paper branded your mind. Not a day passed where you didn’t reread his letter, he’s coming home. He has to be. Reiner was a man of his word, so where was he?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud cheers coming from the open window, drunken men yelling up a storm, their wives hysterically nagging at them to pipe down, the sounds of quick footsteps hitting the concrete as the children ran through the developing crowds. Marley’s night festival has begun. A favorite of yours and Reiner.

Your eyes met the now faded ink on the browning paper. Delicate fingertips trace over each word, you’re almost able to picture his enormous hand holding the pen, a fraction of his size. As each day passes so does your memory of him, his features, his voice. It breaks your heart, you don’t want to forget him, but time hasn’t taken your feelings into consideration. Six years, almost a lifetime you thought. We were just kids. Was it even love?

Stop it.

Every passing February was worse than the last, a reminder of another year spent alone.

It was your birthday soon, the big twenty.

“Fuck you’re getting old” Porco said, reminding you any chance he got.

As if he wasn’t a year older than you. He saw the change in your persona every year close up, your once naive and hopeful self locked away, inside. All that was left was a shell of who you once were, who’s voice echoed like the calling sea. He was extra annoying this month, picking on you like a child. Don’t get me wrong he meant well, trying to take my mind off the letter and the man behind it. Anything to avoid speaking his name into existence, Porco wasn’t his biggest fan to begin with.

“That just means I’m catching up to pops” he raised an eyebrow at your wit.

You bit into your sandwich flashing him with your doe eyes, a plea of your innocent playfulness. He didn’t question you, it was the first time in a while you weren’t sulking in silence with him. Porco couldn’t explain it, but he’s always felt an obligation to protect you, taking over the role Reiner abandoned six years ago.

Replaced by his first love, Marley.

Canary’s notes: I’ve had this concept in my head for a while. What started as a drabble, has now become an ongoing story I want to share. again feedback is always appreciated! *:･ﾟ

#reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x oc #reiner headcanons #aot drabble #reiner braun #reiner braun drabble #Spotify #aot x oc #aot x reader #reiner imagine #reiner braun fanfiction #reiner braun x you

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skzsauce01 · 4 years ago

Text

Cutie Pie

Synopsis: Who’s your secret admirer? Guess you’ll have to unmask him at your academy’s end-of-term ball.

Warning: none

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: fem!reader x Bang Chan, best friends Sana and Nayeon

Saturday was the most anticipated day of the week. The academy only allowed mail to be collected on Saturdays, so Jihyo, the unofficial resident adviser, would head down to the mailroom early in the morning and collect all the packages and letters for everyone in the hall. She didn’t need to do such a thing when everyone had access to the mailroom, but it was a passed down ritual from the opening of the girls’ dorm. There would always be a few girls in the common room, waiting for their deliveries of skin products and 3 AM impulse buys. You would know; you were a sucker for a sale, no matter how much money your parents made.

However, this particular Saturday, every single girl was awake at seven o’clock and impatiently waiting for Jihyo to appear. Even you, who had pulled an all-nighter on Thursday to cram study, had let your excited roommate and friend Sana drag you into the common room with no complaints. Despite how exhausted you felt, you wanted to know what the theme of the end-of-term ball was as well.

You yawned and huddled closer to Sana on the plush velvet couch. You wished she would have let you grab your thick comforter before you left. The usually lit fireplace — though more for decoration than actual function — held nothing but ashes, and the big, drafty room was colder than usual. You shivered and mumbled a few choice words to your roommate, who was in too good of a mood to retort back. Luckily, Nayeon, who was on Sana’s other side, threw a section of her own comforter to you, and you gratefully snuggled under it.

“Thank you,” you said, nose already buried by fluffy white fur.

Sana poked your arm. “What do you think the theme is this year?”

You shrugged. You were always bad at guessing. “Winter Wonderland?”

“That’s what we did two years ago!” she shook her head. “Hey, Nayeon. What about you?”

However, before Nayeon could reply, Jihyo entered the room with an armful of boxes. “Mail!” she cheerfully announced.

Normally, girls would descend upon her like a murder of crows to pick up their packages, but everyone stayed still and stared at the rolled up poster at the top of the mail pile. They all watched as she slowly set down the boxes in the middle of the room and eagerly waited for her to say the theme. But Jihyo only grinned and teasingly asked why no one wanted their orders.

“Jihyo! Tell us already!” Momo whined. She raised the pillow she was previously hugging, threatening to throw it at the older girl.

“Okay, okay,” Jihyo smiled. Agonizingly slow, she unrolled the theme announcement poster. “This year’s end-of-term ball is… Midnight Masquerade!”

A wave of gasps and whispers rippled across the room. This was something no one was expecting; more often than not, themes were recycled from the ones twenty years ago. Thrilled by the prospects of daring new outfits and dancing with a boy, the murmurs evolved into full length conversations. You slunk low into your seat while half listening to Sana and Nayeon decide what color to wear. A masquerade, huh? Not only were there now dresses and shoes to discuss, but also masks. Since everyone would be less noticeable wearing them, then maybe…

“Maybe your secret admirer will ask you to the ball!” Sana suddenly said out loud.

“Shh!” you hissed. You quickly scanned the room to make sure no one heard. Fortunately, everyone was engrossed in their own worlds.

Your roommate rolled her eyes. “Who doesn’t know about him at this point? He bought all your leftover apple pies during the Fall Festival.”

“Who could forget?” you said, remembering how fifty apple pies were bought in a single purchase.

You paced the tiny area inside the booth. It was the last day of Fall Fest, and there were still boxes of unbought apple pies. If you didn’t sell them all in an hour, the club would lose money. Not that it really mattered, you thought to yourself, as JYP was a private academy that received exorbitant amounts in donations and tuitions anyway. Surely the student council would allocate some funds for the Astronomy Club. However, the club’s reputation would be hurt, and selling apple pies had been your idea. Being president sucked sometimes.

Seungmin, another board member of the club, soon returned from his break, and you guiltily dumped the task on him. You promised to come back ten minutes before Fall Fest ended, and he merely waved you off. You spent the rest of the time doing your best to steal customers from other food booths, but no one seemed to want gourmet apple pie when there was a lobster food truck around.

When your time was up, you headed back to the booth with a frown and a posture that would have been deemed unacceptable by your mother. To your confusion and delight, there were no more pies left. Seungmin explained that someone purchased all of them on behalf of his employer. He also offhandedly mentioned that the man muttered, “What is that boy going to do with all this?” while handing him the money.

You prodded Seungmin for more answers, but that was all he knew.

“And he sent you that cute card after, too!” Nayeon chimed in.

You received the card the next Saturday after the festival. When you went to check if you got any mail, there was a horde of girls surrounding the coffee table. Momo had an envelope in her hand, and you assumed it was another letter for her from her long distance boyfriend, but to your surprise, Momo herself presented it to you with a flourish. The fancy white envelope had your name inked across the center in rose gold.

“Who is it from?” Dahyun asked, standing on her tiptoes behind you, trying to read over your shoulder.

You carefully opened it and immediately felt heat rushing to your face when you read the simple message on the creamy paper: “I think you’re a cutie pie” followed by a line drawing of an apple pie.

Dahyun had read it out loud, and news that you had a secret admirer spread throughout the academy like a wildfire. Even after a month, no one could even mention pie without a teasing glance in your direction.

“What if he reveals himself to you at the ball?” Jeongyeon stage-whispered. Evidently, no one wanted to talk about dresses anymore when a mysterious boy was involved. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

Too flustered by being the center of attention, you didn’t respond. You had to admit, Jeongyeon was right. Six-year-old you would have swooned at the current situation, and bold thirteen-year-old you would have pestered anyone and everyone for more information. Fall Fest you simply kept the note hidden in your desk drawer and secretly reread it. Sana caught you once, and it was embarrassing to say the least.

“Y/N, are you busy then?”

Sana’s words snapped you out of your haze. You looked at her. “Hm?”

“Shopping next Sunday!” she brightly answered. “Nayeon said she’ll drive us!”

So, it was set. You and Sana would meet Nayeon in the common room at 9:30 to check out the new boutique downtown. However, you already had an idea of what you wanted to wear and were starting to draw the design in your head. You made a mental note to call up your favorite fashion house to place an order. You would go shopping for shoes, but the dress and its matching mask was a done deal.

Sana and Nayeon had similar ideas, and the three of you made a promise to each other and yourselves to only focus on accessories though you were sure that pact would be broken the moment you all stepped foot into downtown.

The rest of the week flew by quickly. Amidst doing homework and studying, you chatted with the other students about the masquerade, which was only a month away. Some of the boys started asking girls to the ball with elaborate bouquets, self-composed songs, and in one case, a choreographed dance number. Sana and Nayeon crossed names off their “Who Could Y/N’s Secret Admirer Be?” list with each asking. By Friday night, their list was tacked onto the bulletin board in the common room so other girls could contribute. You stationed yourself on a nearby couch, pretending to be busy typing an essay on your laptop. You were too curious to actually write anything, so instead you watched like a hawk whenever someone even came close to the bulletin board.

“... and Ok Taecyeon,” Dahyun read aloud. “So, it’s not them. How about…” She closed her eyes and jabbed her finger to a random spot. “The wall?”

“Definitely not the wall,” you giggled.

“He’s kind of cute though. Dark blue paint, random fliers.”

You laughed at her as she began cooing at the wall, telling how dashing it looked in dark blue. Dahyun was always trying to make you feel better about the situation. She was the last person to come by for the night, and you begrudgingly headed back to your dorm to go to bed an hour after Dahyun left.

Saturday afternoon you went to check your mail after waking up. The winter coat you ordered arrived on Wednesday, and you desperately needed it now that temperatures were starting to drop. To your surprise, the common room was nearly full, and the commotion turned into silence as you came into view.

“Hey,” you cautiously said. “Did something happen?”

“You got a letter,” was the simple answer.

Like people passing each other buckets of water to put out a fire, the girls passed down the letter to you. You didn’t miss the sly looks that were exchanged. Once the thick envelope was in your hand, a sense of deja vu washed over you. When you glanced down, your name was written in rose gold, in the same loopy calligraphy from the Fall Festival. Your heart fluttered, and you knew why, but the lump of anxiety in your stomach you didn’t understand. Maybe it was because you wanted privacy for such a momentous moment. Maybe it was because you had fifteen pairs of eyes on you.

“What does it say?” Jeongyeon asked, graciously not saying what everyone wanted to know — “Who is it from?”

You might as well get it over with, you reasoned, since everyone would badger you with questions anyway. You lifted the flap, breaking the red wax. You noted that the family coat of arms featured two floppy-eared dogs and branches with rounded leaves. The last letter didn’t have a seal, you remembered. The same cream-colored stationery as before greeted your eyes, and you opened the card with gentle fingers, taking care not to crease it.

Meeting you would be grand. I’ll be waiting with a red rose in hand.

A pressed rose petal decorated the bottom half of the note, and you absentmindedly touched it while trying to slow your racing heart. Your eyes were glued to the message, rereading it over and over again. This was it, your chance to finally meet him. A hint of a smile started to show on your face, and Mina, observant as always, pointed it out.

“Is it something good?” she said, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, hiding your visibly flustered face with the envelope. Cheers erupted throughout the room, Sana being the loudest one of them.

“So, who is it?” Nayeon asked. “Is it BamBam? He’s been acting suspicious lately.”

“Jeongin? He always asks you for help,” Chaeyoung suggested.

You reread the card, searching for a signature, an inside joke, something to indicate the sender. Unfortunately, all you had was the seal, but you recognized none of the elements that would help you narrow down your search.

You showed everyone the broken wax. “Anyone know whose family seal this is?” You handed the envelope to the closest girl, who glanced at it and passed it to the next person.

When it reached Sana, she brought it centimeters away from her eyes, scrutinizing every little detail she could pick out. “It looks familiar, but I don’t know,” she finally said out loud. “I’ll ask around. Okay if I take a picture, Y/N?”

“Please.” You wanted to know who this mystery boy was more than anyone.

The envelope came back to you, and you carefully tucked the card inside. The crowd started to thin out as girls started to head back to their rooms or out of the dorms. So did you.

Once inside your room, the package that held your much needed winter coat was left discarded at the foot of your bed. With shaky hands, you reopened both the cards you had received from your secret admirer. You traced the words with a trembling finger, feeling the imprints made by the fountain pen, marvelling at how elegant his handwriting was. It was written by someone with a firm hand and a delicate touch, you imagined. Someone who was deliberate and kind and…

You shook your head. There was no sense in projecting your hopes of him on him, especially since you didn’t even know who he was.

Yet with only a slight feeling of embarrassment and some guilt, you lifted the stationery to your nose in a poor attempt to sniff out his cologne. All you smelled was expensive paper, and your whole body heated up when you realized how shameless you were a mere two seconds ago. Thank goodness Sana was busy and had no chance of bursting in.

You hid both letters inside your desk and opened your package, pretending that the past five minutes didn’t happen. The whole day was like that, pretending that you were cool, calm, collected when you really had the energy equivalent of five cups of black coffee coursing through your veins.

Sana came back with no new answers. At night, you drifted in and out of sleep, wondering who he was and how he would reveal himself to you.

As decided, you and Sana met up with Nayeon in the common room at 9:30 the following day. You yawned, regretting not taking any melatonin before you went to bed; you were tired from hours of unrestful sleep. Luckily, Nayeon, the driver, was in a much better state than you.

“I asked BamBam yesterday,” she said as she pulled out of the parking lot, “and he says it’s not him. I asked about his seal, and his is completely different.”

“He could be lying. What if he used someone else’s seal to trick Y/N?” Sana gasped.

“But why would he even do that? There wasn’t any seal on the first letter I got,” you replied. “It’s probably just a hint.”

“Ah! So he wants you to know who he is but is too shy to say it outright!” Sana declared. “But someone has to know. Is it too much if I post an ad in JYPaper?”

“Yes.” The school newspaper had many readers, and you didn’t want to be known as The Girl with the Secret Admirer again. “I don’t think they even allow things like that. We have at least three weeks to figure out who he is anyway.”

“Killjoy,” Sana pouted.

Soon, the three of you arrived in front of the boutique. As expected, the promise to buy only accessories for the masquerade was broken when Nayeon spotted an emerald green dress with lace details.

“Maybe I’ll wear this instead,” she wondered out loud. Before any of you could stop her, she grabbed it off the rack and brought it to the register, not even bothering to check the size.

You and Sana shared looks before heading over to the display of shoes. A cursory glance told you that none of them would match your dress the way you wanted. Despite that, you tried on a silver heel bedazzled with possibly real diamonds as Sana selected a black velvet pump. Nayeon returned with a brand new bag with the boutique’s name emblazoned on the front.

It was a similar experience at the other stores the three of you later visited. At least one of you would buy an unneeded item, while the main purpose of buying shoes for the masquerade was forgotten. The topic of your secret admirer, however, was not as lucky. At the end of the day, you had learned far too much about the Hwang family’s supposed seal, and Nayeon’s trunk was filled with shopping bags of various sizes and multicolored tissue paper. No progress was made.

“Y/N,” Sana started, her voice in an uncharacteristic lilt that typically meant she was going to ask for a favor, “can you take my bags too? Chan says he’s free now, and I want to ask him about the seal.”

“Can’t you just do it over text? I bet Chan wouldn’t mind,” you said. You threaded the handles of as many bags as you could through your arms. “You bought so many things.”

“If I do it in person, I’ll know if he’s lying or not.”

“He’s on the student council,” Nayeon pointed out. “We voted for him because he’s honest and trustworthy.”

“Please? He’s my friend, and I haven’t talked to him in ages,” she tried. For some strange reason, you couldn’t help but feel that it was a flimsy excuse for her not to take her fifteen bags back to the dorms.

“I’m your friend too,” you huffed. Despite your show of annoyance, you grabbed one of her bags as well. The last time she and Chan spoke face-to-face was two weeks ago, which was ‘ages’ since they usually had dinner together at least twice a week. “Fine. But he better know something useful.”

Sana lit up and eagerly waved goodbye. You called after her, “You’re treating me to dinner tomorrow!”

Nayeon added, “Me too!” as she picked up a black bag with gold ribbons for handles.

After three trips back and forth, Nayeon’s car was finally empty. Sana still had not returned, so the two of you went to the dining hall for a late night snack. Nayeon checked the “Who Could Y/N’s Secret Admirer Be?” list and read off the names still not crossed off.

(Apparently, Jeongyeon had created a spreadsheet and shared it with all the girls, so the list could be updated in real time. You were both surprised and not surprised at this news.)

“What about Felix?” she suggested. She flashed her phone screen at you, and Lee Felix had no strikethrough. “He’s a new transfer, so maybe that’s why no one recognizes the seal. Or maybe he doesn’t have a seal.”

You shrugged, more focused on the cheese platter on a nearby table. “Maybe,” you said, loading your plate with delicious morsels.

Nayeon mumbled something about your disinterest when food was in front of you, but she did the same. Chaeyoung, seated in a booth near a window with her own plate of cheese and crackers, waved you over.

“Rumor has it that your secret admirer is Lee Felix,” she said, forgoing a greeting.

Right beside you, Nayeon hissed, “See! I was right!”

“Someone saw him with some red roses last week, and your card did have a rose petal on it,” she continued. She nibbled on a small block of cheese as she looked for your reaction.

You chewed on your bottom lip. Was it really him? Was Lee Felix your secret admirer? You only knew him by a string of associations — Chan’s friend. Sana’s friend’s friend. He was pretty cute, you admitted.

“Maybe,” you replied, already thinking about his sharp jawline and the dusting of freckles across cheeks. “But only three more weeks until I find out.”

Sana had been acting strangely recently. She had started asking lots of specific questions about things you liked in guys. While you would have normally brushed this aside as Sana being Sana, she would follow up with questions like, “What do you think of this quality in a boyfriend?” Your answers were noncommittal, but she always smiled far too innocently and typed it on her phone. When your star-embroidered dress and its matching mask for the ball had arrived, a hint of a grin had appeared on her face. Then she had squealed, “He’ll love it!” and immediately clasped a hand over her mouth, like she had just told a huge secret. During the latest shopping trip with her and Nayeon — where you finally found a pair of heels you liked — Sana had smirked when the three of you unexpectedly ran into Chan and Felix, also shopping for the ball.

“Is it Lee Felix?” you asked moments after the boys were out of earshot.

She pretended not to hear you. “Hey, Nayeon, what do you think of that dress over there?”

You frowned, debating whether this meant it was Felix was not Felix. But it was clear that she knew something.

Weeks passed, and there was no new information about who your admirer could be. Much to your disappointment, Sana kept her lips sealed and tactfully changed topics whenever the masquerade was brought up.

Now that everyone was getting ready for the masquerade, she was dancing about you, deciding where to best place the decorative pins in your hair. You were fine with the situation earlier since you were waiting for Momo to finish Dahyun’s makeup, but Dahyun had been long gone.

“Here! No, here!” Sana selected a new location, deemed it not perfect, and took out the pin.

Momo, who had been patiently waiting to start on your makeup for a solid five minutes, gave you a sympathetic smile. “Sana, are you close to done yet?” she asked. “We’re going to be even later than we are now.”

“But she has to look perfect! She’s about to meet her secret admirer!”

The few girls present in the common room — where Momo had set up for the night — murmured in agreement.

Sighing, you snatched the handful of pins away from her and stuck them artfully into your curls. Or as artfully as you could in five seconds. It didn’t matter; they were shaped like stars, so they would look nice anyway. “There. Hair, check.”

After makeup was complete, Nayeon carefully tied your masquerade mask back, and Tzuyu held up a mirror for you. With Momo’s handiwork and half of your face covered, you barely recognized yourself. Your heart raced at the discovery; would he recognize you then? The letters he sent rested on your lap, and you absentmindedly touched the broken wax seal.

“All ready to go!” Sana cheerfully said. She pulled you up from your chair and linked arms with you. “Let’s find out who he is.”

Would it be Lee Felix, the top candidate among the girls, or someone who had gone by unnoticed? You gripped your skirts tighter in anticipation, and Sana slapped your wrist away in fear that you would wrinkle the fabric.

Downstairs, the ballroom was packed. Nayeon opened the double doors with bravado, and dozens of eyes looked in your direction. You thought everyone with their masks on looked like great horned owls staring you down, and you self-consciously adjusted yours, to Nayeon’s chagrin.

“What do I do?” you whispered to yourself. All the onlookers had returned to their own business, and you followed your friends through the crowd. “How do I even find him in all this?”

Nayeon had great hearing. “Red rose, remember?” she said. The baroque music nearly drowned out her answer. “He’s waiting with a red rose.”

“We’ll meet you by the punch table!” Sana shouted, already disappearing into the throngs of people. She grabbed Nayeon by the elbow, and you were left alone.

Stricken by the fact that you had no idea what to do and that your friends had basically ditched you, you stood in place. The letters were hidden in the folds of your skirt, and you repeatedly tapped on the sharp corner of the envelope to calm your anxiousness. You had imagined a Cinderella-like reveal, where the crowd would part and your prince would be waiting on the other end of the ballroom. Then he would reveal himself, and the two of you would dance the night away. Though in hindsight, the current situation was much more likely to happen.

You scanned the room, looking for any sign of red. Ties, dresses, masks, but not a single flower. Why was red such a popular color for masquerades?

“Y/N?” you heard to your left.

Eyes wide, you turned in that direction, only to see a boy with a rose in hand talking to a girl with a midnight blue feathered mask. Dahyun, you realized. Dahyun laughed and shook her head before pointing in your direction. Her and her eagle eyes, you gratefully thought.

The next part felt like a dream. Like a princess from a story, you picked up your skirts and walked up to him. It was him who was frozen in place now as you neared him. The background blurred as you focused solely on him, surreptitiously studying the exposed part of his face. His black mask blocked you from seeing his eyes, but the embarrassed smile was familiar.

“Hi,” he breathed, holding out the rose to you.

Heart beating, you took it and replied, “Hi.” After a beat, you blurted out, “Who are you?”

The smile turned into a grin, and you felt your cheeks growing hotter as you realized that his grin was just for you. Oh, he was cute. Or the lower half of his face was at least. “Don’t recognize me?”

“Should I?” You checked the broken seal on the second letter. Was there a secret message on there that you missed or something? It was still the floppy-eared dogs and what you learned from Jihyo’s research was eucalyptus branches.

“Wow, Sana actually didn’t tell you?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought she would have.”

“Sana? What does she have to do with this?”

“She’s a mutual friend of ours. She’s one of my closest friends too. We’ve known each other for years.”

Then, it all dawned upon you. Sana, who thought the seal looked familiar, who wanted to speak to an old friend in person, who looked like she had been hiding a secret from you during the past three weeks. Sana, who had fussed over your appearance, who left you in the center of the ballroom for no real reason.

“Chan?” you whispered.

“Yeah. Are you disappointed?”

“No! I’m just surprised! I didn’t think that— Everyone thought it would be Felix, so I… kind of believed it…”

“If you want to dance with Felix, then I can get him for you,” he quietly offered, his face falling.

You caught his sleeve before he could turn away, and you didn’t miss his shocked expression when you quickly said, “No! I want to dance with you. Really.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I’m sure. Please stay.”

You loosened your own mask and let it hang around your neck. Suddenly you felt shy now that all of your face was showing. You vaguely knew Chan from years of being friends with Sana, but this was a completely new experience and feeling.

“You look really beautiful,” he softly said. “I like the stars on your dress and in your hair.”

“You look handsome too,” you shyly replied. Sensing a possible awkward lull in the conversation, you asked, “So… why did you think Dahyun was me?”

He groaned and looked away. The tips of his ears matched the flower you were holding. “Sana told me your dress was dark blue, and Dahyun’s was blue as well.”

You smiled, remembering Dahyun loudly announcing that the common room wall was her date and that she would be matching with it for the ball.

“Did she tell you that I would be waiting here, too? She and Nayeon ditched me here.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. With a sudden burst of confidence, he stepped forward, his hands hovering around your waist. “She told me a lot of things, but especially about you.”

“Like what?” You hesitantly wrapped your arms around his neck, and he jumped but pulled you closer nonetheless. The two of you began to sway to the music. “That I wake up in the afternoon on the weekends and she hates it because she has to tiptoe around?”

He laughed, and the lines around his eyes crinkled. “Yes, but other things as well. That you like stars and that you stayed up late to help her study for an exam even though you pulled an all nighter the night before.”

“Oh?” You remembered it, but you didn’t think she told anyone.

“Yeah. She made you sound unreal. I checked out the Astronomy Club booth in Fall Fest to meet you myself, but I got shy. You looked really pretty that day,” he added, making you blush. “And then I heard you and Seungmin talking about how many pies you guys had left, so I decided to help out.”

“By buying all of them.”

“Yeah. Kind of a stupid idea, now that I think about.”

“You definitely got my attention.” You rested your head on his shoulders and felt him sharply inhale. He relaxed soon after, and you continued with, “I couldn’t stop thinking about your card for weeks.”

“And I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he quietly replied, earning yet another blush from you.

He leaned closer, and you felt a breath get hitched in your throat until he whispered, “Not to alarm you or anything, but everyone’s watching us.”

A quick peek was all you needed to confirm his words. Dahyun was still lingering around, and Sana miraculously showed up, looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. Seungmin looked like he was giving Chan overly enthusiastic thumbs-ups.

“Do you wanna still wanna dance?” he mumbled. The music was loud enough that no one would be able to hear, but it was something intimate in a scene where the two of you were being gawked.

“Come with me,” you said.

“To wh— Oh!”

You slithered out of his hold and led him by the wrist through the crowd of onlookers to a more secluded spot near one of the giant windows in the hallway. Groups of people parted for you like the fairy tale scene you had imagined earlier. With your skirts flowing back and a handsome boy behind you, it certainly felt like a fairy tale. Once the two of you were alone, you leaned against the wall and looked up at him.

“So, who exactly is the guy beneath the mask?” you ask, pointing at him with the rose. “I wanna know more about him since he already knows so much about me.”

He pushed his mask up to his neatly combed hair and smiled at you, full dimples on display, galaxies in his eyes. “Just someone who thinks you’re a cutie pie.”

~ ad.gray

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #chan #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #fluff #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fluff #bang chan fluff #stray kids x reader #twice #20201203

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years ago

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 02

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Vague mentions of PTSD, spoilers for the Foyet storyline/mentioned character death. Little angsty, maybe a little OOC since Reid and Hotch don’t actually have a boss/subordinate work relationship in this story and I’m adapting that whole-heartedly. But other than that, it’s just grown men acting like dorks and Reid attempting to give parenting advice. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 4535

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 02

May 2010

Hotch does, indeed, take Dr. Reid up on his offer.

They work on a few more cases together, over the course of six to eight weeks, and each time Dr. Reid proves to be an invaluable asset. His knowledge is unsurpassed, extensive, and astounds Hotch every time he opens a correspondence email from the esteemed professor.

Have you ever thought about being an FBI agent? He teases one night, when they’d been sending theories back and forth in emails that had become less and less formal. Dr. Reid still sent dissertation-length assessments of the cases when they landed in his niche (which was often), but their replies had turned to a messaging template instead of the business-like format Hotch is used to writing all day every day. Quick, rapid-fire messages replacing the professional grade layout that felt so impersonal, with titles and headers and enough filler to give him chronic headaches.

This was much better. Informal as it was.

I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t pass the physical exams, but thanks for the compliment. Another life, maybe. Dr. Reid answers, and Hotch finds himself smiling and huffing a laugh behind closed lips, the kind that stays caught up in his chest. He’s not sure how much older the professor is, for all he knew he could be bordering on retirement, but it was an amusing thought nonetheless.

I would get them waved, or curve the scores. I have that kind of pull around here. Never would he speak with his agents or anyone at the Quantico office like this, and it had taken weeks and dozens of emails to get to this point. But the freedom of it was nice, enchanting, like a little taste of his life outside of the office. Just confined to the response box of his email. Despite what everyone (ie: Morgan, Prentiss, Garcia) said about him, he did have a sense of humor. He just also had a sense of propriety, and he was their boss. He wasn’t going to make light with them in the place where they catch murderers.

Don’t tempt me. I have tenure. But Virginia gets so cold, I’d freeze to death half the year.

Didn’t you attend MIT? What did you do during winter?

Froze to death. Pay attention.

Hotch outright laughs, and then snaps his mouth shut and looks out the open blinds of his office. Everyone has gone home, for the most part, but he doesn’t need JJ or someone else hearing him and coming to check on him. He hasn’t been getting much work done since Dr. Reid started replying to his emails that evening, and the little half smirk on his face is something he doesn’t think he can school as he rereads their conversation over and over.

Apologies. Next I’m sure you’ll tell me how you had to walk to class uphill both ways in the snow.

No, I took the bus. And Froze. To. Death. I live in sweaters, and I’m from Las Vegas, I’m not meant for the cold.

Las Vegas? Really?

Born and raised. My mother still lives there.

Hotch’s eyebrows raise at that, apparently he’s not so old that his mother is still around. His own parents are gone, have been for years, but that’s under different circumstances and really not a situation he likes to reflect on.

Must be nice, only being a few hours from home. Do you go back often?

As little as possible. I should really visit my mother more, but that’s hard for reasons I won’t get into. I do write her, though. A letter every day, although not much happens around here for her to get invested in.

As in a real letter? Not an email, or a phone call?

She doesn’t do well with phone calls, or computers. Letters are more personal, anyway, and she likes being able to have the paper in her hands in my own handwriting. It’s the least I can do, not going home unless I absolutely have to.

This is the most the man has ever spoken about himself, in a personal manner instead of an academic one, and Hotch isn’t quite sure how to take the evolution. It feels like a shift in their dynamic, an opening that could lead to a deeper level of friendship and -- it’s been a while since he’s had that. Allowed himself to have that. After Foyet, and even before when Haley started pushing for divorce and Hotch responded by isolating himself as much as he could to keep his work unaffected, he’d had trust issues. Hotch is man enough to admit that.

But speaking with an old professor on the other side of the country might just be the stepping stone he needs. Who knows, maybe they’d even get the chance to meet one day.

I just grimaced at my own triteness. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you such a maudlin review of my life story.

No, that’s okay. I don’t talk much about myself, so I wasn’t sure how to respond. Work and home are kept very separate for me. It’s an unhealthy coping mechanism, I know, but it works as best as it can.

In your line of work, I can only imagine. You do what you have to.

Hotch pauses in their conversation, looks at the clock and the stack of paperwork he still hasn’t finished -- too busy lost in his talk with Dr. Reid -- and feels an itching in the back of his mind he wants so desperately to scratch at. To give into. Lists of things he knows he should talk about, but doesn’t trust anyone enough to do so. Hotch really isn’t sure he can even trust Dr. Reid with them.

At least, not yet.

Thank you. And thank you for entertaining me, as well.

Anytime.

It’s not a month later that Hotch is sitting at his desk, after hours, once again. Head in his hands and his phone still warm, overworked from the hour-long phone call he’d just endured with his ex-sister-in-law, Jessica.

Jack was being bullied in school. She’d had to attend the parent-teacher conference about it instead of him, because he’d been on a case in Florida for over two weeks. Which really just highlighted to Jack’s teacher what his home life is like and she expressed her worry. Adamantly. Jessica was in agreement, and she once again wanted to have the conversation on if Hotch returning to work at the BAU had been the right choice after Haley was killed. He’d taken his sabbatical for 30 days, passed his psych evals -- which didn’t mean much, he helped write the qualification questions -- and Jack was doing well with his therapist and in school.

Or so he’d thought. Until today.

That ‘conversation’ turned into an argument, because Hotch gets defensive when someone questions his choices in regards to his family, and as much as he knows that she is right -- he feels awful about how it devolved. Jessica has gone above and beyond in taking care of Jack, to allow Hotch to return to work, and she is the last person that deserves the brunt of his frustration. He only has himself to blame, and he doesn’t know what to do. Who to turn to. Who might have answers for him, if there even was a correct answer for his situation.

The Foyet case is classified. His assigned therapist is so easily played he hasn’t returned to her in months.

Hotch just wants someone who won’t see through him, even when he pushes back.

He wants to talk to someone who he doesn’t want to push back against.

Who he trusts.

Dr. Reid, I need help with something no one seems to have an answer for, but it’s of a personal matter and not a professional one. Would you mind lending me your services?

Hotch sends the email before he can take it back. It’s late in Virginia, but Dr. Reid is four hours behind him in California and there’s a high chance he might still be in his office. He seems to keep longer hours, for an old professor.

He won’t admit it to himself, but he feels a tightness in his chest as he awaits an answer. All the paperwork from the Florida case is completed, there’s nothing keeping him there at the office any longer. But it’s too late to go pick up Jack from Jessica’s, and he doesn’t think he would be welcome to come sleep on her couch like he often does on nights like this. When he wants to be there when Jack wakes up, and tonight he longs to do just that. But he isn’t sure he can even look Jessica in the eye right now.

So he sits there, and watches his computer screen, and feels himself distance from the ache in his bones. Knowing if Dr. Reid doesn’t answer him, he would have to spend however long it would take to compartmentalize his apprehension, once again, and go home to his empty house and not think about how he is failing in raising his son. In being a good father.

The soft ping of his inbox is his single solace in the storm of his thoughts.

Agent Hotchner, You know I’m always happy to help, in any way -- personal or professional -- if I can. What is it you need an answer to?

That tightness releases, but it also gives way to the worry building up in his chest. An overwhelming, crushing amount of it that he didn’t realize was climbing higher and higher the longer he’d been left alone with his thoughts. Drowning in trepidation. Everything he doesn’t want to have pressing on his mind when they are hunting down serial killers, working with criminals that would see it as a weakness and exploit it without batting an eye.

But this time, Hotch knows this is becoming something he shouldn’t try to hide away.

Child psychology. Trauma, in particular, and the effects on children after the fact.

It’s enough to describe what he needs answered, without telling too much of what happened. It’s still hard for Hotch to think about what happened, to fully realize what they had gone through. What had happened to Haley, what had happened to him. What Jack will have to grow up knowing nearly happened to him. What he almost witnessed.

(626)-595-0387 I have unlimited texting, and tend to stay up very late at night. Also, I have a feeling that you might want to keep this off government regulated emails. I’m not a practicing psychiatrist, mind you, but anything I can do to help you I will be more than happy to offer.

Hotch is stunned. Whatever he expected, that wasn’t it. He’s near speechless, staring at the phone number with a Pasadena area code, and hesitates in moving their correspondence off of the email platform. A drastic change in dynamic and expectations, but… it would be nice, to be able to message the professor whenever he wanted. The ease of access an alluring thought.

Another soft ping in his inbox has him looking up from where he’d been glancing at his cell phone in contemplation.

Also, it goes without saying, but everything we talk about in our conversations would still be confidential. I have no one to tell them to, anyway.

Hotch huffs out a sound that could have been a laugh, and he’s surprised he even can manage that. But he’s barely thinking about it before he’s picking up his cell phone and typing in the number Dr. Reid had given him. []6/3, 22:46[] This is Agent Hotchner.

He sends it, pauses in thought, then keeps typing.

[]6/3, 22:47[] You can call me Hotch, since this is outside work. Agent Hotchner just reminds me I’m abusing bureau resources for personal gain.

The whole interaction is causing this clawing, hot feeling in his chest that might be nervousness in risking the change in their work relationship, or residual guilt from the fight with Jessica about Jack, or just… the fear that Dr. Reid will tell him he is fucking this up and he should never have returned to the FBI at all. Because there are days, like today, where Hotch really starts to think that might be the case.

[]6/3, 22:49[] I figured as much. No one else actually messages me after 6pm except you and some of my more zealous students.

[]6/3, 22:51[] And although I don’t think you’re abusing anything; in that same vein, you can call me Spencer. This is just two friends having a chat, nothing more.

Hotch appreciates the gesture, finds himself almost smiling about it -- but then he remembers what he has to relay to ask what he wants to ask the other man. And he isn’t sure where to begin.

So he just -- begins at the start. The case where Foyet fooled his whole team, posing as a victim, and managing to get away. Slipped through their fingers. Gotten away with murder and insider FBI information and more than he should have ever been able to access. Dr. Reid -- Spencer, please -- doesn’t say anything as he relates all of this, and Hotch commends his patience. Because from the start, this isn’t about child psychology at all. But it is certainly about trauma, and that becomes apparent when Hotch throws caution to the wind and describes what happened to him in his own apartment. Paraphrasing and dropping out intimate details, but explaining what happened is still brutal even stripped to its bare minimum. When Foyet had broken in, and blitzed him, and tortured him as he stabbed him nine times in the chest. Precise, practiced, indicative of letting him live with the knowledge of what that monster masquerading as a man could do.

The details begin to bleed through the more he types. The more he remembers.

How he’d had to put his ex-wife and son into protective custody. How it hadn’t been enough. His late night obsessions all for naught. And finally, a brief -- or as brief as it can possibly be, for as brutal an event as it was -- summary of what happened when Foyet had found his family. How he had killed Haley, how they had stopped Foyet and Jack had been spared witnessing anything. Even the fight inside Hotch’s own house. He doesn’t… well, Hotch doesn’t plan on describing that and keeps it at bay. He barely remembers it. Blurs of fists and broken furniture and rooms he has memorized from years of memories flying by as they tore through his home like a hurricane.

But he gives enough of a picture. Enough that, though he doesn’t say as much, Spencer probably knows Foyet didn’t make it out alive. Can guess it was by Hotch’s own hands.

Which leads them to now -- to the part Hotch needed help with more than anything. His past and his trauma Hotch has a lot of practice dealing with, knows how to handle it alone. As he always has. But the part he doesn’t know how to handle?

He is raising his son on his own. His ex-sister-in-law, Jessica, has been a godsend and is helping with Jack so Hotch can be at work. His lifeblood. His identity. Everything he’s ever worked for. He almost left; Strauss had offered him an early retirement package that was too good to pass up, but he had in the end. Because being an FBI agent, catching the monsters that plague their world, that is what he does. And that’s what Jack knows him to do.

It helps Jack, Hotch found, to know that his dad is out there catching men like the one that took away his mom. He probably would have taken the loss a lot worse, if Aaron had left the bureau.

But he’s messing up. Hotch feels that in his bones. He’s gone so much, Jessica is taking on the role of parent instead of Aunt more and more, and Hotch does not want to turn into that father that shows up once in a blue moon and pretends he never left. He’s worried that what Jack’s teacher, and Jessica, had said is true and Jack’s home life isn’t going to be healthy for him. It’s going to make him suffer.

That what Jack has gone through, Hotch doesn’t know how to address correctly.

It’s near a half hour later that he’s gotten the entire story out, and Hotch realizes that even though text is probably going to be easier to have a conversation like this… he probably could have written it in an email and saved them both some time. He apologizes at the error, because it’s late and his head isn’t quite screwed on straight whenever it comes to matters with his son, and he just… he’s at a loss. Doesn’t know what the right course of action is, or if there even is one outside of a professional’s opinion.

Then Hotch waits for a reply.

It feels like hours, but in reality is only a couple of minutes.

[]6/3, 23:22[] Hotch, the fact you are so worried about your son and how your actions have affected him through all of this, is all I really need to know about you being a good father. The consideration you are showing him is not something every parent can do, in the face of what happened to you and your family. You do not need to worry about that. You love your son, and that is the most important factor right now.

[]6/3, 23:25[] Secondly, I’m so sorry that this happened to you at all. You and your son sound like you have such a strong bond, and I know that’s what must have helped you through such a difficult time. It’s apparent that you love him very, very much.

[]6/3, 23:29[] I don’t have a lot of friends that ask me the hard questions like this. Not that I don’t want them to, I just understand why, because I can recite statistics all day and give you textbook answers easily. Which I know you were hoping would give you a black and white response to your question. But in this there isn’t one, sadly. I know you are worried and I feel like you don’t need to be. And I don’t know how to express that in a way that won’t make you detest me.

[]6/3, 23:32[] Your son just lost his mom, and you just lost your ex-wife, and there’s not going to be a straightforward path to healing. Everything you say you have done for him? It’s perfect, it’s exactly what you should be doing, and don’t stop. That’s all you can do and all you should focus on, in truth. Listen to what he tells you and watch for what he doesn’t, and hug him, because you are a great dad -- and this is coming from someone who did not have such an example.

[]6/3, 23:33[] And I am very sorry about Haley, Hotch. I truly am.

Hotch doesn’t even answer him for a good few minutes. It is a lot to process, to read through, and he does read through it more than once. But every single time he reads that final text, his eyes sting hotly and he has to blink back emotions he thought he had waded through plenty on his 30 days of leave. Apparently, not enough.

It’s so much, and yet he wants more. It’s not enough in the sense that he wishes Dr. Reid -- Spencer -- would keep talking to him. Keep telling him he’s doing a good job. That he hasn’t failed his son.

That for once, he’s handling something right.

With a breath that feels like it shudders through his chest a little more roughly than it should, Hotch slowly types out a response that doesn’t even begin to feel anything close to adequate.

[]6/3, 23:41[] Thank you, Spencer. I could never detest you, in the slightest. Everyone keeps telling me I’m not screwing this up, but

He pauses, not sure if he even believes what he’s about to type.

At the last second, he switches tactics entirely. Feels a flood gate open. Just one, solitary floodgate in the vast Hoover Dam size wall he keeps up from the moment he shrugs into his suit jacket at home until he sheds it all away at the end of the night. In the confines of his home, with six physical locks on the door and two different digital security systems. With a weapon carefully concealed and childproofed in every room. With steel reinforced windows and no exit save for the front and back doors. A fire hazard, but a good precaution against anyone who would try to break in -- like Foyet had.

[]6/3, 23:41[] ...I find it so hard to believe them. In some ways it’s hard to believe you, too, but that’s not personal. Your words have resonated more than anyone else’s, if that’s any consolation. Even more than the therapist they assigned after everything.

[]6/3, 23:45[] My sister-in-law flat out told me I was failing my son, being away like I am, and his teacher believes his home environment isn’t healthy. He’s being bullied in school. I don’t know what to do.

Hotch types it all out and sends it.

The reply is instantaneous.

[]6/3, 23:46[] Yes, you do. You know exactly what to do.

And then there isn’t any further elaboration.

At first, Hotch is confused. He feels himself being pulled from that precipice of self-loathing and despair. Tugged by a string. The confusion forces him to look at Spencer’s response, nine words long, and decipher what they mean.

Trusting his first instinct, once more.

[]6/3, 23:49[] I have to talk to Jack.

[]6/3, 23:54[] You have heard all of this from everyone other than your son. He may be young, but he is going to know the answer better than his teacher or his aunt. Talk to him, before you start nailing yourself to a cross. You may find the answer to the situation a much easier fix than you are anticipating.

Hotch considers this, thinking about his son. Six-years-old now, first grade, smart as a tack, curious and kind. But so strong, a foundation that even he found himself clinging to sometimes, in the face of the storm of everything that had happened to them. Which is not healthy, and Hotch learned to not do that to him. To instead find solidarity in their relationship, withstanding the storm together. As they always have.

[]6/3, 23:57[] He’s not one to let a bully have his way. He knows that’s not right. Maybe he has another strategy.

[]6/4, 00:01[] He’s young enough that trying to befriend his abuser would be a good tactic to counter the situation, does that seem like something he would do?

[]6/4, 00:02[] That sounds exactly like Jack. Hotch replies, with a smile finally easing on to his face -- and it feels lighter now. Easier to hold.

[]6/4, 00:04[] He sounds like a sweet kid.

[]6/4, 00:05[] He is. I’m very proud of him.

[]6/4, 00:07[] You really are a great dad, Hotch. I’m not just saying it to say it.

That crushing, overwhelming feeling has ebbed to nearly nothing -- and with a sudden rush of vertigo it is replaced with gratitude for the old professor lending him his evening hours. It flashes warm and sudden and Hotch isn’t used to that, either.

[]6/4, 00:08[] I would never expect you to, but thank you.

Even he feels lame for thanking the man for saying such a thing.

[]6/4, 00:10[] You don’t need to thank me, I barely did anything.

[]6/4, 00:11[] But if you ever need to talk, about anything really, I’d be more than happy to do so.

[]6/4, 00:13[] I promise I can be good at that. The listening part. Day or night, it really doesn’t matter. I’ll always be around.

Hotch pauses at the offer, and then types slow and hesitant.

[]6/4, 00:16[] What if I just want to check in on a friend?

[]6/4, 00:16[] I am also around for that.

The answer is sudden, without hesitation, and Hotch feels a smile start to ease the muscles in his face. Soften the edges once more.

[]6/4, 00:18[] I wouldn’t mind someone to talk to after a long day. It’s been a while since I’ve had a…

He pauses again, not quite sure if he remembers how to do this without pressing in too fast. Committing to too much, not sure what he is able to give of himself. But he’s already shared more with Dr. Reid in two months than he has with David in the past two years.

Hotch makes a decision, for himself, for the first time in a long time.

[]6/4, 00:18[] ...It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend outside of the bureau.

[]6/4, 00:19[] Do I still count if I’m a consultant?

[]6/4, 00:19[] You absolutely count.

His own message makes him smile, and there’s a beat between messages where he hopes he made the older man smile as well.

[]6/4, 00:22[] I’m never short on topics of conversation, I warn you. So unless you want a lecture on quantum physics -- how do you feel about chess?

[]6/4, 00:24[] I’m getting the feeling you’ll wipe the floor with me.

[]6/4, 00:25[] Oh, without a doubt. But the desktop app also has a chat feature.

[]6/4, 00:26[] Look at you, all modern and with the times.

[]6/4, 00:28[] My home phone may be a rotary, but even I can’t scoff at the vast reach of online chess.

[]6/4, 00:28[] So what say you?

Hotch pauses, one final time, and considers the night; the conversation, Spencer’s advice, the way talking about what had happened helped ease the weight of it more than he’d ever anticipated. Then he thinks of the source, of what started it all, and how -- once again -- Dr. Reid was right about a number of things. But one thing in particular.

[]6/4, 00:32[] I’m going to take your advice and go to my son. But tomorrow night, after he’s in bed, I have many hours to myself.

[]6/4, 00:35[] By no coincidence whatsoever, my evenings are always free. Care to show off those FBI honed deduction skills? My best chess opponents have ironically been FBI agents.

[]6/4, 00:36[] Oh, I’m terrible. Trust me.

[]6/4, 00:37[] I promise I don’t care. Your company is worth however many short games we can endure.

Hotch smiles, despite himself, and this time doesn’t try to hold it back.

[]6/4, 00:39[] Then, it’s a date.

(tbc...)

Tagged list: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

#DID I MENTION THIS WAS A SLOWBURN?!?#Cause it's a S L O W B U R N #we still have a couple chapters of Hotch's POV before we get to see how things are going on Reid's side #also I am so frustrated with tumblr's formatting issues but I finally got it to stop rearranging my damn story when I edit it I think #fingers-crossed #at least ao3 has my back #Once again Updates are on Saturdays about 5pm EST #if you want in on the tag list just message me <3 #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting

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svtkillua · 4 years ago

Text

little lion man > 4 (final)

rating: [pg-13 / angst] pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader x todoroki shouto warnings: cursing, lots of yummy angst >:)) word count: 3k

listen while you read here!

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ch.1 + ch.2 + ch.3 + ch.4 (final) + alt. ending

It was terrifying how much could change in a year. To think that just a few short weeks could change everything about you was daunting, but true. When you had left life felt like torture, like everywhere you looked there was something waiting to mock you. You were broken, your heart all but ashes when you boarded the first flight away, but you knew it was what you needed to do. You needed time away from it all to figure out what you wanted, to figure out who you were without all of the things you’d grown so used to. It was hard, leaving it all behind, like you just gave away a piece of yourself with no plans of ever getting it back.

Loving Bakugou Katsuki was hard, but letting that love go, was harder.

The first month you’d spent crying in the hole in the wall apartment you’d rented far away from all your problems and people you knew. You were constantly in the shabby bed, eyes bloodshot and nose stopped up. You’d find yourself looking through photos of Bakugou online, like a bizarre form of torture designed to make you feel worse. Every time you looked at them the tug in your chest was stronger, the pain too fresh in your mind to process anything else. You spoke to next to no one, only telling Todoroki where you were and your family. Bakugou had tried to call once or twice, but you didn’t answer. You’d just listened to the voicemails filled with apologies and constant mumbles about how much he missed you.

The second month was spent filled with anger and resentment at Bakugou for letting his own confusion hurt you and Camie. You were angry at Kaminari for not telling you what he knew sooner, for not trying to talk some sense into your best friend. You were angry at Bakugou for never quite putting your emotions first, only thinking of himself and what he wanted. You were angry at him for not realizing he’d been hurting you so badly to the point that everything felt like pain. Angry with him for not telling you sooner how he felt, and angry at yourself for the exact same reasons.

The anger made you crazy, useless things being tossed at walls and smashing when you drank a bit too much. The pictures of him on your phone had started making your blood boil rather than making your mood plummet, so you stopped looking. It had all been coming out, the pain, the frustration, all the pent up emotions that were once locked away for so long. It felt good, it felt liberating, it felt like you were starting to be okay again without the pain clogging up your pores.

The third month was spent starting to like yourself again. You were learning that you were special and worthy of love, that you were worth working on. You started tutoring kids in piano to make some extra cash, earning a short internship at a production company to help work on songs. You started to eat better and cry less and the pain in your chest was slowly reducing away. Todoroki had come to see you, he’d brought flowers that sat on your coffee table till all the petals fell off.

Bakugou had called you, and that time you answered. The conversation wasn’t long, his voice was quiet like he was scared of making you upset. He apologized for all the pain he’d caused you, and hearing his voice made your heart soar, even if just for a few moments. You still loved him, three months later you did, it was easier to with the pain not so fresh in your mind and the things reminding you of it miles away. You forgave him, for all of it, desperate to not feel the pull of that baggage on your limbs anymore.

The fourth month was when your family forwarded you the invitation to Bakugou’s wedding.

The tiny envelope covered in a delicate pink rose design made you feel like you were back in month one, broken, full of tears, lost. It hurt to see he’d made his choice and it wasn’t you, but somewhere in the depths of your mind you knew it was what was best. You loved him, you would always love him. You would always love how his eyes wrinkled up when he laughed and how loud and boisterous he got when he was happy. You’d always love how warm he felt when he hugged you and you would always remember the feeling of his lips whispering I love you into your ear.

You would always think of him when you made his favorite cookies and could smell them in the oven. You would always think of him when you heard his favorite song fluttering over the speakers of your radio. You’d always be remembered of how deeply your love for him had dug inside you and left a hole so big it almost ruined you.

You were both victims of your fear, too scared to take that step when you should have. It was too late to give it a try because his heart had moved on. He’d never truly loved you how he loved Camie, and while it broke you, it was the punch in your gut that made the decision final in your mind. It was the last push to make you let go of the bit of his heart you were so desperately clinging onto. Bakugou wasn’t yours, and he never would be, as badly as you had wanted him to.

Month five was when you decided that Bakugou Katsuki didn’t own your heart anymore. It was when you decided you weren’t going to cry over him, not ever again. He broke your heart and you broke his, and that would always be something you carried with you. The tears weren’t going to be, however, you refused. Todoroki invited you to be his date to the wedding, but you turned him down. You weren’t ready and he understood. He showed up the night after the event and you baked a cake together. His gentle voice and stone faced jokes kept your mind from self combusting and for that you were thankful.

During month six you kept yourself so busy with the work at your internship and the tutoring lessons that you found yourself barely thinking of Bakugou. You’d feel the smallest twinge of pain when you saw his face on your tv screen, being applauded for saving innocent people, but it didn’t hurt as bad. You talked to Todoroki every night on the phone, him telling you all about the new puppy he had gotten and laughing when you suggested stupid names for it.

When he’d offered to send you pictures from the wedding, you said yes. It hadn’t hurt as much as you expected to see him all dressed up beside Camie in a dazzling white dress. She looked gorgeous, and he looked so happy beside her. That ring you found in his dresser drawer that had felt like the end of the world still perched on her finger, a perfect golden band to match it on Bakugou’s. The pain was still simmering in your stomach, but the bitterness was fading. You had found yourself showing the smallest smile at the photo, and sent Bakugou a small message of congratulations. Camie thanked you when you sent her the recipe for his favorite cookies, and it felt like a peace offering. Like you were closing a chapter on a sad book you didn’t want to reread.

You didn’t ever really hate Camie, you envied her for everything she had you didn’t, but being away made you realize how stupid that had been. At the end of the day she just fell in love with Bakugou for the same reason you had, because he was so incredibly him that you just couldn’t help it. She loved him, and you knew if you weren’t going to have him be the one for you, you were glad that someone who cared for him truly, would.

By month seven, Bakugou was speaking to you more regularly again, the best friend who’d been so scared of losing you had been making an effort not to. Your heart wasn’t sore in your chest anymore, you hadn’t cried in two months and the smiles on your face were slowly becoming normal again. Todoroki came to see you more often, always bringing little gifts and snacks and flowers to decorate the shabby apartment with. He even brought the puppy over he wouldn’t let you name, but insisted you’d name the next one together.

He’d asked you out on a date that month.

And you said yes.

Months eight and nine were filled with phone calls from Todoroki and feelings of your heart starting to beat again how it used to. You were feeling like you again, but a better version. A version of you that knew life was too short to be scared, too short to let your last experience of love ruin it for you forever. You refused to make that same mistake a second time. So when Todoroki gave you his favorite sweater to keep and told you how beautiful you looked in it, you kissed him and asked to be his girlfriend.

And with the faintest blush, he said yes.

Month ten was spent finding a new apartment back in the city. Back where you’d run away from, but when you returned the troubles weren’t so bad. You no longer felt disheartened when you saw all the places your old memories were, because your heart felt like it was healed. Were there still bandages covering the cracks in it? Of course, but they made you who you were, and Todoroki had all but paint them with red so they were hardly noticeable anymore.

During month eleven you moved in and got a full time job producing, the kind of job you’d always dreamt of having, but never thought you’d reach. Bakugou and you had lunch every Thursday afternoon, and after the first ten minutes the awkwardness had melted away. Loving him hadn’t been a mistake. It was something you didn’t regret anymore, because it had changed you, forever. It changed you in a way you’d never reverse back, a way that moulded a part of you into permanence.

Which brought you to now, month twelve, where you were sat in front of your vanity in a silky black dress, your eyes boring into your reflection and taking in the little differences from where you were a year before. Your hair was longer, your eyes were brighter, and your smile didn’t looked as strained. Your room was new and no longer was your place to cry, but instead the place you watched movies with your boyfriend and stayed up late into the night talking about everything and nothing. There were days still when you didn’t feel confident but they were coming less and less often, and you were thankful for it.

“You okay?”

Todoroki’s voice made your eyes flutter up from where they’d been staring off into nothingness, his approaching figure visible in the mirror’s reflection. He looked handsome in his dress shirt and pants, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a skinny tie around his neck, undone.

“Yeah, just thinking.” You smiled up at him, swiveling around on your stool and looking up at him, your toes wiggling against the carpet under your dress. They were painted a light orange color you’d talked Todoroki into letting you paint on his thumb nail.

“About what?”

“Life.” You laughed, rising to your feet and stepping closer to him. Your fingers grabbed onto his tie, staring at it while he stared at you. You tied it effortlessly, patting his chest once it was finished and letting your eyes focus up on his, “About how much can change so fast.”

“That sounds ominous.” He said, his face stoic as usual as his hand lifted up, pushing your hair away from your face. “Not planning on leaving me are you?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly.” You laughed quietly, arms slipping around his shoulders, his arms finding their way around your middle. He held you in a way that felt secure, like he wouldn’t let anything in the world ever hurt you again. “I have to keep you around at least a few months.”

The grin on your face made him roll his eyes, your bursting out laughter making him crack a smile himself, his hand reaching up to flick your bunched up cheek. It felt dream like, having him holding you, having someone you had feelings for have them back.

“We should get going or we’re going to be late.” His voice was laced with a smile as he let you go, reaching past you to grab his keys off the dresser while you whined.

“But I don’t wanna go. Can’t we just stay here and watch movies? I’ll even cook dinner.” You pouted at him, grabbing onto his arm like a toddler who wasn’t getting their way. He didn’t miss a beat, his arm pulling from your grasp and smoothly skimming around your waist as he tugged you from the room.

“You can’t not go to your own birthday dinner.”

You grumbled at his logic, body relaxing against his side as he led you over to the couch. You leaned your backside into the back of it, watching as he disappeared to the front door for a moment, before reappearing with your heels. He easily bent down onto his knee in front of you, grabbing your ankle and slipping on your shoe for you, face even and relaxed.

The flutters in your stomach seeing him knelt down on one knee felt so different than they had when you saw Bakugou do the very same thing. When Bakugou had done it, it felt like the most painful moment of your entire life, but seeing Todoroki in the same position, even if it was for a different reason, made your lips raise up on the ends with the possibilities of the future.

He wasn’t your second choice, he wasn’t your backup since Bakugou hadn’t worked out, and you made sure he knew that. Bakugou was tsunami that had hit you all at once and washed away any sense of sanity. The love all consuming and dangerous to the point you felt like you couldn’t breathe right anymore. With Todoroki it was different. It was like a warm fire spreading through your limbs, like a cool breeze filling your senses every time he slid his hand in yours. Your feelings for him grew like a sunflower towering over everything else in the garden, and he was the one coming to water and care for it every day. He felt secure, he felt content, he felt right.

You weren’t in love with him, not yet, and you still harbored fear at idea of giving yourself like that to someone ever again. But Todoroki didn’t rush you, he never pressured you now, just like he never had before. He knew that though you were put back together, parts of you were still fragile, and he wasn’t intending on letting them get broken ever again.

Not while he was around.

“What’s with that look?”

“What look?”

“The one on your face right now.” Todoroki quipped, his body moving to stand upright in front of you again, fingers brushing your hips as he pulled you forward. His left hand moved more firmly to grip your hip, muscles flexing beneath the thin dress shirt’s fabric. His right hand raised and rested against the side of your neck, thumb brushing along your jaw as you tilted your head back to look up at him properly.

“I’m just happy.” You said quietly, smiling up at him as a faint, wistful smile spread on his own plump lips. Your body pressed into his, palms resting on his chest and memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Thank you.”

His neck craned down, forehead pressing into yours as his lips ghosted against yours before he spoke again.

“For what?”

“For being patient and not giving up on me.”

His smile was faint as he leaned in and pressed a firm kiss against your lips. It was gentle and soft but so full of emotions you didn’t understand completely yet. He was everywhere you looked but when you saw him it filled you with calm instead of sadness. You could feel him in your veins but he was spreading joy through them. He was in your brain sorting out and discarding all the bad thoughts and feelings you’d ever felt. He was in your lungs breathing oxygen into your system, and in your chest building a safety net beneath your heart to capture any chipped off pieces and put them back in place.

You wanted to memorize everything about him, from the way his cheeks bunched up and looked so full when he smiled, to the way he always watched you when you were getting ready in the morning. You never wanted to forget how good his arms felt around you or how quickly he could make your heart beat. He was pulling away the insecurities you had built up a year ago and replacing them with love, a love that though scary, was blooming in your chest more and more each passing day.

It was terrifying, giving yourself over to someone when the last time you’d tried it ended so horribly and damaged you so much. Bakugou would always be your first love even if you never got to experience it how you’d dreamed of. Maybe you’d always feel him in your chest when you smelled his cologne and maybe you’d always care if he was happy, but your heart didn’t belong to him anymore. It belonged to you, and you were slowly beginning to give away pieces to the boy holding you in his arms.

The way his lips moved to press into yours once more had your eyes fluttering shut, his lips then travelling up to your nose, then between your eyebrows, before finally landing on your forehead, lingering there for a moment. Your eyes remained closed as you exhaled a content sigh, letting yourself feel him in every part of you as he whispered into your skin.

“You were worth waiting for.”

And you believed him.

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#bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #katsuki #bakugou #shouto #todoroki #todoroki angst #todoroki smut #todoroki fluff #bakugou smut #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto

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