#I was not built for a five day stretch work week I think. I’m somewhat relieved going back to doing 2 days having off a day then 3 days. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jkstompers · 4 years

Text

passing notes | jjk

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader

summary: a year of crushing and jungkook’s finally asked you out on a proper date.

genre: classmates to lovers??!, established friendship, they go on a date <3, jk is so stressed out, !fancy restaurant warning!, jk is A GENTLEMAN!! but wbk, oc is a nerd but is BOLD AF!!

warnings: mature!! (18+!!), SMUT,...they make out, LOTS of built up tension is let out tonite!, fingering, praise kink, handjob, backseat action, semi-public sex?? very strong language, jk overuses the nickname ‘baby’

word count: 9k

author’s note: pt. 3 of seatmate!jk. WE’VE GOT SOME FILTH TODAY PPL!!!!!!! this is my first time releasing a piece of writing that has smut in it so pls!! let me know what u think!!! i’m open to criticism but i cry easily so… pls pls be nice (Ｔ▽Ｔ) LMAO!! i also completely made up the program for ocean scientists that oc talks about LMAO i just needed her to ramble for a bit hahahah

additional note: also pls imagine jungkook looking like this in class and then wearing this for their date. also if ur curious, this is what i imagined oc’s dress to look like :)

okay enjoy!! thank u ( ˘ ³˘)

it was the end of the semester and of course, the only time jungkook would be running late to class was when he was finally going to ask you out on a date. so far, everything seems to be going against the idea. his alarm didn’t go off on time, the shower took way too long to warm up, and his car was low on gas. now he’s speed walking, almost running, to lecture to make sure that his seat next to you isn’t taken.

he wants to make sure this goes perfectly. he spent the past two weeks stressing over the plans. asking for recommendations for nice restaurants in the city in almost every group chat he was in. his friend (the one with parents as ceo’s, eunwoo), helped him and got him a reservation at this one five star restaurant that jungkook’s never been to. eunwoo told him that it was the prettiest place he’s ever been to, said it would be perfect for a first date.

jungkook specifically remembers you telling him that you’ve never gone on an actual dinner date. ice cream dates, movie theater dates, and amusement park dates were what you were used to. there was nothing wrong with that, it’s just that you’ve never experienced a candlelit dinner at a restaurant, that’s it. jungkook just wanted to be the first one to experience it with you.

so when his morning starts off this shitty, he wonders if his plans are falling apart. he tries to keep a good, positive mindset, but he’s already so nervous and the universe seems to be telling him: don’t do it, she’ll reject you, you’re gonna look stupid in front of her.

meanwhile, you’re early this lecture. it was the last class of the semester and you were hoping that you could get a nice conversation with jungkook in before it started. the two of you have gotten a lot closer since you last hung out. the chain of events starting with you apologizing for being so embarrassing,

[12:44 pm] you: jungkook!!! oh my god i am so sorry for last night 😭

[12:45 pm] you: i don’t take alcohol very well 😖

[12:50 pm] jungkook: 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[12:50 pm] jungkook: no need to apologize! are u feeling sick? hungover?

[12:52 pm] you: omg no not really

[12:52 pm] you: ur a great drinking buddy, i owe u one 🥺

[12:53 pm] jungkook: it’s alright cutie

[12:54 pm] jungkook: just happy ur feeling okay :)

[12:56 pm] you: let me make it up to u 😭 i’ll buy us lunch one of these days?

[12:57 pm] jungkook: ah no can do cutie

[12:57 pm] jungkook: have to buy u dinner first

the thought of the conversation makes you smile. that one conversation starting the domino effect of the two of you talking almost everyday for the past two weeks. you couldn’t help but expect jungkook to at least be here, but if he didn’t wanna come, then he didn’t have to.

you sat in your seat, patiently waiting for the one next to you to be filled by him. the hall was starting to fill now and class was about to start. you look around one last time to see that jungkook is still nowhere to be seen, and that a familiar brown-haired guy was beginning to walk up to you.

“hello, ___! is this seat taken?” taehyung smiles brightly, you look down at the seat next to you. your bag saving the spot for jungkook. maybe he skipped this lecture, since it was practically for nothing anyway, you’ve already taken the final and there was no other material to learn, it was more so to wrap things up and see if anyone still needed to understand something.

your brain comes to a conclusion. you remove your bag and say, “no, go ahead,” to taehyung with a small smile on your face, one that hides the disappointment riddling your mind.

it’s about five minutes after the professor starts talking when jungkook finally walks in. he looks up to try and find you as he walks up the steps of the auditorium. his eyes land on you and taehyung, chatting amongst yourselves. he can’t help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy, that’s his seat. even though there were no assigned seats, the place next to you was always his, that’s just how it was, and seeing someone else sitting there, especially taehyung, makes jungkook’s green monster pop out.

you feel a presence step behind you while you were talking to taehyung, and before you know it, jungkook is sitting in the seat next to taehyung. “oh! good morning, jungkook!” you’re smiling to him. he doesn’t grant you one of his regular vocal responses, rather he gives you a tight-lipped grin before he leans back into his chair and focuses on whatever the professor was saying.

maybe he was jealous. witnessing you and taehyung having a wonderful conversation, one that makes you smile and laugh like he does. you didn’t even notice him when he came up the stairs, only greeting him when he sat down. no, he was definitely jealous.

you’re stealing glances his way, pretending to be interested in whatever taehyung is talking about. he’s wearing the most boyfriend-est outfit in the world. a white long sleeve with grey sweatpants, his long hair tied up in a ponytail. you’re unconsciously biting your lip as you stare at him, he’s just so cool. he’s not even doing much other than looking straight forward. but this angle lets you see his sharp jawline and his side profile perfectly.

you felt bad, one hundred percent. you should have told taehyung that the seat was taken, because now he was talking your ear off and you didn’t mind it, but you wanted someone else to be talking your ear off and it was the guy sitting next to him.

when taehyung changes his focus to your professor talking about a summer he had in paris. you steal another glance at jungkook. you catch him staring at you, your eyes meet. he doesn’t keep the connection, cutting it off by moving his head and looking straight ahead. his jaw clenches, arms coming over and across his chest. he seems angry, you pick up on the energy now. an idea pops in your head to try and make him feel better. reaching into your bag to find one of your index cards, writing a message on it.

feeling okay?

you scoot your chair back a bit, pretending to stretch as you tap jungkook’s shoulder. he turns his head to you, eyebrows raised. you hand him the paper. he stares at first, eyes flickering between you and the paper. reluctantly, he takes it, unfolding his crossed arms to receive the note. you scoot back into your seat and lean into the table, lowering your chin onto the desk.

jungkook tries to hide his smile as he reads your little note. how could he ever stay mad at you? it wasn’t your fault he was late. so he replies, his black ink has a stark contrast against your green highlighter. he can already feel his bad mood brightening.

yeah, didn’t save me a seat? :(

this time he folds the note, handing it to taehyung and telling him to pass it to you. “really? you’re passing notes? we’re in college, jeon.” taehyung snickers as he slides the paper towards you.

you let a small laugh, reading the note. taehyung’s scolding continues as you write your response on the index card. you changed your green highlighter out with a blue pen.

i came super early :( waited 20 mins for u </3 but i didn’t think u were coming so i let taehyung sit here

you send it back and watch jungkook’s somewhat straight face contort into a smile. there it is, the smile that you know and love.

jungkook on the other hand could cry. you came early. you waited for him. god, had he royally fucked this up. he makes his mind up now.

i’m sorry :( let me make it up to u? can i take you out on a date tonight?

check: ◯ yes ◯ no

jungkook keeps the paper for a good minute, reading the note over and over again, thinking about how childish this way of asking is. but at the same time, jungkook knows that if he talks to you about it after class, he’ll gloss over the words and never ask you. letting the reservation and plans he made weeks ago render themselves useless. it was now or never.

so he fully sends it, tapping your shoulder and giving it to you directly. you open the note and scan the words, sending him the sweetest look he’s ever received in his life. he thinks that would be a yes. he hopes. you write something onto the card and pass it back to him, your hand grazing his for a second.

⚫ yes :) ♡ ◯ no

the rest of the class passes pretty quickly. not that you were paying any attention. jungkook had emailed you a link to a game that the two of you could play, a weird version of snakes. jungkook kept cheating, you swore it, but in all honesty, you knew you couldn’t compete when it came to jungkook and his computer games. a clap from the professor breaks your attention from your screen, “alright, that was the last class of anatomy 101!” he then goes on a two minute long speech thanking the entire class for their great work this past year. he ends his ment with, “good luck and make good decisions! have a fun summer!”

you take your time packing your things, a little too long for someone that just has a laptop to put into their bag. taehyung says goodbye to the both of you and leaves first, the seat in between you both empty. now it was just the two of you. a small blush creeps onto your cheeks. you were well past your high school crush phase, but jungkook makes you feel so shy again.

you try to hide it by speaking first, “so, a date?”

he sends you that award winning smile that makes you swoon. “yeah, did you change your mind?”

you shake your head. “is it casual? fancy? want me to wear a dress again?” you tease, finally pushing your computer into your bag and standing.

jungkook gulps. you looked so pretty that night in a dress. “fancy,” he answers, “you can wear a dress if you want, pantsuits are cool too— whatever you want.” he finishes packing as well, standing next to you as you both begin to walk down the stairs.

“okay then,” you smile. “what time should i be ready?”

“i’ll come and pick you up at seven, is that okay?” he replies, hand in his pockets. you both make your way out of the room and start to move towards the parking lot.

“sounds good,” you nod, approaching your car. jungkook walks you to your door, his eyes focused on your sweet smile and your eyes. if jungkook didn’t know any better, he would have thought you were leaning closer towards him. a small laugh leaves your throat. “see you later, kookie.”

he sends you a smile, the nickname tugging at his heartstrings. the realization hits him after you’ve already driven away and he’s sitting in the driver seat of his car. an embarrassing blush covers his face, he takes a deep breath and laughs to himself. finally. a year of crushing and he’s finally asked you on a proper date.

jungkook is quite frankly, freaking the fuck out. he isn’t sure what to wear and his hair isn’t working with him. the long strands seemingly out to make his life a living hell when he tries to style it. one strand always looks out of place, or the way that it parts doesn’t sit right. he’s pacing his bathroom, debating if he should just shower again and take all the stupid fucking product out of his hair.

he gives in after ten minutes of deliberation. a quick shower removing all the wax and gel from his hair. the ends of his hair dripping when he goes to check his phone, the time reading: 6:45. he was gonna be late to pick you up. now he’s full on panicking. he has no other choice then to skip the hair product all together and just let his hair dry and part on it’s own. he slides on his all black fancy outfit he had planned out just in case the first one didn’t work out. he steps out of his apartment after grabbing his car keys, wallet, and the flowers he bought earlier in the day for you.

a friend of his works in a flower shop. jungkook remembers you saying that you like all flowers and that you couldn’t choose if you had to. so his friend asked what you were like, trying to figure out a way to style the bouquet without knowing your favorites. jungkook said the general things; you’re sweet like an apple, probably sweeter, like candy. you’re so pretty, it’s blessing that he’s able to lay his eyes upon you. you’re smart, too smart for him to flirt stupidly like he always does, ‘cause you outsmart him and flirt with him back in a wittier way. you’re— that was enough information, his friend told him he was babbling again. jungkook only had to wait ten minutes for his friend to finish fixing up a beautiful bouquet for you.

the bouquet is placed on the passenger seat as he starts his car, texting you when he realizes it’s almost five minutes until 7.

[6:54 pm] jungkook: fuck

[6:54 pm] jungkook: i’m gonna be a little late

[6:55 pm] jungkook: i swear i’m not standing u up

[6:55 pm] jungkook: ok i’m putting my phone down to drive to u now, sorry cutie!!

[6:57 pm] you: ah okay!

[6:57 pm] you: i was getting a little worried haha

[6:58 pm] you: see u in a bit <3

jungkook drives safely, but efficiently to your apartment. the drive only taking about five minutes because the stop lights were gracing him with green lights his entire way to you. he parks right in front, grabbing the flowers and hopping out of the car. when he knocks on your door, he starts to feel his nerves work against him. the adrenaline from rushing here gave him enough energy to hype himself up, but now as he’s standing here at your door, waiting for you to answer, his throat starts to dry and his hands start to sweat.

the metal door slides open, revealing you. in your silk dress, draping over your body in the most flattering way. the neckline deliciously hangs down to reveal your cleavage ever so slightly and the slit on the dress, displaying your thigh teasingly. jungkook is speechless at his first glance at you. his eyebrows raise and his mouth drops open, catching himself drooling once you step out from your apartment.

“h— hi, you look— wow,” he stumbles over his words, taking a step back to admire you once again. “you’re fucking stunning.”

you brush your hair back behind your ear, your hand covering the blush covering your cheeks. “thank you, you look very handsome, jungkook.” you reach out and play with his black tie. he looks down when you do, remembering that he was holding a bouquet of flowers for you.

he holds them out, “these are for you.” like a kid giving his crush a dandelion he picked from the grass.

“these are gorgeous, jungkook! thank you.” you look up to him with your signature sweet eyes, the ones that never fail to make him melt. “just give me one sec, i’ll put these down and then we can go?” you ask, holding onto the bouquet and waiting for him to respond. a quick nod is all you need to open your door and place them in the fridge. you come out a few seconds later, locking your door and standing by jungkook again.

“that was fast,” he comments. he holds his arm out for you to hold, which you gratefully take.

“i just put them in the fridge, my grandma showed me the trick, it helps them live a little longer,” you explain. the two of you walking out to his parked car. he never lets your hand touch the handle, always opening the door for you.

“when they die, i’ll just buy you new ones.” closing the door for you and making his way to the drivers seat.

you scrunch your nose. when he comes back and joins you in the car, you voice your worry. “it’s kind of a waste, don’t you think?”

he shakes his head, “if it’s for you, nothing’s a waste.”

jungkook was a professional with his words. always rendering you speechless.

with that he starts the car and begins driving into the busier part of seoul. he makes his way into the restaurants parking garage, the building looks to be about five stories. the architecture itself looks expensive, you wonder where jungkook is taking you tonight. he parks the car, turning off the engine, and moving to open the door for you. he takes your hand and you hold onto your dress, fixing it once you get out of the car. god, you’re so pretty. he was so nervous.

“ready, my lady?” he smiles, his arm out for you to hold.

it makes you laugh, a snort almost. “i’ve never seen you so proper, mr. jeon.”

“only for you,” he winks. your heels click against the concrete floor as he leads the two of you into the building. the high ceilings and multiple chandeliers are what greet you first, the brightness of the place giving the sun something to rival. jungkook brings you over to the waiting area, telling you to wait for a minute as he checks you guys in.

this was crazy to say the least. the last time you went on a date, it was to the movie theaters. you’ve never been in a place like this; a doorman greeting every guest as they walk in, checking in to eat, multi-story, etc. the more you look around, the cooler it is. “let’s go?” jungkook’s voice makes you turn your head. you stand, taking his hand.

the two of you follow a man wearing a black and white suit, with a long tail jacket. he brings you to the elevators, holding the doors open for you both. you step in and he presses the fifth button, which was the top floor. you squeeze jungkook’s hand. he repeats the action, looking to you and silently asking if you were okay with the look in his eyes and the raise of his eyebrows. you nod, a smile on your face.

with that the elevator doors open, the metal doors sliding apart to reveal a private terrace. only a couple tables on the entire floor. a few people sitting down and enjoying their dinners. beautiful greenery surrounding the perimeter, the night sky only making it prettier. your mouth is left agape, you’re stuck in the elevator, speechless. jungkook gently tugs you forward, following the suit man to the table.

jungkook pulls your chair out for you. you could cry at the chivalry. you sit and he pushes the chair in, jungkook follows soon, sitting in the chair across from you. the man hands the two of you the menu and moves away from the table, standing back near to the elevator, waiting until you are both ready to order.

“this is fucking crazy,” you whisper-shout. the terrace was lit by these bright fairy lights that were hidden in the plants and were above the tables as well. it looked like little fairies and fire flies were in the air, roaming around.

“i know right!” jungkook looked as surprised as you were. “i asked my friends for some help and holy shit!”

“they know you’re on a date with me right now?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

to this he furrows his eyebrows, “of course they do, i talk about you all the time—”but he stops himself from exposing himself any further. you can’t help but giggle. “i mean, i asked them to help me make this special, and here we are.”

you swoon. he’s so sweet for planning all of this out and wanting to make you feel special. the two of you look through the menu, jungkook warns you not to look at the prices, telling you to get whatever you want because the price doesn’t matter. but of course, your eyes stray to the numbers, the meals costing a pretty penny for a simple spaghetti plate, the cheapest thing on there. you were craving pasta anyway, you didn’t mind. the two of you order and wait for the food to arrive.

the city of seoul was just below you, not too high but high enough to turn people into smaller figures of themselves. the night lights look gorgeous from up here. the warm summer night only complimenting the gorgeous atmosphere.

“the view is so pretty,” you gaze out into the city. the pretty colors from all the lights of the different stores and restaurants complementing each other so beautifully.

jungkook was in awe, he knows that the city below you is gorgeous, but he can’t seem to get his eyes off of you. your chin resting in the palm of your hand as your eyes search through the streets. “yeah…” he agrees, “very beautiful.” he smiles, only looking at you.

the food comes and you both dig in. the two of you enjoy some conversation with each other as you eat. the topic of growing up comes up, both of you explaining the occupations you wanted, and you said something that sparked curiosity in jungkook. “your childhood dream was to live in california?” he smiles, chewing on his steak. most of the time kids dream about going to the moon or finding atlantis, but you wanted to go to america?

you nod, “sounds funny right? when i was a teen, i watched a lot of 90210.”

“is that all though? you only wanted to go because of a tv show?” he asks. there’s something you’re hiding, and jungkook can see it in the way that you hide your smile.

at first, you hesitate, but you open your mouth to speak, “well— there is— no, it’s embarrassing.” you shake your head, changing your mind and reverting your eyes down. staring at the plate of pasta in front of you. guys you talked to didn’t wanna hear about it, they thought what you were into was boring, embarrassing almost. a part of you feared that jungkook would feel the same.

you feel his hand on your chin, tilting your head up. “i wanna hear about it.” his face telling you the truth, the sincerity in his eyes as he patiently waits for you to explain.

“there’s this science program in california, they explore new ideas for researching the ocean, like trying to see what lurks in the deep blue, helping fix the rising oceans, everything-- oh my god, and they like go on field trips to different countries to see the coastlines and historical sites—” you cut yourself off when you realize that you’re talking at the speed of light. “i’m rambling.” you were terrified to see his reaction.

but when your eyes finally meet jungkook’s, they’re full of light. and his smile is so big. “dude, that’s so dope!” he grins, “i didn’t know you were so into the ocean!”

it was the bare minimum, being nice, but that was hard to find when it came to the majority of the male species. obviously, jungkook is above average, he only proves that the more time you spend with him.

“oh, i love it! my parents would bring me to the beach and i would cry every time we would have to leave, aquariums too, and the fish section in the pet stores.” you gush, leaning into the table to tell jungkook more. he leans into his hand, resting his cheek against his fist as he listens to you spill your knowledge and love.

he notes that the next date should be at the beach or an aquarium. it was a great time for him to learn this, especially since it was summer. the weather in favor of the cold ocean waves. jungkook swears he can listen to you talk until the end of time. your sweet voice can be the narration to his life, he’d never get sick of it.

the food on both of your plates had been cleared, the conversation sizzling into a comfortable silence before the man came back to give you the bill. jungkook doesn’t let you see it, instead just sticking his card in the black folder thing, and giving it back to the fancy suit man. it wasn’t long before he came back, handing jungkook back his card and giving the both of you a lollipop with gold flakes encased inside.

you gasp at the piece of candy, now that was ridiculous. you weren’t one to reject a lollipop though, gratefully taking the candy and popping it into your mouth. jungkook does the same. it tastes of blueberry. at this point he stands up, moving in front of you and holding his hand out to you. “let’s look around? i heard they have a cool museum on the second floor.”

you take his hand, “i love museums!” the two of you make your way to the elevator, the man (he never told you his name) kept the door open for you both. he presses the second floor button when jungkook asks him for the museum. the elevator landing on the second floor, the doors slide open to show a completely empty art hall. this place shocking you every chance it gets. you didn’t think it could get better, but it did.

when the two of you exit the elevator, the man leaves you to it, taking the elevator down and leaving you alone. your eyes scan the place, huge paintings on the walls, small paintings in collages, some sculptures on the floor, it felt like a pop-up museum. you both make your way down the enormous hallway, both sides of the room’s wall displaying works of art. you stop at one specific painting, the familiar work has you spewing random facts. “these are the lovers! i had to analyze this once,” you speak. the art displaying a couple kissing, both of their heads covered by a white sheet. “the real one is in australia, i think.” you laugh, tapping the lollipop against your lips.

jungkook listens intently, but he doesn’t pay attention to the painting on the wall. everytime he does, his eyes always revert to you. the art doesn’t stand a chance against you in his book. you, yourself, were a piece of art, one that was rare in this world, one of a kind.

he can’t seem to resist. taking your hand and raising it over your head, the way that they do in ballroom dancing. if a twirl was what he wanted, then so he got it. “beautiful,” he compliments, pulling you in close for a hug. the two of you swaying in the middle of the hall of this stupidly expensive restaurant.

you look up to him, making full eye contact as the two of you lean on one foot to the other. probably looking like a lovesick couple, getting lost in the moment. which, you were. your eyes flicker from his eyes down to his lips, he seems to do the same thing. his hand moves to caress your face, the swaying ceased. now the two of you are centimeters apart, noses brushing against each other. if jungkook doesn’t kiss you now, he thinks he’ll combust. so when he feels you pushing forward, he does the same, meeting you in the middle. your lips connect. the kiss almost identical to the painting in front of you.

jungkook swears he felt himself levitating. your lips are sweet, the blueberry flavor of the lollipop lingering on them. he’s had his fair share of kisses in his life. makeouts, pecks, cheek kisses, all types of kisses. but something about this one tells him that he’s in for it. he’ll never be able to get enough now that he’s gotten a taste.

neither of you want to take it too far; swallowing each other's faces in a distinguished, five star restaurant’s museum didn’t seem very proper. so the two of you make your way out of the building, thanking everyone at the front desk, especially the man that helped you out today, and walking into the parking garage where jungkook’s car was.

when you get to his car, he moves to open the passenger door for you but you stop him with a hand on his arm. you reach to open the back door handle and his eyes almost bulge out. everyone knows what happens in the backseat, and jungkook did not prepare himself for something like this.

you look up at him with the most innocent eyes, but there’s something devious hidden in your smile when you ask, “do you wanna talk for a bit longer? in the backseat? it’s more comfortable than sitting in the front.”

jungkook never took you for someone this bold. it’s either you didn’t know the meaning of the backseat (which was totally fine) or you knew very well, and had plans to devour jungkook (which was also totally fine).

he chickens out, his hands starting to sweat. “do you want to just go for a little walk or something?” it’s not like jungkook didn’t want anything to happen, it’s that he did. if he starts, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever recover from it. he walks a tightrope around you when it comes to his self control. one wrong move, and he’s terrified that he’ll fuck everything up.

“oh, it’s just my feet kinda hurt from these heels.” you pout, lifting you foot up to show him the almost stiletto heel.

his eyes widen. why didn’t he think of that? “oh— oh shit, i didn’t even— yeah, let’s sit.” he tugs on the door, letting you slide into the back seat. he follows, leaving a good amount of space between you both to make sure that there was nothing too suspicious going on. you hope your bold moves hide your nervousness, despite your confidence, jungkook’s unsure looks make you want to curl up into a ball. did he not want this?

the air was different now. in the restaurant the two of you had been so carefree, slow dancing in the museum, and landing a sweet kiss on each other’s lips. but now, an uncomfortable silence tears at the two of you. your hesitance makes you speak, trying to see if a conversation would ease the tension in the air. “i had a lot of fun tonight, kookie, thank you.”

it seems to comfort jungkook, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. with a small smile on his face he replies, “me too, i was really nervous you wouldn’t like the food.”

“oh it was good! i’ll eat anything really, it’s just—“

“you didn’t like the place? was it too much—“

“no, jungkook, oh my god— i loved it, it was just really expensive, i still feel really bad about you paying for all of it,” you look to him seriously. “let me give you at least my half?”

he shakes his head, “i asked you out on this date, it means i pay, don’t worry about the price.”

you roll your eyes playfully, “big spender huh?”

a pretty laugh escapes his lips. “hard worker too.”

to this you smile, you stare at his impossibly-perfect face, noticing a stray eyelash on his cheek. you see a chance to strike and you take it immediately. you lean forward to swipe it off. jungkook almost leans into your touch. he’s so terrified that he’ll embarrass himself right now, so he’s been holding back tremendously. but the way you pick the eyelash off and place it on your thumb with a smile on your face, it eases most of the tension in his chest.

“make a wish!” you hold your thumb up to his lips. his eyes cross to look at the piece of hair on your finger, but nevertheless he obliged. shutting his eyes tight, making a wish, and blowing the eyelash off of your thumb.

you let out a small cheer before you ask him, “what’d you wish for?”

“if i told you then my wish wouldn’t come true, right?” he boops your nose. suddenly, jungkook doesn’t feel so nervous. his nerves calming at the feeling of your soft hands against his face. you make him so nervous, but at the same time you make him so comfortable and make him want to be himself. it seems as though the two of you were staring at each other for a while. jungkook was thinking about how much he likes you, the same ideas run through your mind. the thoughts make you wish for something more.

“can i kiss you again, kookie?”

he stares at you, weighing his options. if he kisses you now, then he has to strategically only give you a few kisses, he absolutely cannot make out with you, or else, jungkook will succumb to his desires.

but he takes a little too long to respond. the both of you overthinking the fuck out of the situation. it makes you draw back. “it’s okay if you don’t want—“

“no, no, please, kiss me,” he brings you back, moving closer to you. licking his lips in anticipation as you slowly push forward, closing the gap between you both. the kiss is so sweet, like the one in the museum. jungkook can still taste the blueberry lingering on your lips. he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing you.

you pull away first. your eyes scanning his face to see any expression of regret. there’s none. his hand moves to the side of your face, caressing your face and bringing you to him once again to meet your lips. he can’t get enough. “tell me what you wished for, please,” you speak against his lips.

he smiles into the kiss. he wasn’t going to tell you, but since you were asking so nicely, he gives you a kiss on the cheek when he answers, “i wished for a second date.”

“oh, didn’t you know?” you kiss both of his cheeks before speaking again, “i grant wishes,” with wink.

“fuck, you’re so cute,” he thinks out loud, it makes you blush. pink cheeks out for show and jungkook thinks you look even cuter. he dives in for one more kiss, telling himself this will be the last one, but when you make sweet noises against his lips, it has him wanting more. hands moving down to your waist, pulling you in and letting you climb onto his lap. he pulls away first, trying to get a hold of himself. “i uh— actually, didn’t plan for this to happen,“ he mumbles against your skin, tripping over his words.

you look down, arms wrapped around his neck. “hm? what did you plan?”

“we were supposed to kiss on the next date i take you on and i didn’t think— we’re just ahead of schedule, that’s all.” jungkook tries to explain that he didn’t want to rush it, god no. he wanted to take his time, make sure that you didn’t feel pressured to do anything. but now, it seems like you’re taking the wheel and jungkook doesn’t mind it one bit.

“oh so you had like a real plan? like times and everything?” the thought of it makes you laugh, and the way that jungkook flushes makes you want to pinch his cheeks.

he pouts when you giggle, “don’t laugh, i just really, really wanted to do it right, you’re just so amazing and i didn’t wanna fuck it up.”

you smile at his concern. the fact that you have the uni heartthrob planning dates in his head down to the details and wanting to be sure he does it right makes your head spin. you hope jungkook doesn’t notice the way that your heart is beating three times the normal rate when you go to kiss him again. the only sounds in the car are labored breaths and your lips smacking together. it doesn’t take long before you’re grinding into him. his growing bulge rubbing against your soaking core. a groan leaving him when you grind particularly harder, his hands moving to your ass to grip it. you melt in his arms, small whimpers leaving your throat as jungkook drinks them up

you pull away from his lips, giving his cheeks attention then leaving a trail of kisses as you make your way to his ear. one final kiss is planted below his earlobe before you whisper, “am i ruining your plans, kookie?”

jungkook tries his best to conceal his groan, tries his best to ignore his incredibly hard dick in his jeans, but you’re so pretty and you’re on top of him, kissing him. it feels like a dream to jungkook. it is quite literally a dream come true.

he was already playing with fire, your body a flame in the cold, he moves closer and closer until he burns. “fuck plans,” he breathes. a hand comes back to caress your face once again. filthy thoughts flooding his brain. he wonders what being in between your legs is like, what you sound like when you cum. he wants to make you cry and beg for his cock. but he holds himself back, knowing that you’ll have time to try everything out, if you wanted of course. he leans the both of you forward, his large hands splayed on your back to secure you on his lap. your lips find each other once more. “can i touch you?” he asks so sweetly, a hidden poison weaving through that you can slightly hear through the deep rumble of his voice.

you’ve never wanted anything more. “please,” you nod. your lips chasing his when he pulls further away.

jungkook smiles at the action. “lay on my lap, baby.” he instructs, tapping your thigh. the nickname rolling off his tongue, his voice seemingly dropping an entire octave. you raise your leg and move it over to sit on his lap, sideways. your back against the car door and his right hand rubbing your thighs ever so gently.

“like this?” you ask, looking to him for reassurance. he looks to you with eyes that you’ve never seen, lusted and dark.

“mhm, perfect,” he nods. “good girl.” the praise goes straight to your belly, your panties flooding from how much you want him. his hands move slowly down your inner thighs as he goes in to kiss you again.

you’re absentmindedly spreading your legs, making room for him. he smirks against your lips when he realizes. he knows what you want, so his fingers move to your panties, lightly putting pressure over your clothed bud. you whimper at the feeling, biting his lip in the process. he moans in response, putting a little more pressure against your bundle of nerves.

“jungkook,” you whine, pulling away from his lips, “please.”

“please what, baby?” he kisses your cheek, “tell me what you want.”

“please touch me, please.” you beg, making eye contact with him. jungkook’s dick twitches at the sound of your begging. he wanted to string you along a little longer, but you’re being so good.

“since you asked so nicely, baby,” he obliges. bunching your dress up around your waist and noticing the pretty black lace underwear you were wearing, “for me?” he asks. you nod, your teeth taking in your bottom lip. he groans at the thought, you getting ready and picking out these cute, risque panties out just for him. it’s just too bad they’re gonna be on the floor on his car. he’s gonna need to ask for a rain check on admiring you and your cute underwear later.

you lift your hips to help him, underwear coming off to reveal your soaking pussy. “oh, fuck,” jungkook murmurs at the sight of it. “you’re so wet baby.” he almost starts drooling, he can’t wait to taste you, but he’s still hesitant, only wanting to do what you want to. next time, he can eat you out. right now, he’ll admire the delicious sight and make you cum on his fingers.

your eyes travel to the window directly in front of you, suddenly feeling insecure. thighs closing, thinking about how someone could look in and see. “what about the windows—“

“they’re tinted, no one can see from the outside in, i promise.” he reassures, giving you another sweet kiss on the cheek before asking, “do you still want to do this? we can stop now.” he’s so lovely, his concern and change in demeanor only making you want it more, knowing that he wouldn’t want to push you to do something you were uncomfortable with. sweet was sexy on jungkook. you never thought there would be a day that jeon jungkook fingers you in a parking lot of a five star restaurant, but here you are. and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

so you shake your head, taking his hand, and placing it back in between your legs. “please.”

“anything for you.” he whispers in your ear before running his middle finger up your slit, collecting your wetness, and spreading it around your clit. he continues making tight circles on your clit, the sensation drives you crazy. you lean your head back against the window, moaning out. it was almost humiliating how reactive you were, you hadn’t indulged in this kind of intimacy in a while, almost a year to be specific.

it wasn’t helping that jungkook was a fucking pro. the right amount of pressure and the placement of his digits against you has you dripping onto his nice, dress pants. you hoped nobody else was in the parking garage, else they would hear your cries of jungkook’s name. “more, kookie, more— fuck.”

“more baby?” he questions, the sound of your moans going straight to his already hard dick. he thinks he could cum just to the sound of your voice. he’s one hundred percent fucked when it comes to you. he dips his middle finger into your hole, you gasp in reaction. “like that? hmm? ”

jungkook knew was he was doing, he had you spread wide in the backseat of his car, already on the verge on an orgasm. he had a few years of experience on his belt, a ‘retired fuck boy’ he was, but he’s never wanted to please somebody more than he does right now with you. you just looked so pretty like this, so eager and begging for more.

he adds his ring finger now, his thumb against your clit. “oh, god—“ you mutter, the feeling of his fingers and his thumb on your clit is too good. his fingers fucking you better than anyone else’s dick ever has. you found yourself bucking your hips against his fingers. “kookie, kiss me, please,” you look up to him with the eyes he can never fucking deny. so he kisses you, drinking up your moans as you fuck yourself up onto his fingers.

“i didn’t know you were such a dirty girl,” he murmurs against your lips. your walls clenching around him, “letting me touch you like this in the backseat of my car?” his usual sweet demeanor now contorting into this cocky guy with an ego. it makes you even wetter. the squelch of your pussy every time his fingers push in is loud, the sound is music to jungkook’s ears.

“only— only for you, jungkook,” you whimper. you feel a familiar knot in your stomach tighten. he looked so hot like this. eager to please. his bottom lip caught in his teeth and a strand of his long hair dangling in front of his eyes.

“good girl, all mine,” he kisses your neck. it may seem just like something you say during sex, but jungkook wanted it to be true. wanted you and only you. all to himself. he makes his way to a sweet spot, the feeling makes you tilt your head, giving him more access to kiss and suck along the sensitive skin. the discomfort of your back against the hard door was the last of your worries. your orgasm creeping closer and closer, juices leaking all overs his fingers. “so wet baby,” he growls, “i know i could just slide in, fuck you so good.”

“p-please, i want it.” the thought of jungkook fucking you senseless, oh, you’d go crazy. begging wasn’t something you did when it came to sex, most of the time it was quiet, moans and breaths were the only things that you’d hear, no dirty words or praises. it was a good change, you never thought that you’d be so into being talked through it.

he smiles at your eagerness, “patience baby, gotta take you on another date, yeah?” kissing your pursed lips. always so sweet and lovely.

you feel his fingers push a little deeper, curling to find that sweet spot inside of you. your reaction does something to him, makes him hit the exact same spot, over and over again, in a slow, torturous beat just so he can draw those delicious gasps and moans out of you. jungkook feels close. he’s never felt like this before, so wound up. he ignores it, pushing it to the back of his head to focus on helping you reach your climax.

lucky for jungkook, he didn’t have to wait very long. his fingers were longer and a thicker than yours, his efforts making you get there faster than you ever could. the consistent deep strokes of his fingers make the warning signals go off in your head. you speak a verbal warning before, “fuck, i’m gonna cum,” your voice pitches a little higher than usual.

“gonna cum all over my fingers, baby?” he gives you one last sloppy kiss before you’re moaning out and coming onto his fingers, eyes screwed shut as your walls convulse rapidly as his fingers fuck you through your orgasm. “fuck, you’re so hot, ___.”

you feel a smile break on your face. “you’re not so bad yourself,” you wink, still trying to catch your breath. a laugh slips from his mouth, small smirk on his mouth to match. he slips his fingers out, your body twitching at the over stimulation.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes. inspecting his fingers, your pale almost-white cum coating the digits. he brings them to his mouth, sucking on your sweet sap. you’ve never seen anything hotter in your life. “sweet, just like you,” he smirks. you shrink in his stare, hiding your blush. like you totally didn’t just cum on his fingers.

you’re distracted by the feeling of something hard resting under your thigh, it’s then that you realize, “what about—“ you start but jungkook cuts you off quick.

“no, no, it’s okay, it’ll go away soon.” he shakes his head, but you furrow your eyebrows.

you pull on his black tie, making him lean forward and make eye contact with you “can i?” you ask, so sweetly.

he stares at you with the most sexed eyes you’ve ever witnessed. “you’re driving me crazy.”

“you’re always so sweet to me, jungkook,” you kiss his cheek. readjusting yourself in his lap, straddling him once more. “took me on this amazing dinner, always treating me like a princess.” your lips travel down from his cheeks to his jawline, then to his neck. he shudders at the feeling of your lips against his sensitive skin. your hands move from around his neck to travel further down, to the latch of his belt. his breath hitches. “let me return the favor, kookie.”

“i—“ he laughs, the embarrassment evident in the pink tint on his face. “i won’t last very long.”

you didn’t mind, just assuring him with a sweet kiss on the cheek before you start removing his belt. jungkook leans his head back on the headrest, his neck exposed for you to kiss and suck. you unbutton and unzip, pulling his pants and his boxers down at the same time. his size makes your eyes bulge. he was huge. your mouth waters at the sight.

“you’re so big, kook.” you egg him on, fueling his ego because he just looked so hot. your hand moves to hold him at the base, he lets out a shaky breath when your soft skin meets his. jungkook’s head is in the clouds, he could cum right now if he let go, but he’s holds himself back, not wanting to look like a fool in front of you. your hand moves up his dick, your thumb collecting the precum dripping from his hole, your thumb running over his slit as he groans.

his hips buck up, “shit, baby.” he just sounds so good. you could just lick him up. you collect some saliva in your mouth, letting it drip from your mouth onto his dick to lube your hand. he groans at the sight, “you’re so filthy, baby, holy shit.”

you smirk at the admission, the spit making it so easy for your hand to glide against his cock. the feeling makes him throw his head back again. his chest rising and falling. the picture of him with his eyes screwed shut in pleasure and his mouth agape makes your lower belly light up once more, you clench around nothing. leaning in as you pump his cock to whisper in his ear, “wanna fuck me so bad? have me crying on your cock? you want that, don’t you, kookie?”

jungkook twitches at your words. that’s exactly what he wants. was he that easy to read? was that what you wanted too? the thought of it makes him want to explode, “oh— god, ffuck— fuck,” he sputters. his hand coming up to hover above his head, your hand still pumping as the spurts of his cum shoot out. you smile at the action, knowing he didn’t wanna fuck up your dress. instead just making a mess of him and his hand. he takes deep breaths before speaking, “there’s a little box of tissues in the center console, could you hand it to me, baby?”

you lean back, opening the console and reaching for the small box that sits in the center. before you give it to him, your eyes flicker to the sticky mess all over jungkook’s hand and groin. a sudden urge to lick takes you over, holding jungkook’s hand and bringing it up to your mouth. you lick the dripping cum from the palm of his hand as he watches, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

jungkook shivers, a smile creeping on his face, “you— you’re evil.” the remark makes you laugh.

“sorry, just wanted to help clean up.” you smile, swallowing the cum you collected on your tongue.

“yeah, yeah, you’re not the sweet girl i thought you were,” jungkook quirks a brow.

you roll your eyes playfully, “you don’t like it?”

“nope, i love it, you’re perfect.” jungkook wipes off the remaining mess from his lap and his hand. you help him clean up tissues and he picks up your panties that were discarded on the floor. the two of you fix yourselves before stepping out of the back seat, jungkook opens the passenger door for you before he goes to a trashcan and throws away the soiled tissues.

he joins you back in the car, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. you were rambling about how happy you were that no one was around and how there were no security cameras in the parking garage. jungkook blabbers too, telling you about how embarrassed he is that he barely lasted a few minutes. before the two of you knew it, his car parked in front of your apartment complex.

he stands outside of your front door, leaning against the doorframe. all dreamy and not like he just made you cum in the backseat of his car. “text me before you sleep?” he smiles.

you nod, “of course,” reflecting the same smile. you wave before closing your door. the date being more than you ever expected. there was no way jungkook was real. he had to be a figment of your imagination, he was the absolute dream guy.

you lay in bed, staring at the stars on your ceiling. a blush creeping up to your cheeks once more when you think about the events that took place tonight.

[11:02 pm] you: thank you for tonight, jungkook

[11:02 pm] you: it was magical <3

[11:03 pm] jungkook: no problem cutie, i had an amazing time with you

[11:04 pm] jungkook: feeling okay?

[11:06 pm] you: i’m great!!! more than okay

[11:07 pm] jungkook: 😂

[11:07 pm] jungkook: i’m glad cutie

[11:08 pm] you: lunch on me next time? now that you’ve taken me for dinner :)

[11:08 pm] jungkook: sure, i’m down :)

[11:09 pm] you: i’m rlly tired kookie

[11:10 pm] you: gonna head to sleep now

[11:10 pm] jungkook: alright cutie

[11:11 pm] jungkook: sweet dreams!

｡ﾟ(ﾟ^Ｏ^ﾟ)ﾟ｡ tag list: @giadalin @ggukkieland

2K notes · View notes

bookishofalder · 4 years

Text

Night Changes [One]

Night Changes Series Masterlist

Summary: It may have been years since Poe and the reader have seen one another, but that doesn’t make the emotional upheaval any easier to navigate for either of them.

Warnings: Fuck ton of angst, language, a lot of feelings, mentions of death and loss, grief. WC-5,780 (Jesus buckle up I guess!)

Poe was dreaming.

Nothing particularly special, but it was a dream nonetheless, a break from the usual nightmares that tended to invade his sleeping mind night after night when all he wanted was to succumb to the darkness for a few hours. The dream was more of a memory, a replaying of a night back on Yavin-4 so many years ago before he and Charlie had gone to flight school.

A night like every other, yet the humid evenings on Yavin 4 always did seem to hold a little mystery, like a warm blanket that wrapped one in a false sense of security; he could do anything. And on that evening, he had snuck some of his father’s good whiskey, the stuff from a planet far, far away, and gone to knock on Charlie’s window in the cover of darkness. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, though the whiskey was a new addition.

Charlie had answered immediately, a big grin stretching across his face even before he saw what Poe had brought, the relief in that grin piquing his curiosity-why did he seem grateful that Poe was there? When he climbed through the window, he found you were already there, sat on the floor across the small bedroom with your back against the end of Charlie’s bed, your face wet with tears and he understood your brothers reaction.

Before Poe could ask what was wrong, Charlie noticed the bottle in Poe’s hands and tapped it excitedly, “Just what we needed! How do you do it, brother?” His voice was always so loud, but in the Horn household it wasn’t an issue. Your mother was asleep on the other side of the house and even if she did wake, she wouldn’t come in and begrudge a little teen rebellion. Poe really liked her for that, for trusting them, for never making him feel unwelcome.

“Didn’t realize it would come in so handy. What's going on, sweetheart?” The affectionate nickname had been around for years, so long now that he hardly noticed himself using it. He liked the way it tugged the corners of your lips up, even when you were sad. But he didn’t like that you were sad right now, his concern only growing when you pulled your knees to your chest and dropped your head to them, hiding your face and, no doubt, a fresh wave of tears.

You had always hated crying in front of them, for some reason. Charlie never cried, but Poe had no issues with sobbing outright in front of you both. He didn’t understand why you felt you had to hide it from him.

Without speaking, Charlie and Poe sat down on either side of you, your brother taking the whiskey and opening it, taking a small swig and huffing through the smoky burn.“Kid, you tell him.” He used that extra soft voice reserved only for you, his free hand reaching over to pat your foot on the ground next to him.

Poe had his shoulder pressed against yours. He knew you enjoyed how warm he always was, that you thought of him as your personal furnace, cuddling him even on warm days like this because you seemed to forever run a little chilly, or maybe you were just a touchy person and you were that comfortable with Poe.

After a few moments of quiet sniffling, you finally raised your head, setting your chin on your knees and staring straight ahead. “Gus ended things earlier.” You whispered into the moonlit room, your voice wavering somewhat with emotion, though Poe could sense it was more of embarrassment and disappointment of being dumped than that of actual heartbreak.

Poe felt an odd mixture of both anger and relief sweep through him, the latter of which he resolutely shoved away, into the far reaches of his mind to be stubbornly ignored. “That kriffing asshole! Who does he think he is, dumping our girl?” And truly, what the fuck audacity did that guy have? Did he not have eyes? Did he not spend just five minutes with you and feel like he was sitting in the company of a Sun, so bright and warm as you were?

You gave a watery laugh at his words, and Poe felt warmth pool in his chest; he was always good at making you laugh. He saw Charlie’s shoulders sag somewhat with relief upon hearing you, always so protective and yet he had difficulty reigning in some of your big emotions, often looking to Poe for his help.

“He said it was because I’m a prude. Because I wouldn’t, you know,” You broke off, and Poe glanced down at you to see you bite your lip briefly, eyes still forward, “He said there was no point going on dates if I wouldn’t even give him the chance to, and I quote, ‘appreciate your tits properly, at the least.’”

Poe turned to face you fully now, his eyes meeting Charlies over your head. His friend looked just as annoyed as Poe felt, hearing what that skinny piece of shit had dared to say to you. A silent agreement crossed between them then, Gus would be meeting their fists come morning. For now, though, Poe focused on you, tossing an arm around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your hair, “He’s a prize fucking idiot, sweetheart, doesn’t know what he’s losing. Right, Charlie?”

“Exactly. Remember kid, no guy is ever going to deserve you because you are perfect. You don’t need to cry over someone who can’t see how lucky he is you even let him breathe the same air as you,” Charlie added his arm to your shoulders, curving under Poe’s, “Flyboy and I will take care of you, always.” He promised, and you nodded before reaching both hands up to grab each of theirs on your shoulders.

“Thank you.”

And Poe stayed the night, each of you taking turns to sip the whiskey until eventually sleep won out and Charlie crashed on his bed. You and Poe curled up on some pillows on the floor together, your head resting on his chest and even though he knew you were sad, which made him sad too, he couldn’t help but feel truly whole in those moments before sleep took over.

It was a good memory, one which he would have been content to remain in until the abrupt and incessant whirring and beeping of his droid woke him, Poe shooting up in his bed with a shout of surprise. “What? Are we being attacked?”

BB8 came to a stop near the edge of his bed, his noises growing quieter now that he’d woken Poe up.

“Buddy, it’s my day off. You better have a good reason for scaring the living hell out of me-“

The droid beeped again, clarifying his reason for interrupting his rest day. Interest piqued, Poe ran a hand over his face before planting his feet on the floor and leaning towards the droid.

“The new replacement is here? Guess that means the General wants me to come and meet them?”

BB8 confirmed, and now his alarming wake-up made more sense. The droid was as excited as Poe to meet his new second in command. He’d just lost his long-time friend, Jess Pava, to a new unit on an outpost for the Resistance. He’d recommended her for it, at her bequest, because he knew she’d be damn good for the role. But it didn’t make the loss any less disruptive; she’d been gone a few weeks now and he’d had to take on extra duties to compensate.

General Organa had profusely apologized to him a few times now, only explaining that the replacement was due back from a classified mission ‘soon’, and once they were they would be coming straight to D’Qar to join his squadron. He didn’t mind the work, but he was a little miffed that the day the new Major arrived was his only day off.

Poe quickly got himself ready for the day, taking a speedy shower in his fresher before pulling on his khaki’s and button up. Once pleased with his appearance, he stepped out of the fresher and walked toward his small desk area, above which he had a corkboard with a few mementos pinned up, including his favourite picture.

You were standing in the middle, sandwiched between him and Charlie, a big, goofy grin on your face. Charlie was laughing in the photo, and Poe was looking down at you with a fond smile. You all wore flight suits, as it was taking when you had first joined Gold Squadron. Charlie had his arm flung over your shoulders while Poe’s was snaked around your waist. You had your arms wrapped around each of their waists, though Poe remembers how your hand had brushed up his back before the picture was taken, fingers unknowingly leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

He looked at this photo every morning, tapped it once and then carried on with his day. It was the only time he allowed his conscious mind to think of Charlie, of you, and the life he lost in the blink of an eye.

When the door to his quarters opened, Poe saw a few service droids unloading a couple of crates into the room directly across from his. The room where the new member of his team would live. He could see within the unit as the door was open for the droids to carry items in, a few cases already inside the otherwise bare space.

Being careful to step around the droids and avoid falling over his own, who was wheeling excitedly along next to Poe, he made his way to command, hoping the introductions wouldn’t take too long. He had woken up with a big appetite.

And he really needed his morning caf.

“Ready to meet them, buddy?” He asked of his droid, and BB8 gave a happy little ‘weeee’ as he zoomed along beside Poe. He laughed loudly and BB8 pulled ahead, the doors of the command room opening at their approach.

Poe could see into the room now, activity within quiet enough that General Organa and the new arrival both heard his laughter and turned as he walked into the room. For a few beats, Poe kept walking, his mind not processing what he was seeing because it simply could not be. And then he froze, mid-stride.

It was you.

And from the patch on your uniform, it was now Major Horn.

And just like that, every emotion, every feeling of guilt and self-hatred and heartbreak came roaring to the surface, breaking through the walls he’d so carefully built up around what he’d done when he lost Charlie, when he’d lost you, walls he spent the last few years reinforcing as best he could.

Leia knew of the history, though she didn’t know any details of why neither of you had spoken since that terrible fucking night. She simply knew you’d all grown up together, which was probably why she hadn’t felt the need to warn Poe that it was you coming to take over as his second in command. Maybe she thought you had kept in touch and were expecting her.

Stars, Poe hadn’t seen you in person since the funeral. The night he ruined the best thing he had in his life because he couldn’t deal with his grief and took it all out on you, of all people. Poe thought of Charlie then because your brother and you looked a bit alike, but it was your eyes; you each had the exact same eyes. Though yours were lined with thick, long lashes that would sometimes tickle Poe’s cheeks when you would lean in and press a chaste kiss to them.

It had only been a few years, but so much about you had changed. Gone was the goofy girl with braids falling past her shoulders, her big smile that stretched from ear to ear. No, now Poe was looking at you and you were all grown up, wearing your uniform, hair pulled back into a low bun that was woven with intricate braids, a few wisps framing your face. You had leaned out slightly, though you still had your curves, the ones that had boy after boy falling for you back in the day-no doubt now it was man after man. He found his eyes flicking from your face to your hands, but he saw no ring. Not that he should even be thinking of whether you were single or not.

But somehow, it felt like he should know if you were with someone. Because Charlie would have expected Poe to always keep an eye on you, be there for you. The only person he let down more than Charlie was you. He knew his best friend would murder him if he knew the things Poe had said to you that night. He had never known a greater regret, a regret that he carried with him since the moment he spoke and watched your face contort in pain, as though he’d hit you with a physical blow.

He had wanted to apologize, to take it all back that very moment. He couldn’t believe himself, but you’d pull away to be sick and he was so shocked at how much he’d managed to hurt you that he couldn’t do anything other than listen to you when you ordered him to get away from you.

The irony of that wasn’t lost on him, either.

He’d walked straight to the hangar where his x-wing was parked and took it out, finding a secluded spot a few hours away to camp for two days, just to clear his head. He cried and grieved and then he realized just how badly he’d fucked up and he panicked. He started to plan how he would apologize, what he would do to earn your forgiveness and then tell you how he truly felt. But he failed you, hurt you, and he knew he had a lot of work ahead to repair what he’d broken.

Only, when he came back to base and sought you out, he instead found Jess and Tommy waiting for him by your room, their faces so grim his heart had stopped in his chest, and he’s not sure it ever restarted once he found out you’d left. Without a word or a note, you had just...deserted him.

And he knew he deserved it, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Nor did finding out that you’d been clever enough to have your new assignment sealed, eliminating any chance he could have had of going after you.

And he would have. He’d have flown across the galaxy to find you.

Instead, Poe was alone and never, ever forgave himself for being the reason you had fled in the first place.

Eventually, Poe grew enough in rank that he was able to access your private files. He only did so now and again, just to check-in and make sure you were still alive and on active duty. The last time he’d checked had been about five months ago, and it had stated you were on a classified mission that even he couldn’t access the details of. But he knew you were alive and doing well enough that you were getting assigned seriously high-class missions. Charlie would have been so proud of you.

It was a few awkward moments before Poe was able to function, quickly shaking off his shock and continuing forward, his eyes tearing away from your too-blank expression to meet the warm gaze of General Organa. “Commander Dameron, I believe you know Major Horn here. Thank you for coming to greet her with me this morning.” Leia smiled between him and you, and Poe had to swallow before returning it, breaking out his usual grin.

When he looked back at you, he found your blank expression had now morphed into one of utter contempt. An insane part of him wanted to laugh, because how could (y/n) Horn, his best friend since he was a boy, the girl who had owned his heart, ever look at him like that?

Instead, Poe forced a friendly smile, nodding to you politely, “Welcome, Major. It’s...it’s good to see you. And congratulations on your promotion. I’m happy to have you join our team.” He stuck his hand out and hoped you would grasp it.

Your eyes, so much more intense than he ever remembered, searched his face for a second before you took his proffered hand and shook, a small smile appearing on your lips.

“It’s an honour to be here, Commander.” You replied, and Poe had to blink, pulling his hand way almost too quickly. Stars, you even sounded more grown-up. Your voice had always been a little breathy, which Poe had always found alluring. But now it had matured, the breathless way you spoke now demure, feminine.

“I was just telling Major Horn that after you two had met the day was open,” Leia said, seemingly unaware of the tension between her two best pilots, “I know you earned this day off, Commander, so enjoy it!”

Poe couldn’t help but give her a wide grin, “Thank you, General.”

“Yes, thank you for taking the time to...reunite us, General.” You said, excusing yourself before abruptly walking past Poe and out of command.

He rushed after you, BB8 still at his side, now beeping in confusion at what the hell was going on. Poe ignored the droid, catching up to you just down the hall. “Wait...(y/n)...”

He trailed off, unsure of what he could even say to you, questioning why he’d stopped your departure. You ceased walking and turned to look at Poe, your expression now openly hostile, which he knew he deserved yet it still stung. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as he stood before you, a huge part of him wishing you’d start yelling at him. Or hitting him.

Instead, you gazed up at Poe and after a moment your face fell, a storm of emotions rolling across your pretty features. You took a careful, measured step back from him, as if afraid he might try and reach out to you. “I didn’t know I was coming here to be on your team,” You didn’t meet his eyes when you spoke, instead focusing on the droid at his feet, “But this is a big opportunity for me, so we’ll make it work.”

You sounded more like you were trying to convince yourself rather than Poe, but he nodded all the same. “Of course. And you deserve it.”

You scoffed, “Thanks so much, Commander.”

“I’ve missed you.”

He didn’t know what possessed him to say that. It was just that one moment you were biting your lip, and then the next you were giving him a familiar look of incredulity that he remembered receiving more than once growing up and he suddenly needed you to hear that he did miss you. Missed you more than you could ever really know.

Poe saw a flash in your eyes before you spun on your heels and marched away, not looking back. He didn’t try to follow you again. He knew there wasn’t a whole lot he could say, not right now when you were both still reeling from the shock of seeing one another again.

And what could he even say to you? Sorry for taking our friendship and smashing it to pieces at the worst possible time? For never speaking to you again because I was too cowardly to try and find you, especially once I realized how deeply I felt for you? And how could he explain how those feelings seemed to develop over such a long time that he didn’t recognize them for what they truly were until you were gone?

Charlie would have hated what had happened between you both. He would have killed Poe, easily, but he’d had also been disappointed in you. Charlie had protected you both that day because you and Poe were his family, and if he found out that his family never spoke again after the funeral? He’d have been livid.

Guilt and regret now at the forefront of his mind, Poe had lost his appetite. Instead, he found the nearest caf machine before hurrying to the flight deck and climbing in his x-wing eager to get off the ground and clear his head for a few hours.

He spent the rest of the morning thinking about Charlie, his heart tight in his chest.

✨

“I’ve missed you.”

You could hit him, you really could. No one was around, either, you might get away with it. But that would be too easy and not nearly as satisfying as you might hope, you knew.

The audacity of Poe fucking Dameron saying he missed you was so infuriating, you briefly considered violence. But you had grown up with him, knew the way he worked even if it had been a few years. You could hate him and still understand him, which meant that he wanted you to give him a strong reaction that he could confront head-on. Scream and punch and cry and he would instantly work to comfort, to apologize, but it was really just a way to make himself feel better.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

You spun away-not before seeing the pained expression cross his face-and hurried off. You figured if you still had such a decent read on him, the same went for Poe. He’d always been able to read you, your body language, expressions, hell Charlie usually went to Poe for help when he couldn’t figure out how to support you, comfort you.

You needed some time alone, time to process and figure out the best way to make this work.

When you were invited by the General herself to come to D’Qar, to work under her ‘top pilot and most trusted Commander’, you hadn't blinked before saying yes. And you’d known that it would mean, inevitably, seeing Poe again-you knew he still worked here. But you’d had no idea until he walked into command that morning that it was his team you were joining.

When you’d been standing with General Organa in the control room, chatting amicably about the weather, the very last thing you’d expected to hear was his booming, rich laugh. And then the doors had opened, a small droid whizzing in, and his laughter continued as he stepped into the room. You had thought you might pass out, throw up, or start screaming.

With no idea what he was doing there, you had simply stared at him, watched as he reacted to seeing you. Actively working to keep your expression blank, you stared at your once best friend for the first time in years, going numb inside.

In some ways it had been almost comical; he’d frozen mid-step and gaped at you stupidly for a few beats before coming to his senses and continuing forward. And it was at that moment you had realized he was the superior you were meeting. He was the Commander you’d be working under. When he stood directly in front of you, your mind betrayed you by immediately zoning in on one specific thought.

But stars, he’d aged well.

When he finally was able to collect himself enough to wipe the surprise off of his face, it had settled into that easy smile you remembered so well. The one you tried to never think of because of the pain that would build in your chest, the memories and feelings that you had refused to look back on for a very long time now at risk of bursting through your mental walls if you weren’t careful.

Now, that smile revealed a slight crinkling around his eyes, though he hadn’t changed much beyond that. He was just as broad and lean as you remembered, just as handsome and you thought he might be a little more built up, a new layer of muscle moving under his button-up. Charlie would have loved to tease him over the grey flecks you could barely discern in his raven locks, and you suddenly wondered if your brother would have had any grey hair himself.

Those thoughts were fleeting at that moment before fury and sadness and longing were suddenly overtaking you and it was all you could do to remain composed in front of the General when, for the first time in years, you wanted to crumble to the ground. That fucking grin of his, it was always maddening, always so attractive and disarming.

When you were kids, he’d do it to get away with something and even though your parents knew he’d done it, it would work and he’d barely get a slap on the wrist. As teenagers, the strongest memory you had of that grin was one time when he’d climbed into Charlie’s room late at night and your brother wasn’t there-he’d fallen asleep on the couch-so Poe wandered to your room.

You had just gotten out of the fresher, having taken a quick rinse off to cool down, and hadn’t shut the door. Your bedroom door was closed and it was the middle of the night; you hadn’t expected any company. And then Poe just sauntered in, his eyes on your bed where he doubtless thought he’d find you. You had barely had time to freeze, completely naked and mid-stride as you sought a clean nightgown when he seemed to sense you. His head had jerked in your direction in surprise.

That memory forever burned into your mind. The way his eyes had fallen, then snapped up to your face and instead of seeing amusement or a pervy smirk, Poe had slapped his hands over his eyes, cursed, apologized vehemently in a loud whisper, and then he grinned. That grin, just as powerful even though his eyes were covered. It spread across his face and you couldn’t help but laugh despite your embarrassment, quickly throwing on a nightgown before walking over and punching him in the sides a few times, hissing didn’t he know how to knock?

And though you worried it might affect things between you and your best friend, it never did seem to. For you, it did in some ways because you couldn’t seem to get the look on his face (the one that slipped out just before he could properly react and compose himself) out of your head and you wondered what it meant-if anything. He still stayed the night, climbing into your bed, his arms casually behind his head as he laid next to you and told you about his day while never once teasing you.

At one point, when sleep was close, eyes drooping and your cheek resting against his arm, Poe’s soft voice had pulled you from unconsciousness. Barely a whisper, he said, “I really am sorry I came in without knocking, sweetheart. Please forgive me.”

And he’d sounded so concerned, so genuinely stressed that you would be mad at him, you had snuggled closer into his side and murmured your reassurances until eventually, you fell asleep.

Today, however, it was only memories of what that smile used to mean to you and anger for what it was now. That he got to keep that easy fucking grin all these years, it only pissed you off. The logical part of you knew he had been just as surprised to see you and was no doubt struggling himself now, but you didn’t have room to care.

He had been the one to break you, to take your friendship and pulverize it by saying the worst possible things to you.

He had broken you.

That fight hadn’t just been the loss of what you had thought was the greatest friendship in the galaxy. It had been the final moment that took your life from carefree and fun to what it was now, what it had been since. Joyless, lacking, lonely-so fucking lonely.

That had been the night you had to grow up, realizing that not only was Charlie gone, but the life you’d had was too. Gone were the days of adventure, of going on test flights and racing one another, of Poe getting you drinks at the cantina and Charlie sitting with his arm slung casually over your shoulders, until any of you spotted someone who caught your interest. Someone who would only be around for the night but would bring a little pleasure and escape. Charlie was more often the one to go home with such a person, happy to play the field and often making new friends you’d see again, even though he never exclusively dated them.

And the little flare of excitement you’d get each time it was just you and Poe? That had been carefree too because whatever it meant didn’t need to be examined, it just was. Casual touches that lingered and sent heat up your spine, easy and flowing conversation, long hugs even when you’d see each other the next day. All of that had been such a prominent fixture in your life, the slow escalation between you and Poe was something that, to this day, you never tried to understand.

But then Charlie died; everything changed, and you left and never looked back. All the while, Poe Dameron kept grinning like that. Fuck, fuck!

You almost walked straight past your new room, so lost in your thoughts and memories, but thankfully a passing droid greeting you politely pulled to the moment, and you only had to retrace a few steps back. Immense relief washed over you the moment you saw that all of your items had been delivered and unpacked, only a box of mementos and photos left on your desk for you to find new homes for.

Even the bed had been made already. And as much as you wanted to just climb under the covers and shut the world away, you instead set yourself to the task of putting the final touches on your space.

The room was silent save for your occasional gasps and hiccups as you let your emotions run free in the privacy. You proudly displayed the plaque you had been given from the Resistance following Charlie’s funeral; a handsome photo of him in uniform set in the middle, his name inscribed along with his rank, years of life and final resting place on Yavin-4. His flight suit patch was attached to the plaque above the photo, the final touch to a beautiful little tribute to Charlie that you could take with you wherever in the galaxy you went.

The final item you pulled out was a small protective album for photos you displayed in your room. You pulled out the photos, ones of you and Charlie as kids, of your parents, of the whole family plus Poe during one hilariously disastrous little vacation that resulted in all of you returning home and ignoring one another for three days, even Poe. A few from your teen years, early and late, Poe and Charlie usually taking up the most space in the photos between their sizes and huge smiles, and the final photo you had was your absolute favourite.

Smushed between Charlie and Poe, you had a smile on your face that hadn’t been seen in years. It was silly, girlish and youthful and not the person you were anymore. You were looking at the camera, Charlie with his big arm over the top of your shoulders, laughing as he looked toward the camera as well. Poe was looking at you. Giving you a warm smile that you always suspected he only shared with you, one that melted his eyes to pools of warm honey and made your insides wriggle. You remember how his hand burned where he gripped your waist, and you had instinctively traced your hand up his spine in the moment, though you never understood why.

That photo both broke your heart and made you smile every time you looked at it. The last photo of the three of you together, the three of you happy. A photo that not only showed your love for one another but also hinted at that feeling you never did examine. A photo that revealed that feeling might not have been one-sided, not at all.

When you finished your tidying, you took a seat at your desk and used your data pad to pull up your schedule, curious what the days ahead would look like. Right away you could see no missions in the queue, though that could change in an instant. And as eager as you were to get flying, you knew it would probably be best to spend the next couple of days trying to establish yourself on base, meet the rest of your team, and figure out how you were going to keep a cool head spending so much time working with Poe.

With a heavy sigh, you glanced at the clock and decided a late lunch was in order, hopeful that the weird hour would leave the caf quiet. Although you knew you’d be recognized you did hope to push that off for as long as possible.

You needed to swallow back your feelings and face the fact that you weren’t just working directly for General Leia. You were back on D’Qar; a planet that Charlie had spent enough time on, even before you joined Gold Squadron, to make lasting friendships and leave an incredible reputation behind after he’d died. You hadn’t been back since the funeral, so it was inevitable that others would be bringing him up, asking after you, where you had disappeared to, why you’d left without saying goodbye to pretty much everyone.

You needed to suck it up because you had a job to do and your work for the Resistance was the only thing anymore that made your life worthwhile. No family, no close friends, no partners, just fighting the fight and being the best damn pilot you could be.

You wondered if Charlie would be proud of you. Of how far you’d come, of the fact that you were now the same rank as he had been before his death. But after seeing Poe today you knew that wouldn’t have entirely been the case, not with how things all ended up.

So, you reasoned with yourself, that meant that you had to work extra hard here on D’Qar to push aside the history between you and your Commander. And actually, indifference and coldness were probably going to be your best assets going forward.

At least you had a game plan.

Taglist

@mermaidxatxheart

@foxilayde

@eleinemk

@paintballkid711

@mylifeisactuallyamess

@20th-centu-fairy-girl

185 notes · View notes

spencersawkward · 3 years

Text

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 8

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

pairing: Fem!OC/Spencer

word count: 3.9k

content warnings: discussion of a dead body (for a case), discussion of sensory overload (idk if that's a warning but just in case).

A/N: sorry this took so long! i've had a lot of writer's block with this series, but i'm feeling a lot more motivated with it, now. anyway enjoy!

masterlist

my feet slam into the pavement at a rate that makes me wonder if my heart can take it. I can feel the air in my lungs, stinging, and the way it never seems like enough. I can't stop. my arms are pumping and my legs burn.

I'm sure I look like a mess right now, exhausted and sweaty as I make my way up the biggest hill by my apartment. I haven't been running in a while, and this incline is even more daunting than it was before.

I use the momentum I've built from before now and force myself up. every breath rips through me violently until I'm sure that if I stop running, I'll collapse. but I keep pushing, knowing it'll be worth it.

I hated running until college. just absolutely despised the thought of getting outside and forcing myself to move quickly. the older I get, though, the more refreshing it's gotten. it helped me escape from midterms, from the pressure that constantly seemed to mount with every passing day. sometimes it feels like all of it keeps piling on, and it's never going to stop.

of course, that's not really the way to look at life. I've had things to balance out the work, friends to call and ways to let out the hammering violence that always seem to fill the spaces between my ribs. running clears my head when nothing else does.

once I get to the top, I bend over and rest my palms on my knees so that I can relax. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and can feel my pulse thudding against my throat. it's good, though. I needed to do this again, to get exercise.

I resist the urge to lay down flat on the pavement. DC isn't really a good place to do that; everyone around me is on a morning stroll with their partner or they're out for a jog themselves. I pass several enthusiastic-looking dogs out for a walk. the sheer number of people around me should make me feel normal.

it doesn't.

I straighten and stretch out my muscles, wincing at the way my calves feel if I move them funny. I don’t want to get called in for a case today, but that's naive. there will always be another case because there will always be people we need to stop. maybe I'm just not jaded enough to not care. I like to think that's a good thing, though.

...

when I head into the office a couple hours later, there's a to-go cup of coffee resting on my desk. I smile to myself, set my bag down and shrug off my coat, then peek over the divider to see Spencer with a case file open and an identical to-go cup a couple inches away.

"is this your doing?" I refer to the coffee. he nods and smiles at me, seemingly not in the mood to talk.

"thanks, Reid."

sitting down to do some work, I sneak a peek at him. Spencer is acting different from last weekend. more shy. I'm not really sure the reason, unless he just felt particularly outgoing at the party and is now back to his default self.

we get a case before the hour is up, and then my mind is occupied by the details.

jet rides, though now a familiar routine, are probably my favorite part of the job. I don't feel totally unproductive, but I still have time to unwind and talk to people on our way. Emily and I have gotten much closer within the past few weeks and sometimes she tells me stories about her old job that keep me on the edge of my seat.

there's something so mysterious about her that I just appreciate; she's like a cool older cousin to me. and she's great at making fun of Morgan, which is something that I've found enjoyable as well. sometimes he needs to be knocked down a peg-- she's the woman to do it.

"how many?" I trace my finger down the smooth skin of Derek's arm, where he's lifted his sleeve just enough to show the inked lion. it's a big tattoo, and I'm somewhat surprised he has one at all. he just doesn't really seem the type.

"five right now." he flexes his bicep flirtatiously, and I immediately remove my hand with a repulsed expression, rolling my eyes at the chuckle he lets out.

"don't feed his ego like that." Emily warns from across the table. she's flipping through one of the plant magazines that we've stashed in the snack cupboards (much to Hotch's disapproval). I turn to see Morgan's reaction.

"you a little jealous, Prentiss?" he teases. her only response is a glance that dares him to push further. they both know that Emily has absolutely no interest in him, which I suppose adds to their friendship. Morgan leans down by my ear, but he makes no effort to quiet his voice. "you should ask about her tattoos."

"you have tattoos?" my eyes widen at this, voice a little louder than usual. Hotch glances over at us from his seat a ways away, but doesn't say anything. Reid is passed out on the couch, strangely tired for the middle of the day; Rossi's writing something in his miniature journal.

"that's not anyone's business." she says more to Morgan than to me.

"I wanna see!" I set my glass of ice water down on the table and straighten up. Emily pretends to be exhausted by the persistence, but she closes her magazine momentarily.

"look, I can't show them all here." she raises a suggestive eyebrow.

"then how does Derek know?" I smirk. Emily makes a face, but Morgan is the one who replies.

"this one gets a little loose-lipped when she drinks too much." he teases. I snort and glance at Emily. I've seen her tipsy before, but never drunk. at most, she gets affectionate with all of us and calls us her best friends in the whole world. which, honestly, isn't an unwelcome sentiment.

"I do not." she argues.

"yeah, you do." Reid mumbles from the couch cushion where he's been resting his head. I jump at the sudden noise, and we all turn to him.

"look who's up." Emily smiles. Reid stretches his legs out, limbs so long that his feet hang off the end of the couch. he's wearing mismatched socks again today, one with bananas and one covered in sushi rolls. I smile to myself.

"I'm not," he argues. "someone had to correct you."

Morgan and I let out an amused laugh. my eyes dart between Spencer and the two other agents. "I feel like I'm the only one here who hasn't seen Prentiss drunk."

"yes, you have." she frowns.

"no. not, like, plastered."

"don't let Garcia hear you say that." Morgan laughs. I snort.

"why?"

"any excuse to party, and she'll take it." he shakes his head affectionately.

"she'd just call it bonding." Prentiss adds in. I have a soft spot in my heart for Pen. for all of the darkness we see here, she makes it a little bit brighter with her quips and sparkly pens and neon glasses. she's a blessing.

"what's so bad about that?" I defend for her sake.

"nothing's wrong with it, per se," Emily shrugs. "it just means we aren't as professional as we should be."

"I'd argue that our job actually means we get to let loose more when we have the time." I shrug. Morgan offers his fist to pound, and I oblige with a satisfied smile.

"you two are children, you know that?" Emily gestures between Derek and me. I shrug, about to return to my crossword when she speaks again. "how many tattoos do you have, Clea?"

I blink for a second, deciding whether or not to lie. it would be kind of cool to sound badass, but I don't know if I even have the mental capability to fib to a bunch of profilers. "none."

"what?" Morgan looks at me with confusion.

"yeah, none. why is that such a big surprise?" I laugh at their reactions. Prentiss is alarmed, too.

"I don't know-- you seem like the kind of person to get a heart tattooed on your thigh or something." Morgan shrugs. I make a face, silent.

"that's offensive."

Prentiss snorts and finishes her drink. I peek over and see Reid with his eyes closed but a slightly amused smile on his face. by the couch, I can see through the window. we're slipping through gray clouds that are saturated with rain, and the weather change causes the jet to shake a bit.

my fingertips wrap around the arm of the seat and Emily eyes me warily.

"you okay?"

"don't like flying." I answer, nostrils flaring slightly. usually with these trips, I've been able to hide my apprehension for flying by holding onto my knee below the table or something, but the sudden jerks are putting me off.

it's stupid-- plane anxiety is ridiculously common, and I don't think it's necessarily unwarranted. the problem is that to a bunch of people trained in behavioral analysis, it shows a blatant fear of not having control.

which is true, but it's not like I need that plastered all over my face every time we board a flight.

"would you get a tattoo if you could?" Emily changes the subject, thankfully, and I bite down on my bottom lip.

"I think so, yeah." it's said without much thought; all that's on my mind right now is wondering what our ETA is. Morgan shifts in his seat to smirk.

"really."

"sure."

he nods appreciatively before turning to look back out the window. droplets of moisture are collecting there, but they only distort the image of Portland stretched out below. the water is steel gray and rippled with wind.

I've never been here. for some reason, I find myself wondering what it smells like. that mingling of city scent and ocean, if they meet in the middle to form their own distinct identity. if it will settle on my tongue and in my clothes.

it's funny to me that when I go to different places and return, I don't notice how different it all smells until I breathe it in through the fabric of my shirts, and from there it all comes rushing back. Spencer mentioned during a case once that scent creates the most powerful memory reaction out of all our senses-- and I believe it.

DC smells like humidity and rain-slicked streets, Montana like dust. even the jet has a particular one that I don't associate with anything right now, but I know I will in the future. like I'm standing in the formation of a memory.

half-baked.

...

we've got the hoods of our raincoats up as we make our way into the office of our latest victim. Morgan holds the door and I wander in, staring up at the enormous glass walls of the place. a stray droplet falls from the hood of my jacket and onto my nose, rolling down the bridge and causing me to sniffle.

her boss is surprisingly dismissive of us when we get to his office, reluctantly getting off a phone call and giving me something of a dead-fish handshake. as we take a seat at his desk, I can smell the overbearing stench of his expensive cologne.

he's got exactly the kind of look that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole: taut, judgmental face with a stiff mustache and slicked-back black hair that honestly is probably dyed. his eyes linger on me for a bit longer than I appreciate, but I clear my throat and try to brush off the discomfort.

Winona's body was found in a ditch off the side of a highway, dumped like trash. based on the ME report, she was alive when he threw her in, but died shortly after from her wounds. the whole thing is gruesome and as her employer notes her tendency to daydream and occasional tardiness, I want to reach across the table to smack him.

Morgan is able to keep his cool better than I can, nodding. I know it's important to know her behaviors in order to build our profile, but I still don't like the way this guy is talking about her.

"she wasn't really the strongest employee we've got, but she was nice enough around the office." he shrugs. I notice the gold wedding band that glints on his ring finger, the way he leans back in his swivel chair. he's got evaluative eyes.

by the time we're done, I'm practically flying out the door of his office and hurrying to the elevator. we got what we needed to know from him, if not through a somewhat convoluted method.

"nice guy." I note sarcastically after punching the down button. Morgan tucks his hands into his jeans pockets and looks at our warped reflections in the elevator doors.

"we talk to a lot of people like that. you get used to it."

"didn't seem too concerned about her at all."

"I don't think guys like that are concerned about much more than themselves."

"you should have mentioned a tax evasion investigation happening around here," I smirk. "that would probably put the fear of God into him."

Morgan chuckles and looks over at me. it would be unprofessional to fist bump with so many people around, although the smile we share is definitely a great equivalent.

as we pack into the metal box with a bunch of employees, they look at us curiously. the enormous FBI label on the back of our jackets probably doesn't help, but I pretend to look like I know what I'm doing as we step out into the lobby.

in all reality, faking it until I make it is the only thing I know how to do.

...

the late night cravings come as a surprise as I stand over a map of Portland. my eyes are starting to cross from staring at all the minuscule details for so long, and my fingers are twitching from a mixture of hunger and overloaded caffeine.

we were supposed to go to bed about two hours ago, but I know for a fact that I'm not the only one sitting in my motel room with open files and a determined expression. I do happen to be the only person rooming alone, however, and the silence has been helpful.

Reid's been working on a geographic profile, but there's something missing. I'm not sure what it is. all I know is that if I don't figure it out soon, it's going to eat away at me. based on his activity patterns, there are only a few more days before this guy abducts another woman.

except now I'm just thinking about how much time we don't have, and that sort of sends me into a spiral, too. I'm prepared to always be running against a clock for this job, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm going to lose it if I stare at any more tiny lines indicating roads or side streets or whatever else demands attention.

I need to get out of my head.

before taking time to really consider anything else, I grab my phone and look up pizza places nearby. what I need right now is some sustenance and tv-- or at least something to distract me enough to recharge.

I change into my pjs and wash my face while I wait for the delivery person to arrive, try to ease the day out of my bones. there used to be a whole process for me after work every day, where I'd shut off my brain. The Real Housewives of Atlanta provided ample help for this, along with fuzzy socks and glasses of red wine. I can make do with this.

once the pizza guy comes and I pay for my food, I don't even make way to my room; instead, I go to the person I know who needs this more than I do.

"Clea?" Spencer rubs his eyes as he swings open the door, glasses held in the other hand.

"hi." I smile brightly.

"what are you doing here?" his soft tone and the dim light from a motel lamp in the corner tells me that Morgan is asleep right now in the other bed.

in response to his question, I hold up the box of pizza with a grin. his eyes widen.

"I can't eat all this alone." definitely a lie, but saying that he needs to take a break probably wouldn't sway him enough.

for a second, Spencer seems to debate this in his head. when he runs a shaky hand through his hair, I roll my eyes. "it's pizza, dude. not a wedding proposal. you can go back to the case in twenty minutes."

he nods this time and looks up at me as I turn and start toward my room. closing the door gently behind him, I don't miss the way he increases his pace a little to catch up with me.

"did you get mushrooms?" he asks. I throw him a disgusted look before realizing what he's talking about and breaking into a grin.

"you remembered!" I reference my hatred of the fungus. Spencer smiles with pride, turns his gaze to the carpeted floors. I unlock the door and let us in.

"of course I remember," he snorts. "it's hard to forget."

I giggle at the way he immediately uses the sink to wash his hands, and I join him after setting the box on the bed.

"favorite soap scent?" I ask absently. suds cover my fingers as he rinses the water from his. normally, this isn't a question I'd ask, but Spencer seems like he would have a response.

"you know, I really enjoy anything fresh-smelling," he thinks about it. "like waterfall smell."

"I like those, too."

"what's your favorite?"

"there's this brand that I love that specializes in antibacterial soaps, and they have a lavender one that literally makes me ascend." I laugh. Spencer is drying his hands with a folded towel and his face lights up.

"Ravi's Organics?" he suggests. my heart leaps with recognition.

"yes! oh my god, have you used their cracked cinnamon one?"

"I have the hand sanitizer in my bag." Reid's eyes are so pretty. they sparkle with a hazel color, almost chocolatey in the cheap motel light.

"they have a hand sanitizer for it?" my jaw drops. he nods and I shake my head slowly. we walk over to the bed to eat the pizza. he seems hesitant, though, and pauses.

it takes me a second to remember that Spencer has different boundaries and is just kind of awkward in general. even though there's no obvious tension between us, I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I plop down on the floor.

"you like Ravi's Organics." he states it back to himself more than to me, and as I pop open the box to reveal a beautiful pepperoni pizza, I nod vigorously.

"yeah, it's actually kind of a funny story," we start to dig in immediately. I lift an enormous slice to my lips and bite into the perfection. it's so good. "when I was little, my parents used to call me Rascal."

"Rascal?" he laughs through a bite of food.

"like the raccoon? from that book?" it's a kid's story.

"why?" he snorts. I take a second to chew before replying.

"I just get really overwhelmed by certain sensory things-- like, I hate being sticky or having any kind of weird texture on my hands. so whenever we went out to eat or anything, I would always sit on the outside of the booth so I could run to the bathroom and wash my hands as I pleased." I explain all of this with a slight frown on my face. it's true, I've just never really thought about it.

"I don't like sticky stuff, either." he offers.

"yeah, it got pretty bad. but I guess I just grew out of it. I'm not sure when." I pluck a piece of pepperoni off the top and slide it into my mouth.

Spencer takes in this information for a second while he eats, and I'm momentarily worried that I've overshared. he came for some food and now I've served up a weird childhood memory to accompany it.

but then he does something funny and altogether endearing.

"actually, raccoons are very cleanly creatures, despite their dietary habits." he tells me.

frankly, it makes me feel better than anything else that he could have said. "fastidious little things, right?"

"exactly." he chuckles. his shoulders are hunched, elbows leaning on his knees.

"fix your posture." I say gently, noticing the way his spine curves abysmally when he's sitting across from me. his cheeks turn a pretty pink, but he follows directions.

"is it that bad?" he's a bit embarrassed. immediately, I soften and do what comes easily, making a joke.

"if you don't work on it, you're gonna be living in a French cathedral by the age of thirty."

Spencer snorts-- genuinely almost chokes on his food-- and looks at me with his almost childlike eyes. there's something in them that I can't decipher at all, almost so obvious that it completely goes over my head.

"that was mean." he's still trying to recover from the onset of giggles, and I lean forward to grab another slice, suppressing a proud grin myself.

"your future straight-backed self will thank me."

"I'll remember that." he nods dutifully.

"I'm sure you will."

we share a secretive smile before I bite into my pizza and launch into a different subject. the more I learn about Spencer, the more I want to know. I feel like there are things beneath every new surface that would be fascinating to understand.

"what's it like having an eidetic memory?"

he frowns like he isn't sure how to answer. I thought he'd already have something locked and loaded, a prepared response for a question he definitely gets frequently. when he opens his mouth, I find myself hanging on every word. "it's... interesting."

"blessing or a curse?"

"both."

"would you ever give it up if given the option?" I narrow my eyes a bit. I'm especially curious about this.

"no." this is delivered with certainty. for a second, I stare at him with about a million more questions in my head. of course, they're completely out-of-bounds and way too personal, but they're still there.

"hm." I say instead. as usual, delivering thrilling commentary at every turn.

Spencer peeks at me over his pizza for a second, seeming to want to say something else, but decides against it. our eyes meet; I'm not sure what it is, maybe a silent agreement or something else that's unspoken, but we decide not to press further on either end.

whatever he's got tucked away in that big brain of his, he's not ready to talk about it with anyone-- much less a new colleague in a dumpy motel. there's a time and place for certain things, and boundaries to respect.

I change the subject before he can make some lame excuse to leave. for some reason, I just don't want him to leave me here in this room.

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added/removed for this series): @reidsconverse @voidsfilm

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #best friends to lovers #fanfic #mgg #matthew gray gubler #baby spencer #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader

58 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Teach Me

Calum’s brought you in for the shelter in place. And you’re looking for things to do. Reader insert. No specific race, gender, or sexuality.

Please stay safe during these uncertain times. Remember to take care of yourself please. Drop a sweet message to your favorite blogger. Reblog your favorite fic. Recommend a fic to me if you want! We need to spread some joy. Know I’m here if anyone needs it.

Enjoy my masterlist!

___________________________________

“Teach me how to play bass.”

Calum looks up from his phone. Duke is settled onto his chest. The evening sun filters in from the window above his couch in his music room and he’s trying to think about when you walked into the room. You take his silence in stride and watch him place the phone down before sitting up. His arms meet in front of him to keep Duke from dropping to the floor. “You want me to teach you how to play bass?”

You nod. Duke curls up onto the cushions next to Calum, body turned into a ball as he presses into Calum’s thigh.

“You sure?” The subject’s never come up before. He didn’t want to push you into something you didn’t want. Sure you watched him. He asked you for advice on what sounded better. But there was a line with music. It was his thing and you respected that. It was his art and you were just along for the ride.

“Positive.”

Calum can’t lie--he’s absolutely giddy at the thought of teaching you. And you watch the way he catches his bottom lip between his teeth, the hint of a smile causes the skin around his eyes to wrinkle just a little. He nods. “Okay.”

He casts a quick glance around the room, attempting to ground himself. The excitement is bubbling at his stomach and he can feel his veins thumping in his ears. He finds one of his basses, off the rack, leaning against the wall. “First thing first, take a seat.” He motions to the spot he’s vacating.

You shuffle across the room and settle into the warm spot of his body. Calum asked you if you wanted to hang out at his place while the safer-at-home orders were placed. He knew you and your roommate were having some issues. Rather than having you stuck in an environment that would for sure send you mentally spiraling, he opened his doors and you were more than happy to jump at the opportunity.

You and Calum were somewhere between friends with benefits and officially dating. Though, that hadn’t made this awkward. You enjoy stealing Duke some mornings for his morning walks and Calum returns the favor with making breakfast. You understand that even though he’s stuck home, there’s still work that he has to do. So during the day, you busied yourself as best you could but occasionally you’d sneak in, just to hang out in the same general space with Calum. He would always spot you before you could get settled and just smile as you scooped up Duke into your arms. The extra company is nice. There was someone else to talk to you, someone that he could attempt to drag into random Netflix binges.

Calum shuffles back to you, bass in one hand as he stretches out for a pick on his desk. When he finally gets it into his grasps, he smiles as he turns his attention back to you. “Strings are pretty thick,” he tells you.

You reach up for the instrument, somewhat used to handling guitars in the past. But you’re far from an expert. “In your professional opinion, which is better? Pick or no pick?”

He’s carefully watching the way you mold the instrument. Almost like you were made for it. And maybe that’s just his own imagination and projections getting ahead of him. “Either really. Comfy?”

You nod, glancing up at him. “Yeah.”

Calum brings his computer chair over, gripping it by the head rest and spins it around. Sitting down, he rolls it, careful of your toes. “Okay, so, are you familiar with the scale?”

The evening rolls well into night, the fading sun light completely disappears, soon the lamps in the room become the only source of light. Calum adjusts your finger placements and though the touch is soft, you don’t miss the slight scratch of the calluses that have built up over his fingers from the years. You’ve abandoned the pick, the grip and angle confusing you more than helping. As your thumb and forefinger pinch and pluck at the strings you hear the throaty croaking of the bass through the small amp resting next to the couch.

“That was really good,” he grins. “Like really good.”

Your heart flutters at his praise. “Better watch out, soon I’ll be giving you a run for your money.”

The quick flicker of come-off-it dances across his face at your statement. “Yeah, I think I might have you beat by a few years.”

“Just a decade. No big deal,” you tease. His gaze is direct, and a little heated, but mostly soft. You duck your head, cheeks flooding with heat as you strum the note again.

His fingers come back up again, guiding and curling your fingers appropriately. “Try that.” And when you pluck at the stings again, a slightly lower note comes out. He lets you get in a few more practice strums before asking if you want to try and combine the two.

“I don’t think I have the confidence for that.”

He nods, chin jutting out just a little. “Just try.”

With a deep breath, you stare at the neck of the bass and readjust your fingers to the first position again and without actually strumming, you try to slip into the second note. Your fingers fumble. You can only hope Calum didn’t catch it. You know he did though. You’re thankful you hadn’t actually tried to produce a noise.

“Try it one more time.”

Exhaling harshly, you go back to the first position, fake strumming and then move to the second note. Though it’s slow, you feel a little bit better. Without prompting, you go back to the first note, strum and then slide into the second. It’s not a quick succession, it’s not the prettiest sound. But you actually manage to do it. With a beaming smile, you snap your head up. “I did it!”

He laughs, mostly because it’s the only thing his body can do in his excitement. But his grin takes up his whole face. “Again, again!” he urges. When the amp shakes again with the sounds of your strumming, he holds up one hand for a high five. “Look at you go,” he cheers over the sound of your palm hitting his.

There’s a surge of confidence and you haphazardly pluck at the strings. The sounds aren’t bad per se, but they’re not wholly musically. It sends Calum into a fit of giggles, watching the way you contort your face like you’re absolutely shredding. His laughter cuts out with his inhale. He rocks his body back into the chair, hands clasped and one leg slightly rising. The sound falls into your ears and wraps around your heart. It gives a squeeze and you stop with your antics just to watch him indulge himself in his hysterics.

It’s an absolute joy to watch him giggle, the way he glows just a little. And you think it might just be the slightly yellow hue of the bulbs and the beige color of the walls, warming the golden hue of his skin. Finally the fit of giggles settle. Calum wipes at his eyes for just a quick second. He composes himself. “Good for today or want to keep going?”

“Good for today.” You can feel the slight twinge of ache in your fingers from plucking at the strings. You’re not sure if it’s possible to cut the skin of your fingers on bass strings but you don’t necessarily want to find out too.

He nods. “You did really well.” His fingers brush over yours as he takes the instrument from your lap.

“Thanks. Had a great teacher.”

It’s his turn to blush. He can feel the heat rising and he wants to curse his body for doing it to him. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes rack down his chest. But he tries not to linger on the gaze for too long. He slides the chair back to the wall, resting his bass down. You watch the slight tensing of his back muscles, shoulders easily holding the weight of the bass. Now is not the time, you try to tell yourself. But he’s wearing the godforsaken gray tank and black sweatpants. And it’s not even cold enough to consider sweatpants but it, as you’ve come to know over the last three weeks, is his preferred way to lounge.

“I don’t know if I’d go as far to say that, but thank you.”

You stand, watching as Calum faces you again and straddle his lap. His hands slide up, feeling up your thighs before holding onto your waist. “Do I get a reward?”

His lips find yours. The light smack of lips meeting and pulling apart echoes around the room. “Of course,” he breathes against your lips, feeling as you grin.

#calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood imagine #calum hood fic #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood fanfic #5sos #5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin #luke hemmings #michael clifford #calum hood x reader #calum hood x reader insert #h writes #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer imagine #5sos imagine

196 notes · View notes

danetobelieve · 4 years

Text

Gardening Time || Ricky and Winston

TIMING: 17/06/2020 LOCATION: the Dane family garden PARTIES: @ricky-corderbro SUMMARY: Ricky and Winston help Winston’s parents fix up their garden.

Winston had missed having Ricky to themself. It wasn’t that having Rio live with them was something that they didn’t like. Quite the opposite all things considered. But as they strode through the blazing sun of that June afternoon, Winston couldn’t help but relish in the time alone with their best friend. “Yo,” Winston shouted towards Ricky, “I got you a bottle of water.” They tossed the perspiring plastic towards their friend before popping the top off of their own and swallowing several ice cold mouthfuls. Adjusting their prescription sunglasses so they sat more comfortably on their face, Winston wiped their hands dry on the dirty tank top that they were wearing and squatted down next to the portion of the beds that they had been working on. They heard the buzz of Ricky’s power tools before it shut off. “Mom said that she is making your favourite, she also asked me where Rio was and why that nice young man wasn’t here helping us….” Winston sighed and tried not to think about Rio.

There was nothing quite so relaxing to Ricky as physical labor. The feeling he got from being bone-tired after a hard day’s work was one of the best he knew, and a day of repairing raised beds at the Dane’s was just the thing he needed to get himself there. He looked up from measuring out board and caught the bottle of water that was tossed to him, wiping the sweat from the side of it with the shirt tucked into his back pocket. Spending two weeks almost exclusively in his seal form hadn’t done anything for his tan, and he was bound and determined to keep it going if he was going to be out in the yard all day. He made a quick cut with the circular saw he had and then put the now-ready board on top of the small pile he’d been accumulating, “Unnecessary, but kind of her.” He didn’t hear the sigh, but he saw the body movement and knew what had happened, “So we just gonna pretend you’re not crushing on our other roommate real hard? Or are we gonna talk about it.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Winston realised that they should’ve just not said anything if they wanted to avoid having to have this conversation with Ricky. But it was probably for the best, after all their best friend usually gave them the best advice. “I think she was doing it to say thank you for helping with the garden, at this point if you actually charged them for the work that you do for them then they would probably owe you a minimum of five figures. If not six.” That was a joke. Winston limited the amount that their parents took advantage of Ricky. Somewhat. “What is there to talk about?” Winston asked as they set their water down and began to grab the pieces of wood that Ricky had been cutting, placing them in their relevant places, Winston kept working, it was easier to not talk if they were genuinely occupied doing something else, “If you want to talk about it so badly then you can start…” Winston wasn’t looking for a conversation about this, but something told them that Ricky wasn’t giving them the opportunity to decide differently.

“You don’t charge family. I’m always happy to help where I can.” Gathering up some of the boards Ricky moved to the side of one of the beds that needed replacing. Maine weather, particularly the coastal winters, weren’t kind to outdoor lumber, so beds like these needed to be replaced every handful of years. Angela Dane kept the plants in the beds in pristine health, which meant a hearty enough root system that Ricky could remove the rotten planks without any dirt sloughing off onto the lawn. Settling into the grass he heaved on one of the planks, the sharp sound of cracking wood filling the warm day, “That might be the most fucking defensive I’ve ever seen you, my dude.” He kept going, board by board, until he had a pile of rubbish lumber on one side of him nearly as big as the pile of new. Drill in hand he began the work of fastening the pieces of the new raised bed together, bit by bit, “Well where do we wanna start. The fact that there was some pretty meaningful hand holding before I left, or the fact that there was a kiss afterwards, or the fact that you guys have been spending a whole lotta time in that old library of yours. Or do we wanna zoom out and talk about why you’re so defensive about having a crush on someone. I’ve got literally all day.”

“And if you’re not charging family you also don’t complain when mom decides that she is going to cook your favourite meal, I think it is her way of paying you and saying thank you for all of the help.” Winston knew that Ricky knew all of this already. Winston moved to the other side of the bed and chanted in Latin for a moment. The boards on their side cracked before splintering away from the beds and arranging themselves in a neat pile. Winston felt the energy drain from them as they did so, more sweat pouring down their neck and back as they exerted magical energy. “I don’t - I’m not -” Winston swallowed, “I’m not being defensive.” They pouted, very aware that they were indeed being defensive. “I just don’t really want to talk about the fact that I’ve made our living situation incredibly awkward, I don’t want to talk about the fact that the guy I like I’ve already slept with his sister and I don’t want to talk about the fact that Orion probably doesn’t even feel the same way about me. We’re really good friends sure but out of the two of us I don’t think he would pick me over you, have you seen you? Those rippling abs. The toned arms. I look like a toothpick next to you. Besides, like I said, I’m not being defensive.”

“Helping is what I do. You know that. But I will never turn down Angela Dane’s famous pulled pork. It’s almost as good as mine.” Ricky watched with a wry smile as his roommate chanted low and intense before the boards on their side of the bed arranged themselves very neatly in a refuse pile, “Fuckin show off.” he muttered with a grin. Winston’s use of and comfort with magic had grown by leaps and bounds over the last few months as they explored it and Ricky was so incredibly proud of them for it. “It’s only awkward if you guys make it awkward.” He slotted a few more boards in place, screwing them together before going to grab some smaller pieces to use to reinforce the joint, “Well admittedly the Athena thing is fucking awkward. There’s no way around that.” Ricky managed to get the drill set down carefully before bursting into uproarious laughter, “That’s your fucking excuse?!” His laughter slowly subsided by degrees and he wiped mirthful tears from his face, almost certainly leaving a streak of dirt on his cheek. He looked down at what was admittedly a very well maintained body and laughed, “Winston. I walk around the house in just a pair of sweatpants enough to know that Rio is definitely not into me. Which is why I know I can walk around the house in just a pair of sweatpants. This is not a real fucking comparison this is you trying to hide behind an excuse you’re reaching for. There’s no picking between the two of us. I’m not even on the board. And my dude my love my bro my sun and moon and stars…. You’re being the most defensive.”

“Almost doesn’t mean that it is better Ricky,” Winston replied glibly. They adored both cooks. However their mother would always have to win out. Winston had a special place in their heart for their mother’s cooking. Panting slightly from the exertion, Winston smiled. “If I can do magic it’s got to be useful for more then fighting things right,” besides they needed to practice everything more. Building their magical muscles was something that both Morgan and Nell had recommended and Nell continued to push the point in their training sessions. “Well, it is already awkward and I don’t see that things are going to get any better anytime soon, I don’t even know where I would start.” Winston wasn’t content to sit this one out. But honestly what was the other option? They weren’t built to deal with this sort of thing. This was why they didn’t generally date. Also because no one seemed to notice that they existed until the Quinn’s. Which was a weird thing to think. “Whatever,” Winston knew that Ricky was right, they knew that they were just going to have to be honest about this but the truth was that they weren’t sure that they could handle the rejection if the worst was true. “I’m not good at this, I don’t do dating because this always happens. Besides, he’s not going to want to date someone who slept with his sister.”

“You’re biased as hell. You can’t weigh in on this as a judge.” The smile grew by degrees as Winston talked about their magic, “Exactly. I’m sure you’ve got more than just flinging fireballs at my porch. It’s nice to do things out of the ordinary. I assume... I’m not magical at all but. I’m just making wild assumptions.” between the two of them the first bed was reassembled in pretty short order and then they moved onto the second one; Ricky stretching languidly in the sun, “I know this seems hypocritical coming from someone whose entire identity is a carefully constructed lie, but, you gotta be up front and honest about this shit. Which also begs the question… what do you feel when it comes to Rio?” He laughed a little bit at Winston’s statements, which lined up pretty neatly with his own life, “Well that’s why I don’t date either. Also because it’s a hassle. Also because I’m very busy. Though there were a couple times last week…” He trailed off as he thought back to his vacation before refocusing in on the conversation, “You don’t know that. You can’t read minds. Yet. I think”

“Why not? I can’t be bought when I’ve already decided the truth, so really when you think about it that way I am the least biased judge possible.” Winston tapped the side of their head and winked. “It’s nice to do something that would’ve taken me way more time and effort then before, or to do things that wouldn’t be possible without magic. That stuff is really rewarding. Throwing fireballs is cool and all but, it’s dangerous and it’s exhausting. I’d rather help people then blow things up. But that’s just me. Everyone’s different.” They laughed once more at Ricky and nodded. “Yeah, that is hypocritical…” they knew exactly how they felt about Rio, it was pretty obvious to them, this was more then just a crush. They couldn’t explain it but there was something about Rio that made their heart skip a beat. It gave them that warm fuzzy feeling whenever he was around. “I really like him dude,” Winston replied with a shrug, “I don’t know when it stopped being platonic and became Romantic, I don’t think it really matters…” they trailed off once more and sighed. “Is this that Tommy guy? How did that go…?”

“Yes but having decided the truth ahead of the judging means you’re super ultra biased. I’m at a disadvantage cuz she’s your mom.” Ricky heaved on the planks, dismantling the second bed in short order, “I gotta talk to your mom about snaking some of her herbs for cooking. I can’t garden for shit so I gotta rely on other people for fresh food.” He set his work aside though as Winston kept talking, deciding that the beds could wait in favor of giving his best friend his full attention. He stretched out in the sun, looking over at Winston as they talked. “Well. Then you owe it to yourself, and to him, to be entirely honest about it. Which I know is literally more terrifying than an eldritch squid god, but, it’s either that or it festers and eats away at you and ends up sabotaging your friendship with him and then you’re doublefucked. And not in the fun way.” With a snort Ricky sat back up and resumed his work on the beds, “Oh absolutely not. Nice try, Timothy Topic-Change. We’re talking about your love life, not mine.”

“That is correct, Winston replied with a shrug. Despite their ability to rip the beds apart with magic, watching Ricky do it with such ease was always impressive. The muscles were apparently not just cosmetic. “I am sure she won’t mind sending you some of the fresh stuff when it comes in, it’s not as if we don’t have an overabundance of garden space to work with.” Winston had kept working but found themselves distracted by the topic at hand. “I know that eventually Rio and I will- I know that we will need to talk,” Winston had never said mitted that out loud until this point and were almost reticent to really hear themselves admit it. Turning back to their work, Winston began replacing the boards that they had previously removed with new ones and set about securing them in place. “But I want to hear about pretty boy Tommy and all of the love that you two share for one another.”

“Well that’s because she’s an angel of a woman and I adore her. I’ll have to do some canning and bring your parents some salsa and pickles and stuff. Do they like fish? I’ll smoke them some fish. Or cure them some. Or both! We’ll play it by ear.” as they reassembled the new bed Ricky listened to Winston talk, mulling over his point of view as they worked, “Which is the most daunting thing. Because it requires a shit ton of honesty with no guarantee of a successful payoff. But. If you don’t it’s going to fester. You can already feel the oppressive weight of awkwardness in the house. You don’t want that to get any worse.” Pausing he took a swig of the water that Winston had given him earlier, enjoying the feel of the icy cold filling his body, “There’s nothing to hear about with me and Tommy. We practically grew up together. He’s just like six months older than me. Human, but the whole village knows. It’s one of those oh the Muirgens no they’re just totally normal people wink wink nudge nudge things. They keep our secrets and we keep anything untoward from coming up on the beaches and invading the village. There’s certainly no love that we share for each other. He’s taking over the dairy from his dad so his dad can retire and he was just asking if I had any plans to move over there to be near my family. The sex, admittedly, is amazing, but it’s definitely nothing more than that.”

“Yeah they’ll eat pretty much anything, so fish is definitely on the menu.” Winston loved how well Ricky was regarded by the family. It had taken no time at all for the entire family to help. Winston knew that Ricky had a permanent invite to family event from that point forward. “Both sounds good, whichever you decide to do I am sure that they aren’t going to complain about it.” Swallowing, Winston considered whether they were ready to be honest with Rio. The answer felt like a resounding no. Winston wasn’t about to just admit that they had feelings. Rio probably didn’t share them and if things weren’t awkward now then they definitely would be after they had been through that conversation. That was not something that Winston was rushing to do. “That sounds like the beginning thing that the protagonist says at the beginning of a romantic comedy, then it turns out that he was the one that you were meant to be with all along. You can tell because the sex was good.”

“I’ll just make up a nice basket for them. Everyone likes a nice basket of homecooked and homecured and homecanned shit. Maybe I’ll even make the basket. Seems all very small town America and lovely. Throw a gingham cloth in there to line it. It’ll be lovely. Some lovely fuckin stuff for your family because they’re amazing.” Ricky noticed how quickly Winston had latched onto Tommy as a way to duck out of the actual conversation they were having, “It’s me. The sex is always good. I don’t believe in bad sex. That’s a waste of everyone’s time. It’s a moot fucking point. Tommy Flaherty isn’t leaving Ireland, and I’m not leaving White Crest. He’ll find a nice boy from the village, settle down, have a big ol family and be perfectly fine. This is not the romantic comedy you think it’s going to be. But. Returning back to the ACTUAL point of this conversation.” A few more boards went into place and he drilled them in, pausing for a moment to sand down an unacceptably rough edge, “I can scoot outta the house for a night or two if you want some privacy to hash it all out. You definitely don’t need my presence looming over you like a fucking henge when you’re trying to admit you’ve got a crush on someone.”

“I don’t think that my mother would need or want you to learn how to weave a basket for her, a store bought one will be just fine.” Winston couldn’t help but smile. Ricky was a very good friend. “You can believe bad sex doesn’t exist and still have bad sex though,” Winston was sure that they were a bad sex story for one of the few people they’d slept with. They weren’t as successful as others in their endeavours but they weren’t completely inexperienced either. Raising an eyebrow gently, Winston sighed a dramatic sigh. “That’s what you think, secretly we’ve been in contact ever since you left and he is on his way to sweep you off your feet. When are you going to find a nice boy to settle down with Ricky?” Winston asked with a smirk, it was easier to bully Ricky about his love life then discuss their own. “I don’t know if things are going to need that, we’ll let you know I guess. I just don’t see the need to admit that I have a crush on someone. Especially not to Rio’s face.”

“I just graduated college. I’m single. I’m self-employed. I literally have nothing better to do than pick up new skills like that. And your family is worth it.” Ricky raised an eyebrow as Winston really leaned into the Tommy thing, “uh huh. When everyone I love is all well and truly taken care of, when there’s nobody left to help, then I’ll find someone to settle down with. But not a minute before. It’s just not a priority for me. I have more important things to worry about.” He sighed as they continued their work, pausing for a moment to reach across the bed and squeeze Winston’s hand, “Because, again recognizing my own hypocrisy here, if you don’t talk about these things they sit on your heart and rot, and that rot starts to poison everything else. Admitting you have a crush on someone always fucking sucks. But it’s the better option than the alternative.”

Winston paused for a second and shrugged. “Hey dude, you’re the one that wants to stay single so if you want to become a basket weaver and pen an entirely new term for a bachelor then please be my guest.” Smirking gently at Ricky’s response, Winston couldn’t help but shrug as they finished their garden bed and moved to their water, draining it in one swift motion, Winston tossed the bottle into the pile of trashed boards that they had to dispose of when this was all done. “I don’t know how I can make Orion a priority, there’s way too much for me left to do, there’s too many people that need my help and with Bea dead and Celeste too I need to be there for Ariana and Nell and Luce,” Winston thought about all of their friends. They’d been so excited by this. They’d wanted it for Winston but they weren’t sure that they were really good enough for Rio. Swallowing, Winston sighed. “I don’t agree that it is better then the alternative because if we just didn’t address it then it probably wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’m sensing a lot of fuckin’ sass in that statement, Dane. A. Lot. Of. Sass. Which I’m not appreciating.” Ricky abandoned the construction of the bed entirely, wandering over to lay down in the grass next to Winston, watching almost cartoonishly fluffy clouds meander their way across the sky. “We live weird fucking lives in a weird fucking town. It seems like every week there’s an apocalypse lurking round the corner and there’s always something to be done, someone to be cared for, some evil to be vanquished. But if you really like him you owe it to yourself, and frankly to him, to be honest about it. If for no other reason than in the middle of all of this insanity you’ve got to spend at least a tiny bit of time selfishly caring for yourself. Otherwise you’ll just give too much and there’ll be nothing left to give.” He knew the daming hypocrisy of the statement, as someone who focused almost entirely on other people to avoid thinking about himself, but it was decently sound advice anyway. Even if he didn’t take it, “I don’t think this is a “if I don’t look at it it’ll go away” problem. But that’s just my two cents.”

Raising an eyebrow gently Winston shrugged in response. “If I didn’t sass you then who would?” They were sure that there were plenty of people left in this world who would be willing and happy to sass Ricky. Though maybe they weren’t brave enough to. Laying next to their friend, Winston watched the clouds float over the sephia lenses ontop of their eyes. Sighing, Winston wondered if they could just drop this conversation. Obviously not. “I know, I know, you know how many times I have given people this same piece of advice, just be honest, there’s nothing that you can lose from being honest and being honest makes it better. I know the advice, I could’ve taken my own advice by this time if I wanted to…. It just doesn’t feel like it’ll go well and honestly I’d rather do this forever then maybe run the risk of losing my friend. I know the problem isn’t going to disappear but if I do something it might jsut make it worse and I really don’t want that.”

“Literally about 75% of the town. I’m not lacking for fucking sass in my life. There’s literally a waiting list. People have to check in online and then they get a text when their table is ready at Chateau Sass Ricky.” They lay next to each other on the warm grass in silence for a long moment, watching the clouds roll by and listening to the sound of the birds in the trees butting up against the Dane’s pristine backyard. Ricky reached about for a moment before he found Winston’s hand and squeezed it tightly, “The double-edged sword of honesty. It’s the right thing to do, but, the penalties for unwanted outcomes are pretty fucking severe.” He kept his hand around Winston’s, sitting in the silence for another long moment, “Well. Whatever you decide to do, and whatever happens, you know I’ve got your back.”

“Are you trying to convince me that there is a literal waiting list of thousands that want to sass you, somehow I just don’t buy that Chateau Sass Ricky is so popular without any real social media presence.” Winston giggled in the grass. Despite everything, despite the conversation that they were having right now, Winston knew that Ricky really did have their back no matter what happened. That was why he was their bestfriend. They might have not known each other very well for very long, but everyday he spent living with Ricky was a day that Winston was happier. Usually. When the town wasn’t trying to kill them. “Yeah and that is exactly why I don’t want to say anything, because it’ll probably just end up being painful.” Sighing gently, Winston clutched Ricky’s hand. He probably didn’t realise just how comforting the physical touch actually was. “I know, thanks, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I know I always say that but it’s because it’s true.”

“I’ll have you know that I am pretty fucking sassable. I don’t like the inference here that I’m not fucking worthy of a waiting list of sass. That’s pretty fuckin rude and I”m not about it.” It was something akin to a perfect moment. The sun, the clouds, the smell of summer on the air, and his best friend in the grass next to him. A lot of things went crazy in White Crest on an alarmingly consistent basis; but somehow it seemed that with Winston next to him he could manage to get through it all, “But… you don’t know that. I know it’s easy to sort of flag up the worst possible outcome in your head but… you don’t know what Rio’s gonna say.” tilting his head slightly so he could look at Winston out of the corner of his eye he tried to give a smile that could be seen without too much movement, “It’s mutual my dude. I, in a completely platonic and not at all weird way that’ll complicate your life anymore than it already is, love you with my whole fuckin’ heart. As much as I love being back home in Rinn Mhaoile; my real home is here with you and Dee.”

“I am sure you’re worthy of the sass, but 75% seems like a pretty liberal estimate, I don’t want your feelings to get hurt when your expectations aren’t met.” Winston squinted through their sunglasses at the sky and smiled. “Exactly, I do not have any idea what he is going to say and that in itself is an utterly terrifying prospect.” Winston gazed up at the sky for a while longer, watching the clouds idly drifting over head. “I know dude and of course I feel the same, I’m just glad that you’re back home, things aren’t the same when you are not here and sure we managed not to die at the hands of Squidward but it was hardly a good time.”

“You’re being very rude. I’m here, on the ground, in the dirt, trying to soothe your broken heart, and you’re being so rude and mean to me. It’s hard out here for a seal.” He listened as Winston talked, just happy in the deepest parts of his soul to be sitting here with his brother. “The unknown always is. It reminds me though of a line from a book I listened to once. It always sticks with me because it’s such a good philosophy. If you cannot be unafraid. Be afraid and happy. You can’t change the fact that this terrifies you. You can only change what you do with your terror.” Listening to Winston talk about the squid demon that they vanquished in his absence Ricky was simultaneously glad he’d missed it, and sad Winston had had to face it without him. Raising their still-entwined hands Ricky pressed a quick brush of a kiss to Winston’s knuckles before hopping back to his feet and returning to work. “Squidward is gone, praise tides and shoals for that, but the next thing that comes I’ll be at your side for it.”

“Hey, my heart isn’t broken yet,” Winston said with a grumble, “it will inevitably be broken if this goes poorly, which knowing my luck it almost certainly will.” There was no way that Rio would look at Winston the same after what they’d done with Athena. “That guy clearly never lived with anxiety of any kind, what a joy his brain must have been, or hers, or theirs, you know what I mean though. It’s too idealistic.” Winston rolled onto their chest and pushed themselves off the ground following Ricky to his feet. “I didn’t do any of the real work anyway, but the next thing hopefully won’t come at us for several weeks if not months or years.” Winston grinned. They knew that was really unlikely.

#gardening time #wickedswriting #chatzy para #chatzy #para #p: ricky

13 notes · View notes

sunflowerhazzavol6 · 4 years

Text

Veto- Chapter One

To Genevieve, morning always seemed to be the cruelest part of the day.

Nighttime was easy. Any and all responsibility was just beyond her apartment door, the only thing left up to her at that point being what she was going to feed herself and what kind of alcoholic beverage she was in the mood for. Typically it was something mixed with vodka and some sort of take-out, or food brought home from work. She could just settle down into her worn couch, lint pebbling on its almost too-comfortable surface, and tune into the blue light that was her TV. The perfect evening to shut out a usually less than perfect day. If that wasn’t exactly the speed she was going for, she would let that responsibility tap it's probably clubbed foot on the outside of a club entrance, Genevieve dancing on top of a table with her best friends while they took turns taking shots. This of course added to the pain of mornings, her hangover rearing its head as soon as she opened her eyes. That was what made this one in particular so gruesome.

She blinked her eyes open, immediately squinting at the light drifting in through her window. She had blackout curtains for this reason exactly, but last night in her drunken haze she had forgotten to close the blinds in order to protect herself from this exact occasion. She knew she was paying for it now, burying her nose back into her pillow and letting out a strong exhale. Outside she could hear the construction crew that was already bang-bang-banging on the complex that was being built next door. While the noise bothered her to no end in the beginning of her lease, she had grown used to it and knew that it was the reason her rent was so cheap in the first place. Even the catcalling had become white noise, but she still held up a middle finger most days when she walked by to do her laundry. This morning the jackhammering reminded her of the pile overflowing from the basket, and she let out an audible groan before pushing herself up and out from under the covers.

Six months ago she had dropped out of school, packed up all her shit, and moved to a place just outside of Malibu. Cecilia, her best friend from high school, had moved there immediately after graduating with her boyfriend at the time. While they ultimately ended up breaking things off, she stayed there to work and enjoy the sun and freedom that came along with the California heat. When Genevieve had called her for probably the thirtieth time, having an anxiety attack about not being happy or knowing the true direction of her life, Cece had suggested that she move down to the West Coast to figure things out. Within a week she had officially unenrolled from the business school at NYU, dyed her brown hair blonde in a Tesco bathroom, and packed her tan colored 2007 Subaru Forester to trek across the country. She camped in her car along the way, grateful for the couple before her who had tinted the windows. She didn’t tell her mom what she had done until she was pulling onto the Pacific Coast Highway, receiving an earful that ultimately ended as soon as her back tire popped and she had to pull over. She didn’t see why it mattered anyways, leaning against the dirty vehicle while she waited for the AAA guy to pull up and save her ass. Her mom couldn’t afford to help her with school, and so really the only money at stake was her own. That was a whole other tier of stress on her shoulders; the student loan debt that she still had to pay off despite her lack of degree. She was relieved to get her own place after staying with Cece for two weeks, but even after she pushed open the door to her new apartment, the discontentment that she had felt in New York lingered in her head like a fog. It was bearable now, though, and so she took that as a sign that she was taking the right step.

She stands on the cool linoleum flooring designed to look like hardwood, stretching her hands into the air and hearing her spine pop. The rush of blood circulating through her body makes her head throb, causing her to release a pathetic whine and hold her hand to her forehead. She grabs her glasses from her nightstand, putting them on and pulling open the drawer to find god’s gift to the earth. The bottle of Tylenol rolls to the edge of the drawer, it’s only occupant besides an Altoids tin with condoms in it. She grabs the bottle and pops it open, shaking out two pills before throwing her head back to toss them in. She pops her head under the sink in her bathroom to swallow them down, wiping the bit of water that escapes with the back of her hand. Genevieve then gets ready for the day, peeing and brushing the fuzzy feeling and stale alcohol from her teeth. After getting dressed in a somewhat-clean Led Zeppelin t-shirt and shorts she grabs her laundry basket, her keys, and heads out of her studio onto the walkway outside.

Hidden Hills apartment complex was an old motel that had been converted into a low-income housing space, which had then just been converted into the complex that it was today. It was really nice for the price point and the area, and Gene was incredibly grateful that she had found it while it was still available. When she had moved in the owners had just finished remodeling and had begun work on the buildings that were going up now. Apparently they had knocked down the walls in between two motel rooms to create each space, making it a decent size for one person or a couple. The more expensive suites had become two bedroom apartments across the parking lot, so there were a few small families that lived there too. For the most part, though, it was people just like her who were calling it a rest stop on their way to something better.

When she walks into the small laundry building attached to the main complex, she’s greeted by an older man in his early sixties hanging up colorful speedos to air dry in the corner. Victor was two doors down from her, and had lived here for at least the last two owners as far as she knew. He never really disclosed how long he had been there, though, which was very purposeful on his part. It wasn’t because he was ashamed by his living situation, being the oldest in the complex by at least thirty-five years. Victor absolutely romanticized the mystery he had created, introducing himself as a flaming homosexual from the south who had participated in the Stonewall Riots of 1969. When he found out that she had moved from New York City herself, he immediately took her under his wing and became the strange gay uncle she never had. Other than his horrible habit of sunbathing in the nude on his balcony, she really liked him and valued his insights and advice on life in general.

“Well would you look at who the cat dragged in! You look something horrible, Genevieve.” He says when he sees her, crossing his arms over his wife beater and kimono. He had on bright yellow swimming shorts too, which were inappropriately small for anyone other than him. She winces at his voice, wrinkling her nose while she puts her basket on top of a dryer.

“Don’t talk so loud. I just woke up.”

“My lord Jesus almighty, honey, it's past noon.” He turns back to his pile of wet clothing, pushing them into a dryer. He starts it and watches it spin for a second before leaning against the white metal, turning to look at her. “Have a good night?”

“I’m not sure. Can’t exactly remember all of it.” Gene rubs her temples, putting in her laundry soap and starting the load.

“Those are the best kind.” He smiles at her. “You know, Genevieve, I’m very glad that you’re not a prude introvert who just stays in all the time. Have fun while you can, enjoy that hot, young body of yours to the fullest!” He shimmies his shoulders at her while she rolls her eyes. Despite being a very progressive LGBTQ+ man, he was old fashioned in that he didn’t call her by anything other than her full name. He was firm in his belief that a name was important and said a lot about a person, that it was their identity and was a part of them. Whether the name was given or not, he always called everyone by their name even if they introduced themselves with a preferred nickname. There was a guy that had moved out a few months ago, whose name was actually just Nick, but Victor called him Nicholas anyways. He felt it suited him better, and was more classy. He claimed he would get further in life as a Nicholas over just a Nick, but never really got the chance to find out. Which was just as well.

“Being a prude introvert is not a bad thing.” Gene points out, raising her eyebrows at him. “Isn’t the whole point of personality and sexuality that it’s your own?”

“Aha, my child, you’ve learned so well. I’m giving myself teacher points for that. I’m just merely pointing out that I saw a very good looking young man leaving your apartment at the asscrack of dawn two weeks ago-”

“A month ago.”

He ignores her. “-and I’m very proud of you for embracing this youth that you’ve been blessed with! Not everyone is so intelligent, Genevieve.”

“I hardly think sex is a factor to intelligence.” She laughs, hopping up onto the washer to sit.

“Perhaps not, but it's exercise, and a healthy body is a healthy mind.” He taps his hairline to emphasize his point.

“So are you keeping a healthy body for your healthy mind?” She teases, kicking her legs back and forth.

“Oh pish. Don’t trouble yourself with an old man’s sex life. That’s the last thing you want to hear about.”

“Then stop meddling in mine!” She laughs, reaching her foot out to tap his side affectionately. This draws out a smile, a chuckle escaping his lips wrinkled from thousands of Kent cigarettes.

“You don’t have to do what I say, sugar, but listen just to humor me, alright?” Gene can tell by his tone that this would be something she would want to hear, so she shuts her mouth and does as she’s told. “I’m very glad that you’re so confident in yourself. Even if you don’t think so, you’re more secure in your body and in your looks than the kids your age I’ve met. Definitely more so than I was. But maybe that's because you’re straight.” She cracks a smile at that, and he puts his hand on her knee. “That being said, honey, I don’t want you to shy away from love when it lands at your feet. Take it from an old man who has made many-a-mistake in his lifetime. When something falls in your lap, take it, run with it, and don’t let it go. Don’t chalk it up to a random hook-up just because that’s what you’re used to.”

She recognizes his seldom solemn face, nodding her head. He returns it with a tight-lipped smile, squeezing his hand. “I’m not saying don’t have casual sex, because that would make me a hypocrite. Just… when something comes along, and you can’t quite put your finger on what about it makes it so special… don’t let go, alright? Even if it scares you. Promise me.”

“I promise, Victor.” She puts her hand over his, smiling at him genuinely.

He seems to accept her sentiment, shaking his head with a small smile and moving to grab his laundry basket. “You know sweetheart, I’m going to be very sad when you become too good for this old shack.”

“Please. Even when I do manage to get out of here, I’m comin’ back to visit you and drink all your wine.”

“That’s a girl. Next time let me know when you’ve got back home safe, okay? I worry about you when your car’s gone, honey, it’s not safe for pretty young girls in the dark of the night. You know that.”

“I will. If you don’t sunbathe naked anymore.”

“Unfortunately, Genevieve my dear, you cannot ask an old man to make promises when he’s already set in his ways.”

#Harry Styles #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #Veto #sunflowerhazzavol6

12 notes · View notes

mell-bell · 6 years

Text

It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do- Part 2

Yon-Rogg x Reader

Words: 3483

Series Summary: You and Yon-Rogg were friends. You trained together. You fought together. But what happens when you realize you’re on the wrong side of the war? When everything you thought you knew was a lie. When the day you had been dreading finally arrives….when Yon-Rogg has to choose, you or the war?

Author’s notes: (posted March 17, 2019) So I just want to start off saying thank you for all the love everyone has been sending I’m really glad you guys are enjoying this! Your messages and comments make my day <3 And sorry I wanted to get this up earlier today but LIFE. But I hope you enjoy this next part!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The alarm echoed loudly through the room, the abrupt sound ripping you from your dream.

You groaned, rolling over, and burying your face into your pillow. It was still dark outside, why was your alarm blaring already? It was rare for you to ever be up before mid-day. If for some reason you had to be up early, someone usually had to physically drag you out of bed, that person usually ended up on the other end of your fist.

“What time is it? Stupid ass alarm.” You mumbled to yourself, as you stretched out over the edge of the bed, trying to grab your rudely beeping comm off the nightstand.

“It’s five in the morning.” A deep voice rumbled from behind you.

You yelped, shoving away from the unknown body, inadvertently falling off the bed in the process.

Struggling to free yourself from the tangle of blankets, you squinted through the dark room trying to piece together who was sleeping in your bed. As you rubbed your throbbing elbow, a head popped over the side of the bed, looking down at you.

“What are you doing in my bed?”

Yon-Rogg’s brows shot up, “You’re in my bed, actually.”

“I....” You looked around. This wasn’t your room. That wasn’t your alarm. And that most definitely wasn’t your bed. You stood slowly, wrapping the blankets you had torn off the bed around your cold body. Swiping his comm off the nightstand, you chucked it at him. He flicked it off, the offending noise finally stopping, silence reigning through the room.

You stood motionless for a second, you and Yon-Rogg just staring at each other. The man himself looked exhausted, his usually bright eyes dull with sleep, his hair disheveled, his chest bare. You glanced down at your own wardrobe, socked feet and a long man’s t-shirt.

Shrugging you walked back towards the bed. Hip-checking Yon-Rogg, you shoved him until he scooted back to the other side of the bed and slid down back beside him.

Yon-Rogg cleared his throat and you flipped around looking at him with a questioning glance.

“You’re staying? Don’t you want to know how you even got here?”

You nodded, and without thinking about it too much, you burrowed into his side, his arm wrapping around you automatically.

There was a time, years ago, when you used to shy away from touches. But something had changed with Yon-Rogg. One day, it had started with a touch on your back. An arm around your shoulder. And then a hug. A gentle hand brushing your hair back.

And it was in this moment, lying next to him, that you realized the safest place in the world was in his arms.

You had known him for so many years at this point, you had forgotten what it was like to live without him and truthfully you weren’t sure you would be able to.

“Tell me in the morning.” You murmured as you tangled your cold legs around his, your body all but wrapped around him.

You felt his chest rumble as he laughed, “It is morning.”

“Shhhh,” You grumbled.

Yon-Rogg quieted down and you quickly fell asleep against him, missing the soft kiss he pressed to the top of your head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Three years later, 14 months after your exile:

The whip came down hard, slicing into your back. Biting down hard on your lip, you tried not to cry out, but as the whip hit you again and again, a scream ripped from your throat.

The deep rumble of the man’s voice behind you echoed through the room as he counted; the unknown language flying through your ears as if it were gibberish. You had tried counting as each strike passed, but as the pain spread, you had lost count. Hearing silence above you, you assumed it was finally over, but when you heard the unmistakable sound of his clothes rustle, you braced yourself as the whip hit you one last time.

You were on your knees, bent over on the filthy ground, bits of metal biting into your knees through the thin fabric of your clothes. Your head was hanging low, hair hiding your face. Somehow this wasn’t the worst pain you had been subjected to. But at that moment you felt like a part of you died.

When two boots stopped in front of you, your mind flashed back to the last time you were in this position, when you had looked up and met Yon-Rogg’s eyes. But when you looked up this time, the man before you was a stranger. He motioned for you to stand.

Gritting your teeth, you braced your bound hands on the ground and forced yourself to your feet, another soft whine escaping your mouth unconsciously. You swayed on your feet, feeling the blood dripping down your back. But you looked straight forward, your face blank; you knew what to expect next. You had been through this before.

The woman who had been standing silently in the corner stepped out in front of you. Her high heels and pristine white dress stood out in comparison to the old blacksmith’s lair and the company she was keeping.

She took a step forward, her heels clicking like daggers against the dirt floor. Reaching out grabbing your chin, her sharp nails cut into your face as she forced you to meet her eyes. You had never understood what people meant when they said someone had dead eyes. But this woman - sometimes you believed she wasn’t human. No emotion. No love. Just blank.

“This is what happens when you disobey. Do you understand?”

You stayed quiet, knowing if you opened your mouth you would attack her. But when her eyes narrowed and her grip on you tightened, you growled, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent.”

She released you with a jerk, your head snapping sharply to the side. She motioned toward the man behind you, “Pay him and let’s leave. You have work that needs to be done.”

Fury built in your stomach, as you reached into your pocket, pulling out the tiny amount of money you had left. You turned to the man, who had just whipped you and held it out with shaking hands. The man looked between the two of you before quickly taking the money and racing out the door.

Expecting you to follow, your master turned on her heel and took off down the cobblestone street. You shuffled along behind her, the people on the streets moving quickly out of your way. Your master was somewhat of a legend on this planet. However, she wasn’t known for her kindness or generosity, rather the pain and destruction she brought to the citizens who didn’t give her favor.

To this day, you blamed the Supreme Intelligence for the situation you were in. When you had been cast out fourteen months ago, you had woken on an unknown planet, in the middle of a worldwide auction. Caged. Handcuffed. Donning what could best be described as rags. The auctioneer yelled, SOLD. And you lost your freedom.

Your new “master”, as they called it, paid for you, you were carted off stage. And all you had seen of your new master was a flash of white.

After first few days under her “employment” passed, you expected to be out of her clutches within a week or so. But when you tried to leave, she claimed she had “saved” you and you would have to pay her back all the money she spent on you. And two years later you were still fighting to get away.

When you weren’t thieving and extorting people for her personal gain, she took in pleasure from using and abusing you. In breaking you. In stopping you from feeling. The first time she had ordered you to kill you had resisted. But when she had beat you to oblivion and threatened another one of her slaves, you gave in.

But you never stopped fighting back. And it took everything within you not to lose your humanity. You were just worried for the day when she grew bored of you resisting and finally put you down.

It was times like this that you wondered where Yon-Rogg was. If he was alright. If he was fighting back like you were. All you could hope was that he wasn’t. You hoped the Supreme Intelligence had kept its promise, that he was still alive. But what you couldn’t stop your mind from replaying was the Intelligence’s voice telling you how they planned to break him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yon-Rogg hit the heavy bag over and over again. He wasn’t sure how long he had been going. Right. Left. Right. Duck.

A hand grabbed onto his shoulder and he turned, immediately swinging at the offender.

Lora ducked out of the way, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back.

“You’re getting sloppy.”

Yon-Rogg pulled away with a grunt and turned back to the heavy bag, preparing to begin again when Lora grabbed his arm once more, “You’re bleeding.”

“And?” He said yanking his arm away, his bright eyes narrowing at her look of concern.

It had been over a year since he had lost you.

After you had collapsed, they had come after him. Beat him within an inch of his life. He had tried to fight back. But he just hadn’t been strong enough. And just when he thought he was going to die. They stopped.

When he woke up three days later, they told him you were dead. And he wished he was as well.

“You’ll have to forgive me eventually.”

Yon-Rogg blinked, his face blank.

“You have already been forgiven. Y/N is dead to me. I am a Kree soldier. There’s nothing more dangerous for a warrior than emotion.” He droned on in monotone as if he had become so used to saying it, that it had just become second nature.

Lora looked at him, not believing a word from his mouth, but nodding nevertheless.

She would never forget the day he woke up after being beaten half to death, only to learn that you were dead. She had never seen someone so broken. Someone so full of anger. In his pain, he had struck out, attacking anyone that got in his way.

He had raced through the halls, bowling over people, breaking objects left and right, until he finally reached where he needed to be. The last room he had seen you in. And when he found nothing but an immaculately clean room, he had fallen to his knees in disbelief.

In the months following, he tried to play the perfect soldier. Tried to pretend that your death meant nothing to him. But he became resistant. Lashed out. Took risks. He couldn’t get your words out of his head. That they were on the wrong side of the war. So he began to reach out, use his contacts, find out if what you said was true. He believed if he could find out the truth and do the right thing, then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have died for nothing. He would finish what you started.

He hadn’t thought anyone was paying attention until Lora warned him.

“They’re watching you. Y/N is dead and is never coming back. You need to move on. Show the Supreme Intelligence you’re a perfect soldier again.”

But he hadn’t been convincing enough.

A few months after the incident, he had been escorted to the Supreme Intelligence. He thought he would be prepared. But seeing the Intelligence wearing your face was jarring. But what was even worse were the words coming from your mouth.

There is nothing more dangerous for a warrior than emotion.

Human connection is a distraction.

Anger only serves the enemy.

The enemy is the Skrulls.

Y/N was your enemy.

Prove that you are worthy of your title.

Lora cleared her throat and Yon-Rogg’s bright eyes flashed, the chip on his neck shocking him slightly. His eye’s dulled back down as they drifted over to the Kree guards, who were closely monitoring their altercation. Without another word, he pushed her back and turned away, raising his fists before he started hitting the bag again.

The chip had been implemented during the second session with the Supreme Intelligence. It was put in place to ingrain those phrases into his head until they were all he knew. Until he became compliant, the perfect Kree soldier.

And during the day he was. But not at night. His favorite part of the day was when he drifted off into unconsciousness, for his mind always went straight to you.

They could make him forget you, make him hate you, but his dreams would be full of memories of love and friendship. And they couldn’t take that away from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It had been fourteen months since you had landed on this godforsaken planet. And you had finally found a way to get off it.

Even under your new master’s rule, you tried everything to get back to Hala. Not to join the Kree forces again. But to bring the fight to them. Whether that be as a soldier or as a spy.

The one benefit of being exiled from Hala was that you could finally join the right side of the war. Finding Skrull supporters open to former Kree soldier’s wasn’t easy. Truthfully on this border planet, there weren’t many people who even knew of the Kree and Skrull war. And those that did, didn’t trust you. And you couldn’t blame them.

Over the months, you had managed to gather bits of information by trading information for services. You didn’t have anything to bargain with except your mind and your skills. The Skrull supporters didn’t mind, because most everyone was poor on this planet and skill set was looked upon favorably.

After a while, you eventually joined a resistance force of Skrull supporters, fighting alongside men and women, who had become quick friends.

“Y/N!”

You had been leaning against the wall in the back alley for the past two hours. You knew when you made it back to your master’s house you were in for another beating, but your contact had said that this information as too important to pass up.

As your contact, Micu jogged into view you sighed in relief. She had become your partner in crime and the only one who truly knew everything about you.

“Please, tell me you’ve found a way off this shit hole.”

The woman before you smiled wide before nodding.

Loud bangs echoed from above and the buildings around you began to shake. You ducked down as pieces of bricks began to rain down on your, “What the hell?”

Micu crouched down next to you, peering out and pointing toward something in the sky, “That’s what I was trying to beat. That’s our ride. The Kree. They’re here.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched the ships begin to descend, bombs being shot down onto the city below.

“No.”

Micu’s brows furrowed, “What’s wrong?”

“That’s not just the Kree. That’s Ronan’s ship.”

Debris fell around you as you dodged left and right, running in and out of innocent civilians trying to get out of range of the ships landing.

A blaster shot flew past you and you dodged right, slamming hard into a crumbling building, your shoulder screaming at the pain. A fist flew toward your face and you ducked, swiping out your leg, taking down the Kree agent. She slammed to the ground with a thud and as you tried to step over her, she grabbed onto your leg. You tripped, twisting around as she climbed onto you, slamming her fist into your face. Bucking your hips you threw her off, picking up a stray brick, you hit her hard over the head.

She went down with a thud. You took a deep breath as chaos rained down around you. The buildings were on the brink of collapse, the citizen’s screaming as the Kree warrior’s attacked. You reached down, stealing her blaster before racing down the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Stop!” You screamed, your voice carrying over the screaming and chaos from the explosions around you. The Kree soldier’s back was to you. His whole body tensed as he froze. Your brows furrowed in confusion as the man didn’t lift his blaster and shoot you into oblivion, let alone move an inch. Your hand was steady as you held your own blaster at his back, ready for any sudden movement.

“Turn around slowly. Hands up. Put your blaster down.”

You began to creep cautiously around the debris on the ground, circling wide around the Kree soldier, trying hard to keep your attention solely on him, instead of all the innocent’s running by trying to flee from the fighting.

The soldier hadn’t moved but you knew that he was trained to kill. He wouldn’t hesitate to put you down. And you wouldn’t hesitate to repay the favor. But you needed him alive. As you moved around toward the front of him, your heart was pounding. This could be somebody you knew.

And when you caught sight of his face, your heart skipped a beat.

It couldn’t be.

“Yon?” Your voice cracked.

It was if your voice had brought him to life, because he shot forward, pushing you back against a wall. His hand wrapped around your throat, his blaster resting against your temple. His eyes were blank. You had never seen him like this. And truthfully you weren’t sure you even knew him anymore. You had no idea what he had been through this past year. Neither of you were the same people you had once been.

“Yon, it’s Y/N.” You pleaded.

“Y/N is dead. She was a traitor. You are a Skrull. My enemy.” His flat voice struck hard as if he had stabbed you straight through the stomach.

“You may have trouble killing me, I was once known as the second best Kree warrior.” You managed to gasp out.

And it was if a switch had been flipped.

“Shut up!” He screamed, his gaze focused at your chin as if he was unable to meet your eyes, but eyes had a rage in them that you were unfamiliar with, “How dare you use this face. How dare you.”

You could feel him shaking against you, and you reached up grabbing onto his arm wishing he wasn’t wearing that god-horrid Kree suit, “Yon. It’s me.”

For a second, the man before you faltered but then he just shook his head, “No. Y/N is dead. And you’re going to be next.”

Yon-Rogg took a step back, his blaster raising, aiming straight at your head. You watched as his hand shook, his finger hesitating around the trigger.

You lifted your hands in surrender.

“Show me your true face.” He spat out.

But you just shrugged, “I can’t.”

“Do it!” He screamed, taking a step forward, the blaster inching closer to your face.

You cleared your throat, “Remember that day I woke up in your bed for the first time?”

“Stop.”

“I freaked out so badly, I fell off the bed. Still remember those bruises, by the way. But I climbed back into bed with you and something changed that day. But neither of us acted on it because we wanted to be the “perfect soldiers”, everything was so much easier back then.” You let out a tiny laugh, nervously running a hand through your hair.

“You just took her memories. Stop it.”

“Do you remember when we first met-“

He cocked his blaster and you swallowed hard.

“-it had to be.... god, about six years ago now. I was freshly recruited off my home planet. And I walked into the gym only to see dozens of men and women fawning over you.”

“Enough.” His voice shook.

“About ten minutes into the work-out, I walked right up to you and told you the first joke that popped into my head, which looking back at it now was completely horrible but-“

His arm dropped, his blaster falling to the dusty ground. The sudden movement startled you and you flinched back. But when your body wasn’t met with a blaster shot, you raised your gaze, finally meeting his eyes.

You had only seen Yon-Rogg cry once in your life. But as a tear rolled down his cheek, you shot forward and wrapped yourself around him, his arms hesitating only a second before they wrapped around your back, fingers digging into your wounds that still hurt from the whipping just a few weeks ago, the pain reminding you of all you had been through.

You pulled back slightly and Yon-Rogg reached out brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your cheek. And as you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, something hard hit you over your head and you collapsed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author’s notes: Alright, I think I tagged everyone that asked, if not I’m sorry and just shoot me a message, also if you want to be tagged just let me know! Anyways, I’m well underway writing the third part! I’m gonna say I’ll probably have it up next weekend (I do work 8-5 every day so weekdays are AHH sometimes) - (next part should be posted March 24, 2019)

Tag list: @blind-daydream @overlydramatichuman @damnittjim @thebookandmoviefangirl @unitednerdyness @topsyturvy-dream

PART 3 IS NOW UP AS OF MARCH 24 2019 :D

#yon rogg #yon-rogg #yon rogg x reader #also if you notice formatting changes sorry the app sucks so I'm trying to make it easier to read #yon-rogg x reader #yon rogg fanfiction #captain marvel #carol danvers #my fanfic #jude law #yon-rogg x oc #yon-rogg fanfic #yon-rogg imagine

568 notes · View notes

rather-impertinent · 5 years

Text

Most Unexpected

A/N: this is chapter 4 of The Enys Chronicles but I don’t have my laptop rn so you’re just gonna have to read it here. But I promise it’s nice and fluffy and worth the sacrifice x

~~~~~~~

Dr Dwight Enys crept into his bedchamber after breakfast in search of his beloved pocket-watch he’d forgotten on the bedside table.

“Ah, Caroline,” he greeted with a wide smile, somewhat surprised to see her awake and dressed so early. “How are you this morning, my love?” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as he passed her.

“How am I?” Caroline asked him, crossing her arms across her chest, as though the question was the most impertinent one in the world. “How am I? I’ll tell you how I am, Dr Enys: I am with child.” She had been feeling off for several days now, and when her courses had not come again yesterday, Caroline knew there was only one explanation.

Dwight picked up the silver pocket-watch from the bedside table and swiftly dropped it to the floor in shock once his brain had taken in what Caroline had just said. His head whipped around to look at his wife. “I’m sorry?” Had he heard her correctly? “You- you’re with-?”

“Child?” she finished for him. “Yes.” Her arms were still crossed.

The doctor’s gaze went from his wife to their still dozing five month-old and back again. “But I- I don’t understand,” he stuttered. “How could such a thing...” Dwight trailed off, his stunned mind at present unable to form coherent words and sentences.

“I should think you of all people should be quite able to explain the concept, Dr Enys,” Caroline scathed before sitting down heavily on the bed. It was all so soon. And she was so tired, they both were; and now there would be no time for resting. “Christ above...” Caroline muttered quietly as she wiped her hand across her face.

“It was not His doing,” Dwight commented, a smile clear in his voice.

Caroline picked up a plush pillow and threw it at him, which he dodged expertly. Now was not the time for jests. “No, it was yours,” she accused in a grumble.

An wide, unapologetic grin stretched across Dwight’s face now that he had gotten over the shock of his wife’s announcement; though she had clearly not recovered as seamlessly as he had.

Tentatively, Dwight took a seat next to Caroline on the bed and took her hand in his, his features soft and patient. “I grant you it is... most unexpected,” he began, looking at her; she still stared straight ahead. “But is it so bad?” Dwight wondered gently.

It was then Caroline looked at him. “Bad?” she repeated. “No, no, of course not...” she insisted quietly; she then exhaled shakily. “It’s just...”

“What?” Dwight probed, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand.

“I was not prepared for it to be so soon.” The thought of giving birth again so soon after last time filled her with icy dread. What if they would not all be so lucky this time?

A small chuckle escaped Dwight’s lips. “Nor I,” he admitted. When Caroline did not share or acknowledge either his chuckle or his comment, Dwight put an arm around her. “Tell me, what is it that troubles you?”

Caroline paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “Well,” she began, “the birthing itself is daunting to say the least. You of all people know how precarious childbirth can be.” Dr Enys nodded in understanding. “It is long, arduous and unrelenting, and one worries if one’s strength is... strong enough. Then there’s the pain that follows the birthing, the exhaustion, the risk of the fever and worse...” Caroline inhaled and exhaled. “And the prospect of you not being there...”

“Why would I not be there?” Dwight wondered with creased brows.

“You were quite late last time,” Caroline reminded him.

With a twinge of guilt, Dwight nodded in receipt of her worries; he wished to soothe them but did not want to sound dismissive of her very valid fears, so he said only: “I promise I shall take only house-calls once your confinement begins, would that please you?” Caroline nodded her approval. Somewhat jokingly, Dr Enys then teased, “I promise to be the noble country squire of your dreams.”

Caroline shoved him gently for his jest, though a smile was now tugging the corner of her lips; she put her hand on his chest. “You promise?” Caroline asked, her eyes searching his. Dwight’s word was the very foundation on which he built his life.

He met her eyes and smiled softly. “I do. I promise.”

Caroline’s shoulders seemed to relax a bit at that. “Alright,” she said before letting out an exasperated sigh. “I just bought two new gowns,” Caroline whined suddenly, “I shan’t get much wear out of them now. And they shall be out of fashion in six or seven months time!” She pointed her finger at Dwight. “Dr Enys, you have much to answer for.”

Dr Enys grinned widely at the accusation. “It would seem I do,” he accepted, before pausing in thought. “Why do we not go to London within the month? Then we may be invited to balls and dinners and you may get to parade your new gowns for all of society to see,” he offered, inwardly already dreading the soirées. But wherever Caroline went, he would always follow, that was just how it was. He wouldn’t change it for the world.

Caroline’s entire face lit up. “Oh, Dwight, do you really mean it? May we truly go? Next week, perhaps?”

He kissed her hand. “If you wish it.”

“I wish it!” she enthused. Oh, to be amongst people again! To be further than Killewarren, Nampara or Sawle village! To have a dull, meaningless conversation with a stranger and not somebody who knows and owns her heart! To be free of the obligations of motherhood for a few blissful hours every few evenings! Oh, but wait... “May Sophie come with us?” Caroline asked her husband.

Dwight hesitated for a moment: the sight and smell of London came immediately to his mind, the loud hum of the city, the disease, the overindulgence, the general uncleanliness. The answer must surely be no. But then Caroline’s sad face came into his mind, as did the thought of missing some important milestone in Sophie’s development, and the thought of leaving her behind in Cornwall for a month... even in the care of Nanny or Ross and Demelza... Eventually, and not without hesitation, Dwight said: “yes.”

Caroline grew even more excited at the prospect of her trip to London so Dwight quickly threw in some conditions. “But we must be more cautious in our journey, stopping three or four or perhaps even five times a day. It may take an extra day or two to reach London, but so be it.” Caroline nodded. “And we shall not be dining out every night.” A less enthusiastic but a perceptible nod came from the direction of his wife. “Naturally, if any guest shows even the slightest sign of any illness - common or exotic in nature - we must leave at once.” Again, Caroline nodded, though more firmly this time. “Lastly, we must find some time to take Sophie to Hyde Park, she would like the ducks and the horses very much,” he concluded, his tone a little softer now.

Sensing her ears burning at the repeated use of her name, Sophie greeted the new day with some nonsensical babbles to gain her parents’ attention.

Dwight moved off the bed and approached the crib. “Good morning!” he chirped, peering at a now alert Sophie, who stretched and waved her arms in need of some loving attention. Dwight lifted her out of the crib with ease and rocked her gently. “Today is a very special day, my little love,” he told Sophie.

“And why is that, Dr Enys?” asked Caroline, controlling a smile as she knew his answer.

“Because,” Dr Enys began, his tone sing-song, “soon another child shall be born and there shall be four of us! Think of that, Sophie!” He tickled her stomach and she gurgled happily, stretching her little arms to grab a handful of his lip.

“I think she is pleased,” Caroline commented. “Though she appears far more interested in shutting you up, my love. Perhaps she may be of use to me, after all.”

“Yes, Madam Mischief appears to be quite boisterous today,” Dwight acknowledged, his sentence muffled by Sophie’s firm grip on his bottom lip, her other chubby hand squeezing his nose. “Ah, ah,” Dwight tutted gently, removing her hands from the act of rearranging his facial features, “in this house, we must keep our hands to ourselves,” he warned without heat.

Caroline cackled from the bed, her laughter nearly splitting her sides. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, the irony of you making such a claim!” Dwight shot her a look, which was met by a wicked smile.

Sophie, completely unaware as to what was going on besides the fact she was awake and with her two favourite people, sought to gain her father’s full attention again and gripped a small handful of his lightly greying hair.

“Someone is quite put out that not all the attention is on her,” Caroline commented, amused as she watched Dwight wince as he tried to pry Sophie’s hand from his head without removing half of his hair.

“A face she must learn to get used to. I wonder who taught her such behaviour in the first instance!”

“Hmm,” was all Caroline said.

Sophie began to fuss slightly in Dwight’s arms but fussed more at the prospect of being put back into her crib; Dwight sighed and wiped his face.

Caroline stood up and approached them, pausing to wave Sophie’s hand. She still seemed slightly displeased. “Why do you not sing to her?” Caroline suggested, looking at Dwight.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You truly believe that will work?” Sophie began to whimper, a storm of wails very much looming on the horizon.

Caroline shrugged and made a face at her daughter. “She seems to enjoy it usually.”

Dr Enys bounced Sophie up and down in an attempt to soothe her. “And you - do you enjoy it?” he teased his wife, though his eyes were soft.

Caroline ignored the soft allure of his blue eyes. “I enjoy teasing you about it,” she answered.

“You enjoying teasing me about everything.”

“Is that a complaint, I hear, Dr Enys?”

Dwight schooled a smile. “No, no complaints, my love,” he insisted, continuing to bounce Sophie, who was beginning to become more relaxed.

“I have a complaint,” Caroline announced without any trace of irony, “my husband promised my daughter and I a song and has failed to deliver on his word.”

Dwight gently rolled his eyes at his wife before taking a breath and softly singing:

“My sweetheart, come along, don't you hear the fond song,

The sweet notes of the nightingale flow?

Don't you hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale

As she sings in the valley below.”

Sophie shrieked in delight at the sound of the nice song her father sang to her before putting her arms around his neck as far as they would go. She then gently rested her cheek against his, offering her mama a gummy - almost teasing - smile.

“A more blatant preference I’ve yet to see,” said Caroline, attempting to sound offended, which was undermined by the softness of her eyes as she looked at them.

Dwight laughed and squished their cheeks together, father and daughter both smiling. Dwight then continued humming and began to dance with his daughter. “Then it is fortunate another child is on the way, perhaps it may prefer you and we shall be even once again,” he teased, knowing Sophie’s allegiances changed within the hour depending on what mood she was in.

Smoothing her skirts, Caroline took a seat on the bed once again. “Yes,” she murmured, a small smile on her face as she rested her hand on her still flat abdomen. “Perhaps it may be for the best, after all.” After a further few moments of studying her husband interacting with their daughter, Caroline stood up, wondering as she came to stand next to them: “Do you not have patients to see?”

“Why?” Dr Enys asked, a smirk dancing on his lips; he kissed the crown of Sophie’s head, which was beginning to produce more pronounced blonde ringlets. “Are you kicking me out?”

Caroline delicately lifted her foot and tapped his shin with it. “Yes.”

“Indefinitely?” He handed their daughter to his wife.

“Indefinitely. You must take all your ghastly potions and tonics with you and never return.”

A sigh escaped Dwight’s lips. “Will you at least grant me a goodbye kiss from my two most beloved women?”

Caroline schooled a smile. “Why? Are they here?” She kissed him softly and Dwight bent his head and gladly accepted Sophie’s pro-offered sloppy kiss.

Dr Enys picked up his medical bag and sighed heavily. He nostalgically ran his hand over the curves of the bed frame, the plushness of the chaise-lounge, the crystal door handle. He turned it and opened the oak door.

Caroline watched him go. “What time shall you be home for supper?”

“Around six, my love,” Dr Enys answered, offering her and his child a soft smile before stepping into the corridor.

“You has best not go back on your word!” Caroline called after him, envisioning the fish pie they would eat together later, “or you shall no doubt have the Lord’s wrath to contend with for the breaking of one of his Rules.”

“Commandments,” Dwight corrected his wife, who was, by her own definition, a perfect heathen. The doctor’s head appeared from around the doorframe. “It may please you to know that the prospect of the Lord’s wrath is not nearly as unpleasant as the prospect of your wrath, Caroline.”

Caroline arched an eyebrow and smirked at her husband. “So I should hope.”

With a quick, mischievous grin, Dr Enys disappeared down the corridor to begin his rounds.

#poldark #poldark fanfic #carolight #sophie enys #tec

34 notes · View notes

joe-mazzello-archive · 5 years

Text

The Strangers - Chapter One - Cold as Ice

A Joe Mazzello x OC fic

Word Count: 5.8k

Chapter Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, sexual references

A/N: Here we go, gang! Please please please feel free to send me feedback/questions/theories. I want to hear from y’all! Also I do technically have a playlist for this series but since each chapter is a song title, the playlist is a bit on the spoilery side so I’ll wait until after it’s finished to link it. Also sorry that Ben is accidentally Barney Stinson. I needed someone to balance out Joe.

Joe shifted in the cold leather chair he sat in. He couldn’t help but fidget as he patiently waited for the door to the office across from him to open. He looked at his watch. 4:32pm. He’d been waiting for over ten minutes now, hoping that somehow his punctuality would make the meeting to go well.

His eyes wandered to the plaque next to the door. Theatre Arts Department Chair was engraved neatly into the gold metal. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought back to a conversation he had with Ben a week ago, before the meeting had even been scheduled.

“Mate, the fact that you’re not already the department chair over that old geezer is beyond me!” Ben had all but shouted through the crowded bar, swinging his mostly empty beer bottle around wildly. “I mean he doesn’t do shit! He sits at his big desk doing fuck all and takes a huge check home every month! You’re the one who really runs that department.” Joe threw his head back in laughter.

“Well last time I checked, he’s still got the title and I’m still a lowly professor. But I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ben,” Joe replied before finishing off his own beer.

“You should just take that shiny gold plate off the wall and hang it next to your office. See how long it takes that idiot to even notice!” Ben countered before waving down the bartender. Joe noticed and pushed his friend’s arm down.

“I think we’re both done for the night, dude. Besides, you’ve been so focused on me you haven’t even picked out your prey for the night,” Joe teased.

“Ey! Don’t call the women I sleep with and then never call again ‘prey’! I’m offended you think so little of me, Joseph,” Ben argued, before turning to survey the room.

The conversation seemed so long ago to Joe. What had started as a rant about how the department didn’t have enough funding to put on the shows he wanted to do led to a discussion about how Joe hadn’t received a raise in years. Ben urged him to setup a meeting with the department chair. The next day he found himself sending an email to his boss, asking to discuss the plans for the department for the next term.

A day after that, Joe regretted ever hitting send. In his inbox sat an email reply from the grumpy old man himself.

Sure. My office, Friday 4:30pm.

And there he sat, outside that very office, his knee bouncing the messenger bag that sat on his lap as he rehearsed in his head what he wanted to say to the man.

Finally, the door opened and Joe all but jumped to his feet.

“Mr. Mazzello, come on in,” the man growled, his deep gravelly voice giving the impression that he had a perpetual sore throat. Joe shuffled into the large office, eyes glued to the floor, heart pounding. He cursed himself for listening to Ben. He’s rarely listened to Ben before. Why did he start now?

The old man grunted as he sat down, his desk chair that had been there since the department was built squeaking underneath his weight. Joe took a seat in one of the dusty chairs on the other side of the large wooden desk. Clearly this office rarely saw visitors.

As the old man adjusted his tie and glasses, Joe took a moment to glance around the spacious office. The off-white walls were bare except for a few certificates framed behind the elder man’s head. A small bookshelf sat off to the side, the shelves half empty, with only various binders and knick knacks cluttering the spaces. In the corner sat a tall filing cabinet that looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. The man’s desk was almost bare except for a laptop computer, a pile of papers, and one lone picture frame that faced him. Joe couldn’t help but be curious as to who’s face the chairman looked at all day long, considering the man had never married nor had children.

The room was the complete opposite of Joe’s chaotic office. Every bit of wall space in Joe’s office was covered in posters for previous productions, show programs, and framed photos of casts and crews from shows past. He hadn’t seen the actual top of his desk since his first year as a professor, every inch being covered in scripts and books.

“I believe you mentioned in your email that you wanted to discuss next term. If I recall correctly, I already approved next year’s season of shows,” the man said, his head cocked to the side as he stared at the young professor. Joe wrung his hands together as worked up the nerve to respond.

“Yes sir, you did,” was Joe’s simple reply, his voice shaky.

“Then what more needs discussing?” the man asked, somewhat incredulously. Joe took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully.

“This past term, we ran into roadblocks when it came to our budget for our productions. We wanted to do things that weren’t realistic when it came to what funding we did have. So I dipped into my own funds to make those things happen. And as a result, we put on some of the best shows the department has ever done.” Joe suddenly found a burst of confidence, surprised at how assured his statements sounded.

“I was unaware of this. Did you submit for reimbursement? That can easily be arranged,” the man replied, his demeanor softening at Joe’s words. Joe felt the energy in the room shift; as if Joe was now in control of the conversation.

“I honestly don’t think that’s necessary, sir. What I am asking for is that you find more in the department budget for our productions, so we can make these things happen with nothing to hold us back,” Joe proposed, the quivering in his voice completely gone now.

The man paused for a moment, processing what had just been asked of him. He turned to his laptop, squinting as he began to mash at the keyboard. Joe sat frozen, his confidence beginning to waver as he waited with bated breath for the old man’s reply. After what felt like an hour, but was probably no more than ten seconds, the man turned back to the auburn-haired professor.

“Consider it done.”

Joe’s eyes widened and he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“Sir?” he squeaked out.

“I was extremely impressed with this past season. If you’re telling me you can continue to reach that level of quality and beyond, I see no reason to not expand the production budget,” the man continued. Joe couldn’t help but grin like an idiot, surprised at the response he had gotten.

“Thank you sir, we can absolutely do that,” Joe replied, nodding almost too eagerly. The old man turned back to his laptop, typing away once again.

“I’m also going to approve a 10% salary increase for you,” the man added before standing up and stretching out his hand.

Joe mirrored his actions, getting up so fast that the blood rushed to his head. He took the man’s hand and shook it vigorously.

“Thank you, so much sir. I don’t know what to say,” Joe spat out, realizing that he was probably shaking the man’s hand too long. Joe released the chairman’s hand, realizing his own hands were jittery with excitement.

“No need to say any more, I actually have another meeting in a few minutes. Enjoy the rest of your Friday, Mr. Mazzello,” the man answered, sitting back down and immediately turning back to his computer, as if Joe wasn’t even in the room anymore.

“You too, sir. Thank you again!” Joe crowed as he grabbed his bag and moved towards the exit. The man didn’t even look back up.

It wasn’t until Joe was back in his own office that he truly processed everything that had just happened. Not only did he successfully argue for more funding, he got a raise without even asking. He whipped out his phone, pulling up his friends’ group chat.

Joe: I MADE THAT MEETING MY BITCH Lucy: You kiss your mother with that mouth? Ben: you got the funding???? Joe: AND A RAISE Rami: I have no idea what we’re talking about. Lucy: Babe I told you, Joe was trying to convince the department head to give him more money for shows. Ben: fuck yeah mate!!!! Bevs tonight to celebrate??? Joe: I absolutely need a beer. Or several. Rami: I’m in. Lucy: I’m there too! Ben: as the kids say, let’s get TURNT Joe: Please never say that again.

And that’s how Joe found himself bar-hopping in the city with his three closest friends. After closing out the bill in bar number three, Joe was starting to pass the threshold between tipsy and drunk. He debated about calling himself an Uber, pulling up the app to determine how much one would be. But suddenly his phone was ripped from his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing? The night is so very young, Joseph,” Ben slurred, locking Joe’s phone and putting it in his own pocket. Ben swung his arm around Joe’s shoulders. “We still gotta hit up Sully’s!”

“I’ve heard that place is such a dive, Ben. Can we go literally anywhere else?” Lucy asked, swirling the last of her cocktail before downing it. Rami’s arms were wrapped around her waist while he slowly swayed to the background music playing through the bar’s speakers.

“How else are we gonna find a girl who’ll be interested in Joe?” Ben said with a shit-eating grin, squeezing Joe’s shoulder.

“Gee thanks, Ben,” Joe replied with an eye roll.

“Besides, an old mate of mine is one of the bartenders there. I’m sure he can hook us up with some free drinks or something,” Ben added, practically dragging Joe towards the bar exit. Lucy and Rami followed behind without further argument.

After stumbling four or five blocks, the group finally found the correct street. A neon red sign reading “BAR” hung above the door and the name Sullivan Street was etched in white letters on the window.

Ben led the group inside the almost full bar. Joe couldn’t help but scan the room, Ben’s comment rolling around in his head. Not that he had been actively looking before tonight, but it had been awhile since Joe had been with someone. Mostly because his work took most of his focus away. But with only exam week left before the summer began, Joe felt like he finally had time for something. Or someone.

His eyes darted around the bar as the group continued to follow the blonde Brit. Ben wove through the crowd to the stairs leading to the second floor. The upper floor was much smaller and definitely less crowded. A small bar with one lone bartender was tucked in the corner, while the room was littered with high top tables. At the back of the room was a small stage boasting an array of instruments surrounding a large drumset with the words Parkway Diner neatly painted on the bass drum.

Ben made his way over to the bar, the group close behind. The lone bartender’s face lit up as Ben approached him. While the two exchanged pleasantries and a handshake, the group took seats at the bar, Joe continuing to survey his surroundings. A female laugh rang out and drew his attention to one of the high-tops closest to the stage. The laugh belonged to a small woman with bleached blonde hair that she styled in a messy pixie cut. Her burgundy crew-neck sweatshirt contrasted against the sea of tank tops and t-shirts the other bar-goers wore. A shiny black color coated her nails; standing out against the pale skin of her hand that held her beer.

Joe watched as she clinked that beer with the three men surrounding her at the table. Joe was immediately intrigued by the woman, who almost looked too young to be in a bar. He watched as she pulled out her phone, glancing at the screen before shoving it back into the pocket of her black jeans. She raised her hand, seemingly signaling something to the men around her. They immediately understood whatever the message was, as they all simultaneously left the table and headed through a door next to the stage.

Joe suddenly understood. They were the band, and they had five minutes until their set.

But the woman remained, downing the rest of her beer. She turned and surveyed the room, almost the same as Joe had been doing moments before. All of a sudden, her eyes connected with his, and he found himself smiling.

But the moment was brief, as the woman just continued to look around the room, not even noticing Joe.

“Earth to Mazzello!” Ben’s voice rang out in Joe’s ear, pulling him from his trance.

“Sorry, what?” Joe replied, turning to face his friend.

“Gwil, this inattentive asshole is my coworker, Joe,” Ben said to the tall bartender.

“Pleasure to meet you, Joe,” the bartender greeted, stretching his hand out for a shake. “I’m Gwilym, but call me Gwil.” Joe shook the man’s hand, quickly noticing how much the bartender towered over him.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Joe answered before quickly turning his attention back to the high top by the stage. But the woman had vanished, forcing Joe’s focus back to his friends. “Is there a band performing tonight?”

“Oh yeah. Friday nights we have a seventies pop and rock cover band called Parkway Diner,” Gwil responded, wiping down an empty glass.

“They any good?” Ben asked, playing with a lime on the bar before Gwil swatted his hand away.

“Oh, they’re way too good to be playing here. Their drummer and lead singer is incredible,” Gwil replied before gesturing to the rest of the group. “Drinks anyone? First round is on me.”

Drink orders were taken as a distracted Joe’s mind couldn’t shake the image of the small blonde woman. He looked at his watch, hoping the five minute warning she gave the other men was up soon so she’d reappear.

As if on cue, the other bar patrons began to cheer as the woman and her bandmates entered the stage. The woman pulled two drumsticks from her boot as she found her spot at the drum kit. Joe watched her curiously as she fidgeted with a microphone that was at level with her face.

Before Joe could inquire more about the woman, a guitar riff pierced through the bar. The woman seemed unfazed as she joined in on the drums, the rest of the band following suit. The woman leaned towards the microphone, never missing a beat before singing out.

Now if you're feelin' kinda low 'bout the dues you've been paying Future's coming much too slow And you want to run but somehow you just keep on stayin' Can't decide on which way to go Yeah, yeah, yeah I understand about indecision But I don't care if I get behind People livin' in competition All I want is to have my peace of mind

Joe was entranced by the woman. Her voice was beautifully raspy and harsh, perfectly fitting the hard rock song. She belted every note with ease, all while she drummed away. Joe found himself hypnotized by her passion as she performed, each note and drum beat piercing through him. He felt a tap on his shoulder and a glass of beer was shoved in front of him. He grabbed it, his eyes not leaving the stage for even a moment.

Now you're climbin' to the top of the company ladder Hope it doesn't take too long Can'tcha you see there'll come a day when it won't matter? Come a day when you'll be gone, whoa I understand about indecision But I don't care if I get behind People livin' in competition All I want is to have my peace of mind Take a look ahead, take a look ahead, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Joe was completely blown away. The woman’s fervor in her performance was intoxicating; she played the drums like it was the most important thing she could ever do. But the thing that Joe was most affected by was the woman’s absolute joy as she struck each drum and sang each lyric. She smiled and laughed, seemingly losing herself in the music. Joe was almost jealous; he wracked his memories, trying to determine if he’d ever been that happy in his life.

Now everybody's got advice they just keep on givin' Doesn't mean too much to me Lots of people out to make-believe they're livin' Can't decide who they should be, whoa I understand about indecision But I don't care if I get behind People livin' in competition All I want is to have my peace of mind Take a look ahead, take a look ahead, look ahead

She sang out the last lyric with such intensity, that by the time she stopped singing, Joe realized he had been holding his breath. The woman continued to beat the set in front of her, finishing the song by throwing her sticks above her head.

Joe hadn’t even noticed the crowd that had formed in front of the group until they roared with applause. Joe joined in, cheering and clapping for the performance.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding, Gwil,” Rami shouted over the crowd.

“Yeah, they’re the real deal,” Gwil replied before turning his attention to another patron.

The band played a few more songs for the continually growing crowd. Joe’s friends chatted away behind him, while his attention never left the stage. Despite the several drinks he had consumed since the night began, Joe felt sober as ever. He only knew one thing: he needed to meet the woman on the stage before him.

As each song ended, Joe prayed that it was the last, wanting nothing more than for the woman to return to her original high top so he could weave his way over to her. He wanted to be around her, hear her speak, ask her questions. He was so fascinated by her and he didn’t even know her name.

Finally, the desperate man got his wish.

“Thanks everyone, we’re gonna take a short break and be back in a little bit,” the guitar player announced through his microphone.

Joe’s eyes followed the woman as she squeezed past her drumset and the discarded instruments amongst the stage. And much to his delight, she headed right his way.

“Gwilly! The usual please,” the woman shouted before slapping both hands on the bar counter next to Joe, paying him no mind.

“Already got it ready for ya,” Gwil replied, handing her a mixed drink. “Oh, Mar, this is an old mate of mine, Ben. And these are his friends.”

“Gwil, you have a friend other than me? I’m proud of you, bud,” the woman teased before sticking her tongue out at him. Gwil flipped her off in response.

“I’m Lucy and this is my boyfriend Rami. You’re so talented!” Lucy gushed as she rested her hand on her heart. The woman chuckled before responding, the sound like music to Joe’s ears. He wanted nothing more than to make her laugh again and again.

“I’m Marley. And thanks,” she replied quickly before taking a sip of her drink.

“I’m Joe,” Joe added, unable to hide the huge grin that had taken up residence on his face. Marley simply nodded in response, seemingly uninterested in the group’s presence.

“Pleasure,” Marley responded coldly, turning back to Gwil and taking another sip of her drink. “Gwil, can you tell Paul the right amp is being weird again? I can still hear a tiny bit of feedback.”

Joe wanted her attention again, but the woman seemed more focused on the drink in her hand than anything else.

“Why can’t you tell him?” Gwil countered, pouring a beer for himself.

“He’s still mad I called him a cuntfuck, so he’s giving me the silent treatment,” Marley answered, before she downed the rest of her drink, slammed the glass on the counter, and headed back in the direction of the stage.

And just like that she was gone. The group was left speechless, with Joe caught up on the way she said “cuntfuck” so casually.

“Well she’s a friendly one, huh?” Ben sarcastically commented after a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Yeah that’s Mar for ya. She’s a bit rough around the edges. Took her months of playing here to finally warm up to me,” Gwil offered.

“Is she single?” Joe asked, his own words surprising him. He had been thinking it, but wasn’t planning on actually asking it. Gwil let out a deep belly laugh.

“Good luck with that one, mate. Like I said, tough one to crack,” Gwil said, continuing to laugh.

Joe furrowed his brow, put off by the man’s laugh at his expense. So she was not the most friendly person at first. Big deal, Joe had met people like her before. He had students who put up the same walls. He knew that under her hard shell, she was full of passion. He could tell by the way she lost herself in her music.

Joe knew he had to be patient. He knew people like that needed time to open up, to be vulnerable. He didn’t want to “figure her out”; he didn’t want to search through her soul and dig up her deepest insecurities. He wanted her to offer herself openly, to trust him enough to let down her walls.

Joe chastised himself for only saying two words to her, feeling like he fumbled their first meeting. But he wasn’t going to let that or Gwil’s reaction deter him.

Marley. Her name rang through his mind as he watched her return to her spot behind the bass drum, effortlessly twirling a drumstick between her fingers. The familiar intro of “Roxanne” by the Police rang out through the room. Joe spotted an empty high top closer to the stage, the same table the band had occupied before their first set. He made his way over to it, weaving through the droves of people singing along, leaving his friends and the judgmental bartender behind. He leaned on the table, nursing his beer as Marley and the rest of the band played their hearts out. Joe’s eyes centered in on the fiery blonde, watching every flick of her wrists, every arch of her back. She finished singing the first chorus and flung her head to the side, letting the music dictate her movement. She bobbed to the beat of the musical break, turning to survey the crowd.

And for the second time that night, her eyes locked onto Joe’s. This time he wasn’t grinning like an idiot. He kept his eyes soft, but his face almost completely neutral. Her stare lingered for a moment, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips before turning back to the mic to start the next verse.

Progress, Joe thought. He only wanted to pique her curiosity in him, to even the playing field a bit. Marley had taken up so much space in Joe’s head already, he wanted her to wonder about him too.

The rest of the group eventually joined him at the high top as the night went on. Rami and Lucy swayed to the music and even sang along to some of the songs, with Ben more focused on the drunk brunette who had been hanging all over him for the past half hour. Every once in awhile, Marley’s eyes would meet Joe’s. Each meeting was like a duel, both parties challenging the other to look away. Joe won every time, having the advantage of not having to perform for a group of rowdy bar-goers.

After a few more classic seventies hits, the band finally finished their set to deafening applause from the crowd. Joe had to admit that Gwil was right about one thing, they really were way too good to be playing in a dive bar like Sully’s. Joe wondered if they played original music, filing that question away for when he actually got to have an actual conversation with Marley.

The three men each bowed while Marley simply gave the audience a half-assed mock salute before climbing off the stage and heading straight back to the bar. Joe stood up straight from the table, before an arm snaked around his shoulders.

“You ready to call it?” Lucy asked, resting her head against Joe. “Rami is seconds away from falling asleep. I think Ben fucked off somewhere with that girl so the three of us can split an Uber.” Joe glanced in the direction of the bar, the stools empty except for Marley, who appeared to be having a wildly dramatic conversation with Gwil.

“I think I’m gonna stick around, Luce. But thanks,” Joe replied, snaking his own arm around Lucy’s back to pull her into a side hug.

“Okay, text me when you get home so I know you’re not dead,” she added before peeling Rami off the high top.

“Will do.”

He patted his pocket and suddenly realized that Ben still had his phone. Well shit. He shook the thought from his head. He had more important matters to attend to.

Once the pair disappeared down the stairs, Joe began to make his way back over to the bar. He quickly downed the rest of his beer as he approached, giving him a reason to go to the bar other than the woman perched at it. Suddenly he was cut off by a hand landing on his shoulder.

“Hey, there you are. Where are the lovebirds?” Ben questioned, eyes darting around in search of the couple.

“They headed out. Where have you been?” Joe countered, shrugging Ben’s hand off.

“Oh you know, the bathroom,” Ben answered evasively. Joe then noticed the dark mark under Ben’s left ear and he suddenly understood.

“For fuck’s sake, Ben. Not even taking her back to your place this time? You just knocked it out in the bathroom of a shitty bar?” Joe teased, shaking his head.

“Hey, I offered, but the girl had no patience. I just gave her what she wanted,” Ben boasted. Joe rolled his eyes.

“What a gentleman,” Joe commented. “Can I have my phone back please?”

“So what are you still doing here?” Ben asked, slamming Joe in the chest with his own phone. Joe took the phone back and simply looked in the direction of the bar at the woman seated there. She was laughing at something Gwil had said, the sound carrying throughout the bar that was slowly emptying now that the show was over. Ben followed Joe’s eyes and understood immediately. “You trying to go for the drummer?”

“I just want to talk to her,” Joe admitted, his voice low.

“Well good thing your best friend is here to wingman for ya,” Ben offered, swinging an arm around Joe’s shoulders. Joe shrugged it off with a chuckle.

“Lucy is my best--”

“Shut up, let’s go,” Ben interrupted before heading towards the bar. He slapped his palms down on the counter, much like Marley had done before. He slid on the stool one away from Marley, giving Joe the opportunity to take the spot next to her. Maybe Ben did know what he was doing. Joe took his seat, briefly glancing to his right. He found Marley’s brown eyes glaring at him for a moment before turning back to her drink.

“Gwilym, another round for me and Joseph. The boy needs it,” Ben exclaimed. The tall bartender nodded before grabbing two glasses.

Joe pondered what to say to the woman next to him. He wanted to come off as cool and collected, not wanting to act like he was as engrossed by her as he truly was. He didn’t want her to think he was some slimy dude trying to get in her pants. He needed to establish himself as someone as intriguing as she was. Gwil handed him his beer with a nod and a knowing smile. He was onto Joe.

Joe pushed the bartender out of his head and leaned slightly in Marley’s direction.

“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but you’ve got a killer voice,” Joe offered, his own voice somewhat quiet so only she could hear him. He played the sentence back in his head. Was it too gushy? Was it too cliche? Suddenly his normal confidence when talking to women was disappearing. He was second-guessing himself. He found himself briefly glancing at Ben for his reaction, but the Brit was too wrapped up in a conversation with Gwil. He was on his own. Some wingman, Joe thought. But his trepidation was immediately sated by Marley’s slight chuckle.

“Eh, I don’t mind hearing it anyway. Thanks,” Marley answered, holding her drink towards him, almost as a peace offering. Joe smiled and clinked his glass against hers. They both took a sip of their respective drinks before Joe continued.

“It kind of begs the question, what the hell are you doing in a place like this?” Joe inquired, propping his elbow on the bar and his chin on his knuckles. Marley was unfazed by the question, giving a noncommittal shrug.

“Pays the bills,” she responded, fingers tracing the condensation on her glass.

“Why seventies music?” Joe asked. Marley finally turned to face him, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

“You are just full of questions, aren’t you?” Marley challenged. Joe was unsure if she was genuinely annoyed or just playing with him. He decided to take the risk.

“How else are we supposed to get to know each other?”

“Who says I want to get to know you?”

“Well you haven’t called me a ‘cuntfuck” yet, so I’m taking that as a good sign.”

Marley threw her head back with a cackle, the sound reverberating through Joe’s chest.

“Touche, random guy, touche,” she finally said, arching an eyebrow. “You haven’t been a cuntfuck. At least not yet.”

“I guess there’s still time,” Joe added with a smile. “And it’s Joe.”

“Right. Joe,” she corrected, unfolding her arms and relaxing a bit. Joe was now close enough to notice that her maroon sweatshirt had small white text across the front of it. Squinting to try and decipher it in the dim lighting of the bar, he suddenly recognized the words. The infamous “to be or not to be” speech from Hamlet.

“Shakespeare, huh?” Joe pointed out, nodding his head in the direction of the text in question. “A woman after my own heart.”

Another deep cackle. This one a bit more forced than the last.

“Not in the slightest,” Marley responded with a smirk, patting Joe’s thigh and turning back to sip her drink. The interaction was confusing, her words like a slap in the face but her touch warming every inch of his body. Joe couldn’t let himself get caught up in the moment. He had to keep the conversation going, or she’d lose interest.

“So do you agree with Hamlet?” Joe asked. Marley cocked her head, clearly surprised by either the question itself or the fact that Joe wasn’t discouraged by her rejection. Maybe both. She turned back to the man, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Are you asking if I agree that the concept of death is scary? Or if I agree that taking one’s life is the most powerful thing one can do the combat the shittiness of living? Because both questions are pretty heavy-handed considering we’ve just met,” Marley argued, leaning forward to emphasize her point.

“Would you rather I ask about your favorite color or whether you prefer Coke to Pepsi?” Joe countered, arching an eyebrow. Marley paused, eyeing Joe up and down and pursing her lips.

“I would rather ask you a question for once, oh curious one,” she finally answered. More progress. He had her hooked. “So. Joe. What do you do? You know, other than pester random women in bars.” It was Joe’s turn to chuckle.

“I’m a theatre professor over at the college,” Joe revealed. Marley smirked and nodded.

“Oh, yeah. That explains a lot,” Marley commented, before finishing her drink. Joe folded his arms this time, leaning closer.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Marley opened her mouth to respond, but Gwil appeared.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re closing up shop soon,” the bartender admitted, swinging a towel over his shoulder and handing Joe his bill. Joe glanced at his watch. 1:57am. He groaned, knowing his time with the woman was up.

“Well, this certainly has been...a conversation,” Marley declared, drumming her fingers on her thighs. Joe signed his bill with a smile.

“That it was,” Joe replied, before grabbing a cocktail napkin. He jotted down his number and slid the napkin towards Marley. She eyed the napkin with an arched eyebrow. “In case you want to banter with me again.”

Marley’s eyes flashed between Joe and the napkin a few times. Joe held his breath, hoping the bold move would pay off. After a few more seconds and another pursing of her lips, she snatched the napkin and stuffed it into her pocket. Without another word, she hopped off the stool and disappeared into the door next to the stage.

Joe finally let out the breath he had been holding, sliding off of his own bar stool. Ben nudged him.

“How’d you do? I’ll be honest, I was not paying attention whatsoever,” Ben admitted, as the two men began to make their way down the stairs and towards the bar’s exit.

“Yeah, I noticed. And I think it went well. I gave her my number,” Joe answered. Ben chuckled and shook his head lovingly.

“Mate, you’re supposed to get her number,” Ben countered as he pushed the front door of the bar open for the two of them.

“I figured she probably wouldn’t give it to me if I asked. So I put the ball in her court,” Joe said with a shrug.

A short Uber ride later, Joe found himself back in his own apartment. He sighed as he settled into bed, Marley still at the forefront of his mind. Everything about her was absolutely fascinating. She had a youthful radiance about her, yet she was hard and cynical. She performed with such love for what she was doing, but the second she was off the stage, she hated the world. Joe hadn’t met anyone like her before.

But for now all he could do was let his mind wander, and hope that he’d hear from her soon.

All he could do was wait.

Taglist: @hellysthings @queenspur @briarrose26

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x oc #joe mazzello fic #joe mazzello imagine #joemazzmatazz #ben hardy #rami malek #lucy boynton #gwilym lee

21 notes · View notes

everlarkficexchange · 5 years

Text

To be Her O.A.O. (one-and-only)

written by: @noneyabidnes

Rating: Mature (in future chapters)

Prompt 73: Katniss marries Gale before he’s sent to fight WWII. Gale sends home his buddy Peeta to break the news to his wife and family that he’s fallen in love with someone else in Europe and is staying there after the war… Peeta is under the impression Katniss is a cold woman that only married his friend out of obligation but finds out the other side of the story soon enough. [submitted by @alliswell21]

Tags: era-appropriate derogatory terms for Axis powers, amputation, angst

A/N: I got permission from @alliswell21 to shift from Europe to the Pacific Theater of Operations, since I geek out over that side of WWII history (my Pop was in some of the places mentioned in this story.) This was intended as a one-shot. I didn’t want to commit to chapters, but it’s spiraled out of control and now I can’t stop myself. I’ll cross-post it on ffnet (ryebrewster) and hopefully will find some closure. If you find some of the language awkward or somewhat un-PC, I was attempting to be era and region appropriate, but it’s hard to write an Appalachian and a Philly accent without both coming across pretty hick. Guess I never listened to myself talk before. -rye

–//–//–//–//–//–//–//–

Chapter 1

At the moment, I can’t believe this road ever ends. It rolls away from me, ever higher, ever rockier, taunting me with each uneven step I take. Foolish me had thought I would just hitch a ride. I should have guessed from the name that it would be a ‘road less traveled by.’ Rocky Ridge doesn’t exactly sound welcoming, but Gale had always made it sound like the closest a man could get to heaven. At least, until he met a certain honey-tongued Polynesian girl whose hips swayed like the island breezes. Then heaven made a quick detour to places on her that we best not discuss in public and I definitely won’t be discussing whenever I find the end of this infernal road.

I pause, resting on a particularly large boulder off the side of the narrow road. Hard to believe any car could make it up the path. Certainly not my Dad’s old Tudor, scraping its fenders on each slight turn to avoid the next large rock too heavy to move, and barely jeepable given how narrow. Briefly my inability to drive doesn’t seem like such a bad thing, but then the throbbing in my left leg reminds me that walking isn’t a great alternative either. I’m still getting the hang of my prosthetic, despite all the weeks (oh God, it’s been months, hasn’t it) spent in rehab in San Diego.

Gazing around me, I can begin to see what Gale always beat his gums about. These forests are beautiful, and so peaceful. Such a shift from the tropical forests in which we stewed. The proximity of my memory is enough to shake me from enjoying the moment. The color green took on such an ugly connotation during the war. Sitting on this boulder, I feel like I want to reclaim the hue and give it back its fresh and lovely place in my mental palate, but I do wonder if there will ever be a time when I won’t associate lush forests with machine-gun fire and jungle rot.

As the leaves flutter in the breeze, I catch a brief glimpse of metal roof in the distance. Finally, I may be making progress. Once more I pull the wrinkled and cracked photo from my pocket. Katniss. Her scowl hasn’t changed since he first handed me the image three years ago. At the time, it was to boast about the girl waiting back home. When he handed it to me again five months ago, it was to beg me to explain to her. To get her forgiveness, if not her blessing, for him not coming home. I hope the lump of cash in my rucksack would help to secure it, but her scowl challenges me each time I look at it. He’d said she was an easy woman to love, but an impossible one to live with. I can only imagine how she’ll feel about a crippled stranger appearing on her doorstep.

Righting myself again, I’ve renewed hope that the distance isn’t much farther. It’s as I round another bend that I hear the arrow whizzing past and striking a tree several feet to my left. My gaze slides to my right as I’m reminded that I’ve no firearm.

“I don’t miss twice,” the voice growls from the foliage. It’s feminine and angry, a combination I’ve been warned about but didn’t think I would confront quite so soon.

“I don’t intend to be aimed at twice.”

“Could hear you coming from a mile away. What business you got up Rocky Ridge?”

“Gale sent me.”

I can hear the air sucked out of her lungs despite the distance. The silence stretches on before she quietly emerges, her bow lowered at her side. Immediately I know it’s her. I’ve stared at her picture long enough that I would know those high cheekbones and quicksilver eyes anywhere. Her braid is loose with fly-aways and her neck shows the proof of a battle with some clawed creature. For a moment my memory jumps back to Philadelphia and the unfortunate circumstances of my own childhood, but I think these scratches aren’t human. Katniss clearly is of the forest, part dryad, part fairy, Artemis herself standing before me, at home in nature in a way I’ve never been.

“Gale? Is he…?” she breathes out, fear seeping into the short syllables.

“He’s alive.” It’s all she needs to hear for now. Her head drops and she lets out another long breath.

“I guess you’ll be wanting something to drink. Doesn’t look like you packed for the hike.”

“I am a bit parched. My canteen dried up two clicks ago. You’d think I’d be better at rationing, but I had no idea the road was this long.”

“Clicks? You talk funny. Where you from?”

“Philadelphia, ma’am, but clicks is how we measure distance in the Marines. Kilometers. Gale never mentioned you guys live so far out of town.”

She just nods, turning her back to me and heading off through the greenery, on a path only she sees. I follow her on the assumption that it must be a short-cut to the house, not because I’m keen to test my prosthetic out over the exposed roots and downed branches.

“I can’t walk as fast as you, ma’am. The Japs took my leg along with a bunch of my friends.”

She stops and slowly turns back to face me. “And you walked all this way? Why didn’t you catch a ride in town?”

“I didn’t realize no one would be coming out this way. Like I said, I grew up in Philadelphia. There’s always traffic everywhere you look. Never occurred to me that I might walk out of town and never pass another car.”

“I can walk slower. I’m not getting any hunting done with you making all that racket. My sister’ll check your leg when we get up there, then I can give you a ride back.”

“I did come to speak to you.”

She nods again, turning away from whatever I might have to say. Silence descends upon us. Normally I would fill it, but I’m struggling enough just to stay upright, that I don’t bother to engage her, and I figure her for the quiet type anyway. She’s alert, taking in the sounds of the forest around us, and I find myself remembering following Gale in much the same way through the mountains of Okinawa, the resemblance both eerie and comforting.

After longer than my leg would prefer, a clearing opens up before us with a handful of houses and barns dotted across the ridge. Sheep and goats graze below me in a field while a couple horses stand in the shadow of the closest barn. It appears to have seen better days, needing a fresh coat of paint, but it’s obvious that someone has been attempting repairs on it from the ladder propped against the side leading to relatively fresh boards. She catches me staring at it as she turns around to check my progress.

“We had a bit of a storm a couple weeks back. Some branches took out an old window. Took forever to clean up all the glass, but at least none of the goats ate any.”

I take it that she performed the repair herself, a fact that would surprise me if she were any of the women I grew up around, but seems perfectly normal given what I’ve already learned of her. I search the hillside for any sign of a man, young or old, and come up empty.

“Do Gale’s brothers help you out at all?”

Her eyes narrow at me, clearly not suspecting I had knowledge of the younger boys. Her scowl settles as she explains, “Rory’s taken up working for the lumber yard in town and he takes Vick down with him. Vick runs deliveries for the grocery. They both pull their weight around here. We all do.”

She’s offended, that much is clear. “I would never doubt that you do, ma’am. From everything Gale told me, you’re all a well-oiled machine up here. I just don’t think he knew the boys had taken up jobs while he was gone. I think he hoped his pay was enough to keep you all afloat, along with your hunting of course.”

Her scowl deepens as she steps closer to me. “You say he’s alive but you keep talkin’ bout him in the past tense. You gonna tell me what you’re doin here, soldier? You seem to know an awful lot about my business.”

I can’t help but stumble back at the intensity of her ire. It draws her attention to my leg, still unstable on the steep ground. Her face softens briefly before the scowl returns. “Let’s get you inside and off that leg.”

The house is just a handful of rooms lumped together with a porch across the front. It’s clear at a glance that as space was needed, they just built on with whatever materials were available, but there’s a pride that’s been taken in the appearance nonetheless. Flowers bloom along the front of the porch and herbs hang drying from the rafters. Two rockers with flowered cushions are tucked against the house, sheltered equally from the sun and any rain that might roll through.

As we step through the door the only light filtering through comes from a handful of windows of varying sizes. Gauze curtains blow gently at the open panes, reminding me of mosquito nets. I shake the memory off before it drags me down, instead turning my attention to the closest chair quickly being vacated by a young woman with delicate features similar to Katniss’s.

“Prim, let him sit. He’s a bad leg. Might need you to look at it. Walked all the way up here.”

“Why didn’t he ask Haymitch for a ride? Not like the man has anything better to do.” The young woman I’m guessing is Prim glances at me with equal parts scowl and concern as she makes room for me to sit.

“Not from around ‘ere, so he doesn’t know Haymitch from Adam,” Katniss offers. “Says he knows Gale.”

Prim halts in her movements as she takes me in. I’m dressed in my civvies and my hair has grown out a bit from my time in San Diego, but the duffle on my shoulder gives me away.

“You were with him? Is he okay? Where is he?”

It strikes me this is the first time the question has been asked and the unspoken one that follows. Why isn’t he here instead?

Katniss slams a tea kettle down on the fire box in the corner, breaking the tension with the clatter. “Prim, can you grab some of the tea from over there? I’m steep up some sweet tea quick while you check him out. Then I can give Mister—” she cuts off, realizing she still hasn’t asked my name.

“Mellark,” I supply, rising out of my seat to stand at attention. “Corporal Peeta Mellark, 3rd Battalion, 14th Marines. Pleased to make your acquaintance Mrs. Hawthorne, Miss Everdeen.” I nod to each in turn. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer it up sooner. I was with Gale for a good chunk of my tour. We made it through Guam and Okinawa together. Even ended up side-by-side on the USS Hope being ferried back to Tongatapu after our artillery backfired. I promise you, he’s alive Mrs. Hawthorne.”

She had turned back to face the kettle, but with my final announcement, I can see her shoulders have risen to her ears.

“Please don’t call me that,” she mumbles quietly, and I strain forward to hear her.

“Katniss,” Prim begins to scold.

“No, Miss Everdeen, it’s okay. Actually, it makes the rest of what I have to say easier.”

Katniss turns and I can see for the first time that tears line her eyes, just waiting to fall.

“He’s not coming back, is he Corporal?” she whispers, as though saying it too loud will make it true.

I shake my head slowly, wishing all of this had gone differently. “He doesn’t want a divorce. He figured you’d prefer it that way. But no, he’s not going to coming back to Virginia.”

“So there’s not another woman?”

I glance at Prim, unsure of how much Katniss wants me to reveal in front of the younger woman, but it’s clear the two are close.

“Um, I’m afraid to say, there is. She’s from the islands, Tongan, a sweet girl. He…” I stumble, unsure of whether I should finish the thought, knowing it might cause her more pain. “He said what was between the two of you was a partnership. That you had always said he deserved someone who loves him. She loves him plenty. He’s going to go back there, to Tongatapu, as soon as the clean-up is done in Japan and his tour is over. So, whether you get divorced or not doesn’t really change things for him. He still wants most of his pay to come here. He knows you’re looking out for his family.”

She nods at what I say and sinks into a chair by the stove. “He had stopped sending letters after Guam. I didn’t…I didn’t even know he’d been injured. Did he…? Is he okay?”

“He didn’t lose anything important, if that’s what you mean. Lost a little chunk of his ear. His hearing’s not so great, not that it ever was.” She chuckles lightly at my jab. “I’d still be out there helping with the clean-up if it wasn’t for my leg. They had to send me stateside to learn to walk again. I last saw him in Tonga when he was shipping back out.”

“And he asked you to find me.”

I nod though I know she’s not looking at me. Her gaze is out the window, toward the houses down the ridge, where I presume the rest of his family lives.

“Said he couldn’t write you a Dear Jane letter. He wants me to write him when I know you’re okay.”

She stiffens at the sentiment. “Okay? As though I’ll be perfectly fine with a complete stranger just showing up and telling me my husband has abandoned me for another woman?”

I can’t help the lump that forms in my throat, but I cough to try to dislodge it. “Pardon my forwardness ma’am, but was he ever really your husband?”

At that her eyes snap back to me. The pot behind her is obviously boiling so she stands to move it off to the side of the stove and sets about putting tea into cheesecloth. “What Gale was to me is really none your business. Seems like he must’a told you an awful lot though, you coming here like this. What’s in it for you?”

I sigh, knowing this was coming. “He saved my life on Okinawa. He realized the ordinance was about to backfire and tackled me out of the way. If he hadn’t, I would have lost a lot more than just my leg. I don’t really have a home to rush back to. I promised I’d check in on you and his family. Make sure that you understood it wasn’t anything you’d done wrong.”

The pot slams again and before I know it Katniss is out the front door. Prim watches her stomp out, but makes no move to follow her. I take my cue from the younger woman. I’m in no shape to chase Katniss across the hillside anyway. Prim shifts her gaze to me and tentatively starts asking me questions. Where am I from? Where did I fight? What was it like? Some I can answer easily, others leave me speechless. For all the rehabilitation they did for my leg in San Diego, no one ever really talked to me about how to deal with coming back home. No one talked about the nightmares we all wake from at night—or the ones that haunt us throughout the day. I fall silent eventually, when it gets to be too much, but in my focus on all her questions I haven’t noticed how she’s lifted my leg and been examining the spot where my prosthetic rubs against the stump, just below my knee.

“I’ve had miners who’ve lost hands and arms come through here. Mining means workin’ with TNT and it doesn’t always turn out s’good. I haven’t had any legs though. You’ve got your stump mighty irritated. I’m gonna clean it up and wrap it for you. You need to stay off it a coupla days to keep it from gettin’ infected. You can take my cot here in the living room. I’ve been sleepin’ in Katniss’s room most nights anyways s’as we don’t have to heat the whole house.”

She bites her bottom lip as though she’s said too much. I can’t fight the questions swirling around in my own brain.

“Did Gale ever live here?”

Her eyes widen as she takes me in.

“What did he tell you about the two of them?”

“That she’s easy to love but hard to live with.”

Prim lets out a soundless laugh. “He would say that. He thought it was love but she always knew better. They were great together—as hunting partners, as friends. When our Pa’s passed away, it was just us and two other families up here on the mountain. We had to band together to get through it all. My ma, well, she just couldn’t handle it. She was a nurse down at the clinic in town, but after…we couldn’t get her to leave the house. Gale’s Ma, she’s tougher. She buckled down and started taking care o’all us kids, but there were six o’us and only one of her. Wasn’t long before Gale and Katniss stepped up. They already knew how to hunt, had been going out in the woods together for years. Ma and I used to go out and pick herbs—we use them down at the clinic to help out people who can’t afford the expensive medicines. But I knew there were others that were edible, that we could live off of. I took Rory with me. We sold the goat and sheep’s milk down in town, though ain’t many people got a taste for it since they can get cow’s milk at the grocery for cheap. We make cheese out of it too.”

She peters out, unsure where her train of thought was going, and focuses to gently wrap my stump having already cleaned it. In a moment, the thought returns to her.

“He asked her to marry as a matter of convenience. He was shippin’ out and knew that if they were married it would be easier on his ma—and frankly I think he trusted Katniss to take care of all of us more than his ma. The woman is amazing, but she’s got a bit of a weakness for the drink, but then, most of the folks ‘round here do. They never stopped moonshinin’ ‘round these parts.”

She glances at the pot on the stove. “She never finished makin’ the tea, did she? You want something stronger? We have a little ‘shine around. Ma and I use it for our patients, but I’d say you fit the bill.”

I consider the offer before shrugging her off. I’ve never had moonshine, but there was some camp swill that would get passed around whenever we stayed too long at one post. Didn’t take much to get things to ferment in the jungle. Would rot your gut, but took the edge off the misery of sitting in a swamp day and night. And then there was the hooch at the clubs. Enough to make every Jane look like a pinup but all it took was one tale of Cupid’s Itch to scare us young GIs away from the women who hung around. Well, most of us anyway.

“I should stay sober. I don’t know what state she’s gonna be in when she gets back here and I can’t imagine she’s gonna be too pleased with you telling her I’m staying the night. I’m about the last person she wants to see.”

I find the thought makes me sad. I’ve been carrying her picture so long, there’s a part of me that feels like I know her. I’ve traced her scowl with my finger. I’ve practiced what I would say, though it didn’t come out that way. I’ve tried to imagine her smiling. Gale made it sound like an impossible feat, but I have a feeling there has to be a way to bring out that side of her—not that it’s my job to do that.

Prim’s voice cuts through my silent misery. “She’s not angry at you. She’s not even angry at him. And you seem like a nice guy. I mean, if Gale trusted you enough to send you all this way, you have to be a good guy. Usta be he’d kill anyone that came close to Katniss.” She pauses for a moment before looking me straight in the eye. “You don’t think he’ll ever come back?”

I shake my head. “I honestly can’t be sure. I don’t know that he’s thought it all through, but this girl of his is pregnant and his tour’s up in another month. He’s already gotten approval to stay in Tongatapu. They can’t live together on the base since they aren’t married, but he’ll be part of a skeleton outfit that maintains the place until the Navy decides it doesn’t need it anymore. By then, he’ll be through his commitment so he could go anywhere, but after all the things he said about him and Katniss fighting about having kids, I can’t imagine he would just take off if there’s a little one in the mix.”

“He’s like a big brother to me, y’know? After Pa died, Gale did a big part of raising us. I’m gonna miss him.”

“He talks about you guys all the time. He didn’t just carry Katniss’s picture, he carried all of yours.” I pull the well-worn photo of Katniss out of my pocket and her eyes widen in recognition.

“Why do you have that?” She snags it out of my hands.

“He gave it to me. Has your address on the back, or at least you used to be able to read it. It’s been through some things. He wanted to make sure I found her.”

“’Easy to love but hard to live with.’ That’s what he says?”

“Yep.”

“Well, she’s not going to get any easier now.”

With that, Prim straightens up and tosses the photo on the table, and begins re-organizing her supplies from cleaning my leg. My fingers itch to reach out and reclaim the picture. I’ll never admit it aloud, but that photo means something to me. The stories Gale told and the ones I’ve created in my own mind, the happy world they’ve built on this mountain despite all the hardship. I’m not ready to let that go. The door slams behind me before I find the courage to grab for it though.

“We need to go tell Hazelle,” she tosses the words at Prim, ignoring my presence completely. Prim acknowledges her but continues putting away her supplies.

“Peeta’s gonna sleep out here for a coupla nights while his leg heals up. He can’t be walkin’ on it til it’s calmed down some.”

I can feel Katniss’s glare on my cheek but can’t peel my own eyes away from my hands, still fighting to resist the urge to grab the photo.

“I could give him a ride into town so he could find a room to lay up meantime. Why’s he gotta stay here?”

Prim’s tone allows for no discussion. “He’s Gale’s best friend and he’s my patient. He ain’t gonna hurt us. You wanna kick him out on one good leg? God have mercy on your soul, big sis. It’s my bed I’m offerin’ up. He’s stayin’.”

I can feel the blush building up my neck at the insinuation that I might want anything untoward from them. Prim’s right. I would never want to take advantage. After all Gale has told me about these women, I could never, but another part of me is happy at the thought of being here—in a place that sounds more like a home than anywhere I’ve lived.

Katniss takes a step in front of me, forcing my attention up to her cold stare. “Don’t know what Gale was thinkin’ sendin’ you instead of a letter, but you best be on your Sunday behavior. I know how to skin a stag. You ain’t much of a challenge, Marine or no.”

Instinctively I know I shouldn’t smile, but I can’t fight it no matter how hard I try. “Mrs. Hawthorne, I’ll be a choir boy just for you.”

She smirks slightly before returning her attention to the forgotten tea. “I don’t need no choir boys ‘round here. Gale certainly ain’t one. But if you can carry a tune better’an him, that would be much appreciated.”

Prim’s smiling at me from across the room, so I know the awkwardness has passed, at least for the moment.

“And please, stop calling me Mrs. Hawthorne. Ain’t nobody ever called me that. No point in startin’ now when we all know what Gale is up to.” She pauses in her work before turning back to me. “There’s a baby.”

She states it as fact. She’s not looking for confirmation, but I nod nonetheless and watch as she swallows a lump in her throat before continuing.

“Yeah, he would never abandon a kid. Posy’s the only one on this mountain that we still have to worry about and he knows Hazelle and I won’t let that little girl down.” She shakes her head, as though to remove the thought. “ So, do you sing, Corporal Mellark?”

“Peeta, it’s Peeta. And to be honest, not very well, but I can play the guitar and the harmonica okay. My talents lie more with wrestling, baking…and painting.”

“Seems like an odd combination for a Marine.”

“If any of those islands had been a giant cake, I coulda taken out the Japs with some fancy frosting tricks. Instead I was just the guy everyone came to for their camouflage. Guess I’m good at making people look like mud.”

“Don’t think that would take much talent, no offense.”

She’s poured me a glass of sweet tea and I lean forward to claim it. “No, I s’pose not when you’re surrounded by mud and can just smear it all over yourself, but the guys seemed to prefer when I did it.”

“You must have a gentle touch.” As soon as the words are out her mouth, the blush begins. “Not that…oh hell, nevermind. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

I let the chuckle rumble out of my chest. The hospital in San Diego wasn’t exactly a cheerful place with most of us still fighting phantom limbs and shell-shocked from being sent home. And it’s as I’m enjoying the first laugh I’ve had in months that I finally see it. She cracks a smile, small, secretive, and the single most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. It takes my breath away so quickly I feel light-headed. And now I can see why Gale found her so easy to love.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #noneyabidnes #Alliswell21 #prompt 73

116 notes · View notes

pubtheatres1 · 5 years

Photo

ONE GIANT LEAP Brockley Jack Theatre 2 – 27 July 2019 “That’s one small step for man…” Neil Armstrong INTERVIEW WITH WRITER & DIRECTOR OF ARROWS AND TRAPS THEATRE, ROSS MCGREGOR LPT: Hello Ross, We’re rather pleased to have another chat with you about your company, the award nominated Arrows & Traps but also wanted to grill you a little bit on your new writing, ONE GIANT LEAP. How long did it take you to write it? Hi there, how lovely to be asked. I have a somewhat unusual process in that I pitch the idea to the Jack, book the slot, design the artwork / poster, get the show on sale, start selling tickets and only then start writing the script. This is partly due to the quick turnaround of shows and my lack of time between, and also that we have to book these things quite far in advance as the Jack is a popular and sought-after space, but also because I have an issue with self-discipline, and so if I didn’t have a concrete deadline, I think I’d still be tinkering with Frankenstein, a show I wrote and produced in 2017. One Giant Leap is the first completely original piece that I’ve written without a source material, and it took me about two weeks to get onto paper. ONE GIANT LEAP is celebrating the fiftieth Anniversary of the Apollo 11 Moon Landing but it seems you have got your own spin on it. Could you tell us the story in nutshell? Yes absolutely. It’s a comic take on the greatest conspiracy in history. It centres on Edward Price, a producer of a failing 60’s sci-fi show called Moonsaber – which is basically a poor man’s Star Trek. Edward’s life has fallen into a rut, his wife has left him, he’s lost his house to the IRS, and Moonsaber has just been cancelled in its first season. All looks grim, until a representative to President Nixon comes to his door with a suitcase of money and a proposition. The Apollo 11 Moon Landing is four days away, but due to the moon being about a hundred degrees too hot for photographic film; they can get there, they just can’t film it. And what is a massive propaganda exercise without proof that you actually did it? So they ask Edward to fake the footage by any means possible, if he can do it, he can bring Moonsaber back to life for another season, if he fails – he loses everything. Where does the comedy come from? Mainly from the people that Edward employs in Moonsaber. They’re a ragtag bunch of actors, stage managers and technicians, and due to the show being cancelled – they’re falling apart at the seams – it’s down to Edward to keep it all together, to pull off the greatest lie in history, whilst trying to save his marriage, salvage his career, and keep the lies he’s telling intact. It’s a study of the creative industry, a satirical and loving homage to theatre. We’re not trying to say anything serious about whether the moon landing was or wasn’t real, but more provide a raucous night out at the theatre, and keep you laughing about it on the Overground home. Why is it important to offer a lighter comedy in theatre right now? I think, at times, theatre can take itself too seriously, and become too myopic about tackling the dark and dreadful issues that are affecting society – I’ve lost count of how many shows there are about Brexit playing right now – and whilst that’s great, and admirable - speaking for myself, after the last year I’m sick of the darkness, I’m bored by the constant stream of depressive updates about the rise of the Right, I can’t engage with it, the European elections gave a victory to nationalists, we gave a state visit to a racist, homelessness is at an all-time high, and we’re literally cooking the planet to death. There are sometimes when I just want a great night out and forget how scary the world seems right now – laughter is the best medicine – not as a retreat, but a reminder of the good in us, of the joy, of the light. As the company is repertory, you’ll be working with some actors you know very well. Did you have any of them in mind when you were writing the script? I certainly wrote two of the eight roles with long time company members Will Pinchin and Lucy Loannou in mind. And whilst yes, the roles are tailored to suit both of them - I did write the roles of Howard and Alchamy to stretch and challenge Will and Lucy, because I’d never seen them play characters like that. Will is nothing like Howard, and Lucy isn’t at all like Alchamy, but in way, they’re made for those roles, and for me, they’re perfect choices. I do like working with the same actors repeatedly, it is true, because you build up a short hand of technique and approach, but also you build up a trust. The actors in the company come in on day one, sort of knowing what to bring me, and what kind of vision I’ll probably have, since my style is something of a constant, but also I’m able to, as their director, cast them in roles that perhaps play against type, or test their flexibility and skillsets. I’m not an actor, but if I were, I’d hate to play the same roles every time, to only get the “intense one” or the “dopey one” or the “awkward one” – I’d want to think I could play anything that was thrown at me, and I think our rep system allows for experimentation and exploration. What has been the hardest part of the whole process to date? We’re only in the first week of rehearsal, so nothing too taxing thus far. Hands down, the hardest part of a comedy is when you’ve rehearsed it so much you no longer find it funny, at which point we need an audience. One Giant Leap hasn’t hit that point yet, obviously, but I think most comic work benefits from the response and energy an audience gives. Theatre can be electric when you have that to play off, but in terms of where we are – One Giant Leap’s greatest challenge is the analysing of why something is funny, and making sure it’s that way every time. It’s all about timing. For many years I laboured under the misapprehension that stand up comedy was just a funny person being funny with a microphone, that was until I saw Dylan Moran do the same set twice in the space of three weeks. He has a very casual, off the cuff, almost improvised way of performing, and I assumed that it was just his natural charisma and quick wit, until I saw the set the second time, only to find it was identical to the first. All the pauses, the stresses, the tangents, the quips, all of which was honed, polished and a work of precision. It was funny because he’d worked out the best way to get the laugh, every time, and that’s beyond art, it’s science, it’s music. Traditionally Arrows and Traps have produced a selection of brilliantly adapted classics, including Dracula, Frankenstein, Crime & Punishment and Anna Karenina. Have you got a soft spot for one of them? I loved the breathlessness and breadth of Anna Karenina, the precision and murk of Crime & Punishment, the thrill and gothicism of Dracula, and the humanity and pang of loss in Frankenstein. I think my favourite adaptation, if I had to pick one, is probably Frankenstein – but that’s purely subjective, and there was something about the biography of Mary Shelley, which we incorporated into the show, that really spoke to me – in the sense of a creator and a creation, a parent and child, a sinner and the terrible revenge. You’ve also got THE STRANGE CASE OF JEKYLL & HYDE coming up at Jack Studio in September. Your adaptations of the classics have been Arrows and Traps main focus, so does ONE GIANT LEAP herald a shift away from this? No, in fact because I know the next season of shows, One Giant Leap is perhaps the anomaly. Our work normally has a dark bent, we favour drama with funny lines as opposed to an out-and-out comedy. We’ve only ever done one full comedy before, The Gospel According To Philip back in 2016, so this is something of a return to that. I knew that the company was changing, and wanted to make a swansong to the current phase of work, I had originally planned for it to be TARO but that story ended so sadly, I wanted the last one to be lighter, more celebratory – there’s something inherently amusing about the various tropes you usually get in the theatre world, and so I thought a comedy would be a fitting homage to where we’ve come from, and a clean break to where we want to go next. The company has been going from strength to strength, what are the things of which you are most proud? Mainly, that we’re still going. Most theatre companies on the fringe don’t make it to their third show, we’re on our seventeenth. Part of that is sheer stubbornness, there have been points where any rational person would have thrown in the towel, but there was always something in me that would never bend, never break, never give up. It’s part ambition, part not wanting to fail, part wanting to make my father proud of me, part bloody-mindedness, part theatre-addiction. I think production-wise I’m most proud of The White Rose, to what that achieved, all the five star reviews and the Best Production Offie-nom, but of course I’m also very proud of the other twelve times we’ve been nominated for Off West End Awards, the relationship we’ve built with the Jack, the bond I have with my creative team and my casts, and just the fact that people seem to like the work. It’s still always funny to me when a reviewer calls us “critically-acclaimed” or “renowned rep company” – to me it’s just me, telling the stories I want to tell, with people I want to work with, you don’t always think about how it looks from the outside. I’m just producing the theatre I’d like to go and see. It was rumoured that you would be leaving fringe theatre for other careers, partly because of problems with funding. Was there are truth in that? Absolutely! And in a sense, this is still completely true. I am indeed done with fringe. I think I got to The White Rose in 2018 – where we got the Offie-Nom for Production, we had eight 5-star reviews, four 4 star reviews, we’d completely sold out, and done it the cheapest way possible, and we still didn’t break even. Which was very hard to take, and forced me to face the truth – you cannot hope to attain best practice ITC rates for your casts / creatives / yourself if you only do 15 shows in a 50 seater and you don’t have subsidising support from an arts grant scheme. It just isn’t possible. So I made the decision to stop producing work. Now obviously, with the shows being booked so far in advance, there were still three productions upcoming in the diary that I had to honour. But knowing I was quitting, and that this was the end for me, was too hard to bear - ultimately I had to face the fact that theatre is my life, and I could never leave it – so I had to find a way to make it work financially, not just for myself but for everyone else in the company, particularly the actors who are so often completely screwed over in fringe, and often end up working for nothing. Which is where the idea to change the model came from. Shrink the casts and sets to a more tourable model – 14 people down to 4 – and engage a tour booker to take the productions out of London to larger spaces that could widen the potential revenue. The Jack is our home, and we will always premiere all our shows there, but then we will take them into the provinces. The vision is still the same, adaptations of literary work, and biopics of iconic figures of history, but the remit and scale of the endeavour has changed. I don’t see it as an ending, just a moving from one phase into another. But yes, absolutely, the 8-10 handers, movement-heavy, ensemble, big music, huge shows – this stage in our trajectory is ending with One Giant Leap, and whilst I see why it has to end, a part of me is sad to see it go, because there was something so wonderful about doing a massive 15-hander like Three Sisters. Are you one of those people who is meticulously planning the future? Yes indeed, because really we have to plan ahead in order to book the shows with the venues. We’re doing One Giant Leap next month, and then move to Jeykll & Hyde in September, both at the Jack – and then Hyde goes on tour for about six months, with an opening of our next biopic Chaplin coming about halfway through the run in February. Because I’m overseeing contracts, and touring plans, and writing the scripts as well as casting each show and most likely directing each one, I need to know where we’ll be and when we’re doing it – I’m trying to build a book of shows, a repertoire that is constantly touring, moving forward, and ever-evolving – reaching more audiences, and engaging with new communities. In the meantime, we can’t wait to see ONE GIANT LEAP. Could you give us a little flavour of what’s to come? In terms of shows after One Giant Leap, we have Jekyll & Hyde - a dark, political thriller set in a post-Trump America – a gritty examination of the corruption of power, then Chaplin – which tells the story of the 20th Century’s most famous clown, documenting his path to becoming the iconic Little Tramp – and his meteoric rise from Victorian poverty to Hollywood fame. After that, we’re bringing back one of our most successful productions of 2017, Frankenstein, revisited and rewritten for a more tourable model, and then a biopic of Marilyn Monroe, called Making Marilyn, which covers the Norma Jean origin portion of the star’s life. After that – who knows? I’ve always wanted to tackle Madame Bovary – and I’d like to bring back TARO as it was one that I was particularly proud of in terms of its style and poetry. Finally, your shows at Brockley Jack are becoming legendary, it’s a great partnership. What are the things you’ve learnt about theatre whilst working at Brockley Jack? So much. The Jack has been a great place to develop my approach to stagecraft, and how to tell stories as clearly and engagingly as possible. Since we joined the Jack, we’ve built a vision of the style we want to have, and how we approach each difficulty, or tricky moment to stage, how our work with movement and text interconnect, and what we look for in our ensemble for each show. And, I guess, ultimately, I’ve being able to return to my training as a writer, and I’ve been so lucky to have so many opportunities to experiment with my writing, and get to think about how to tell a story and how to build each character. Playwriting is not something I’ve tried before, and I’ve loved delving into each of the worlds that the Jack has opened the door to. But I think most of all, I’ve been honoured by the patronage and support of Kate and Karl – and they’ve shown me the power of hard work, diligence, and care – if I ended up with anything like the talent and acumen they have, I’d be very happy. @June 2019 London Pub Theatres Magazine Ltd All Rights Reserved THIS SHOW HAS ENDED ONE GIANT LEAP Brockley Jack Theatre 2 – 27 July 2019 directed by Ross McGregor produced by Arrows & Traps Theatre Productions Box Office > Below: Rehearsals at Brockley Jack Studio "We’re not trying to say anything serious about whether the moon landing was or wasn’t real, but more provide a raucous night out at the theatre, and keep you laughing about it on the Overground home." "... speaking for myself, after the last year I’m sick of the darkness, I’m bored by the constant stream of depressive updates about the rise of the Right, I can’t engage with it, the European elections gave a victory to nationalists, we gave a state visit to a racist, homelessness is at an all-time high, and we’re literally cooking the planet to death." "Most theatre companies on the fringe don’t make it to their third show, we’re on our seventeenth. Part of that is sheer stubbornness, there have been points where any rational person would have thrown in the towel, but there was always something in me that would never bend, never break, never give up. It’s part ambition, part not wanting to fail, part wanting to make my father proud of me, part bloody-mindedness, part theatre-addiction." "... knowing I was quitting, and that this was the end for me, was too hard to bear - ultimately I had to face the fact that theatre is my life, and I could never leave it – so I had to find a way to make it work financially, not just for myself but for everyone else in the company, particularly the actors who are so often completely screwed over in fringe, and often end up working for nothing. Which is where the idea to change the model came from." " ... most of all, I’ve been honoured by the patronage and support of Kate and Karl (Jack Studio Theatre) – and they’ve shown me the power of hard work, diligence, and care – if I ended up with anything like the talent and acumen they have, I’d be very happy." In celebration of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Apollo 11 Moon Landing, Arrows & Traps Theatre bring their critically-acclaimed approach to a brand-new comedy set in the back streets of a Hollywood lot. One Giant Leap is about the power of having an impossible dream, realising it’s impossible, and then trying your hardest to fake it and hope no one notices.

3 notes · View notes

komorebirei · 5 years

Text

The Water Was Never Afraid - Chapter 15: Indulge

(AO3)

I’m already out… it can’t hurt. I’ll just see if she’s home, Chat Noir reasoned.

He did a swift about-face by the Louvre and made his way back toward the Ȋle Saint-Louis.

It was Sunday evening, the sun was still out, and he had just finished his brief meeting with Ladybug. Nothing remarkable, as usual, but it was nice to get out and stretch his legs.

The week had been particularly busy, with deadlines looming, and Adrien had been working into the evening nearly every day, taking breaks only to spend time with Kagami or his father.

That meant no clandestine rendezvous with Marinette.

Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t incessantly think about her. All he had been wanting to do all week was to don the magic suit, vault across Paris, and throw twigs at his Princess’ balcony doors until she came out.

However… self-control.

Now, though, fate had brought him somewhat near her apartment, and in the supersuit no less, so he latched onto the excuse to indulge in a visit.

As he crossed the Seine, his enhanced hearing picked up something subtle in the air. Music, if he could call it that.

When he arrived, the French doors were thrown open, and he could now clearly hear the sounds of a piano coming from within.

“Princess,” he called out, trying to sound suave instead of desperate.

The sound of the piano stopped, and Marinette’s head peeked out the door. Her eyes immediately locked onto his as he perched on the branch.

“Why, Princess,” he affected a dramatic tone, “I decided to go out on a limb and hazard a guess that you were home. And how happy I am that you are! You look radiant, sweet Princess.”

“Oh, Minou,” she rolled her eyes and indicated with a gesture that he was welcome to her balcony. “Such a clown, as always.”

“Well, this humble jester would be delighted to have the honor to make his Princess laugh.” He bounded onto her balcony and gave her a deep bow.

“Chat, you’re too much!” Marinette laughed, shoving him lightly.

Chat Noir melted under her touch. Do that again, Princess. He trailed her as she made her way back toward the French doors. “Did I hear a piano? I didn’t know you played.”

“I don’t, as you can probably tell. Though, I’m trying to learn.” Marinette shrugged and looked over her shoulder at Chat, one hand on the door. “I just got home, so I was unwinding a little before getting down to work. Wanna come in?”

Chat nodded gratefully. “You have to work tonight?” He tried to recall whether he was supposed to know she worked at Gabriel or not, and decided to play it safe. “Where do you work, Princess?”

“I’m an intern for Gabriel… and it’s not that I have to, I really just want to be prepared. This week we’re presenting winter concepts and I want to put together a few fabric samples to demonstrate my ideas, since some of them might be hard to understand from just sketches.”

“So thorough. I love that about you, Marinette.”

She turned to look at him, and her blue eyes were so clear that he was afraid for a moment she could see him through the mask, that the way he’d said it was too ‘Adrien’ and not enough ‘Chat.’ Did he cross the line? Friends complimented each other like that, didn’t they?

“Well, then, Princess,” Chat grinned, laying it on thick to cover his insecurity. “Back to the topic of piano. What piece are you learning?”

“Well…” Marinette twisted a lock of hair between her fingers in an adorable nervous gesture. “I mean, I don’t really know what I’m doing. Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1? I read online that it’s a good piece for beginners and I thought it was pretty… I kind of know how to read music from playing the violin for a couple years in école, but it’s been a while and I’m extremely slow.” She giggled nervously as she made her way to an electric piano that was set up on the side of the room.

“Is this piano new?” Chat hovered behind her as she sat down on the bench.

“Yeah, I just got it this week.” Marinette continued to play with her hair self-consciously. “Kind of an impulsive purchase, but… I’ve been wanting to learn an instrument for a while. I love music, and it’s nice to have a hobby for when I need a breather from designing.”

“Hmm… that makes sense.” Chat smiled at her fondly. “Why piano?”

Marinette blushed, inexplicably. “Piano’s a good instrument… I mean, a lot of people start with piano, right?” She laughed—the kind of laugh intended to diffuse embarrassment.

Chat cocked his head, curious about the reason behind her obvious discomfort.

“Okay, I’ll admit it.” Marinette twisted on the bench to face him, wearing a sheepish expression. “The reason I picked piano is… I have a friend who plays the piano. Since I’ve known him, I’ve paid attention to piano music more, and it’s inspired me to start learning.”

Chat’s breath caught. Could that friend be him, perchance? Was the dusting of pink on her cheeks only a result of his rose-colored glasses, or was she really blushing? “Ah… really?”

“Yes, he plays very well. It’s because of him that I love the piano.” Marinette’s eyes crinkled in an earnest smile, then she turned back to the keys and laid her hands on them tentatively.

Chat Noir was afraid to ask who that friend might be. At least, uncertainty allowed him to indulge in hope that he had inspired Marinette in some way. He reached out and raised one of Marinette’s hands slightly, careful not to scratch her with his claws. “Raise your hands and round your fingers. Like this.” He demonstrated with his own hand.

Marinette looked at him in awed surprise. “Hold on, Chat Noir, you know how to play?”

“A little…” He shrugged in faux modesty. “I’ve played since I was five, after all.” He gave her an exaggerated wink to show he was being light-hearted and was only pretending to boast.

“Oh, I didn’t know!” Marinette squealed. “Play something!”

He lifted his hand and waved his fingers. “Can’t, Princess. Have you seen these clawsome paws?”

Marinette pouted.

He probably could have played, but there would be a lot of clicking, and he’d scratch her brand new piano. Plus, he didn’t want to dissuade her from trying. He grinned. “Maybe if you meet me as a civilian.”

“Don’t be silly, Chat. Okay, at least help me then, and don’t laugh. I’m horrible.”

“No, you’re just a work in progress. Now, enough attempts to get out of playing.” He nudged her. “Go ahead.”

She played the opening chords, with long pauses in between, looking back and forth between the sheet music and her hands. When the melodic line was supposed to start, she abruptly folded her hands in her lap. “Ugh. I can’t.”

“What are you talking about, Princess?” Chat cried. “You were doing great!”

“That’s as far as I’ve gotten so far.”

Chat stroked his chin. “It might help if you started memorizing measure by measure, so you don’t have to figure out the notes each time. When I was first learning, I took it slow figuring out the way the piece was supposed to sound and where my hands were supposed to go. I couldn’t play anything up to speed until I had it memorized. But the more you get used to processing the score, the easier it gets to sight-read.”

“That seems like a good tactic—I’ll try. Thanks, Chat.” Marinette smiled. “Anyway, I don’t want to bore you with this.”

“I’m not bored at all, Princess. I’m actually really excited you’re learning to play. If you want to continue, I’ll help you.”

“Help me?”

“Put your hands on the keys. Let’s pick up where you left off…”

When she did, he shifted her fingers around so they were on the right keys, and nodded. She pressed. He tapped the fingers on her right hand one by one to indicate the melodic notes. She followed his lead.

They continued like that for some time, not speaking. The stuttering rhythm of chords played out of time was the only sound that filled the space.

“See? You played the whole first page. That’s not hard, is it?” Chat’s hand lingered on hers.

“I guess not.”

Chat let go and stepped away painfully. “Keep practicing, Princess. You’ll be amazing in no time.”

“I don’t know about that, but… thanks for your help, Chat Noir.” She gave him a bright smile. “Would you like some macarons? Maman brought some over when she came to visit this morning.”

“Sure, Princess. Yes, please.” He caught himself before saying, ‘I missed the Dupain-Cheng macarons’—Chat Noir hadn’t ever had any, not even during that misguided brunch eight years ago. He took a seat at the table—solid polished wood, stained a rosy brown.

“With tea? Or coffee?” Marinette called from the kitchen area.

“Whatever you’re having.” Chat played with the cuffs on his suit and looked around her apartment. He had been so distracted by his revelation last time, he hadn’t really paid much attention to his surroundings.

The space wasn’t large, but it felt bright and inviting. The white walls were decorated with framed fashion illustrations by other designers, among which Chat Noir recognized his father’s work. White shelves built into recessed areas of the walls were lined with books—mostly related to fashion or art, but there were some novels and books of poetry as well. “Milan Kundera?” he asked, glimpsing a title he didn’t expect to see.

“I love his writing!” Marinette piped up cheerfully. “It’s beautiful. The Unbearable Lightness of Being really left an impression on me.”

“I read it a few years ago. I don’t remember all that much about the plot, except that I really liked it.”

“It wasn’t so much the plot that I liked about it,” Marinette mused. “More the way he described things. And captured the essence of people and emotions.”

Chat nodded, making a mental note to read it again.

The palette of Marinette’s decor had expanded beyond the pinks of her adolescence. Splashes of color brightened the room—an orange armchair, a fuschia vase. A string of colorful mini paper lanterns dangled from one corner of a curtain rod to the floor.

The flat was clean, cheerful, and warm, just like Marinette.

She soon joined him with macarons and two cups of tea. “I hope this is okay. Oolong tea—I don’t put sugar in it, but I can get some for you if you want…?”

“No sugar. Thanks, Princess.” He grinned, accepting the refreshments. The macarons were green and pink-orange. “What flavors are the macarons?”

“Matcha and passion fruit.”

Chat Noir couldn’t stop grinning. “My favorite!”

“Which one?”

“Uh…” Chat Noir wondered how common it was to have passion fruit as a favorite flavor. Marinette had already found out today that he could play the piano. How many clues could he get away with dropping before she figured him out? Though it was tempting the test the answer to that question, he decided to play it safe. “Both? I like them both.” He picked a matcha one to eat first.

Marinette looked pleased about this. She took a nibble of a passion fruit one. “Weird combination I guess, but the creamy bitterness of the matcha offsets the tangy sweetness of the passion fruit. That’s why I asked for these two flavors. Plus, the colors look pretty together. Don’t you think, Chaton?” She winked.

“You have the best taste, Princess.” Chat Noir smiled at her tenderly, disarmed by the wink. Taking a sip of oolong tea, he fell silent, contemplating a question that had he had been wanting to ask her. Of all people, she seemed like someone who would have a good answer. “Marinette, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

He hesitated. Even though it was a perfectly normal concern, he still didn’t feel comfortable talking about this to anyone. He bit his lip.

“What is it, Minou?” Now she looked worried.

He gave her a small smile to allay her worries, but it fell away before he spoke. “How do you help a person heal from losing someone?”

Marinette put down the macaron she was eating. “Chaton… is this why you were so upset the other day? Did you lose someone?”

“I…” Chat Noir balked. He hadn’t really thought of it that way—his mother had already been missing from his life for eight years. “Yes, but… it’s my father. He hasn’t been taking it well, and I want to help him, but I have no idea if I’m doing it right.”

“Oh, Minou…” Marinette sighed and pursed her lips, looking down at her hands. She seemed to be considering very carefully what to answer.

“Sorry to dump that on you,” Chat Noir murmured, wishing he could take it back.

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” she emphasized. “I’m just trying to think. I’ve never lost anyone in my immediate family, so I’m not entirely sure what it’s like… but when Maman’s mother passed away, she used to write a letter to her every night. She’d put the letters in this special box. After a year of doing that, she burned all the letters… I was really young at the time, so I didn’t fully understand, but she always seemed happier after writing a letter. Maybe something like that might help.” She shrugged apologetically. “Sorry I don’t have any better advice.”

“Hmm…” Chat Noir pressed a finger to his lips in thought. “No, that’s a good idea, actually.”

“Are you okay?”

He looked up to see Marinette gazing at him in concern. A smile sprang to his lips automatically. “Of course, Princess, don’t worry about me!”

In spite of his words, she got up and circled around him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. He felt her cheek press against the back of his head, and the vibration of her voice as she spoke: “Don’t forget, I’m here for you. If you’re ever not okay, just come and I’ll give you hugs and snacks.”

Chat Noir’s heart was doing somersaults, but he played it cool. “Snacks, Princess? You just sealed the deal.”

“Silly cat.”

He squeezed her arms. He’d trade all the snacks in the world to hug this girl for the rest of his life.

It was when that thought popped into his mind that a moment of clarity hit Chat Noir. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right for him to be thinking of another girl this way, and not his girlfriend. He hadn’t even thought about Kagami all night—he couldn’t live a lie anymore. He couldn’t keep pretending with Kagami that nothing had changed, and that he felt the same way she did. It wasn’t fair to her. It would be kinder to break up with her than to continue doing this.

“What are you thinking about, Minou?” Marinette’s voice near his ear was soft as feathers.

His insides were churning as if he’d ingested poison. “Ah… nothing. Just… grateful that we’re friends.” He stood up, dislodging her arms, leaving his macaron half-eaten and tea barely touched. “Sorry, but I need to go. Thank you so much for everything.”

Marinette looked at him in alarm, sensing his agitation. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Princess.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not. I just… sorry. I can’t stay.” He made his way toward the balcony doors, mind buzzing with the sense of wrongness and determination to make things right.

“Wait!” Marinette ran after him, panic rising. “What happened? If it’s my fault—I’m sorry!”

His heart broke at the thought of leaving her distressed and worrying about his sudden departure. Spinning around, he caught her in his arms and embraced her tightly, breathing in her scent. “You did nothing wrong, Princess,” he murmured into her hair. “There’s just something I need to fix. See you later…” Kissing the top of her head so lightly she probably didn’t feel it, he released her and left through her balcony without looking back.

#Miraculous Ladybug #MiraculousLadybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #MiraculousLadybugFanfiction #Marichat #Adrigami #Adrienette #The Water Was Never Afraid

9 notes · View notes

lexinthelibraryofdreams · 6 years

Text

Family (Part I)

Imagine: “Someone needs to write a fic where Spencer figured out his girlfriend, or wife, is pregnant before she even thinks that’s a possibility as to why she has been feeling sick. It’d be super soft and I’m all here for it.”

Words: 1423

A/N: a friendship-offering for the lovely @reid-effect Sorry it took me like a billion years to write but I was actually afraid of posting it :/ I don’t think I ever edited any other fic that often and heavily and I’m still not 100% satisfied. Hope it does your idea somewhat justice

Also the title is dumb but I couldn’t find something better. If you have some suggestions, feel free to tell me :)

Warnings: -

You quickly brushed your teeth after getting off the floor and walked back to the bedroom, where your husband was still in bed. He blinked up at you, brushing his messy locks out of his face. With a smile, you sat down on your side of the bed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Good morning,” you mumbled against his skin and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you down next to him. After wriggling into a comfortable position, you started drawing patterns onto his chest while listening to his heartbeat.

“You are up early,” he said and you hummed. “Yeah, I probably caught something. Yesterday I felt nauseous already but I don’t think it’s something serious. Don’t worry,” you replied with a smile and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Okay,” he mused and brushed his fingers through your hair. “Do you have to work today?” you asked and he shook his head, much to your joy. “Awesome. We deserve some time together,” you hummed and reached up to draw your fingers through his hair. After a while, he stretched under you and you craned your neck to look up at him. “You hungry?” he asked and you shook your head. “No, don’t think food is any good after vomiting,” you said and he raised an eyebrow, so you shrugged slightly. “But a tea would be nice,” you added with a sweet smile.

He chuckled and sat up after you rolled off of him. “Alright. I’ll be back in a second,” he said and you smiled. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you replied before rolling onto your back. You skidded upwards, leaning against the headboard, then you grabbed the book off of your night stand and started reading, hoping to zone out the lingering feeling of nausea and dizziness. You hated being sick, so if it wouldn’t die down in the next few days, you had to go to the doctor. When Spencer put down the cup on your night stand and sat down next to you, you closed the book and smiled at him. “You are an angel,” you mused before pecking his lips and taking the cup.

“School starts in a week, so if it isn’t anything grave, you should be fit by then,” he said and you nodded, taking a sip. He had put some honey in it, just like you always did. Small gestures like that still made your heart flutter and sent a smile across your face, no matter how long you had been with him. “I sure hope so. Don’t think that the students’ parents appreciate me spreading around the flu,” you replied with a grin and he chuckled. “Yeah, you might be right with that.” His eyes wandered towards the book. “Frankenstein?” he asked with a smile and you shrugged. “I wanted to stock up on my knowledge of classic horror literature. And even you can’t deny that it’s just that.” A grin crossed his face. “Wouldn’t dare.” At first he had found your interest for the horror and thriller genre somewhat strange but after getting to know you, it had just become another part he fell in love with.

“Want me to read to you?” he asked and you nodded, nestling into the bed as he grabbed the book. Wrapping your hands around your cup, you listened to him, watching him intently while he read to you and a content smile settled onto your face. In moments like these you wondered how you had been so lucky to meet and fall in love with him.

After a while, he set down the book and looked back up at you. “Did you even listen?” he asked with a soft smile and you nodded. “Of course. I can listen and admire you at the same time.” You emptied your cup and put it back down onto the night stand. “How about we order some lunch. I mean, I’ll take something light but I’m starting to get hungry,” you suggested and he nodded.

The two of you spent the rest of the day cuddling on the couch and watching movies. You were wrapped in a blanket and propped up against his chest, with his arms around you. It was starting to get late, when you stretched a little. “I really needed this today. I know it wasn’t really exciting but I enjoyed it,” you said and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “So did I.” He brushed his fingers through your hair and you closed your eyes, enjoying the sensation. After another few moments, you sat up and yawned. “Damn, I didn’t do anything and still am tired as hell,” you mumbled and absentmindedly rubbed across your chest in hopes of relieving some of the built up tension there. Being caught in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice for a moment that he was watching you intently.

“What?” you asked and he only shook his head. “Nothing. Go to bed, you need some rest. I’ll clean this,” he gestures towards the take out boxes on the coffee table,” and do some work, then I’ll join you, alright?” You nodded and pecked his cheek before wandering off into the bedroom. You changed into a fresh set of pajamas and brushed your teeth before practically falling into bed. Immediately, you were out like a light, only waking up briefly when Spencer crawled into bed and pulled you up against him.

Your night was cut short again when your stomach started to rebel. A quick glance on your alarm clock showed that it was way before your usual wake up time. Again. Normally, you would have just turned around again but today your body had a different plan for you. When you felt your throat tighten, you bolted out of bed and into the bathroom, accidentally waking Spencer. He followed you quickly, brushing your hair out of your face and holding it back as you leaned over the toilet. His hand trailed up and down your back and once it was over, he handed you a glass of water which you used to get rid of the most of the taste. While you pulled your hair into a messy bun - a precaution in case your stomach decided to turn again - he was looking through the cabinet where you stored your medicine. “Sorry for waking you,” you said and suppressed a yawn, then took out your toothbrush and toothpaste.

He only shot you a warm smile and replied, “Well, I usually can imagine more fun things to do at five in the morning but I don’t mind. That just confirmed my suspicions.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “What suspicions are there?” you asked but he only handed you a pack of pills. You looked down on them and it hit you like a truck. “I believe you are pregnant,” he said softly as you stared at the birth control pills in your hand, which you should have been supposed to take again after your period. You would have, if you had gotten your period in the first place. Normally you would have noticed but the stress of school starting soon and you taking over a new class had somehow allowed the fact that you were almost two weeks past your usual date to slip past you.

“Are you okay?” he asked and put a hand on your forearm. You nodded and swallowed, then looked up at him. “Yeah, I mean, I’m kind of out of it at the moment but I think I’m alright. I mean I always wanted kids and...” you stopped your rambling when a thought crossed your mind. You had never talked to Spencer about the matter. “Um, I know we never, you know, really talked about this-” you started but stopped when he put his hand on your cheek. “You have no idea how incredibly happy I am at the moment,” he said quietly and earnestly and you could see it in his eyes that he meant every word. Yours started to burn with tears as you smiled at him which he returned. “I’m glad,” you said and put your hand on his, “You will be an amazing father.” His face softened a little and he pulled you into a hug, pressing his face against your neck. You knew about his doubts because of his own parents but you would make sure to remind him every day from now on that he was a million times better than them.

Part II

#criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader

309 notes · View notes

sigritandtheelves · 6 years

Text

Off Limits

Rating: Explicit Timeline: Let’s say 2003 in an AU where season 9 never happened Notes: Fluff, fluff, fluff, smut, fluff. This is so sweet it will hurt your teeth.

XF Porn Battle #132 (sexual bet: no sex, kissing, or touching for a week). Tagging @xfpornbattle

_+_

“Mulder, it took us six years to get to first base. I think I could hold out for a week.”

He was chewing on the end of a straw, his feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him. “You think so?”

William was asleep on the floor, surrounded by crayons and ripped paper. Scully scooped him up carefully. “Yeah. I do,” she said, hushed, over the toddler’s head. She straightened his shirt and tucked him against her before heading toward his bedroom.

Mulder hopped up from the couch to follow her in his socked feet, speaking more softly now too. “No kissing either.”

She looked at him, surprised, over her shoulder as she entered the small room. She was careful not to step on the toys scattered across the floor. “No kissing? Well, that’s a little harsh, isn’t it?” There was a distinct pout on her face at the thought. She gently laid William down in his bed and covered him with a blanket before following Mulder out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

“Kissing leads to naughty things, Scully.” He ran a finger from the edge of her t-shirt down her bare arm. She tried not to respond, but the goosebumps were involuntary.

“Starting when?”

He looked at his watch. “It’s 2:24, so let’s say starting at 2:30, until the same time next Saturday.”

“Six minutes,” she said. “That doesn’t give us much time.”

“For wha—“ but he broke off, realization dawning.

She was trying very hard to hold back a smile as she dove for his mouth. She crushed her lips and her body against his, fingers slipping into his hair as she rubbed her full length against him. His hands came up to her hips and he was already hardening against her abdomen when her tongue slipped along his, eliciting a low groan. His hands moved under her shirt and smoothed along her back. She lifted her right knee to his hip, leaning even further in, and he fell back against the hallway wall with a thump.

“Careful,” she murmured, running her own hands under his cotton tee and then leaning up for another wet kiss. He hoisted her against him with one hand in her hair, the other gripping the soft denim over her ass. They were making out like horny teenagers while their two-year-old son slept not fifteen feet away. They rocked and groped and petted and thrust against the hallway wainscoting.

And then Scully pulled back suddenly to look at her watch. “Time’s up,” she said, an amused, if somewhat disappointed smile forming on her face. “We’ll finish this next week?”

Mulder groaned, and his head fell back against the wall. “Seriously? You are a cruel, cruel woman.”

“Mulder, it was your idea. You’re the one who suggested that there were… limitations to my self-control. But look.” She held up her hands, face flushed and feet bare on this absolutely perfect day for slow, sweet afternoon naked-snuggling. “See how much control I have?”

He leaned toward her and reached his arms out. “Let me see just how much control you have,” he said, voice all gravel and thwarted sex. But she backed away.

“Nah ah, you said no touching.”

He chewed his bottom lip. “Perhaps we should set the ground rules. Some touching is inevitable, I think.”

She nodded. “True. No under-clothes touching.”

“Does that mean I have to sleep with clothes on?”

She was frowning, realizing the same thing. “No under-clothes touching with intent.”

“Intent to what?” He asked, waggling his eyebrows. She gave him a look.

“Are forehead kisses okay?”

“Scully, I know your forehead kisses. They have intent.”

The pout was back in full. “Mulder, this game sucks.”

“Well, we could decide not to play. But then, you know… I’d be proven right.”

She sighed, never one to let that happen. “No, let’s play. Holding hands has to be okay, though. And short hugs. Non-sexy hugs.”

He conceded with a nod. “Shake on it?” He held out his hand.

“Wait, what do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

She thought for a minute, looked around the room. “I don’t want to change another diaper for the rest of this month.”

Mulder looked at her, trying to see if she were serious. “Really? That’s it?”

“Mulder, I spend my days up to my elbows in viscera and blood. I don’t want to come home and touch a single other thing that has come out of a human body.”

“Fair enough,” he said, and held out his hand again. She took it and they smiled at each other across their handshake. It was 2:34.

_+_

The rest of the day was easy. They skirted around each other with knowing smiles and pretended nothing was different. William woke from his nap; they took a walk outside, had dinner, read quietly, then put the kid to bed. By eight o’clock, they were perched in uncharacteristically distant positions on the couch: baseball in the background, file folders and work across the coffee table.

“Mulder, take a look at this.” She passed him a case-file photo and he grimaced.

“Ach, Jesus, Scully what the hell is that?”

“Look at the shape of this hematoma. What does that look like to you?” She traced its outline with her pinky finger while he tried to hold down his dinner.

“Are you serious? It looks like—oh. Wait, I think I see…” his eyes went wide. “Scully, is that a little devil face?”

She licked her lips and bit them together to keep from smiling. “Mulder, what do you know about Dover, Massachusetts?”

His eyes went wider still and his mouth hung open. “Be still my heart, Scully, you’re working on the Dover Demon?”

“No. I’m not. I’m doing an autopsy on a murder victim.”

“Of someone killed by the Dover Demon?”

“Mulder, the Dover Demon never killed anyone. It was probably just a lost foal that a couple of kids spotted in a field. Twenty-five years ago.”

“Or it was an alien.”

Her bottom lip protruded, and she was giving him that look.

“Scully, I am so fucking turned on right now.”

She couldn’t help it; she raked her eyes over him. “Really?”

He tossed the photo back into its file and almost reached for her when he remembered their bet. He leaned forward instead, keeping his hands a careful few inches from her body, and whispered so close to her ear that his lips nearly touched her skin. “Really.”

Scully’s chest rose and fell heavily. His breath on her neck raised goosebumps all the way down to her fingertips. Her nipples tightened against the front of her t-shirt. “What if I said that maybe it was an alien? Maybe this is some kind of… hot spot.” Her voice was a little higher than usual, a little rough. Mulder made a humming sound in the back of his throat and leaned even closer. The back of his hand brushed her thigh in a way that could have been accidental but probably wasn’t.

“I’d say who are you and what have you done with my wife?”

She arched her body toward him, just slightly, and the impulse to grab her and pull her against him was overwhelming. His eyes slid over her, caught on the hardened peaks of her nipples outlined by her tight t-shirt. “How would you know it’s me?” she asked.

“Hmm, I guess I’d have to check you over for identifying marks.” He reached out a single finger to the hem of her shirt, but did not let it slip under.

“Oh yeah?” Now she turned to whisper into his ear, hot breath along his neck, so very close that he could smell her lotion. “Tough.”

Mulder’s mouth fell open, then his head fell back against the couch and he laughed.

“I had you,” she was smiling, but he recognized the telltale flush above the neck of her shirt.

He let her know that he saw. “Scully, I’m pretty sure I had you too.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she moved to pick up her case notes. “I’m gonna go type these up.”

Mulder only nodded, a knowing smirk on his face.

_+_

Sunday was more difficult, less playful. They’d bumped arms a few times in the night, but Mulder had grown accustomed to being the big spoon and missed the feeling of her ass pressed up against his hips, its occasional slow grind as she arched her back toward pleasure in her sleep. Scully missed the way his hand would slip under her pajama top to hold one of her breasts, even as he snored behind her. These were not passionate or lustful touches, but nightly comforts that created a low-level thrum of arousal over their bed and made sleep that much sweeter. To lie beside each other without them seemed an unnecessary cruelty, and both awakened, already grumpy, to the sound of “Mamaaa. Daddeeee,” from the next room at a too-early hour.

“Should we bring him in here, see if he goes back to sleep?” Mulder asked.

“Hmmugh, yeah, I guess.”

A few minutes later, William was trying his best to relax between them, but his tiny body flailed and tossed and turned every few seconds. His head would rest on Mulder’s shoulder, then on Scully’s, then she would feel the slap of his hand against her upper arm. She rolled to look at him, glanced his chubby cheek with her index finger.

“Hi, baby,” she said.

“Hi Mama.” He was smiling, his brown hair in a loose fluff over his forehead. “I hungry.” And that was the end of their rest.

Over the course of the day, a slow, frustrated tension built between Mulder and Scully. His hand would come, unthinking, to the small of her back as they passed in the kitchen reaching for a glass of water or a box of crackers. She would lean into it, hungry for his hands, and then, remembering, force herself away. The stretched collar of his t-shirt dipped to reveal a smooth collarbone, and Scully found herself bending over to kiss it before she realized what she was doing and straightened back with a frown. He noticed.

“Tomorrow will be easier, Scully. We’ll be at work.”

She made a face and went back to fix a snack for William, who was doctoring a pair of stuffed toys with a plastic stethoscope. “I hope so.”

_+_

Monday was, indeed, easier. They hurried through their morning routine, dropping William with the babysitter and riding together, since they were both at Quantico today: Mulder consulting, Scully doing her usual slicing and dicing. They had lunch together and found that the playfulness had returned as an easy flirtatiousness that reminded her of the later years of their partnership.

“Oh, hi there,” Mulder said as he approached the lunch counter where she sat.

“Hi, yourself.”

“Nice sweater.”

She looked down at the simple black v-neck. “Mulder, you saw it this morning.”

He just shrugged and took the seat beside her. “What’s on the menu?”

“Everything but me,” she said with a wry smile.

“Oooh, ouch.” He leaned in and said into her ear, “So I guess you don’t want to slip into the restroom with me for a quick minute?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Mulder.” The look again, which broke into a smile at the end. “Ask me again next week.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

She shoved his shoulder gently. “Order your sandwich, Mulder.”

“Careful, Scully,” he said, taking hold of her knee beneath the table. “Touching leads to naughtiness.”

“Hey, hey! No under-clothes touching. You’re cheating.” His fingertips were brushing over her bare kneecap, sending little zaps of electricity all over her body. Despite her complaint, she didn’t move his hand away. It slipped a bit higher up her leg.

“Not my fault you wear such short skirts.” His breath was back in her ear, and she found herself ready to take him up on that bathroom offer, damn him. She was saved, however, by the approaching waitress.

_+_

Tuesday was awful. They had to go in separately and Scully had to stay late for a third autopsy. By the time Mulder saw the lights of her car pulling up the long driveway, dinner was put away and William was already asleep. She entered with slumped shoulders and immediately kicked off her shoes, dropped her jacket across a chair, and flopped onto the couch.

“Rough day?” Mulder came in, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

Scully just nodded her head without looking up. Her brows were furrowed and there was a faraway look in her eyes. “William asleep?”

“Yeah. He missed you.”

“Sorry.”

Mulder sat beside her on the couch and took her hand. “Tell me.”

“I, ah… was called in for a third autopsy.”

“On the Dover Demon thing?”

She shook her head. “No.” There was a pause while she collected herself, and Mulder squeezed her hand. “Different case. The victim was eight.”

Scully looked up, then, and saw his face fall, heard his sharp intake of breath. “Oh Jesus, Scully, I’m so sorry.” He tugged her toward him. “Come here.” He palmed her shoulder and tucked her into his arms. She went easily, crumpling against his chest and wrapping her arms around his middle. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked against her hair.

She shook her head and breathed in deeply the smell of him: his soap and deodorant, the laundry powder in his sweater, and the subtler trace of his sweat and skin beneath.

“Hungry? I made that broccoli mac and cheese stuff.”

“Mmm, God yeah. I’m starving.”

He fed her and dragged her up to bed. Under the covers, in only a nightshirt and underwear, she curled up against him. Despite the bet, her face nuzzled the center of his chest and her right hand went to his hip, to the hem of his boxers.

“Mulder.”

“Yeah,” he said into her hair.

“I don’t wanna play this game anymore.” Her lips pressed against his skin. Her fingers dipped below the waistband.

“Okay,” he said. He brushed her hair back from her face, tilted it up toward his own and looked into her eyes.

“You win, Mulder. You’re right. I can’t wait a week.” There was desire in her eyes, but also sadness, a need for comfort. She tilted her lips up to his and kissed him, let her whole hand slide into his boxers. “Will you love me?”

He angled his body upright so he could cup her cheeks with both hands. “Oh, Scully,” he said and kissed her, kissed her again, then one more time. “Always.”

He rolled her onto her back in the dark, slid her nightshirt up up and over her head until her breasts were bared before him and her eyes shone in the moonlight that filtered through their windows. He kissed. He tasted. He hardened her pink nipples to peaks with his tongue and could feel the goosebumps rise on her back beneath his fingertips. His thumbs found her hipbones, his long fingers the curve of her bottom. He tugged down on damp satin until she was utterly bare before him.

“Three days was enough, Scully.” His tongue dipped into her navel. He kissed below it, where fine, silver-threaded stretch-marks ornamented the slight mound of flesh. He moved lower. “You win, too,” he murmured against her sex. He traced its outline with his tongue, teased her opening until she moaned and arched and spread her legs wider. He gave her what she wanted: his full attention, his fingers, his tongue. She was flushed and full and arching, and then pulling at his shoulders.

“Mmm, please,” she whimpered. “I want you inside me. Please please.” She tugged at him, arching and writhing to get him to her sooner. He pulled his boxers off in one motion and drew the tip of his shaft up and down through the wet heat where his mouth had just been. She gripped him, felt the full, smooth weight of him and moaned. “Yes.”

Their eyes locked. His nose touched hers and rubbed gently. She smiled.

With legs wrapped firmly around his hips, she guided him into her. She sighed, his face in her hands, the weight of the day slipping quietly into the past. Her present was here. Her future was here. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said. And he rocked into her with the gentle force of all his love.

_+_

In the morning, she woke with his hand on her breast. Her ass was pressed up against the slight swell of him and his every breath blew strands of her hair with a little puff. She rocked her hips back and felt his sleepy thrust in response, a tightening of his palm over her nipple. She rolled so they were face-to-face and scraped the nails of one hand along his slightly sweaty scalp.

“G’morning,” she murmured.

His eyes blinked open. He placed a small kiss on her forehead. “Morning.”

They were naked in the brightening dawn, cloaked in only a top sheet and already humming with faint arousal. She hooked her right leg over his hip. He tugged her waist so she was flush against him. She nuzzled the warm spot beneath his ear, let her tongue flick against the salty skin.

And then: “Mamaaaaa,” from the adjacent room.

Scully laughed into Mulder’s lips and tried to pull away, but he held her to him. “Uh uh.”

“Mulder.”

“Mamaaaa. Daddeeee.”

He groaned.

“That one was for you,” she said.

He bit her shoulder, licked it better. “I’m in no condition to pick up a toddler.”

She kissed him again. “Fair point.” She sat up and searched for her nightshirt.

“Hey, Scully,” he said. She raised her eyebrows in response before tugging the shirt over her head. “No more bets. We’ve had enough obstacles in this life keeping us apart.”

She smiled, nodded, and went to get their son.

#a thing I wrote #au #post s9 #fluff #msr

651 notes · View notes

tisfan · 6 years

Text

Peas in a Pod (Chapter Five)

Title: Chapter 5 of Peas in a Pod Collaborators: @27dragons and @tisfan AO3 Link Square Filled: O1 - In Vino Veritas Ship: Bucky/Tony, Steve/Seb Rating: T Major Tags: confessions, drinking, background Nat/Scott, references to sex that happened Summary: Switching back, Bucky has a new song, Seb is almost late for class, and there’s a whole lot of questions at the after-concert party… Word Count: 3,643 Created for @mcukinkbingo

Seb’s phone -- well, technically, it was Bucky’s phone -- went off at ridiculous o’clock Friday morning. Which was only ridiculous because Steve had been covering for him with the band, and they’d stayed out late Thursday night and partied like… well, like fucking rock stars, and it had been one of the best nights of Seb’s life, ending with an impressively long bout of making out and mutually masturbating.

Speaking of which, Steve was still laying over Seb’s legs. And the phone was still buzzing. Texts.

Meet early for the thing.

We need to switch back before the show. And I fail all your tests.

Also, I’d kinda like to have my credit card back.

And you need new shoes, you are a menace to arches everywhere.

Seb groaned and let his hand fall back to the bed. Tests. Yes. That... that was a thing he was supposed to be doing. And probably he should not go up on stage as Bucky; his impression was pretty good for a couple of rounds of karaoke, but he wasn’t going to be able to maintain it for the duration of a whole show. And he definitely didn’t think he could fake that synergy with the rest of the band that made a Winter Soldier performance so electrifying.

Fuck. He rubbed at his face and then prodded at Steve’s shoulder. He managed to unstick his teeth enough to mumble, “G’off.”

“Again?” Steve said. For a guy with short hair, Steve had some impressive bedhead. He nuzzled sleepily at Seb’s chest. “Thought we did that already?”

(more under the cut)

Seb pushed at Steve a little harder. Jesus, the guy was built like a tank. And nearly as heavy. “Off,” he clarified. “Clock’s striking midnight, time for Cinderella to go back to being a drudge.”

Steve huffed and rolled over, taking most of the blankets with him. “Yeah, I guess I knew this was coming.” He straightened to look at Seb with a wistful gaze. “You’re not gonna go into hiding and make me find you with a shoe, are you?”

“Well, I might,” Seb mused. “Bucky says I need new shoes anyway.” He waved his phone at Steve by way of explanation. “But nah, I mean. School’s right here in town, it’s not hard to find me. If, you know. You wanted to.” He’d halfway expected Steve to declare them done, a temporary road fling, had-a-great-time-let-me-call-you-a-cab sort of thing. Maybe a little more than half.

Steve didn’t really seem like that kind of guy, but he also didn’t seem like the kind of guy who could do that thing with his tongue, and Seb had been proven gloriously wrong on that count. And rock stars, well. Seb had heard stories, even met a few groupies.

“And if I wanted to?” Steve wondered. He was scratching at the back of his neck, making his hair stand out even more wildly. He eyed Seb for a long moment, taking in the suck-marks along Seb’s collarbone. “I mean, I know it’s weird, believe me, it’s-- you look like him, but you’re not him. I hope you don’t think I’m confused about that.”

Seb shook his head. He’d seen the way Steve and Bucky looked at each other on the stage, and during interviews and photoshoots and in fan photos. That wasn’t how Steve looked at Seb. “I’ll put my number in your phone,” he promised. “And, hey, I’ll see you tonight, right? Free tickets and a backstage pass.”

“That’s gonna be a little freaky,” Steve said. “Both of you in the same room? Bet we could convince Scott that we’d made cloning a real thing.” Steve got up, stretching and showing off that glorious body. The way he looked back to make sure Seb was watching -- yeah okay. “Join me in the shower? Or do you need to run?”

Seb glanced at the phone and did some quick calculations in his head. “I have some time.” He tossed it over his shoulder onto the pillows and threw the blankets aside to roll to his feet.

Bucky tapped his pencil against his thigh, impatient. Where the hell was Seb? He checked his watch again-- if Seb didn’t show up in the next fifteen minutes, Bucky was going to end up having to take the test for him, and that wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

He’d already said goodbye to Tony that morning. Tony rolled out of bed with a squeak of dismay, having a morning exam.

Finally, Bucky spotted his own signature look; hell, Seb looked better than he did. Probably had Loki fussing over him for days. Bucky ducked into the nearest unoccupied classroom -- there were lots, since exams were scheduled. “Sebastian! Here!”

Seb spotted him and increased his pace. “Hey,” he said, swinging into the room and closing the door behind him. “Sorry I cut it so close. It was kind of hard to tear myself away.” He stripped off Bucky’s leather jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, then pulled the layered shirts over his head all at once. “Here, give me my tee.”

He had a row of bruises along his collarbone. A couple of them showed distinct teethmarks.

“Taking advantage of the rockstar lifestyle?” Bucky asked. He was almost reluctant to part with the tee -- it still smelled like Tony’s cologne. “You have a good time?”

Sebastian blushed, red splotches that started in his cheeks and spread halfway down his chest. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did. You?”

“Yeah, it was--- it was good. Too good, maybe.” He sucked in his gut as he tucked in the shirts. Peggy was going to kill him if he’d put on more than five pounds. But oh, god, it had been nice to eat pizza and ice cream, and sharing popcorn with Tony while they watched stupid movies.

Seb pulled on his own shirt with much less care and grinned as he propped one foot up on a chair to unfasten the boots. “Taking advantage of the hedonistic student lifestyle?” he teased.

The back of his neck heated-- anyone seeing them wouldn’t be able to tell them apart, he imagined. “Yeah. Something like that.” He had beard burn on his thighs, but Seb didn’t need to see that. He’d be short one pair of jeans, and Seb’s wardrobe could use some jazzing up, anyway. Oh, thank god, he’d missed his boots. “Remind me to send you a gift card or something-- you keep doing your Winter Soldier gig in these shitty shoes, you’re going to permanently damage your knees. Jesus, I sound like my mother.”

Seb laughed as he tugged on his sneakers. “You want to finance new shoes for me, be my guest. Shitty cheap shoes are about all I can afford.”

“Consider it a bonus,” Bucky said, lacing up. “I’ll see you tonight for the thing, but-- good luck on your tests, your history prof is kinda a hard-ass.”

“It’s in the bag,” Seb promised. “Shit, I still have to figure out who to bring with me tonight.” He pulled a face. “Everyone’s probably already got plans.”

Bucky made a face. He’s already fucked with Seb’s life enough, the man probably had a prospective, or-- “Bring Tony,” he suggested.

Seb grabbed his bookbag and heaved it up over one shoulder, then raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “Tony, really?” He made a face. “I guess. He’d be over the moon about it, probably.” Seb grinned. “Maybe he’ll do the writeup for our last lab in exchange.”

“The thing with the samples, and crystallization? Yeah, we did it last night,” Bucky said. That wasn’t all they’d done last night, but the actual chem work was probably all that Seb cared about. “Once we got the sample box back from Dum-E.”

“You did it at his place?” Seb’s eyes widened. “Brave of you. I usually make him meet me at the library or something.”

Definitely not the time or place to tell Seb what they’d done in the library stacks. “I like him, he’s funny,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Go, go, you’re gonna be late.” He took Seb’s wallet and phone and put them on the desk to tuck his own possessions back in his pockets.

Seb glanced up at the clock on the wall and yelped. “Right, going now!” He scooped up his stuff and bolted for the door without even pausing to put it away. “See you tonight!”

Bucky stared down at his phone. Steve waved at him from the lock-screen. It had been that picture for years and he hadn’t changed it. The tour would be over soon. Twelve more weeks, forty-one more shows. Ug. He pulled up his call list. “Hey, Luis, can you come get me, I’m over--” He glanced at the building. “By the university, near the quad. Thanks man.”

Bucky shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed out the door.

Need to need something-- the last bit of the song fell into place as he slumped across the lawn. There might be time. His thumbs moved over the phone rapidly. “Guys, new song, get your gear together and let’s jam it out, think we might be able to debut it tonight.”

Bucky tucked his phone away, ignoring the multiple buzzes as his band texted back, excited or confused, or just enthusiastic. He looked up into the sky and laughed. Yeah, this had been exactly what he needed.

The concert had been amazing, and only somewhat touched with the melancholy of knowing the band would be gone again tomorrow. Seb had put his number in Steve’s phone, as promised, but hadn’t gotten so much as a “see ya” text. Well, he’d probably been busy getting ready for the show.

Tony, as predicted, had been enthusiastically grateful for the invite, though he’d been a little strange on the subway to the concert hall -- not his usual puppy-like eager-to-please self. Not that he’d been standoffish, just... it seemed like Tony had finally let go of that crush. Which was nice; it felt like Seb could actually breathe properly around the guy now. He wondered what Bucky had said or done to fix that.

And during the concert, when they’d debuted their brand-new song -- first time anywhere, Bucky had told the screaming audience -- Tony had seemed less excited and more... overwhelmed, maybe? Overcome by the song’s sweet longing, maybe a bit more than it really called for. But hey, Seb had never gone to a concert with Tony before; maybe that was just how he was.

By the time the encores had been played and the band had left the stage for the last time, Seb was buzzing with energy and -- he had to admit -- eager to see Steve again. He caught Tony’s eye and nodded toward the stage door, and they started to make their way toward it, backstage passes firmly in hand.

Seb recognized the bodyguard, Luis, who blinked at him, but took the passes. “Come on, right though here, homie, like we gotta check you for weapons an’ stuff, it’s just procedure, you know what it be like, right? My cousin, he--” Luis went through his speech, patting them both down. “All right, come on this way. Tash an’ Scott are in the green room. Soldier’s signing some autographs out back, he should be in soon. There’s beer and food-- do not touch Tash’s cupcakes. She will break your neck.” The way Luis laughed, Seb couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.

“Where’s Steve?” he couldn’t help asking. He craned his neck, looking around hopefully.

“Gym,” Luis said. “He does that thing, you know, man, when he’s-- thinking?” The bodyguard made a few half-hearted punching motions.

Luis opened the green room door, where Scott was entertaining a laughing Nat by inhaling helium out of the balloons and talking in a squeaky voice.

“Oh, wow--” Nat said, turning in the chair and staring at Seb. “He wasn’t even kidding, was he?”

“Uh.” Seb shoved his hand through his hair. “He told you guys, huh?” He held out a hand. “Sebastian. It’s... it’s just amazing to meet you.” Steve had mostly kept him out of the way of the rest of the band over the last week, lest they figure out the switch, so he was, at least mostly, meeting them for the first time. Sort of.

“Yeah, he said you won a contest,” Nat said. She absently licked icing off the top of her cupcake. “Winter Soldier impersonator. Can’t imagine why anyone would want to be Barnes. Especially not tonight.” She pulled a bottle of vodka out from where she had it tucked between her and the chair. “Drink, boys?”

Scott shook Seb’s hand, several times. “Yeah, you do, you look just like him, this is so cool, so cool, and… I’m shaking your hand too long, sorry, it’s just kinda a mind-fuck, you know, I mean, look at you.” He turned to Tony, still shaking Seb’s hand. “Are you seeing this guy? How does it not-- pooof, just blow your mind?”

Tony laughed good-naturedly. “It kinda did,” he admitted, “but I’ve had a couple of months to get used to it, I guess.” He reached for the offered vodka and took a swig. “What did you mean, not wanting to be Bucky tonight?” he asked Natasha.

“He and Steve are fighting,” Nat said, carelessly. “It will be ugly and long, and we are all, you would say, shoved in a tour bus like sardines for the next two months. I need new headphones.”

Scott finally let go of Seb’s hand. “Happens, when you’re living on top of each other all the time,” Scott said. “So, what’d you think of the new song? Buck was all crazy this afternoon; like he dodged us all week and suddenly he’s back with this amazing song, like, I’m sure I flubbed it-- I am not the best drummer in the world--”

“-- You’re not even the best drummer in the band--” Nat piped up, then laughed as Scott threw a handful of popcorn at her.

“It was good,” Seb said. “I really liked it. Could maybe use a more upbeat bridge, though. I dunno, you guys are the experts. But I’m definitely looking forward to the new album.” He glanced over at Tony, expecting agreement, or maybe an argument about the bridge thing.

Tony was flushing again, and taking another swig of the vodka. “I loved it,” he said softly. “I thought it was perfect.”

Scott started to wax poetic about the song, some of the complicated riff-patterns, because Bucky was obviously some sort of fucking masochist, when the door slammed open, letting in a sweaty Steve Rogers, dressed in form fitting compression shorts, a tank, and his hands taped up for boxing, followed closely by Bucky, who grabbed a handful of Steve’s shirt. “No, you wait-- oh. You’re here.”

Seb’s mouth had gone dry at the sight of Steve dressed like that. “Uh, yes.”

“Seemed pointless to sit around and watch everyone else file out of the hall,” Tony added, cheeky, then bit his lip, looking between Bucky and Steve. “Should we go?”

“Yes-” “-no.” It was hard to tell who had said what, and both Steve and Bucky glared at each other.

“I don’t want to argue in front of--” Steve glanced at Seb, then took in Tony standing there looking stunned. “People who aren’t involved.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “But, uh… he is. Involved, that is.”

“That’s because it was your dumb idea--” Steve burst out, then shut his mouth with a snap.

“What, Steve? What exactly was my dumb idea?” Bucky was right up in Steve’s face. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Scott glanced at Seb. “Do you know what’s going on, because I don’t know what’s going on.”

Nat snorted. “You never know what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to rub it in--”

“You like it when I rub it in,” Nat teased.

Seb lost track of their bickering, because he had a sinking feeling he did know what was going on. “Shit.” Steve had told him that the relationship with Bucky was in name only, just to keep the fans happy for the rest of the tour, but... what if Bucky didn’t quite feel the same way? What if Bucky was mad at Steve because of Seb? “Oh, hell, is this... is this my fault?”

“Why the hell would it be your fault?” Nat asked, and at that, everyone turned around to look at her. “What? He said it, not me.”

Steve made an exasperated face, throwing his hands up. “We-- you-- what the hell did you go and write a love song for? Did you think I wouldn’t know? I--”

“It was for me,” Tony said breathlessly. His eyes were locked on Bucky. “Wasn’t it? I thought I recognized that riff. It was the one you were humming--” He broke off, glancing around as if only just realizing that other people were in the room.

Scott raised his hand. “Can I ask a question?”

Nat rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to raise your hand, Scott. This isn’t second grade.”

“Wait, what?” Steve whirled on Tony. “Who the hell are you?”

Bucky moved, suddenly between Steve and Tony. “Leave him alone, this-- this is between us.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Seb asked.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to ask!” Scott complained.

Tony glanced back at Seb and gave him a sheepish shrug. “Cat’s out of the bag,” he said. “Might as well tell the whole truth.”

“You knew?” Seb demanded.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Please. Did you think I wouldn’t be able to tell it wasn’t you when you started being so nice?”

That stung. “I’m... I’m nice,” Seb said.

Steve made a thoughtful, humming noise. “I’ll say…”

Nat’s hand went up. “Now I have a question.”

“Please,” Tony scoffed. “You barely tolerated me. I get it, I do, but you weren’t nice. Not until this week.”

“Besides, I told him,” Bucky said. “He was freaking out about it. You forgot to mention that your lab partner was the hottest thing this side of Venus. So, he, uh, he helped cover for me.”

“So, you’re not--” Steve held up one finger “-- not actually falling in love with me?”

“No!” Bucky looked almost offended by that. “I mean--”

“Yes,” Seb said, and when everyone looked at him again, he just smiled and shrugged. “Might as well admit it, right? Since the cat’s out of the bag?” How much vodka had he had?

“I wrote the song for Tony,” Bucky admitted. “I haven’t… I mean. Steve, you and I--”

“It was never going to work,” Steve finished. “Not enough room in the bed for both of our egos, right?”

Bucky snorted. “I’m amazed you can fit in the room with your ego.” He flashed a glance at Seb. “The bruises? I thought I recognized Steve’s teeth marks.”

Seb felt his face getting hot. “You didn’t ask,” he said defensively.

Scott threw himself on the sofa plaintively, “Why is everyone getting laid around here that’s not me?”

Nat sat up a little in the chair. “You have not asked.”

Bucky held out his hand, like he was offering to waltz with Tony. “I don’t know if I can last out the tour,” he admitted. “It’s not hard to pretend when nothing’s real. But I don’t know if I can do it when something… might be.”

Tony took Bucky’s hand and stepped closer, almost crowding into Bucky’s side.

Seb tried to make that make sense in his head. Bucky fucking Barnes and Tony Stark? What even the hell had happened? He swallowed and looked back at Steve. “He might have a point.”

“I wasn’t-- I wasn’t going to worry about it if it was just me,” Steve said, then corrected himself. “Just us. If someone saw me with you-- no one would know. But--”

“Christ, really?” Bucky demanded. “Did you know--”

“What--”

“Did you know, did you know he wasn’t me, when you-- whatever it is you did?”

“I’m not mooning over you, Buck,” Steve said. “I knew it wasn’t you the instant I kissed him. You don’t… you don’t kiss like that. This man could place in an Olympic event for kissing.”

“You know, this is great, this is wonderful, you’re all very cute, and you’re talking it out, getting your feelings out on the table, that’s… that’s really, really great. I approve. And… while I’m stepping all over your moment here, I’m just going to ask you to excuse us, but it seems like you’ve both found someone new, that’s amazing, Darcy’s going to kill all of us, but--” Scott said, putting one arm around Steve’s shoulders and one around Bucky’s. “Now that we’re all done with the bullshit, fake relationship shit, I think I’m going to ask our keyboardist if she’d like to boink like bunnies with me, and we’ll get out of your hair.”

“‘Boink like bunnies’?” Nat’s eyebrows disappeared into her hair. “Really?”

“I mean, obviously when I actually ask you, I’m going to be all suave and romantic,” Scott told her.

She considered him cooly for a moment, then rolled to her feet. “All right.”

“Well,” Bucky said, watching them leave. “That… was unexpected. So… uh. I’m gathering from all this, that-- he… and you-- and me an’ Tony... did this work out for everyone? I think, it did?”

Seb smiled and tucked himself up under Steve’s arm. “Yeah, I think it did.”

Rolling Stone Magazine

No, You’re Not Seeing Double

Winter Soldier front man, Bucky Barnes, and long term partner, Steve Rogers, have broken up-- not the band, but their relationship. But don’t be sad, we have the latest scoop on their new sweethearts, and a story that’s sure to give you faith that… anything could happen.

#mcukinkbingo #tony stark x bucky barnes #steve rogers x sebastian stan #rock band AU

15 notes · View notes