#I’m mildly concerned I’m never actually gonna finish this fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sojourne · 5 years

Text

I'm out of My Head, of My Heart and My Mind

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier x Reader

Plot: Late one night, Geralt comes back to you and Jaskier after a hunt with a wound on his shoulder and a heated, feral look in his eyes. He tells you and Jaskier to head for the hills, but of course, neither of you listen.

And for once, Geralt's glad that you two ignored his instructions.

Warnings: Mildly Dubious Consent, Aphrodisiacs, Fuck-or-Die, Threesome (F/M/M), Rough Sex, Biting, Scenting, Scent Kink, Size Kink, Size Difference, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Voyeurism, Breeding (discussed, not actually happening), Blow Jobs

Notes: Hey look, I've found another Fandom to rub my grubby little hands on! Anyways I fell in love with these idiots as soon as I saw them and I've been binge reading almost every Witcher fic I can find. During my reading I realized there's a lack of reader insert fics and Jaskier/Reader fics so I decided to remedy that!

Also I know everyone and their sister has written a fuck-or-die fic already but... I'm a slut for that trope so I decided to add my own to the pile.

Title is taken from The Wolf by SIAMÉS!

Taglist: Not gonna put my taglist since this isn’t an AHS fanfic and I dunno if anyone wants to see this lmaooooo

You had to admit, when you had first started traveling with Geralt and Jaskier, you couldn’t understand the Witcher’s frustration with the bard. He seemed kind and full of life, and was always eager to lend a hand and would comfort both you and Geralt with equal enthusiasm.

But now, sitting around the dwindling campfire, the sun having long since vanished behind the hills, you really wished Jaskier would give it a rest.

“Do you think he’ll come back soon?” His lilting voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you let out a long, drawn out sigh, sliding down the log you were sitting on and draping yourself over it, hanging limply.

“I didn’t know ten minutes ago, I didn’t know five minutes ago, and I still don’t know now,” you grumbled, staring up at the clear night sky, watching the stars twinkle and shine above you, the moon illuminating the surrounding landscape with a soft, otherworldly glow. You heard Jaskier let out a huff, shifting around on the other side of the campfire.

“Which way did you say he went again?” Jaskier asked, peering over at you. You sighed, sitting up and staring over at him with narrow eyes, knowing exactly what he was up to.

“He told us to stay here for a reason, Jaskier. He left a while ago and if you try to follow him now you’re just going to get lost, and when he comes back I’m going to have to send him right back out into the woods to come rescue you,” you said, Jaskier gasping dramatically and grasping his chest in mock-hurt.

“Y/N, I can’t believe you would say such a thing about your dear friend Jaskier,” he began dramatically, making you smile slightly and roll your eyes. Jaskier was obnoxious, yes, but he was still your friend and you just couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

“In fact, I think that— hm?” He suddenly stopped, leaning to look past you and squint into the darkness. You cocked your head at him, raising a brow. You were about to ask what was wrong when you say his eyes widen, his face growing pale as he began scrambling to stand up, causing you to turn and look behind you, wondering what had startled the bard.

Geralt.

You could hardly see him in the darkness but you spotted the white of his hair moving through the shadows, his pace slow and lethargic. You immediately got up, running after Jaskier.

“Geralt!” The bard cried in alarm, the two of you finally noticing the bleeding wound on the Witcher’s shoulder. It looked like a bite mark. Geralt let out a deep, rumbling growl as the two of you approached before slumping down onto the ground, now on his knees.

“Don’t,” he barked, you and Jaskier immediately freezing, exchanging a concerned glance before looking back to Geralt.

“Geralt, what—“ you tried to speak but he cut you off, grunting. You looked over to Jaskier who was nearly vibrating with energy, his instincts telling him to go to Geralt, to help him and comfort him, but he stayed put, not wanting to upset the Witcher further.

“You two, get Roach and go back to the town, now,” he snapped, looking between you and Jaskier with a strange expression on his face that you had never seen before. It almost looked like fear.

“But Geralt, the monster—“

“It’s dead,” Geralt said, cutting Jaskier off before the bard could finish. Jaskier looked confused, his browns furrowed as he shifted from one foot to another, staring at Geralt.

“Wait, what? If it’s dead why do we need to run? Geralt, you look like you got bitten, is that a bite mark? Was it a werewolf? Are you going to turn into a werewolf now?” Jaskier immediately began rambling, Geralt staring at him in frustration.

“Fucks sake bard, can you not listen? I said take Y/N and Roach and go,” he snarled, both you and Jaskier jumping at his desperate tone.

“Geralt, what bit you? What can we do? You must have something in your bag that can help, some kind of potion,” you began desperately, reaching out slowly towards Geralt, who only growled at your hands and leaned away, like a wild animal that had never seen a human before. He was still for a moment, taking long, deep breaths and trying to steady himself, his eyes starting to look glassy and out of focus.

“There’s nothing you can do. You need to get as far away from me as possible, you two need to get somewhere safe,” he said, the shakiness in his voice making your blood run cold. You had never heard Geralt sound so desperate and unsteady before, and you didn’t understand why he wanted you two to leave him here while he was injured.

“Gods, Geralt, what bit you? Tell us— tell us so we can help,” Jaskier pleaded, taking a few steps closer to the white-haired man. Geralt growled deep in his throat, closing his eyes tightly and groaning.

“A fucking succubus bit me, bard. So unless you want me to fuck you to death you need to leave,” Geralt bit out, his voice deep and rumbling.

Oh.

You looked over at Jaskier, who now stared at Geralt with wide eyes, his cheeks flushing pink and for once, he was at a loss for words.

You looked back to Geralt who was now sweating profusely, pale skin flushed and eyes unfocused, trying to keep his gaze off of you and Jaskier and on the ground. You sighed, running your hands through your hair, looking over to Jaskier once more before slowly approaching Geralt, a concerned look on your face.

“Geralt,” you spoke softly as to not alarm him, the man grunting in response. “What happens if we leave you here? Will you be okay?” you asked softly, Geralt sighing and squeezing his eyes shut, his fists clenching in the dirt below him.

“No.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, completely dumbfounded. “We’re not going to leave you here to die in the woods. We’re not leaving you here alone,” he said, Geralt letting out a loud groan of annoyance, very close to losing his patience.

“Dammit Jaskier, listen to me for once in your life. I’ve been poisoned, the only way to get it out is for me to fuck it out of my system, and I’m not doing that to you. I’m not hurting you,” Geralt said, now panting slightly. Jaskier turned to look at you, a terrified expression on his face, terrified at the prospect of losing Geralt. You pressed your lips together in a firm line, grunting as you fell down to your knees in front of Geralt, staring at him.

“Geralt, you’re our friend— you’re our friend and we’re not leaving you out here to die alone. Just… Let me help you, Jaskier can go back to the village and I’ll stay here,” you said firmly, Geralt’s eyes snapping open, and although he was still staring at the ground you could see that his eyes were nearly black, his pupils completely dilated.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Y/N,” Geralt said, letting out a soft, delirious laugh. You seldom heard Geralt laugh, or really make any noise besides hmm or ugh or fuck. This was probably the most you had heard him say in weeks, which would have been amazing if the conversation didn’t revolve around his fear of fucking you or Jaskier to death.

“Oh, now you’re telling me to go run back to the village? Y/N, I barely listen to Geralt and he’s large enough to pick me up and snap me like a branch, and you think I’ll listen to you?” Jaskier said, trying to lighten the mood, but the high-pitched and scared tone of his voice wasn’t very convincing.

“Y/N, Jaskier, if you stay I’m just going to hurt you, you need to go. Please,” Geralt croaked out the last word, still staring down at the ground, his brows furrowed. You nearly fell over, blinking in surprise at the Witcher’s words.

That was the first time you had ever heard him say please.

You looked up at Jaskier, staring at him for a moment before you looked back to Geralt, taking a deep breath.

“And what if I want you to hurt me, Geralt?” You asked and before you even knew what was happening Jaskier was diving out of the way with a yelp as Geralt launched himself towards you, pinning you to the ground and pressing his lips against yours in a rough kiss.

You let out a squeak at the sudden pressure and warmth against you, the feel and sound and scent of Geralt borderline intoxicating as his hands squeezed your shoulders, his tongue quickly pressing into your mouth and eliciting a soft, surprised whine from your throat.

“Oh, well, right then, I suppose we’re starting already,” Jaskier warbled from a few feet away, his voice strained. You gasped for air as Geralt broke away from the kiss, immediately moving down to nip and lick at your neck, inhaling your scent and letting out a rumbling growl against your throat. You gasped, gripping his shoulders tightly, careful to avoid touching his wound as you felt him biting you before soothing over the mark with his tongue.

Jaskier watched on in awe, his face flushed red as he watched Geralt biting your throat and rutting against you, his golden eyes glassy and clouded with lust.

“Smells so fucking good,” Geralt growled down at you, nuzzling under your neck and licking a stripe up your jaw. You whimpered, gasping softly as you felt the outline of his heavy cock through his trousers, already hard and thick. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and looked up to see Jaskier stepping closer, pupils blown wide as he watched the two of you.

“So, uh, you want me to stay and help?” He asked, unable to take his eyes off of you. Geralt was completely ignoring him, alternating between stripping off his layers of armor and marking your neck. You nodded at Jaskier, gasping as Geralt once again bit you. He didn’t break the skin, to your surprise, but you knew that there would be a bruise there come morning.

“Yeah, uh, I figure it’ll be easier this way— he can have me first and when I’m tired he can, fuck— he can have you,” you spoke, trying to ignore the older mans mouth on your flushed skin, his teeth and tongue already driving you mad. Jaskier nodded, wringing his hands together awkwardly before glancing to Geralt who now had his armor and shirt removed, allowing Jaskier’s eyes to rake over his pale skin, marred with scars both new and old, telling the story of his exploits and battles.

You let out a startled yelp when you were suddenly flipped over onto your stomach, Geralt’s hands moving to your hips to yank your ass up, growling as he began tugging down your pants and smallclothes. You quickly shrugged off your shirt, laying it down on the ground under you so that you at least had something soft to rest on. Jaskier watched, hypnotized as you were undressed, Geralt grasping your hips with a bruising grip as he leaned over you, his muscles rippling and flexing under his skin.

Jaskier had seen Geralt naked more times than he could count, familiar with the other mans body after years of traveling with him, bathing with him and cleaning his wounds after his hunts, but he had to admit, he had never seen Geralt… Like this. Feral, eager, his heavy cock hanging between his legs, precum already spilling from the flushed tip. It had Jaskier swallowing hard and shifting around awkwardly, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his own trousers.

You let out a high-pitched moan when Geralt finally yanked your pants off, baring your wet cunt to him. You heard him growl behind you, one hand gripping your hip and one hand moving to splay over your back between your shoulders, pushing you down onto the ground roughly. You grunted, spreading your legs and allowing Geralt better access to your entrance.

“Okay— okay, Geralt, let’s just start out slow at first and then— FUCK!” you keened as you suddenly felt the head of his cock pressing into you, the thick shaft following soon after, splitting you open and driving deep inside you. Jaskier yelped in alarm, quickly moving down to kneel in front of you, hands on the ground to steady himself. You cried out as Geralt continued thrusting against you, letting out grunts and growls as he fucked himself deeper inside of your tight, wet heat, his entire body feeling like it was on fire.

“Shit, Y/N— are you okay?” Jaskier asked and you shakily lifted yourself up on your elbows, whimpering at the burn and stretch of Geralt’s heavy cock, pressing further inside you than you thought was possible. You bit your lip, nodding your head quickly as your eyes fluttered shut, trying to adjust to the feeling of being split open and spread so thoroughly and roughly. Geralt, at least, seemed to still be mildly aware of what was going on and was trying to hold himself back, stilling momentarily to let you get used to the feeling.

“Yeah,” you squeaked out at Jaskier, shuddering as you felt Geralt twitch inside of you. “He’s just, fuck— he’s big, I feel like he’s gonna tear me in half,” you whined, panting. Jaskier was now breathing heavily, staring at you, at your eyes and your lips and the beads of sweat glistening on your skin. Suddenly one of Geralt’s large hands was back on your shoulder, shoving you back down to the ground and you groaned as his cock shifted around inside of you, sliding deeper.

He leaned over you, panting and shuddering as you clenched and contracted around him. His eyes were closed in concentration, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise and the other against your shoulder, pressing you down and making sure you stayed put. His weight on top of you effectively prevented you from squirming away, making sure you took every last inch of his thick length.

Jaskier was breathless, his cock now painfully hard as he watched Geralt take you, rutting you into the ground like a feral animal. He swallowed thickly, shakily reaching forward to touch the side of your face in a comforting gesture. As soon as he touched your fevered skin he heard Geralt let out a deep growl, the bard looking up to see a pair of glowing, cat-like eyes glaring at him.

“Mine,” the Witcher grunted, snapping his hips forward and finally burying the rest of his sizable cock inside of your cunt, his eyes rolling back in his head. You were panting now, wheezing and trying to catch your breath as you felt his heavy sac pressing against your entrance. You shuddered under him, sighing in relief as you knew he had no more for you, no more to press and fuck and grind into you.

“Fuck, Geralt, learn to share,” you grit out, finally beginning to relax and adjust to the feeling of the witcher’s cock inside of you. Jaskier looked up at Geralt again who was once again staring at him, his heated gaze sending shivers down the bard’s spine. Jaskier hesitantly pulled his eyes away from Geralt and back down to you, scooting closer.

“Is this okay? Are you okay? I can— I can take over whenever you want,” he said, licking his lips. You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head and shifting around, spreading your legs wider to allow Geralt more room.

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine, really,” you mumbled, furrowing your eyebrows together as you felt Geralt slowly pulling out, before slamming back inside you with a grunt. Your entire body lurched forward from the force of his thrust, nearly landing on Jaskier’s lap as Geralt immediately began fucking you with force, gasping as you tightened around him.

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s a good girl,” Geralt growled, his eyes fluttering closed and lead lolling back as he continued pounding you, completely unfazed by the fact that Jaskier was staring. You moaned desperately with every forceful thrust, the once silent forest now overwhelmed with the cacophony of pleasured moans and skin against skin. The only intimacy you’d ever had before Geralt had been fumbling, awkward and disorganized, a stark contrast to the rough, thorough fuck Geralt was giving you now.

You had also never had someone watch before.

You glanced up at Jaskier, feeling a fresh wave of wetness hit your cunt as you noticed the obvious tent in his trousers, the bard still watching you and Geralt, his usually pale cheeks flushed pink.

“Are you enjoying the show?” you moaned out, Jaskier jolting slightly in surprise as he looked down at you, blinking. His lips parted slightly, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips before he nodded.

“Yes— yes, very much so,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically low and rumbling, making you shiver. Geralt, displeased with the sudden conversation between you and the bard immediately worked to bring your attention back to himself, reaching down to lift one of your legs, turning your body slightly in order to fuck you from a different angle. You immediately cried out, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt him roll his hips against yours, his body quivering.

“Gonna cum soon, my little whore. Will that satisfy you, then? Being fucked full, being bred?” Geralt rumbled, snapping his hips against yours. Even Jaskier let out a moan as the filth spilled from Geralt’s flushed lips, not sure whether to be glad he was able to watch Geralt have his way with you, or jealous that it wasn’t him, pressed beneath the Witcher, being split open on his heavy cock.

“Yes, fuck— yes, please, please,” you moaned loudly, pressing your hips back against Geralt’s as you felt your own orgasm drawing closer, nearly screaming when you felt Geralt reach down to cup your cunt, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit, the sudden friction sending you over the edge, your entire body tensing.

Jaskier watched in awe as your mouth fell open, your eyes squeezing shut as Geralt gave one, two, three more thrusts and then he was stilling against you, balls deep inside your cunt as he let out a deep, feral growl that sounded more animal than man.

You whimpered loudly as you felt Geralt fill you, your body unable to contain the (frankly ridiculous) amount of cum as it began leaking out around his cock, coating your thighs and ass and he didn’t seem to stop, continuing to gasp and twitch against you, rutting his hips against yours in an effort to fill you as deeply as possible, the Succubus’ poison and his own feral instincts telling him to fuck you, fill you, breed you, use his fangs and scent and cum to mark you as his territory.

Jaskier, despite being untouched, couldn’t help but moan weakly as he watched his friend fill you, eyes raking over Geralt’s sweat-slicked body, muscles rippling and straining, the light of the moon almost giving Geralt’s pale hair and skin a ghostly glow. His eyes then moved down to you, watching the way your chest rose and fell, your breasts heaving, cunt flushed and well-fucked, dripping with cum.

Geralt seemed to momentarily withdraw from the lust-induced haze of the Succubus’ poison, gritting his teeth as he felt your slick walls contract around his oversensitive cock. He panted, taking a moment to gather himself before he loosened his grip on you, trying not to think about how hard his fingers were digging into your skin and how, come morning, you’ll be covered in bruises.

“Are you okay?” he rumbled, your eyes flicking up to his. You gave him a weak smile, biting your lower lip and nodding your head, trying to ignore that his cock was still hard and pulsing inside of you despite the fact he had just cum.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your throat raw from constant moaning. Geralt’s lips pressed together in a firm line, observing you and Jaskier and trying to ignore the scent of sex and lust in the air, his senses being overwhelmed with the combined smell of you and the bard. To his relief he smelled no fear, only want, need, pleasure, the scents swirling around him like an aromatic perfume, his cock hardening even further.

“Are you sure? I didn’t even prepare you properly, I could have…” Geralt trailed off, averting his gaze from you and trying to ignore the guilt welling up inside his chest. You sighed softly, shifting towards him and causing him to grunt as his oversensitive cock shifted inside of you.

“Geralt, I said I’m okay. Yeah, you didn’t prepare me or anything and it stung a bit but… I liked it. Everyone else has always been so gentle with me that it barely even felt like anything, treating me like I was some fragile thing that was going to break,” you murmured, looking up at Geralt who hummed softly, seeming to consider your words as he began rubbing small circles against your hips.

“It’s still not too late to leave and go back to the village,” Geralt said softly, trying to push down the feeling of nervousness that was welling up inside him, the fear that you and Jaskier would be frightened, disgusted, horrified with his actions. To his surprise you only laughed, shifting your hips towards him again and causing him to groan.

“Geralt, sometimes you listen about as well as Jaskier does. I told you, we’re not leaving you here,” you said, the Witcher giving you a soft smile. Jaskier let out a huff of indignation, crossing his arms over his chest in an effort to look more serious, although it only caused him to look more ridiculous thanks to his flushed cheeks and the very obvious bulge in his trousers.

“I’ll have you know I listen perfectly well,” he said, Geralt rolling his eyes.

“Fine. If you can listen so well, go get the oil from your pack and get yourself ready for me,” Geralt said, giving Jaskier a smirk. The bard immediately scrambled up, quickly moving back over to the campfire to rifle through his belongings. Geralt huffed softly in amusement at the bards eagerness, before bringing his attention back down to you. You swallowed thickly, feeling the heat return to your cheeks as his golden eyes stared down at you.

“So, shall I spend myself in this tight little cunt once more or do you want me to move to Jaskier?” He rumbled, slowly rocking his hips against you and drawing a gasp from your throat. You laid back down on the ground, spreading your legs and baring your throat to him in submission. Geralt let out a deep growl from with in his chest, eyes darkening as he felt lust clouding his mind once again.

“Such a sweet little thing for me, so obedient,” he praised you, eyes half lidded as he slowly worked his hips against yours, his cock easily sliding in and out thanks to your wetness combined with his seed from your previous coupling. You whimpered softly as he leaned down, pressing his nose under your jaw and inhaling deeply, scenting you. You were broken out of your thoughts as a blanket was spread out next to you, Jaskier plopping down on it with a huff.

“I swear, like horny teenagers you two are, I leave for only a moment and when I return you’re already rutting her again like a beast,” Jaskier scolded, although you could tell he didn’t really mean it. Your gaze flickered up to the brunette as he began tugging his clothes off, shivering as the cool night air hit his skin. Geralt smirked at Jaskier, looking the bard right in the eye as he continued working his cock inside of you.

“I don’t think you mind,” Geralt drawled, Jaskier swallowing thickly at the other mans heated gaze. “In fact, I think you quite like it, watching me fuck her and rut her,” Geralt said, noticing how Jaskier’s eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

“Maybe I do,” Jaskier said brusquely, his voice strained as he continued pulling off his clothes, his chest now completely bare. He was pale and smooth, save for a few scars dotted sparsely across his body, gained during his travels with Geralt. You continued writhing under the Witcher, your cunt sore and oversensitive from the rough fucking he gave you only moments ago.

“Oh, I know you do. I can smell it on you, smell the desire and lust rolling off your skin. Tell me, Jaskier, when I finally pull you down onto my cock and split you open, will you sing for me, my little lark? Or will you moan and cry out like a whore?” Geralt growled the last word, knowing it would get a reaction out of Jaskier and that it did, the bard immediately sputtering and opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched at the Witcher’s vulgar and degrading words.

Jaskier let out a whine of relief as he finally removed the rest of his clothes, now able to palm his flushed and heavy cock. You moaned at the sight, at the knowledge that he was so hard and eager just from watching Geralt take you. Jaskier shakily uncorked the bottle of oil, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers before reaching around to begin preparing himself. Geralt watched in rapt fascination at the bard’s subtle reactions, the way his plush lips parted in a soft gasp, the way his hips twitched forward before grinding back against his slick fingers, the way his eyelids would flutter every time he pressed his fingers deeper inside of himself.

You whimpered as you felt heat building inside you once again, your entire body feeling like it was melting as Geralt continued fucking you, his hips snapping against yours, not as frantic as before but still rough, his calloused hands pressing you to the ground to ensure you couldn’t move away from his powerful thrusts. Jaskier in the meantime was conflicted, trying to figure out whether or not to watch you or Geralt, still fucking himself open with his fingers, his fat cock bobbing at the motion of his hips.

“Are you enjoying this, Jaskier, watching me fuck her open in front of you? Or are you jealous? Would you rather be in her place?” Geralt said, giving a particularly hard thrust that drew out a sharp whine from your throat. The bard’s eyes flickered down to look at you, watching the way your hands flexed as you fisted your hands into your shirt, your eyebrows knitted together and mouth hanging open, your body shuddering and twitching as your orgasm fast-approached.

“Gods, Geralt— the fucking mouth on you. If I knew you’d— shit, be this talkative I’d have found a succubus to bite you months ago,” Jaskier growled out, keening as he pressed a third finger into himself, the stretch dancing the line between pain and pleasure as he opened himself up. Geralt only let out a soft huff of laughter, before turning his attention back to you, his nostrils flaring at the delicious scent you were giving off.

“Are you going to cum, girl? Cum around my cock and milk it, let me fuck you full again?” Geralt growled, speeding up his thrusts and relishing the sounds you were making, the way your hips were pressing back against him, the way you cried out every time the fat head of his cock pressed against that spot deep inside of you.

“Please, Geralt, please, please,” you cried out, not even sure what you were begging for, your brain completely overwhelmed with pleasure. Geralt let out a low, rumbling moan, his hips stuttering as he felt his own impending orgasm. Jaskier watched with bated breath as Geralt once again reached under you to palm your cunt, this time choosing to pinch and roll your swollen clit between his fingers. You moaned loudly, panting and twitching against Geralt as you felt yourself cumming, the girth of his cock almost painful inside of you as you clenched around him.

“Fuck— that’s it, good girl, show Jaskier what a good little bitch you are for me,” the Witcher snarled, pressing his hips firmly against yours as he spilled inside you once again, making sure his throbbing cock was as deep in your cunt as possible. Jaskier moaned, pressing his fingers inside himself as far as he could, almost oblivious to the way his wrist ached as he ground back against his hand.

Geralt was panting, slowly coming down from the high of the Succubus’ poison once again. You whined as he slowly moved back, shivering as you felt the amount of cum that spilled out of you when he finally pulled out. You were sore and oversensitive, but you immediately found yourself missing the delicious stretch of his cock, feeling empty now that he was no longer inside of you.

Geralt sighed, lowering himself to his side and flopping down onto the ground, the coolness of the grass soothing his heated skin. Jaskier whimpered as he removed his fingers from himself, wiping off the excess oil on his discarded clothes as he stood on shaky legs, grabbing the blanket and moving it over to you and Geralt, letting you crawl on top of it before he sat down next to you.

Geralt watched you two silently, his golden eyes almost seeming to glow in the darkness. Jaskier swallowed thickly, a soft moan bubbling up in his throat as he realized that Geralt was still hard, his flushed length now resting against his stomach.

“So that— I mean, is that normal? Some sort of weird Witcher magic or did you just, I don’t know, sit there and let the Succubus chew on you for a while?” Jaskier said, still staring at the sizable cock. He had always thought that he was above average, or at least proportioned decently enough to keep men and women alike coming back again and again but oh, sweet Gods, Geralt was an absolute beast. Jaskier made a mental note to ask you later how you were able to take that thing inside yourself without being torn in half.

Geralt chuckled, feeling oddly pleased that his length was so captivating to the bard.

“I do have quite a bit of stamina from my mutations but no, this doesn’t usually happen,” he said, eyeing Jaskier who let out a soft noise of acknowledgement.

“What a pity,” Jaskier murmured, still staring at Geralt’s length, “Oh, the songs I could write about you and your divine dick,” Jaskier said dreamily, the Witcher giving him a disapproving look, like a parent that had just watched their child jump into a puddle of mud after specifically telling them not to. You groaned softly as you moved to rest your head against Geralt’s thigh, your eyes flicking up to look at Jaskier.

“I think if you write a song about his dick he’ll rip yours clean off,” you said, Geralt letting out a snort in response. Jaskier frowned, pursing his lips and sparing you a glance as he adjusted his position, leaning closer to Geralt who eyed him curiously.

“I think—” Jaskier said, reaching up to let the tips of his fingers dance across Geralt’s length, which twitched at the stimulation, “I think that Geralt, the kind-hearted and caring man that he is, would find it in himself to forgive me for writing a few odes to this magnificent specimen, if in return, I show him why I’m a bard,” Jaskier said simply, both you and Geralt quirking a brow at him.

“Because you’re a bawdy whore that can’t keep his dick to himself?” Geralt asked playfully, ignoring the scowl Jaskier made at his comment.

“No, Geralt, that is not why I’m a bard. I’m a bard because I’m good with my mouth and my hands,” he said simply, immediately lifting Geralt’s cock to his lips and taking the head into his mouth. Geralt grunted, hips twitching up at the sudden stimulation. You watched as Jaskier suckled the Witcher’s cock, a giddy, bubbly feeling building in your stomach as you realized that his cock probably still tasted of you, tasted of your slick and wetness and desire.

You watched Geralt’s face curiously as you reached up, using your thumb and forefinger to stroke the base of his cock, still flushed and heavy. The white-haired man gasped softly at the additional contact, watching you and Jaskier through half-lidded eyes. Jaskier pulled back, panting softly and reaching up to fist the Witcher’s cock, pulling his foreskin back to reveal the plump, flushed tip.

Geralt gasped when the brunette began laving little kitten licks on the head of his cock, squeezing his length as you moved your hands down to cup and fondle Geralt’s heavy sac, your breath catching in your throat as you watched Jaskier, all gentle touches and flushed cheeks, eyes closed in content as he continued lapping at the slit of Geralt’s cock which was already dripping precum.

“You two will be the death of me,” Geralt groaned, letting his head thump against the ground. You and Jaskier both smiled fondly, the bard taking the head of his cock back into his mouth, pressing the flat of his tongue against it and slowly working his way down. He had sucked cocks before, of course, but none were as thick as Geralt’s, so he took it slow, not wanting to ruin the night or have to explain to the village’s doctor why he had a dick-shaped hole in his esophagus.

You shifted to rest your upper half over Geralt’s leg, Jaskier opening his eyes to watch you curiously. You only gave him a wink before leaning forward, running your tongue over a large vein on the side of Geralt’s cock. The Witcher grunted loudly, fisting his hands into the grass below him at the feeling of two warm, slick tongues worshipping his heated flesh. He had felt many things in his life; pain, rage, sadness, fear, but none compared to the absolute overwhelming pleasure you and the bard were granting him.

“If you two don’t stop— fuck, I’m going to cum,” Geralt growled, Jaskier pulling back with a wet pop and licking his lips, gazing at Geralt with half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks.

“That’s the idea,” he murmured sweetly before swallowing Geralt down once again, trying to relax his throat as best he could. You continued alternating between stroking and licking Geralt’s cock, heat rising in your cheeks as you realized how close your mouth was to Jaskier’s. The bard, ever the showoff, made it nearly halfway down the thick cock before needing to pull up again, panting.

Geralt groaned, forcing his eyes open and tilting his head up to watch the two of you suck him, his length twitching at the erotic sight before him. You and Jaskier pulled back momentarily, staring at each other for a moment as Jaskier glanced at Geralt before leaning over, whispering something in your ear. Geralt watched as your expression changed from curiosity to surprise to embarrassment, your wide doe-eyes darting over to Geralt before Jaskier pulled back, licking his lips.

“What are you two— oh fuck,” Geralt cried out, eyes rolling back in his head as Jaskier’s mouth met yours with the flushed and dripping head of his cock pressed in the middle. It took all of his restraint not to fuck up into the hot, slick mouths around him, overwhelming him with pleasure. You whimpered softly as you felt Jaskier’s tongue brush against yours, Geralt’s cock twitching as you both wrapped your hand around his length, fingers intertwining as you both worked his cock.

“Fuck!” Geralt let out a loud snarl, his hips jerking upwards as he came, both you and Jaskier gasping in surprise as you felt the warmth of his cum coating your lips and tongues, leaking down his cock to cover your hands. You both licked him clean, continuing to slowly jerk him, feeling him shiver and grunt under you from overstimulation. Geralt wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or upset when you and the bard pulled away, panting and licking the remnants of his seed off your hands.

Geralt sighed in content, taking a moment to relax before slowly sitting up to look at you and Jaskier. You were both staring at him, pupils blown wide and lips parted. Jaskier shifted uncomfortably, Geralt’s gaze moving to the bards still hard cock, hanging fat and heavy between his legs.

“As much as I would enjoy pinning you down and fucking you I think that’ll you’ll have to settle on riding me, little lark,” Geralt rumbled, Jaskier letting out a soft whine as he noticed that Geralt’s cock was still hard. You grabbed the discarded bottle of oil from the blanket, handing it to Jaskier who uncorked it, licking his lips and pouring a decent amount onto his hand before reaching down and gripping the Witcher’s cock once again.

“So uh, Geralt— I know with Y/N you sort of just, you know, went for it, but I would like to remind you that, ah, I’m a bit more fragile than that,” Jaskier began rambling, staring wide-eyed at Geralt’s thick length. Geralt grunted, rolling his hips up into the bard’s tight grip.

“This isn’t my first time with a man, Jaskier, but if you don’t want this you can go back to the village and I can finish myself off,” he groaned, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed in concentration, trying to focus on the feeling of Jaskier’s hand, somehow both rough and soft at the same time, fisting his cock. Jaskier scoffed, tightening his grip slightly and drawing a choked gasp from the man under him.

“Oh please, this isn’t my first time with a man either, Geralt, and you know me, I’m never one to back down from a challenge,” he murmured, shifting around to face Geralt’s feet and straddle the larger mans waist, biting his lip as he felt the plump head of the Witcher’s cock brush against his entrance. Geralt reached up, gripping the bards hips and squeezing gently, the uncharacteristically soft gesture making Jaskier smile softly.

You watched with bated breath as Jaskier reached back, gripping Geralt’s cock and guiding it to his ass, letting out a sharp gasp as the head pressed inside.

“Easy, Jaskier, take your time,” Geralt rumbled from under him, eyes fluttering shut at the sudden tight, wet heat of the brunette’s body. Jaskier only let out a choked whine in response as he began sliding down, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched at the burn and stretch. You shifted forward, sitting up on your knees and reaching up to cup the side of Jaskier’s face, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, already glassy and unfocused.

“That’s it, that’s a good boy, just relax yourself,” the Witcher growled as his cock slipped further inside, Jaskier keening and grinding down against Geralt. Jaskier nearly cried in relief when he finally felt Geralt’s hips connect with his, knowing the white-haired man was now balls deep inside him. They both sat for a moment, panting and shuddering, Jaskier trying desperately to adjust to the feeling of being fucked open like this, being speared on a cock so thick and made to take every last inch.

The bard sighed in content, reaching down to lay his hands over Geralt’s, which were still resting on his hips. He licked his lips, rocking back against the Witcher.

“Okay, fuck— I’m okay, you can go now, come on, don’t make me beg,” he whined, a shiver running up his spine as he heard Geralt let out a deep, animalistic growl under him. He nearly screamed when Geralt suddenly lifted him up before letting him drop back down, the Witcher’s cock sliding back in easily thanks to the oil. Geralt repeated the process again and again, Jaskier quickly losing track of how many times the older man had fucked into him, his mind completely lost to the overwhelming pleasure.

You watched with wide eyes, enraptured by the sounds coming out of Jaskier’s mouth. You had always thought that there would be no sound more beautiful and ethereal than the sound of Jaskier’s voice when he danced and spun around a tavern, singing his songs and strumming his lute, but now you were sure that his moans, breathless and desperate, were the most gorgeous noises you would ever hear from him.

He let out a litany of sounds, whines and pleas and wails, tears of pleasure welling up in his eyes as he was split on Geralt’s fat cock, his own cock now drooling precum all over his stomach and thighs.

“Gods, Geralt— fuck, please, you’re so good, so absolutely amazing, I feel like you’re in my stomach, oh—“ Jaskier let out a choked, broken moan as Geralt sped up, grunting and snarling under the bard, his hands now gripping the smaller mans hips tightly enough to bruise as he fucked up into him, his hips rolling upwards to meet the bards thrusts back against him.

“Fuck, I was right, you really do moan like a whore,” Geralt snarled, Jaskier keening and throwing his hips back against the older man, pleasure shooting like electricity through his body as Geralt brushed against that spot deep inside him that made him scream.

“Geralt, please, it’s so much— please, keep talking, your voice— it’s so good, please,” Jaskier cried out desperately, his body beginning to twitch and shake with the force of his impending orgasm. He reached for his cock, only for Geralt to snarl, easily trapping both of the bards smaller hands in his own larger one, pinning them behind Jaskier’s back as he fucked up into the bard with renewed vigor.

“Don’t you dare, bard. You’re going to cum on your own, fuck yourself down on my cock and cum untouched like the whore you are,” Geralt growled, Jaskier crying out loudly at a particularly rough thrust. Geralt continued his frantic pace, his arms and thighs burning from the strain but he kept going, chasing his own pleasure and rutting as deep into the bard’s tight ass as he could.

“Come on then, my lark, cum for me. I can fucking smell it on you, smell how eager you are to cum on my cock, how eager you are to feel me fill you up and breed you like the bitch you are,” and with that Jaskier came with a wail of Geralt’s name, his body tensing and his cock twitching, thick ropes of cum spilling all over his stomach and thighs, painting his flushed skin white.

Geralt came seconds later with an animalistic noise, burying his cock as deep inside the brunette as he could, sitting up and holding Jaskier against his chest before sinking his teeth into Jaskier’s neck and drawing another whine from the bard. Geralt slowly opened his mouth, removing his teeth from Jaskier’s tender shoulder as his eyes fluttered open, revealing the sight of… Oh.

“Jaskier, for fuck sake,” he said in exasperation, Jaskier only letting out a dreamy sigh in response.

“Oh, yes, I know— it was so good, I feel like I’m in Heaven,” Jaskier murmured, Geralt huffing out a sigh.

“No, idiot, look at what you did,” Geralt said, Jaskier blinking a few times to focus his eyes, which immediately landed on your face, staring at him with wide, owlish eyes, his expression mirroring yours as he realized that not only did he paint his chest and thighs with his cum, but your face as well.

“Oh shit— did I do that?“ Jaskier let out a choked sound, reaching forward and beginning to wipe your face clean. Geralt rolled his eyes, lifting Jaskier up slowly so that he could pull his now softening cock out.

“Well, considering my cock was buried in your ass when I spent myself I’m going to assume that yes, you did that,” the Witcher grumbled, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down his spine at the pathetic, whimpering sound Jaskier made as he finally pulled out. Jaskier pulled up a discarded shirt, using it to wipe your face. You closed your eyes quickly, reaching to grab the shirt from his hands so you could clean the mess yourself.

“I ah, I’m terribly sorry about that, kind of got caught up in the moment, didn’t quite consider where I would be… Aiming,” Jaskier mumbled sheepishly. You pulled the shirt away from your face, glancing at it and frowning.

“Jaskier… Is this my shirt? Did you seriously just wipe your cum all over my shirt?” You asked incredulously, Jaskier looking down at the offending garment as he opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words to respond.

“I think you fucked the last of his braincells out, Geralt,” you remarked, the bard huffing and scowling at you. Geralt smiled softly, groaning and pushing Jaskier so he was no longer sitting on his sore thighs. You all sat in silence for a moment before Jaskier spoke, looking over to Geralt.

“So, are you feeling any better? Dick not too chaffed? I mean, if it is I can definitely help, I’ve still got some of that lovely oil I bought back when we were—“ Geralt silenced Jaskier with a soft kick to his shin, the bard yelping. You giggled softly, taking the opportunity while Jaskier was distracted to grab his discarded shirt, slipping it on along with your underwear while he was bickering with Geralt.

“Are you two going to fight all night or can we go lay down by the campfire where it’s warm?” You asked, the two men looking up at you. Geralt frowned and scrunched his nose up when he realized you were wearing Jaskier’s shirt, the bard on the other hand completely oblivious to your new wardrobe as he stood up with a grunt, beginning to yank his smallclothes and trousers back on.

You immediately noticed Geralt’s sour expression, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow at the Witcher.

“You’re wearing his shirt,” he grumbled as if he already knew what you were going to ask, Jaskier blinking in surprise and glancing to you, a wide smile on his face.

“Why that she is! It looks quite lovely on you, I must say,” the bard hummed, Geralt rolling his eyes and standing up with a groan, his muscles aching and sore. Jaskier reached out automatically to steady Geralt, giving him a soft smile.

“Geralt,” you said, a teasing lilt to your voice as you eyed the Witcher. “Are you jealous? Is the big, bad White Wolf jealous that I’m wearing someone else’s shirt?” You asked, Geralt sighing loudly as he began walking back over to the campfire, not even slightly embarrassed to be the only one not wearing anything. You and Jaskier followed him, the bard sharing a mischievous look with you as you grabbed your bedrolls, laying them next to Geralt’s as he sat down.

Geralt gave no protest as you and Jaskier settled in on either side of him, piling your blankets together and snuggling closer. Geralt grunted as Jaskier slung one of his legs over his own, effectively trapping him. Geralt finally laid down with a huff, eyebrows furrowing as you immediately laid one of your hands on his chest, nuzzling into his side. You looked up at him, his golden eyes peering at you curiously.

“What’s wrong?” you murmured, staring up at him, Jaskier moving his head to look up at Geralt.

“I—“ he paused, looking away and considering his next words. “I don’t know why you two want to lay next to me after… That. I was rough with both of you. You’re fragile,” he murmured, refusing to meet your eyes. You and Jaskier exchanged a look before snuggling closer to Geralt, running your fingers over one of his scars absentmindedly.

“We already told you, we wanted it. We loved it and you weren’t too rough, we trust you. But, I mean— you didn’t— you didn’t really have a choice so if you don’t want us to sleep next to you I understand,“ you sighed, feeling guilt at the thought that Geralt was so concerned with you and Jaskier that he might have ignored his own wants. You shifted in order to move away but Geralt quickly wrapped a large, muscled arm around you, pulling you back against his chest.

“No. I wanted it. I just— didn’t think you would want it too,” Geralt rumbled, still staring up at the sky, trying to avoid your gaze. You relaxed against him again, finally closing your eyes.

“Oh Geralt, you really are oblivious,” Jaskier murmured with a sigh of content, the Witcher grumbling and wrapping an arm around the bard, squeezing him lightly and making the brunette smile.

For the first time in what felt like years, you all slept peacefully.

#The Witcher #Geralt x Reader #Jaskier x Reader #Geralt x Jaskier x Reader #Geralt/Reader #Geralt/Jaskier #Geralt/Jaskier/Reader

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kirishibi · 4 years

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Nights Like These | Kirishima Ejirou

Summary: You’re having a rough night struggling with your anxiety and your long time crush, Kirishima, helps you through it

Pairing: Kirishima Ejirou x Reader

Warnings: pretty vivid and possibly triggering descriptions of the physical symptoms and racing thoughts that come with an anxiety attack, non-established relationship, pining, lots of Kiri comfort, so much fluff, very very mild cursing, spoilers abt Kirishima’s backstory, (y/n)’s pretty shy in this one oops

**this fic has a lottt of comfort and fluff in it after the first quarter, but if descriptions of anxiety are triggering for you please read with caution and skip over bits if needed**

Word Count: 2.8k

a/n: chef actually writing for once??? unheard of. anyway, i was struggling really hard this week, so i wrote some kiri comfort because who doesn’t want this sweet boi to hold ur hand and tell you everything’s gonna be okay when it feels like the world’s falling apart.i legit wrote this while crying bruv if any one of my fics is a window to my soul its this one

It began with that all-too-familiar pit of dread in your stomach, an uncomfortable rush of adrenaline in your upper chest that you desperately tried to force away. Trembling fingertips, wobbling knees, the sudden urge to crawl out of your own skin. All you did was get tongue-tied while chatting with Bakugou and a few of his friends, but your fumbled words wouldn’t stop echoing through your skull, the angry blond’s mocking gaze replaying over and over again in your mind.

You barely made it to your dorm before shards of your shattered confidence gathered to form a lump in your throat, and tears stung at the corners of your eyes. You threw open the door to your room, hastily swung it shut as you entered. As heavy wood slammed into its frame, a jarring bang echoed throughout the hallway outside. You physically cringed, brows knitting together and nose scrunching in disgust at your own actions.

Damn it, you thought to yourself, everyone heard that, and now they’re all pissed at you.

This happened more times than you could count: one minor mistake drudged up what seemed like hundreds of embarrassing memories from your past, and in a matter of minutes you knew you’d wind up a sobbing mess on your bedroom floor, gasping for air, convinced that the only thing you’re truly good at is being a burden.

There was a dam inside your mind; one that held all of your regrets, self-loathing thoughts, and most embarrassing memories. The multitude of cracks in its foundation threatened to give with every little thing you deemed a screw-up, and in that moment, the dam broke.

A half-complete exam sat before you. Your left leg nervously bounced beneath your desk as a pencil twirled between the nimble fingers of your dominant hand. The eraser of your pencil caught on the surface of your desk mid-twirl, causing the utensil to fling from your grasp. It arched through the air and thumped the boy seated in front of you, Ojiro, right between his shoulder blades. No amount of rambled apologies from you, nor sincere ’it’s okay!’s from the kind-hearted blond could stop that moment from searing itself into your memory. Just another reason you should never leave your room again.

Sinking into an unmade bed, you pulled your knees up to your chest. Feeble arms hugged your legs tightly as you desperately tried to shake the unpleasant thoughts from your own brain. “No,” you pleaded with yourself, “no, (Y/n), you’re not doing this again.” Fingernails dug into soft flesh beneath your school uniform’s knee-high socks, a momentary distraction from the sheer panic swelling inside your chest. Forehead pressed against bent knees, you hoped that if you made yourself small enough, maybe you could disappear entirely.

Accidentally interrupting someone during a conversation, tripping over your own feet while walking down the hall, getting anxious speaking to your redheaded crush and forgetting what you wanted to say altogether.

You couldn’t help but gasp for air, the angry burning of your lungs only worsening with every shallow breath as hot tears trailed down the sides of your face. There was no stopping the sobs that pushed past your lips, nor the self loathing thoughts that racked your brain. You pressed your back firmly against the cool drywall beside your bed with the vain hope that the sudden chill may keep you grounded.

Nearly spitting out your tea as Kaminari cracked a joke during lunch, not realizing you took someone else’s seat in the common room, bumping into an elderly woman on the train, dropping a handful of textbooks in front of your entire class.

A knock on the door momentarily pulled you from what seemed to be an inescapable frenzy of thoughts. You stumbled to your feet, stole a glance in the mirror beside your bed. Reluctant to allow someone else to see your puffy, red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, you forced yourself to speak up, “uh- uhm,” your voice wavered with every word, but you cleared your throat and continued on, “I-I’m sorry, now isn’t really a good time.”

“Aw,” a familiar voice pouted from the other side, muffled by the wall between you, “well, think ya could let me in anyway?” It was Kirishima, the guy you’d been head-over-heels for since the beginning of your freshman year.

You refused to let him see you so disheveled, couldn’t bear the thought of willingly adding another embarrassing moment to your catalogue of painful memories.

“I’m sorry, I- well,” you wanted to lie, to make up an excuse as to why you couldn’t answer the door, but nothing came to mind. “I just can’t talk right now. Do you need something?”

“Yep! It’s really urgent, can’t wait another second!” He eagerly pleaded, and you just couldn’t find the will to say no.

Hastily drying your wet face with creased sleeves and fixing your hair to the best of your ability, you made your way to the door and cautiously inched it open.

The crimson haired boy stood before you with a box of your favorite candy in his hands and a warm smile on his face. His brows were knit together in concern, tender eyes wholly trained on you. He glanced both ways down the vacant hallway to ensure that no one was within earshot before speaking in a hushed tone, “you didn’t seem like yourself in class today. Like, you were quieter than usual, and then Bakugou was a bit of an ass earlier...“ He nodded to the cardboard container in his hands, “I’ve seen you eat this before and it always seems to put a smile on your face, so I thought maybe it could do the same today too.” His grin faltered for a moment, gaze dropping to the floor as if embarrassed by his own words. “It’s stupid, I know, but I had to do somethin’!”

Despite your best efforts, the happy facade you’d forced on for Kirishima fell, and your eyes welled with tears once again. Your bottom lip trembled as you tried to swallow the lump crawling up your throat. His gaze shifted from the floor, back up to meet yours, and he nearly dropped the container in his hands at the sight of you so close to crying.

Without a second thought, he threw his arms around your shoulders in a tight hug, “What’s wrong, (Y/n)?” His voice filled with worry, further breaking your heart, “Did I get the wrong kind of candy?”

“N-no,” you whimpered into his shoulder, unable to finish before the words caught in your mouth and tears wet the thin cotton of his shirt . Your arms wrapped around his waist, unconsciously reciprocating his hug. His warmth reminded you of just how long it had been since you’d let someone be so close. Your knees buckled under the weight of your own grief, and before you knew it, Kirishima was scooping you up into his strong arms. He carried you to the comfort of your bed, kicking the door closed as he passed.

“I knew you weren’t okay,” he muttered into your ear, tone much softer than you were used to from the boisterous man. He carefully set you down on your plush mattress, grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders, then knelt on the floor before you.

“I’m f-fine,” you forced out, trying to steady your voice but failing horribly, “You can go if you wa-want. I don't want to-”

Kirishima silenced you with a tender palm rested atop your own. “I’m not leaving you, (Y/n). Whatever’s going on, I care about you too much to make you deal with it alone.”

Up until then, you had made it a point to keep your anxiety hidden from your peers. You worried that they would treat you differently if they knew, that they wouldn’t quite understand. But, something about Kirishima told you that he was different, that nothing would change if you opened up to him. Regardless of your fears, the look in his eyes and tender cadence of his voice made you feel safe, like it was okay to be vulnerable.

“I,” your eyes flicked from your lap to meet his worried gaze, “I can’t help but remember everything I’ve done wrong over the years and just hate myself. I hate every mistake, every failure, every moment I did something dumb and didn’t know how to fix it.” Your stomach clenched as yet another sob forced its way past your lips. “I have so many regrets, and I constantly feel like an awful person because of them.”

A calloused thumb brushed along your upper cheek, wiping away the tracks of fallen tears. He nodded along as you vented, as if he understood exactly where you were coming from. Then, when you went silent, he waited for a few beats to ensure you were entirely finished speaking before responding. “I’m sure it doesn’t seem like it, but I used to be someone I’m not proud of either, and, honestly? Sometimes I still don’t like the person I see in the mirror.” He paused for a moment, lips pulled in a thin, contemplative line before continuing, “can you keep a secret?”

You nodded, surprised and mildly confused by his words. Could someone as confident and lovable as Kirishima really struggle with the same anxieties that you did?

He chuckled at the quizzical look you gave him, took a deep breath to steady his own nerves. “So, I actually didn’t look like this back in middle school -- hold up, I think I actually have a picture.” Five fingers flexed around your own, holding you close as his free hand fished into his pants pocket and pulled out a red-cased phone. Within a few seconds, ruby eyes were locked with your own once again, a shy smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Promise not to laugh?”

The redhead’s grin was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile with him. Your worries hadn’t been entirely forgotten, but with every word spoken between you, every passing second with his fingers entwined with your own, a subtle calm began to wash over you. “I’ll try not to,” you responded. That seemed good enough for him, and with only a short moment of hesitation, Kirishima turned the phone’s screen toward you to reveal a photo of himself from a few years before.

Long, black hair framed a round face, slender shoulders slumped and eyes downcast as he stood alone in the courtyard of what you assumed to be his old middle school. Your head cocked to the side, brows furrowed in disbelief as you looked from the photo to the person in front of you. For a moment, you thought he must have been kidding. The muscular, seemingly self-assured man that knelt before you didn’t resemble the boy on his phone in the slightest. “You’re serious? That was you?”

He nodded, clearly amused by your reaction. You wanted to ask what changed, how he pulled such a total one-eighty, but couldn’t find a way to without sounding rude.

He seemed to read your mind, though, and answered your question without hesitation. “I realized that I didn’t like the person I was, and vowed to be better.” He powered off the device in his hand and tossed it aside, attention entirely back to you, thumb unconsciously caressing the back of your hand as he continued. “I’m not telling you this because I think you need to change. Frankly,” his eyes darted to the floor, voice lowering nearly to a whisper, “I, uh, I really like the person you are now.” He cleared his throat, a pink tinge dusting his cheeks as his gaze flicked back up to meet yours. “I’m telling you this because, like I said before, I’m like you in a way. I can’t help but cringe when I remember the way I used to be, and I still worry sometimes that I haven’t actually changed that much.”

“But you have. I mean, you’re a completely different person now.”

“Exactly. Here’s what I’ve learned: if you cringe at something you did in the past, that’s probably because you’ve matured enough to know you were being dumb back then. Being able to look at your past self and recognize your mistakes means you aren’t that person anymore.” His other hand moved to rest atop your knee, as if he wanted to hold you closer but found himself hesitant.

You felt a weight lift from your shoulders at his words, yet still one question continued to gnaw at the back of your mind. “But, what if I’m beating myself up something I did recently… like,” your voice lowered in embarrassment, “when I a-accidentally threw that pencil at Ojiro, for example…”

“I promise, you’re the only one who even remembers that.” Kirishima chuckled softly, “you’re sweet for worrying about those little things, but no one worth knowing is gonna judge you off small mistakes. I know how great you are, and so does everyone else in our class. You light up every room you walk into, I swear. It’s like you’ve got a second quirk or somethin’.” You giggled, and his smile only grew wider. “I mean it! How could anyone not fall in love with that laugh?” The boy’s face turned bright red, eyes widening in realization at what he had said, grip tightening around your own. “Shit, I mean- well-” he cut himself off, sharp teeth nervously nibbling on his bottom lip.

His words resonated with you, filled the anxious pit in your stomach with warm butterflies and heated your cheeks with a rosey blush. Still, you convinced yourself he was only embarrassed because his words had come out in a different way than he had meant them. There was no way he actually had feelings for you, you thought. He was clearly just being nice. “I-It’s okay, I know you don’t like me like that. You’re way out of my league, anyway.” You forced a nervous laugh, attempting to comfort him through words that burned as they passed your lips.

You thought he’d relax at what you had said, agree with your comment, and thank you for understanding. Instead, he rose to his feet, a look of bewilderment in his eyes as he pulled you up to stand with him. “Do you really think that?” He questioned, expression twisted in disbelief, hurt by your self-deprecating words. His hands gripped yours tightly as you stood only inches from one another. Heat radiated off of his tan skin, shielding you from the chilly air of your room and prickling your arms with goosebumps.

“Sorry to break it to ya, but you couldn’t be more wrong.” Kirishima lightly tugged you closer, closed the distance between your bodies without a second thought. You allowed your chest to press against his, listening carefully as he continued, “I was afraid of making you uncomfortable or scaring you off, so I didn’t say anything before. But, if that’s really what you think, I’ve gotta set you straight. Truth is, I’m absolutely crazy for you, (Y/n). I mean, you’re cute, and sweet, and witty -- It’s impossible to take my eyes off of you whenever we’re in a room together, and just hearing your voice makes me feel warm all over.”

Calloused fingers released one of your hands, traveled up to caress a now-dry cheek. He cracked another sharp-toothed grin at the realization that you were no longer crying. “Can you do me a favor and tell me next time you start to feel all anxious and stuff again? Regardless of if you like me back, I just want to be there for you, whatever you need. It’s not very manly to fall for a girl, then leave her hangin’ when she needs ya the most.”

An eager nod in agreement was all you could manage for a long moment as you stood entirely awestruck by his confession. All you wanted was to find your voice, to tell him how much his efforts meant to you, but the words refused to come.

So, you did the next best thing.

The box of candies he had brought as a pick-me-up laid forgotten on your bed as tentative fingers gripped Kirishima’s broad shoulders and you rose onto your tiptoes. Without allowing yourself time for hesitation, you pressed pursed lips to a flushed-pink cheek. It wasn’t a large gesture, but in that moment it felt perfect.

You’d never seen Ejirou smile as wide as he did in that moment, strong hands firmly gripping your waist as you pulled away -- as if to make sure that you wouldn’t stray too far from his grasp. “That settles it then! Tomorrow I’m asking you out properly -- with flowers, and chocolates, and way more than just one box of your favorite sweets… but you gotta promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That we’ll take care of one another. I’ll never judge you, hurt you, or belittle whatever you’re struggling with, as long as you promise the same to me, okay? From now on ‘til the end of time, I’ve got your back unconditionally, and you’ve got mine. Promise?”

“Promise.”

#kirishima ejirou #no beta we die like men #kirishima #kirishima bnha #kirishima fluff #kirishima x reader #ejirou kirishima x reader #hurt/comfort #anxiety help #kiri writes #trigger warning: anxiety #fluff #bnha fluff #kiri gives good advice from my therapist #anyway #pls forgive me if this isnt that good #its been months since ive written a full fic #lub u be good to urself #its 4 am forgive me for typos and goodnight

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gxdsetmxnsters · 4 years

Text

You’re the One Thing I Can’t Let Go

Originally posted on both Wattpad and Ao3 ; Vent fic ; Scriddler ; mentions of domestic violence : unhealthy relationships : alcohol : sex : unhealthy coping mechanisms

"I dunno what happened," Edward blubbered before angrily wiping his runny nose.

He was slumped against the chair he was sitting at with Selina sitting across from him with a concerned look on her face. It wasn't every day that Edward Nygma, aka the Riddler, dropped in for a visit, and it was much less common for him to come to her apartment in the beginning stages of a breakdown. Scratch that, it was something that'd never happened before, and she considered Edward a close enough friend to be concerned for his general wellbeing and current state.

"Try to explain," Selina said soothingly, unsure if reaching across the small kitchen table and putting a reassuring hand on Edward would help calm him down or cause more problems than it was worth.

"Dunno, dunno," Edward whined softly. He drew up his knees and balanced on the chair, hugging them to his chest. Selina almost asked if he wanted to move to the living room as the couch was more comfortable than a chair, but refrained. If Edward wanted to move he'd either do so himself or ask if he could.

"Was it Jon?" Selina asked carefully, knowing she had guessed correctly with the way Edward stiffened and sniffled loudly.

"Iddint always," Edward said, his current state making his words sound nasally and pinched. "It's always that prick."

"What happened?" Selina pressed, leaning forward and eyeing Edward, concern growing for the man in front of her.

She was well aware of the relationship between Edward and Jonathan, as was the majority of the other rogues, but only she, as far as she knew, was fully aware of how dysfunctional the relationship truly was. Sure the relationship itself was dysfunctional at best but it went deeper than just the simple assumption that it was dysfunctional.

The fact of the matter was the relationship bordered on being nearly as bad as Joker and Harley's relationship, but granted for different reasons. Selina had learned of this when Edward had shown up on her doorstep nearly a year ago with a busted lip and the clear signs that he'd been gassed with Jonathan's Fear Toxin.

Having managed to pry information out of Edward then, Selina had been mildly horrified by the behaviors and actions Edward and Jonathan took out on each other. She'd learned that such fights happened at least two to three times a week from arguments that often started out being petty.

Edward had confessed that he was at much of fault as Jonathan was for their "domestics", having given the other man more than one concussion by hitting him with his cane, and even the one time occurrence of breaking the man's arm, of which Jonathan had returned in kind.

"Jon didn't gas you again, did he?" Selina inspected the still crying Edward in front of her, relieved to see that there were, at least, no outwardly signs of Edward being, or having been, affected by the Toxin.

"Nuh uh," Edward shook his head and sneezed, easing his legs down so he was sitting normally.

Selina sighed before getting up and grabbing Edward the box of tissues that was sitting on the kitchen counter.

"I'm glad to hear that at least." Selina skid the box of tissues over to Edward who grabbed a few and wiped his nose. "I still don't understand why you're with him though."

"Not... Not all his fault." Edward hiccuped and looked at Selina with his red watery eyes. "I'm just as... just as at fault..."

He blew his nose again and Selina waited patiently for him to continue, sensing that he wished to.

"Sometimes... sometimes I wonder why I'm with him myself," Edward confessed. "I... I know it's not the best but I... can't stay away. I know it's probably bad, but I care about the bastard. Probably too much..."

His eyes lost focus as he zoned out, an odd detached look on his face a stark contrast to the emotional one he'd had moments before.

"Edward," Selina reached over and gently placed a hand on his to bring him back into the moment.

Edward jumped and yanked his hand away from Selina's, yes wide and wild looking before he calmed himself down. "Sorry 'lina."

Selina smiled slightly and waved a hand, "It's ok Ed, your reaction was to be expected."

Edward nodded before looking down at his hands which were now resting in his lap.

"Edward?" Selina prompted. "What happened tonight if Jon didn't gas you?"

"I..." Edward glanced up briefly before looking back down at his hands. "I don't know... I think it was another fight but... I don't know. All I remember is... All I remember is that Jon somehow managed to... confirm and deny something in the same breath and I..." Edward hiccuped again as fresh tears slid down his face.

"You're doing great Ed," Selina soothed again, "tell me what he confirmed and denied at the same time."

"I..." Edward sniffed and Selina fought the urge to make a face at how disgusting it sounded.

"Y-You know that for the past... two years Jon and I have... b-been a thing b-but it was never... anything official..."

Selina nodded slowly, "I'm aware of the fact, yes."

Truthfully she understood that part. Labeling someone as your partner, of the same sex or not, had its own set of problems in their line of 'work' so it was often not something that actively happened, or was made known, the majority of the time.

"W-Well," Edward's voice wavered as he started to subconsciously tear the tissue in his hands to shreds. "Somehow Jon and I... we got into a fight again and I thought... I thought it was gonna get bad 'lina, like real bad."

His forlorn eyes met hers again and Selina felt a tug on her heart strings. She hated seeing Edward like this. Whatever had happened to the normally upbeat and arrogant rogue must've been extremely bad if he was reduced to this, but Selina also knew the skills and talent Jonathan had at picking someone apart psychologically. It was one of the things that made him one of the more dangerous of Gotham's criminals.

"But... I don't know what happened," Edward continued quietly, shoulders hunched forward. "I don't know if Jon picked up on... what I was think of asking him or if it was something else but... he effectively acknowledged that I was his boyfriend before he..." Edward's voice cracked as a new wave of sobs wracked his body. "Before he broke up with me. Who does that? Who acknowledges after two years of being together that they're actually a couple before breaking up with them?"

His tone was laced with anger now, and Selina knit her eyebrows together, trying to formulate a response.

"I don't know," she confessed, deciding to be honest with him.

"Jon does, that's who." Edward bit out his words before he stood up and started pacing. He wiped at his eyes and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Fuck I need a drink. Do you have anything?"

"No," Selina said, "and I don't think you should be drinking either. It won't help anything."

"Fuck if I care!" Edward turned on his heel and glared at Selina. "I don't care if it'll help anything in the distant future, what I do care about is getting rid of this damn pain I'm feeling because I was emotionally hurt!"

"I know you were," Selina said, backing up slightly as Edward advanced on her. She slowly reached for the knife that was sitting on the cutting board. She'd been in the middle of fixing dinner for herself when Edward had interrupted her.

"Don't you dare," Edward growled, noticing the movement.

Selina sighed and raised her hands up in surrender. "Ok Edward, but you have to listen to me. Drinking away your problems will only make things worse. I know things hurt right now but you're stronger than this. You're better than this."

"Am I?" Edward's voice softened but it held a touch of bitterness. "Am I better than this? Stronger than this?"

"You are," Selina said, "don't end up like your father."

Wrong thing to say, and Selina realized her mistake too late.

"DON'T YOU EVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT AGAIN," Edward yelled. "I AM NOTHING LIKE THAT SON OF A BITCH."

"I'm sorry," Selina said, wincing at the raised volume in her small kitchen.

"I'm fucking leaving," Edward bit out, stalking towards the door that led to the hallway. "And I'm going to drink."

"Oswald won't take kindly to you getting drunk at his bar," Selina warned.

"Does it look like I'm going to go to that place?" Edward snapped. "I don't need the whole fucking city to know about what happened. No, I know of somewhere else that I can get drinks."

Edward let out a huff of annoyance as he left Selina's apartment, slamming the door behind him. He could careless if she was going to be mad at him for that later or not. The only thing that was on his mind right in that very moment was the idea of getting very, very drunk. A small part of him knew that Selina was right, getting drunk wasn't a solution to his problems but it would sure as hell numb the feelings he was going through and that was enough to convince Edward to do it.

Stumbling through the back alleys of Gotham, he found his way to the seedy bar he'd discovered years ago when he'd just been starting out on the criminal scene. The place was horrendously dirty but had good cheap liquor for those looking to get drunk quickly, as well as... other things. Yes, Edward mused to himself, perhaps tonight he would drown himself in liquor and sex, there was no other options that sounded appealing to him in that moment.

Edward failed to notice that Selina had followed him and that she was frowning deeply at his chosen place to self destruct. She may not have been able to stop him from going, not at least without getting hurt in the process, but that didn't mean she still wasn't going to stop looking out for him. She opted to leave him for the time being, expecting to find a very angry Scarecrow at her door demanding answers. Perhaps she'd give him one, after she finished carving up his face with her claws.

Feeling considerably more cheerful at the idea, Selina made quick work of heading back to her apartment and not a moment too soon. Not even five minutes after getting back there was a pounding on her door and Selina rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"For fucks sake Jon, I'll be there in a minute!" She hollered, taking her sweet time getting up from where she'd settled herself on the couch and walking over to her front door.

Jonathan paused mid knock as Selina yanked open the door and scowled at him.

"Where's Edward?" Jon had the gall to have a guilty look on his face, which only made Selina madder than she already was.

An indignant hiss came from her before she reached up and slapped him across the face.

"How dare you!" She raged as Jonathan took a step back, eyes wide with shock as he raised a hand to his stinging cheek.

"How dare you come here asking for someone that clearly wants nothing to do with you right now, and how dare you have the nerve to ask me where he is as if you didn't hurt his feelings!"

"So I did hurt him," Jon said in a low voice, a flash of guilt crossed his face.

"Of course you did!" Selina snarled. "And you're lucky that I have enough restraint in me to not claw your eyes out."

"I'd like to see you try, child." Jonathan's face darkened as a hand slipped into his pocket.

"Don't you go all Scarecrow on me," Selina narrowed her eyes. "Ed's not here. He was, but then he left."

"You didn't try and stop him?" Jon mimicked her by also narrowing his eyes.

"No." Selina huffed, "I tried but I didn't want to fight him. That would've been like kicking a man already down and while I normally love doing something like that, I don't do it to people I care about."

She put emphasis on the last few words and smirked inwardly as a look of guilt crossed Jonathan's features again. So the good doctor could actually feel emotions.

"Where is he if not here?" Jon glanced around distractedly. "I need to apologize. It hasn't occurred to me that something mattered that much to him."

"I don't know," Selina crossed her arms.

"You're lying." Jonathan's eye's snapped to hers. "Where. Is. He."

"Like hell I'm telling you if you're going to barge in on him with threats," Selina growled. "Especially since I know how you treat him."

"I-" Jonathan open and shit his mouth. "You know about that?"

"Yes I know about That," Selina retorted. "I know quite a lot more than you think I do, so don't go around acting like I don't."

"I see..." Jonathan thought for a moment. "You're still lying about knowing where he is. You do. Tell me. I promise I won't say or do anything to harm him when I do find him. I just want to make sure he's safe."

"Should've thought about that before you went and fucked shit up," Selina said darkly.

"Selina, I will only ask nicely one more time," Jonathan said. "Where. Is. Edward."

Selina eyed the man in front of her and quickly assessed whether or not if she should tell him where Edward was. There was genuine concern in Jon's eyes as well as worry. She also knew that Jon would not leave until he'd gotten an answer and while normally Selina could wait such behavior out, her greater concern was for Edward. If she was engaged in a stupid dominance battle with Jon, Edward had no one to make sure he was ok after he was done with whatever self destructive binge he was currently on.

"Fine." Selina relented. "But I'm only telling you because I'm worried about Edward, I don't care about anything else, much less how you feel."

"Fine by me," Jonathan said with a shrug. "So?"

Selina told him the address and Jonathan gave a quick nod and a short word of thanks before leaving. Selina shut the door and leaned against it, giving a short prayer that things would go smoothly.

Jonathan eyed the building he was approaching with disgust. It was shabby and barely looked like it was holding up. How on earth had Edward discovered a place like this? He stalked up to the door steeling himself to enter before the door fling itself open and Edward came stumbling out.

Jonathan was quick to grab him before he face planted and he screwed his nose up at the stench of alcohol and sex that clung to the man in his arms.

Edward made a sound of protest and wiggled out of Jonathan's grip, a slurred apology falling from his mouth as he realized who he'd ran into.

"Jonathan!" Edward glared at the other man and took a drunken swing of which Jonathan was able to easily side step.

"Edward darling," Jonathan tried to soothe as he continued to side step Edward's attempted swings.

"Don't 'darling' me," Edward scowled as he took a step forward but misjudged his foot placement and ended up tripping.

Acting on reflex, Jonathan caught Edward and wrapped his arms around the genius that was now struggling to break out of his grip.

"Edward, listen to me," Jonathan said quietly. "I wanted to apologize for what I had said. I was not aware that such things held actual meaning to you as we've been moderately happy with how things had been for the past two years. It was my mistake."

Edward paused in his struggles and peered up at Jonathan's face. Even in his drunken state, he was aware enough to where he knew Jonathan was being sincere.

"Reeaaalllllyyyy?" Edward slurred, still not completely convinced.

"Yes, really," Jonathan said. "Now then, why don't we make it back to our apartment so that I can put you to bed and make you something that'll help with the unavoidable hangover you'll have tomorrow?"

"Can't walk..." Edward muttered, all too happy to be slumped against Jonathan's body. Perhaps he was too quick to accept Jonathan's apology, but he was drunk after all, and apologies were few and far between where Jonathan was involved so even hearing one was enough for even Edward's currently inhibited mind to realize Jonathan was genuinely sorry for his actions.

"Don't worry my dear," Jonathan smirked as he picked Edward up bridal style. Edward yelped and wrapped his arms around Jonathan's neck, causing the taller man to chuckle softly.

"Don't worry, I won't drop you," Jonathan said. "In fact, I don't think I'll be letting go of you for a long while..."

He started to make his way to their shared apartment which he realized wasn't too far away from where they currently where. Interesting, he'd have to make note of it if Edward ever ended up running off to sulk again. Speaking of which... perhaps once he settled Edward into bed he'd pay a visit to whom ever had slept with his partner and touched what was his.

He busied himself with the thoughts of what he'd do to them as Edward let out a snore, completely passed out.

"As expected," Jonathan sighed quietly.

He passed under a half open window, the music drifting down to the street below.

I'm wondering why do all the monsters come out at night? Why do we sleep where we want to hide? Why do I run back to you, like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?

#enigmatic fear oc #enigmatic fear writing #scriddler #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nigma #edward nygma #scarecrow x riddler #cranigma #riddlecrow #vent fic #wattpad #archive of our own #monsters #monsters all time low

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ephemeral-afterlight · 5 years

Text

Day 31: Embrace

(The sun shines brightly.)

Whumptober 2019 Day 31: Embrace

Word Count: 4008

Relationships: DLAMP (romantic), Creativitwins (familial) NOT remrom

Warnings: Remus being unclean (literally. like garbage kind of unclean), insect (ladybug). Oh my gosh I think that's it?????? lmk if I missed any !!!!!

A/N: !!!!!!!!!!!!!! aaaaa oh my gosh i'm finally done!!! i know i've had some slips and that my timing wasn't always the greatest, but surprisingly, i did every single prompt!!!!!! a lot of these works aren't very good, but i'm just glad i managed to get them all out regardless. here's the final fic, just a bunch of cute fluff!! hope ya'll enjoy this roman-centric piece, and thanks for sticking around with me throughout this stressful dabble into the land of writing challenges!

Roman has a checklist.

It’s a small one, boasting only five items, but they’re all very important. The list itself does have a physical form, a glittery artwork on a big poster board that sits proudly on his desk, but it mostly just resides in his own mind. Although he absolutely would if he could, carrying the big paper around while he completes the tasks would just get annoying after a while, and probably take away from the sincerity of his actions. He wants to be as genuine as possible, to match the love residing in his heart, so it’s important that he tries to be more serious about this. Maybe he can take some pages out of Logan’s book.

Finally finishing his checklist is literally the only thing he’s been thinking about recently, constantly in his mind nagging for completion. He thinks of it in the shower, at dinner, during their movie nights, you name it. And he’s thinking of it now, as he sits in his cushy desk chair and stares with rapt attention at his swirling, loopy handwriting and artistic doodles. It may be a short list, but certain tasks are likely to be a huge undertaking, so he’s brainstorming ideas on how to properly carry them out. One or two of which will be easy, but the others require a certain delicate touch to make sure it all goes as smoothly as possible.

He thinks he’s ready.

So Roman decides to start at task number one, which pertains to a certain fatherly side. He’s sure to be in the kitchen baking cookies, as evident by the delicious smell wafting up the stairs and down the hallway and underneath Roman’s door, so he feels fairly confident as he descends the stairs and strides into the kitchen. The smell is much stronger in here, and Roman can easily pick apart the various aromas given off by brown sugar, vanilla, and chocolate.

“These smell absolutely delectable, Padre!” Roman exclaims as he sweeps over to where Patton stands, leaning sideways on the counter as he watches the other side mold little balls of cookie dough to place on the tray in front of him. Said side looks up in surprise as he plops a mound of sweetness onto the baking paper, and a happy grin spreads across his face at the compliment.

“Thanks, kiddo! There’s a tray in the oven already, and it’ll be done in about ten minutes if you want some!” Patton tells him as he scoops out another chunk of dough from his mixing bowl, surprisingly accurate and uniform in relation to the size of all the other cookies. Roman is tempted to swipe his finger through the bowl and steal a little bit of the uncooked treat to snack on, but his mission right now is much more important, as much as he hates to pass up some of Patton’s baking.

“Actually, I came down here for something else,” Roman says cryptically, a sly smile playing at his lips when Patton sets down the ball of dough and turns to him attentively. Before he can voice his question, Roman pulls him into a tight hug, and his smirk widens when Patton makes a little noise of confusion. The other side is soon to recover, though, and he lets out happy giggles as he throws his arms around Roman’s neck. To his surprise, Roman is soon forced to move his arms when Patton jumps up and wraps his legs around him. Roman’s little huff is drowned out by Patton’s bell-like laughter, but he can’t help chuckling anyway when the gleeful side lays a flurry of kisses on his forehead, and nose, and cheeks, and lips.

“Awe, Roman! I love you so much,” Patton swoons, shifting to cup Roman’s face in his hands, and soon Roman can taste the vague sweetness of vanilla and sugar on his tongue.

God, this is gonna suck.

Okay, listen. They’ve come a long way from the days of constant arguments, from how they used to insult and snap at each other any chance they got. Roman knows how much progress they’ve made, and he’s come to really, really love their resident emo. But although he did agree to join their relationship, he hasn’t changed in the sense that he still has a lot of trouble opening up. Accepting and returning affection, especially physical, is not something that Virgil has mastered at all. And that’s fine! His love language is just a bit different, and Roman knows he cares just as much. But goddamnit, maybe he just wants to cuddle with his favourite emo once in a while, alright?

So yeah, this is going to be difficult. And he’s likely to get slapped in the arm and pushed away. But he’s still going to try, because Virgil is the second item on the checklist, and it’d be a shame to not finish it.

There’s almost an odd sense of dread as Roman walks down the hallway, an uncertainty as he approaches Virgil’s black door. Roman almost wants to turn on his heel and run away, but he’s already here, so he might as well just follow through with it. Raising his hand up to knock is mildly nerve-wracking, but the thought of getting to embrace the anxious side is incentive enough to deliver a few swift knocks on the glossy wood.

A few moments of silence pass before Roman can hear footsteps, and then the doorknob is turning from the other side. The door opens with a soft click, and it swings open in a leisurely arc to reveal a tired-looking Virgil peeking out from behind the dark paint. He raises an eyebrow when he registers the identity of his interrupter, rubs his bleary eyes with a fist covered in his jacket sleeve, and Roman really hopes he didn’t wake the other side up. Virgil already doesn’t get enough sleep, and it really wouldn’t do for him to lose more unnecessarily.

“Princey? What’s up?” Virgil asks, voice soft and a bit hoarse, and Roman actually kind of melts a little bit where he stands. Despite his exhaustion, Virgil really does look beautiful, stormy brown eyes looking at him with a surprising amount of trust from under his bangs and hood. Not for the first time, Roman feels his throat close almost painfully in the face of the all-encompassing love that wells up inside of him. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Oh, uh, sorry if I woke you up. I just-- I wanted to give you something,” Roman stammers, a small blush spreading across his face. He didn’t realize how late it must be, if even Virgil is confused as to his conscious state, so he must have been staring at his checklist for longer than he originally thought he was. A questioning hum comes from the tired side in front of him, and there’s a second where it feels like Roman might just run away. What if Virgil gets mad and slams the door in his face? It’s not like Roman would blame him. What was he thinking, coming here this late?

“Princey, you alright? What is it?” Virgil asks, caring and concerned, and Roman breathes out shakily. He surges forward and wraps his arms around the side in front of him, squeezes gently around his huge jacket, and Virgil huffs out a surprised breath. To Roman’s shock, Virgil easily laces his fingers together around Roman’s back, knocks his head companionably against the prince’s temple with a tiny, low laugh. “What, that’s all? What were you all worked up about, you drama queen?”

Roman knows he should be offended, but right now, kissing the life out of his soft, amused boyfriend is much more important.

If Roman’s being honest, the next item on this list is one of the ones that scares him the most. It’s not that Deceit hates him, or anything, but he’s really unpredictable. Roman has had the biggest crush on him for, well, ever, and he’s never acted on it before out of fear that Deceit will laugh at him or brush him off. He’s just so cool, and awesome, and although Roman was a little uneasy about his snake features at first, he’s come to think of them as unique and beautiful.

So standing here in front of Deceit’s swirly yellow door certainly gives Roman pause, and he draws a resemblance to his encounter with Virgil a couple of days ago. Both of the ex-dark sides act similarly in that they’re very protective of their space, valuing privacy and personal freedom over much else. Although it went well with Virgil, Roman just hopes that Deceit won’t see this as encroaching on his territory.

Before Roman can even knock, Deceit’s door swings open, and the other side leans on his doorframe with crossed arms and a lazy smirk. The other side is wearing a yellow hoodie and black sweatpants in lieu of his usual ensemble, and the casual clothing suits him far more than Roman expects. His comfortable attire makes Deceit look comfortable by extension, and all Roman can see is his potential soft snake boyfriend. Wanting bubbles up in the prince’s lungs, and he opens his mouth to speak.

“Deceit! I, uh. I wanted to, uh. Give you… something. Um-- here!” Roman tries and fails to articulate his intentions, and Deceit looks even more amused than before. Roman feels a vague sense that he’s being made fun of, but Deceit isn’t like that, and it’s probably just his own uncertainty and insecurity rearing its ugly head. Roman knows his confidence is often fake, but this time he’s putting that aside to focus on the present. He just hopes he’s good enough for the snake-like side to actually want to be with him.

“Hm? And what would that be?” Deceit muses smoothly, and his snake eye glints sharply in the light. It’s ominous, sure, but Roman knows it’s also incredibly fake, just a mask to put on. He behaves like that for the sole purpose of riling people up, acts like a scary villain to push people away because he’s scared to let someone get too close and trust them with a more vulnerable part of himself; he is self-preservation, after all. Roman’s not near as oblivious as one might think, and a lot of his knowledge and ability to see through the act comes from very familiar cues in Deceit that he knows are also present in himself.

So slowly stepping forward in Deceit’s space is just as much for himself as it is for Deceit, silent solidarity in the way he gently pulls the other side into a warm hug by his tense shoulders. Said side winces, allows a single moment of transparency from being caught off guard, and it just stirs an aching inside Roman’s chest. Deceit deserves just as much affection and reassurance as the rest of them, and he deeply regrets treating him like he did when he was so quick to put labels on someone before truly getting to know them.

“I, uh. I like you, Deceit. A lot. Like, romantically. Actually, I think I love you. And It’s— it’s okay if you don’t feel the same! But I just. I dunno, I want you to know you’re not alone, y’know? I got your back, so… if you ever need help, or wanna talk or something… my door’s always open, okay?” Roman says, quiet and careful and filled with so much love, and he can feel Deceit shudder in his hold. Unsure fists come up to clench in the fabric of Roman’s prince jacket, search for the comfort and support he isn’t used to receiving, and Roman is determined to never let Deceit feel alone ever again.

“I… I like you too, Roman. Romantically. That’s.. weird to say. Romantically. Huh. Ah— thanks. I appreciate it,” Deceit stumbles out even more awkwardly than Roman expects, soft and searching, and Roman realizes he really, really overestimated Deceit’s self-comfort capabilities. Roman knows he doesn’t exactly have the best track record for self-confidence, but he’s slowly learning to believe in himself with the help of his boyfriends. Deceit just… doesn’t have that. At least, he didn’t before. Now, though, when Roman presses a short kiss to the shorter side’s cheek, when Deceit breathes out a rush of air and turns to catch Roman’s lips with his own, he isn’t going to be alone anymore.

Literally the last thing Roman expects to see when he enters Logan’s room for the first time is the logical side in a unicorn onesie watching cartoons as he drinks from a sippy cup.

For a moment, he thinks he’s dreaming, what with the way Logan turns to him with wide eyes when the door clicks closed behind him. The bespectacled side doesn’t seem scared, or irritated, or surprised, but rather overjoyed, something Roman realizes with a sinking heart that he hasn’t seen in years. A pleased grin pulls at Logan’s lips, bright eyes squinting with how elated he seems to be at Roman’s appearance. He pats excitedly at his side, beckons Roman to come sit with him, and the princely side does so with a confused, uncertain, placating smile.

When he’s close enough, Logan shifts over to Roman and plops himself in the taller side’s lap, snuggling into the broader chest with a contented sigh as he wraps sweater paw fingers around his sippy cup and the turtle plushie at his feet. It’s overwhelmingly adorable, and extremely bewildering, and Roman doesn’t understand the tender, vulnerable state his nerd seems to be in. At least he doesn’t until Logan buries his head in the crook of Roman’s neck, curls up impossibly further as he watches the children’s cartoon playing on the television out of the corner of his eye, and the nagging thought pulling at the back of Roman‘s mind finally comes to light.

Of course, how could he have forgotten? Although being in the sides’ rooms have an adverse effect on those who enter it, such as Virgil’s room causing them all to have overwhelming anxiety, the effect of the room on its owner is the opposite of their purpose. Virgil’s room calms him down, Patton’s room dampens his emotions to a more tolerable level, Roman’s own room causes him to stop having so many ideas and gives a reprieve for the constant slew of creation running through his head, and Deceit’s room causes him to only tell the truth. Although Logan’s room makes the rest of the sides more logically inclined, Roman hasn’t ever actually thought about what it does to Logan himself when he’s in there.

It makes sense, now that Roman’s considering it, because his room would have the opposite effect: it’d cause him to be illogical, right? Let him indulge in things that he doesn’t when he’s out of his room. Things like cartoons, fantasy and fiction, mindless comfort— they all would constitute as illogical, irrational, or useless things in Logan’s mind, and therefore would be heightened impulses when he’s in here. And that does make sense to an extent, but their rooms don’t affect them so much as to cause their personality to do a complete 180, so there has to be something more to this that he’s missing.

“Ro, y’like cartoons too?” Logan asks, soft and high and nothing like the way he usually speaks and articulates, and the tiny voice catches Roman incredibly off guard. He sounds… he sounds like a child. He sounds little.

Oh, that must be it! Roman remembers Thomas reading about age regression, about “littlespace” being a coping mechanism for trauma or stress. Logan would definitely be the one to retain that information, store it in the books in his room that are full of facts Thomas has learned throughout his life, so it’s no wonder this has happened. Roman theorizes that since Logan is definitely stressed out a lot having to make schedules (and remake schedules when Roman messes them up— he feels bad, but his work is important, okay?!) and try hard to help Thomas study and research things, his room must take that to the next level and puts him into a childlike mindset to offset his usual workaholic tendencies. After all, the purpose of their rooms is to help the side it’s assigned to, so if Logan’s room decided that being a kid is the thing he needs the most, then it must be true.

Roman doesn’t have any complaints. Of course he wouldn’t, because if this helps Logan and allows him to relieve stress, then Roman would support him no matter what anyway. But this is also literally the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and his small boyfriend is so trusting and sweet, and he already adores this version of his nerd.

Said nerd giggles happily along with what happens on the screen, kicks his feet up and down excitedly and gasps at the cool events portrayed in the children’s show, and Roman kinda wishes he could watch him forever. However he knows his time is limited, so Roman just wraps his arms around the side in his lap, cuddles his delighted boyfriend close, and nods along when Logan rambles on about the characters in the show. He seems excited to be able to share with someone, passionately talking in that high tone and prominent lisp about his favourite characters’ backstories, and Roman is completely enamoured with him. He can’t help but push back the hood of his onesie and press kisses to the crown of Logan’s head, soft brown hair falling easily over sparkling eyes.

It’s not exactly the kind of hug Roman was hoping to get out of this originally, but Roman finds that he loves and appreciates it just as much.

This is such a terrible idea. Roman shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be all the way at the end of the hall standing in front of the bright green door. There’s a twinkie wrapper nailed to the center, and some sort of half-dried brown sludge dripping down the side, and Roman is already starting to regret this. What was he thinking? His brother hasn’t left his room in weeks, meaning he’s probably working on some crazy, grotesque project that he’ll likely just end up destroying anyway.

But there are already four boxes checked off, glittery red marks signifying their completion, and it wouldn’t make sense to quit now. After all, there’s only one more box, one more task, and it’s probably the hardest one out of all of them. The act of coming up to a side’s door in the middle of the night is starting to become very familiar, almost boring in a way. Where’s the drama, the pizzazz, the flair? Well, then again, this is Remus, so there’s sure to be something dramatic on the way.

Roman doesn’t bother knocking, just walks right in, and he’s wholly unsurprised by the state of his brother’s bedroom. Piles of trash reside in the corners, overflows from any surface it can. There’s a stack of mannequin limbs leaning against the wall, and Roman doesn’t even want to know what that’s for. The bed looks torn up, threads in the fabric frayed and split. There are stains on the walls, words written in pencil upon the discoloured wallpaper, nearly illegible with the messy scrawl. And in the middle of all of it sits Remus, cross-legged on the floor as he stares at the carpet with a completely blank expression. It’s so empty that it almost scares Roman, like there’s nothing behind those dark eyes. And then his counterpart notices Roman’s presence, shakes himself out of his stupour, and a familiar grin spreads across his face.

“Big bro! What’cha doing here? Thought y’a didn’t like my room. Isn’t it too gross and stinky for you?” Remus laughs, flinging a randomly conjured earthworm in his direction. Roman has to jump to the side to avoid it and narrowly misses stepping in a puddle of… something. He doesn’t really want to know what it is. Despite the revulsion Roman can feel at the state of his brother’s bedroom, his worry completely tramples everything else.

“No, I— stop throwing worms at me! I’m here because… well, I wanted to check on you. You’ve been here for a long time and I wanted to— to make sure you’re okay. You’re not hurt, are you?” Roman asks, neatly stepping over an old piece of chicken smashed into the carpet, and Remus’ gaze flashes with something bitter before returning to its usual bright, chaotic state. His smile never wavers, but it feels much faker than before, shows too many teeth.

“What do… whadda’ya mean? ‘f course I’m fine! I’m… I’m just playing with bugs, see?” Remus tells him, strained and spurious, and his brows pull in as he holds up a ladybug to show Roman. The latter of the two tilts his head in concern as he lowers himself to the ground in a patch of carpet unmarred by stain or rot. He wonders if it’s intentional. “Look, I conjured it myself! I mean, it’s— it’s probably not as good as yours are, but still!”

And even as Remus’ hand is dirty, even as he resides in a chamber of violence, the way he holds the ladybug is gentle, as if the small insect is a great treasure to him. Roman doesn’t miss the way Remus swallows and looks away, hunches his shoulders as if he’s prepared to be insulted and made fun of for his creation, and the familiarity of the action mirrored in Roman’s own psyche causes nausea to well up in his throat. He has Logan to calm him down with facts and rationality, Patton to give him compliments and affection, Virgil who knows just how to distract him when he’s feeling insecure about himself and his art. Remus doesn’t have that, and Roman knows that despite how much his brother can disturb him, he deserves compliments for his work too, even if said work isn’t necessarily Roman’s taste.

“It’s a very pretty ladybug, Remus,” Roman praises softly, an unusual reassurance as he lifts the ladybug up on the tip of his own finger. The red colour is a much deeper saturation than normal, and the distinction between black and white is extremely prominent, and Roman really isn’t lying when he says that it’s a good creation. The ladybug flutters its wings in tiny movements, sits picturesquely on his fingertip as Roman smiles kindly at it and then at his brother. And the way Remus looks up in wide-eyed shock, too stunned to pretend like everything’s okay, it sends a dagger of regret deep into Roman’s heart.

“Why?” Remus whispers, brows pulled together in a way that exposes his true inner turmoil. “Why are you here? Don’t you hate me? I go against everything you represent.”

“Remus, you’re my brother! I made a promise to be your shield, and I intend to keep it,” Roman replies fiercely, protective and striving to make amends. Remus’ mouth falls open at the reminder of the pact they had formed as children, the pinky promise acting as an unbreakable vow to always keep each other safe. “You may be my opposite, but that just means we gotta have each other’s backs! You’re the sword, I’m the shield, remember?”

The ladybug on Roman’s fingers jumps off and flies away, dashing out of sight and leaving the two brothers alone on the floor again. It takes a lot of courage to put away his discomfort, to remind himself of who Remus truly is, but Roman manages to find that bravery within himself as he pulls his counterpart into a meaningful hug. He can feel how rigid Remus is, how much he’s locked his limbs up in an attempt to not jostle their positions. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate my little brother.”

Roman will make sure that his brother’s shaking grip and quiet, fleeting tears stay a secret, just between them.

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eiirisworkshop · 4 years

Text

Avengers as Teachers AU Fic

For Good Intentions WIP Fest, details of which can be found @goodintentionswipfest

I have a lot of scraps of Avengers fics that, if I’m being honest, I’m never gonna finish. This is one of them--probably the one that has the most actually written.

***

Start of term is Monday, August 18th. Student move in is August 15th through 17th. All faculty are expected on campus to assist with move in. Any faculty who will be living in staff campus housing must move into their apartments during the week of August 4th through 10th.

Clint Barton set a cardboard box down on what was going to be his coffee table for the next nine months. His staff apartment was a bedroom, bathroom, and livingroom with kitchenet, all of it decked out in what seemed like Ikea's slightly classier cousin, though Clint had no idea where someone was supposed to get classier Ikea. He reached in his pocket, pulled out the note he'd found taped to the front door, and unfolded it. Neat, looping handwriting read, “Welcome, new guy, to the psychological crucible known as boarding school. Brace yourself, the Europeans are almost as crazy as the teenagers, have fun!”

“Heh,” Clint mused to himself, “that's not ominous at all.”

He shook his head, chuckled, and set to work unpacking. Shortly, he was interrupted by a knock at the door. He went to answer it and was met with the sight of a slim, redheaded woman leaning casually on the doorjamb. She grinned. “Hello neighbor.” She straightened up. “Everyone is talking about the newhire who's waited until the last minute to move in, but no one wants to be the first to snoop. I volunteered.” She held out a hand. “Barton, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He shook the proffered hand. “Clint Barton.”

“Natasha Romanoff. I'm in the flat next door.” She nodded her head to indicate the apartment down the hall to her left, making her auburn curls bounce.

“I think you might be one of the crazy Europeans I've been warned about.”

The woman, Natasha, laughed, eyes glinting dangerously. “I think I might be. Did someone leave you a new guy note?”

“Yeah.” Clint snorted, fished the note back out of his pocket, and handed it to her.

She unfolded it and snorted. “Oh, Maria.”

“Maria?”

“Maria Hill. She's the school counselor. Does her best to keep us all sane.” Natasha handed the note back. “Tomorrow is the first teacher workday.”

“I know. Uh,” Clint stepped back, “d'you wanna come in?”

Natasha held up a hand. “No, that's okay. I have to finish up my own unpacking. See you tomorrow. Staff meeting starts at eight, don't sit next to the big blond if you value your hearing.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

She sauntered the few steps down the hall to her door and he closed his.

The next morning, Clint took the stairs down from his apartment on the second floor and found himself in the middle of a group of three young women in the lobby of the staff housing building. The women stopped talking and eyed him. He cleared his throat awkwardly and grinned. “Is all the faculty but me and the headmaster beautiful women?”

One of the women, a fairly petite but curvy thing with curly dark hair and plastic-framed glasses, crossed her arms and studied him. “I think I like replacement Sitwell.”

“Darcy,” said one of the other two women, a dirty blond with an English accent, “you cannot call him 'replacement Sitwell.'” She sighed and shot a dark look at the third woman, who looked like she was probably some kind of mixed and was stifling a giggle. “I'm sorry. We're glad you've joined the crew. Now, we ought to all go or we're going to be late.”

The three women and Clint left the housing building and started across the green that lay between it, the main school building, and the student dormitory. The curly haired woman, Darcy, looped an arm through Clint's. “So, replacement Sitwell, since Jemma here doesn't think I should call you what you are, what should I call you?”

“My name's—”

“Clinton Barton.” The third woman shrugged. “I backed up all our digital files over the summer, I saw the hiring paperwork. I mean it's no secret or anything, I think most of the staff just didn't bother to look up when we heard Fury'd found a new lit teacher.”

“Skye does most of the school's IT support for the school and teaches two classes,” Jemma explained as she pulled open the door to the main building. “I teach biology and Latin, and Darcy—”

“Political science. And I'm the history department's bitch.”

The four of them filed down the hall and into the half full conference room across from the headmaster's office. There was a clump of people—two redheaded women that weren't Natasha, two dark haired men who both looked like they had some Latin blood in their pedigrees, two black men, and a woman with a long black ponytail—clustered around a decanter of coffee near the far corner, and three men were leaning on the edge of the conference table—a tall, muscular blond who Clint figured was the loud one Natasha had warned him of, a brunet with his hair pulled back into a spiky little tuft of a ponytail, and a slightly wiry man in a suit. The one with the ponytail glanced up, nudged the one in the suit, and nodded toward Clint, who was standing a bit awkwardly in the doorway, having been abandoned by his escort in favor of coffee. The man in the suit looked at him, stood, smiled, and held out a hand. “You must be Clint Barton.” The man clasped Clint's hand firmly. “I'm Phil Coulson, the other English teacher.”

Before either Phil could continue or Clint could respond, a voice from the other end of the room interrupted, “Excuse me, your first name is 'Professor.'”

It was one of the two vaguely Latin looking men from the group in the corner. He had dark, wavy hair dusted lightly with silver and a goatee that made him look like somebody's evil twin. Phil sighed and said conspiratorially to Clint. “Ignore him.”

“Whoa, hey, no, no, no. Don't ignore me.” The goateed man made his way around the table, cup of coffee in hand. Several other members of staff exchanged looks of amusement or concern. The other Latin looking man hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. The one with the goatee slung the arm that wasn't occupied with coffee around Clint's shoulders. “Hello there, new guy. Barton? Yeah. This your first teaching gig?”

“Uh, yes.” Clint glanced around for someone to rescue him but no volunteers stepped forward. Everyone was either watching or had returned to their own conversations.

“Well, you see, it doesn't matter what you think your name is, the kids decide what your name is. For instance, Bruce over there—Bruce, say hi.”

The other Latin looking man raised a hand in greeting.

“Thank you, big guy. Bruce is Dr. Banner. I, on the other hand, am Mr. Stark despite holding several doctorates.” Mr. Stark shrugged. “Your department mate is Professor Coulson and always Professor Coulson and the only teacher in the whole damn school who's consistently professor-anything. I think it's something to do with a suit.”

“Tony, don't traumatize the new guy.” Natasha had just walked into the conference room, flanked by a brunet woman, both of them in slacks and blouses.

“I'm not traumatizing him, Natasha. I'm educating him.”

The brunet woman removed Tony's arm from Clint's shoulders. “As your students will and do attest, your brand of education is often mildly traumatizing. Shoo.”

Tony made a sound of mock hurt and swept back to the corner with coffee. “I will finish educating you later.”

Clint turned to his rescuer. “Maria?”

She smiled thinly. “At your service. Can we please all start sitting.”

Everyone found their way into seats as another clump—three men, one blond with a goatee, one who Clint at a guess would have said was Mongolian, and one huge, redheaded, and bearded—filed into the room. The new group sat around the woman with the long black ponytail, who let out the long suffering sigh of a much harassed elder sister. Clint sat next to Natasha at the end of the table opposite the tall blond who had been talking with Phil. She leaned to whisper to him, “You're avoiding the wrong blond.”

“Huh?”

“Hello friends!” a voice boomed from the doorway, making Clint jump and fumble in his pocket for a remote he repeatedly hit the volume down button on. A muscular mountain of a man with long blond hair was standing just inside the threshold with a waif of a woman at his side. He beamed at the group at the table. “I hope you've all had a wonderful summer.”

The small woman tugged on the big man's arm. “Let's sit down, dear.”

Clint glanced at Natasha. “You meant that one.”

She smirked and nodded. Over the next few minutes, six other people came in: a woman with long titian hair back in a french braid; a tall, slender man with black hair; and older woman with blond curls who put a hand on the shoulders of the tall, thin man and the loud blond one before taking a seat next to the woman with the braid; a severe looking Asian woman; a young man with tight, flaxen curls who Jemma pulled the chair next to her out for; and a slightly heavy man with short, dark hair. That left only one chair empty at the head of the table. Soft chattered fluttered around the table. The small woman who'd come in with the loud blond was sitting next to Clint on the side that Natasha wasn't on. She smiled up at Clint. “Hi, I'm Jane Foster.”

“Clint Barton.” Clint smiled back, hand returning to his pocket to hit the volume up button a couple times. “Nice to meet you.”

Jane tilted her head curiously. “Are you wearing headphones?”

“Uh, no.” Clint unlooped the little grey plastic gadget from behind one ear and held it up. “Hearing aids.”

“Oh.” Jane blinked. “I am so—”

“It's fine.” He put the aid back on. “I'm not weird about it.”

“Oh. That's good.”

To Clint's other side, Natasha's eyebrows were raised in amusement with the realization of how ironic her earlier warning about avoiding the loud blond for the sake of his hearing was. Clint elected to ignore the other raised eyebrows around the table.

A tall man with an eyepatch dressed in a black suit strode into the room, flicking through a folder, and kicked the door closed behind him. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” Headmaster Fury dropped his folder at the head of the table in front of the empty chair. “Hope you all took damn nice vacation's 'cause in one week we're gonna be overrun with adolescents and all their special brand of crazy. Before then, we have to get shit done. First order of business, everybody say hi to Clint Barton. He's filling the position in the English department left open by Sitwell's—” he cleared his throat “—resignation. Try not to scare him off. Stark, that means you.” Most of the room chuckled while Tony put a hand to his heart and declared he was wounded. Fury kept talking right over him, diving straight into an hour of bureaucratic housekeeping and discussion of curriculum. The headmaster flipped a page in his folder. “Now that that's done, about extra curriculars. The chess club Sitwell ran is out unless someone wants to take over sponsorship.”

“I could do it.” Fitz, the young man with tight, curly hair said, his accent distinctly Scottish.

“Great. Other than that, all the extra curriculars from last year will remain the same. Stark's damn robotics club—which had better not blow anything up this term—drama club, and writer's club, Rhodes has his co-ed boy scouts thing, Hogan's still doing the test prep thing, and there's our one sorry excuse for a sport other than track and field, cheer leading. Now, Barton has volunteered to coach an archery team. Any objections?” There was silence, a few shrugs, and some head shaking. “Congatulations, Coach Barton, you now get to be one of this school's crazy blond coaches of random sports.”

After the meeting, the staff were released to prepare for the arrival of the students in a week. Up on a chair, taping a poster to the wall of his new classroom, Clint asked over his shoulder, “So, there's twenty-eight members of staff, including me?”

“Right.” Phil was sitting on a student desk, eating Chinese delivery. “Are you going to eat anything?”

“Not hungry.” Clint stepped down from the chair. “Not right now at least. I'll get pizza or something later.”

“Since we're both teaching freshman and junior classes, we might want to compare syllabi at some point.”

“Yeah, sure.” Clint sat on another desk. “But so you, me, Fury, Stark, Natasha, Maria, uh, Banner. That's seven I can name.”

“Relax, you've got all week.” Phil held out a box of fried rice.

Clint took to box and a plastic fork. “I've got a week to learn the names and faces of more than two dozen people, settle into a new apartment, and prep for my first ever first day of class as the teacher.”

“You've done student teaching, and assistant teaching, right? You'll be fine.”

“Somehow I doubt it's the same.” Clint shoveled a few bites of rice into his mouth. “I'm also a little scared Stark's gonna make good on saying he'd finish 'educating' me and then whatever he says is gonna be the only way I think of everybody.”

Phil laughed. “You just met Tony today and you've already figured him out.”

“So, he teaches...math?”

“Yup. He and Fitz make up the math department.”

“Fitz?”

“Scottish kid.”

“Oh, right. Lots of Europeans on the staff.”

“Twelve.”

“Wow.” Clint chuckled. “You know, Maria left a note on my apartment door. She warned me the Europeans are almost as crazy as the students.”

“She's not wrong. The Brits aren't bad, the Norwegians are, well, they're interesting. And then there's Natasha.”

“Am I right to be scared of her?”

“Oh yeah.”

Later that afternoon, Clint was sitting behind his desk, hoping the damn thing would feel less awkward by the end of the year and going through lesson plans when there was a knock on the doorframe. He looked up. Tony Stark was leaning in the doorframe. In his band T-shirt and jeans he would have looked more like a high school student than a teacher if it weren't for the grey hairs and the bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He raised the bottle in a kind of salute. “I come to edjumacate you!”

“Are you drinking in the school?” Clint dropped his pen, busy gaping at the math teacher.

“No way, Fury would have me skinned alive.” He shoved off from the wall, took a few steps into the room, and swished the amber liquid in his bottle. “This is tea. I have plenty of booze bottles and it's fun to watch people's faces.” He took a swig and perched on one of the desks. “As I was saying this morning, the kids decide your name.”

“I'm trying to lesson plan right now.”

Tony waved a hand dismissively. “You've got all week.”

“As I keep getting told.” Clint sighed, picked up his pen, and capped it. “So the kids name us.”

“Right. So I'm Mr. Stark, Bruciekins is Dr. Banner—I guess he just looks like a Dr. somebody, probably the glasses—Coulson's Professor Coulson. I told you those this morning. Everybody calls the Scott Fitz, students and staff, except when they're talking directly to him, the kids call him Mr. Fitz, which I think sounds like it ought to be the name of a cartoon dog. Simmons is just Simmons unless she's just professor; she's never Professor Simmons—”

“Sorry, who's Simmons?”

“British chick, light brown hair, bio teacher.”

“Jemma?”

“Right. Skye is Skye—have you met Skye?” Tony held up a hand as though to tell himself to stop talking so Clint could answer.

“Yeah, I met her this morning. She does the school's I.T, right?”

“And teaches computer science. She's pretty cool. Thor—big loud blond one with the tiny wife—is Coach Thor to his face, otherwise just Thor. He's super formal and weird but really friendly at the same time so you almost have to be on first name basis with the man. On that note, hearing aids, do they have volume control?”

Clint smirked. “Yes.” He pulled the little remote out of his pocket. “Remote volume control.”

“Okay, I'm officially a little jealous. Everybody needs volume control when Thor's around. Anyway, his wife, Jane—I know you met Jane—she's Dr. Foster or Absent Minded Professor Foster when she's being particularly spacey. Sif is the only one who's managed to name herself, she tells the kids they have to pronounce her last name correctly or they have to call her Lady Sif. Nobody can pronounce her last name—it's some crazy jumble of consonants and vowels with extra lines—and the punishment for saying it wrong is extra vocab homework so all the kids call her Lady Sif.”

“Okay, that's hilarious.”

“It is. But I've got a better one. Steve, other big blond, he's the art teacher, kids call him Captain. He's got no military background or anything,—he was scrawny as hell in high school, I think I remember him telling me they wouldn't even let him join ROTC—never been with the police, doesn't do sports. No, they call him Captain 'cause he's got this dinky little boat that he's ridiculously proud of. Seriously, do not diss the man's boat.”

“I'll remember that.”

“You should.” Tony took another drink of his tea. “Oh, before I forget, and I will forget because I never have to remind people of this, every year after the first week of classes, I throw a faculty pool party. You're invited. There will be alcohol and barbecue.”

“Cool, thanks.” Clint laughed a little. “You don't live on campus, do you?”

“Naw.” Tony shrugged. “I've got a place in town.”

“Rich jackass has a mansion in town.” Bruce had appeared in the doorway, a plastic bin of batteries, light bulbs, and wires in his arms.

“It is not a mansion,” Tony said defensively.

Bruce looked scathingly at him over his glasses. “It's a six bedroom, three story house—four stories, counting the basement—with a pool and home theatre.”

“Okay, maybe it is a mansion,” Tony conceded. “So, yeah, pool party at my mansion for everybody who survives the next two weeks.”

*** Chapter 2

Sunday night, Clint found himself crammed onto Natasha's classier-than-Ikea couch along with Maria, Phil, Bruce, Skye, and the Russian herself, all of them eating fried chicken out of a cardboard bucket—except for Bruce, who had tofu tacos. Clint sighed. “No one told me 'student move in' meant 'ninth circle of hell.'”

“I think, by now,” Skye said through a full mouth, her long straight hair pulled up into a very messy bun, “the move in/hell association is so automatic we don't think to say it.”

“Preach.” Natasha sucked a trace of chicken off her thumb with a dignity that should not have been possible.

Clint snorted. “On the bright side, I think I've finally learned everybody's names.”

“One day before you have to learn two hundred more,” Bruce pointed out dryly.

“Uhg, don't remind me.” Clint leaned against the back of the couch.

Phil chuckled. “Seating charts and class rosters are good crutches.”

“That they are.” Natasha poked Clint in the shin with the tip of her pointy shoe. “But if you know everybody's names, let's hear it.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Natasha, Maria, Skye, Phil, and Bruce—obviously.”

Maria grinned over a sporkfull of mac'n'cheese. “Obviously. Go on.”

“Headmaster Fury. Tony. Thor, Jane, Loki, Frigga, Sif, uh, Sygin, Hogan, Fandral, Volstagg. Other Hogan.”

“Happy.” Bruce tossed one of his taco wrappers into the trash across the room. “Other Hogan's first name is Happy.”

“Right.” Clint took a breath. “Pepper, Peggy, Steve, uh, James Barnes who's Bucky, and James Rhodes who's Rhodey. Jemma and Fitz. Sam. Darcy.” Clint was quiet for a minute. “I'm missing someone.”

“May,” Phil provided. “Malinda May.”

Clint rubbed a hand over his face. “I'm going to die this week. If I don't drown in teenagers I'm gonna get murdered by one seriously intimidating female veteran or another.” He glanced at Natasha. “There's what, three of you? Four?”

Natasha lightly smacked the back of his head. “I'm not military. But I will absolutely kill you.”

“I think that's my cue to go to bed.” Clint stood. “Thanks for dinner.”

As he let himself out of the small apartment, Maria called after him, “My office is room number seven if you start to go nuts.”

Coffee in hand the next morning, Clint was almost to his classroom when Natasha cut him off in the hallway. “I actually have an excuse to kill you now.”

Clint blinked at her. “Hm?”

“You got up at five thirty and I can hear your alarm clock through the wall.”

“I went for a run and I'm nearly deaf.”

“Don't they make vibrating clocks?”

“Yeah, I have one. It makes noise too. I'm not completely deaf.” He stepped around her, continued on to his room, and set his bag on the desk at the front of the room—the desk he had determined not to sit behind. It was early enough still that there were almost no students around, Clint's classroom was completely empty, but as the clock ticked closer to seven-twenty, four hundred odd fourteen to eighteen year olds descended upon the school building, uniforms neatly pressed. Clint had never gone to a school that required uniforms but—watching the first few sophomores of his first-hour class trickle into the room, their charcoal slacks or skirts, white shirts, and cobalt ties or ribbons all tidy—he highly doubted the movie like perfection lasted more than a couple days.

One dark haired girl who had the sleeves of her white buttondown rolled up past her elbows had plopped herself into a desk at the front of the room with her bag propped against the leg of her chair, and was studying Clint over a piece of toast she'd apparently filched from the dormitory dining room. After a long moment of contemplation she said, “You're new.”

Clint resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was supposed to be the adult here. “Yeah.”

“What're you doing here?”

“Fury bought me from the circus.”

The girl snorted. “Right.”

“Okay, so I ran away from the circus.” Clint shrugged. “One way or another I get to make you read Shakespeare now.”

The girl frowned. Behind her, two boys who must have been twins snickered. The bell rang and the rest of the class flooded in, filling all thirty desks. Clint took a deep breath and stepped to the front of the room. “Good morning and welcome to tenth-grade English. I'm Clint Barton, Mr. Barton will do just fine, but I've heard from your other teachers that you're all likely to rename me.” He paused, relieved to see at least a dozen grins among the class. “I haven't got a clue who any of you are, so I'm going to take role. If you go by a nickname or if I butcher the pronunciation, tell me. Okay?” He snagged his first-hour roster off his desk. “Katherine Bishop.”

The dark haired girl with the rolled up sleeves waved her half-eaten toast. “It's Kate.”

By lunch time, Clint had made it through two hours worth of sophomores and one hour of juniors. Phil, in whose classroom he was eating, had survived three hours of seniors.

“It wouldn't be so bad,” Phil said, punctuating his statement by stabbing a meatball with a fork, “if it weren't for this one kid, Peter. Two girls like him, he's been going back and forth not quite dating both of them since they were freshmen, and there's another guy who, I don't know if he actually likes Peter or if he's trying to be funny but he flirts shamelessly and tactlessly with the poor kid. All four of them are in my first hour.”

Clint cringed sympathetically. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Couple of boys in my first class, last name Maximoff. That's really not the most common name on earth so I've gotta ask: Any relation to the politician?”

“She's their mother.”

Clint nearly choked on a mouth full of pasta. “Okay, I knew this was a high end school, but I wasn't expecting that.”

Phil shrugged. “We're close enough to D.C. that we're a convenient place for better off government types, diplomats, and other luminaries to send their kids, get them away from the city. And we're a safe place for them too. I know you've noticed how much of the staff is ex military.”

“I assumed there was some magnet force under the school that attracts badasses.”

Phil laughed. “It's called Nick Fury and he's in the office, not under it.”

After lunch, Clint had another class of juniors, which went almost exactly like the one before lunch. At the end of that class, while two of the more interesting juniors filed out, sharing some not entirely typical teenaged chatter—“Still think it's funny they've got the blind kid in the deaf guy's class.” “He's not Deaf, David. I know you know that.”—the one class of the day Clint had been really dreading began filing in: freshmen. As the class filtered in, Clint noticed that the freshmen were even more perfectly pressed than the older students. They stared at him with a wary scrutiny. A sturdy Latina girl dropped into a desk and crossed her arms defiantly. Clint raised his eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Class I just had is full of dicks.”

“It wasn't that bad.” A boy with headphones around his neck dumped his bag on the desk next to her.

“You're the worst out of all of them, chico.” The girl sounded ready to punch someone out and looked like she could do it and make it hurt.

“Okay, okay,” Clint intervened, “you, how old are you?”

“Me?” The boy pointed to himself dumbly.

“Yeah you.”

“Fourteen.”

“What's your name?”

“Peter.”

Clint looked at the girl. “Your name?”

“America.”

“Okay.” Clint shrugged. “Peter here is a fourteen year old boy. As a former fourteen year old boy myself, let me say that they are more or less all dicks.”

America blinked. “I have never heard a teacher call anybody a dick before.”

“Welcome to high school.” Clint winked. She grinned.

The boy, Peter, leaned forward. “Are you wearing headphones?”

Clint sighed. “They're hearing aids.”

“Dude, are you deaf?” Peter sounded excited.

“No, I'm Hard of Hearing. If I were completely deaf, hearing aids wouldn't do me any good.”

America and Peter shared a look then both shrugged.

The freshmen didn't turn out to be as bad as Clint had feared. The next hour of sophomores, though, was the last class of the day, and Clint had to fight to be listened to. After that it was curriculum talk with Phil, Skye making him look like an idiot while showing him how to use the gradebook software, dinner in the dining hall, old cartoons, then bed. The rest of the week went about the same.

Friday, as soon as the final bell rang, the kids all rushed out. Clint called after them. “Archery club first meeting is a week from today!”

The last of the kids left and Clint turned to his desk and the stack of persuasive essays he'd had his students write him about their favorite movies with the promise that each class would get to watch the movie that got pitched the best within their class. There was a quiet whirring behind him and he turned to see something like a streamlined, somewhat scaled-down assembly line robot trundle up to him, a slip of paper held in its three fingered “hand.” It extended its arm with a soft hum of servos that Clint would have described as curious if he didn't know better.

“Uh.” Clint took the slip of paper. A note was scrawled on it in a messy angular handwriting:

This is Dum-E. He's not very smart but he tries. New guy, this is your reminder to grab your trunks and get your butt to my not-a-mansion @ 4

-A. Stark

Tony's address was on the back of the note. Clint hesitated then awkwardly patted the robot's “head.” “Thanks, uh, Dum-E.”

The bot whirred with what might have been pride and turned to leave—presumably headed back to Tony's classroom. It bumped into a desk on its way out. Clint frowned.

A couple hours later, he was walking with Natasha to her car to head to Tony's party—she had volunteered to, or rather insisted that she drive. Clint stepped into the sleek, black sedan. “So, Tony has a robot?”

“Yeah.” Natasha started the car and pulled out of her space. “He's got two.”

“He has two robots?”

“He's disgustingly over qualified to be teaching high school.” She gunned it down the winding drive to the main road.

Once they stopped, Clint clambered out of Natasha's car. “I am riding back with somebody else, did you used to race? Holy crap that's a big house.”

Natasha snorted, leading the way along a path from the driveway around to an extremely expensive looking fence over which the sounds of revelry and smells of barbecue floated. Her beaded flipflops smacked quietly against the flagstones. “Four stories and a basement.”

Clint followed. “Is he married?”

“Are you joking? Stark, married? Ha. No. He lives here alone.” She unlatched the gate and pushed it open.

Stark's back yard looked like something out of a magazine, fire pit, koi pond, perfectly green grass, question mark shaped pool with hot tub waterfall, and trapezoidal deck with outdoor kitchen. The hot tub—accessed from the deck, spilling into the main pool—was full of beautiful bikini clad women, namely the school counselor, IT expert, biology teacher, and the history department's bitch. The last of whom, Darcy, stood and waved at Natasha and Clint. “Hey! The Cyrillic Cyclone and the new guy are here!”

Everyone—Stark, Banner, and the guy with the spiky ponytail at the grill; the Scottish guy, Pepper, and the big blond art teacher in the pool; and redhead who wasn't Pepper or Natasha and the two ex-military black guys leaning on the deck rail—all looked around. Natasha waved back and hissed to Clint, “Stop staring at Darcy's boobs,” before striding across the yard, dropping her purse and coverup on a lawn chair, and settling in as beautiful woman number five in the hot tub.

Clint quickly averted his gaze, shook his head, then went to drop his own things on a lawn chair, then stepped into the pool. Pepper floated by, hugging an inflatable orca. She nodded to him. “Hey, can you swim with those things?”

“Huh?” Clint hopped down the last step up to his waist in water. “My hearing aids?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you kidding?” He snorted. “Ever since I was a kid I've refused to have hearing aids I can't get wet.”

“Great!” Grinning, Pepper released the orca and splashed him.

He flinched, laughed, and splashed her back. Some of the splash went past her and caught Steve on the shoulder. He turned to glare at Clint.

“Hey!” Clint laughed. “Pepper started it.”

“Did she now?”

“Steve, Steve! Wait!” Pepper spluttered laughter through a face full of water.

“Steve, play nice.” The guy with the spiky ponytail walked to the edge of the pool, munching a fresh made cheeseburger.

“I am playing nice, Buck.” Steve waded over to the edge of the pool. “Can I have some of that?”

The guy with the ponytail rolled his eyes, “Sure,” knelt, fed Steve a bite of his burger, then kissed him.

Clint felt his eyebrows arch. “I think I missed a memo.”

Fitz chuckled behind him. “This is the first time you've been around them outside of work hours, isn't it?”

“We behave when the kids are around.” Bucky set his burger and paper plate down.

“If you can call giving each other bedroom eyes across the lunchroom 'behaving,'” redhead who wasn't Pepper or Natasha came up behind Bucky and pushed him into the pool.

He came up spluttering, long bangs in his face, dripping. “Peggy!”

“Man, I love this school,” Clint laughed.

Peggy jumped in the water. “I went to university with Steve, I've been pushing both of them around for years.”

*** Bonus Scene

“Sonnet one forty one.” Clint waved his book dramatically. “Now before anyone starts going on about 'oh what I sweet love poem' I want you to think about what he's actually saying here. Billy, would you read the first two lines for us?”

The darker haired of the Maximoff twins flattened out the page of his own book. “In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,/For they in thee a thousand errors note.”

“And what does that mean?” Clint shoved off from his desk and paced down the center aisle between his student's desks. “He's saying to his girlfriend that his eyes don't love her 'cause he can see, visually, a thousand things wrong with her.”

The lighter twin frowned. “Are we sure he's talking to a girl?”

“This time, yes. It does say 'she' in the last line. Shakespeare does have some sonnets that we know were addressed to a young man, we can argue about the nature of that relationship later. Anyway, so he doesn't like what he sees. Couple lines later he tells us, basically, that if I met this woman I'd want to turn my hearing aids off her voice is so bad.”

The class chuckled.

#fanfic #Avengers #marvel #clint barton #good intentions wip fest

4 notes · View notes

scattered--pages · 5 years

Note

For the lukanette lyric prompt." Stop there and let me correct it. I wanna live a life from a new perspective" because I love panic! at the disco and I'll make everyone else love them too. Also this is a cute lyric I love 💘

Thank you so much for this one and I’m sorry this took ages! Work and uni were hectic as hell suddenly and then I got sick so this took forever, but it’s finally here! ♡ I mainly used the way I understood the song and kind of a sudden fierce need to change the usual and the casual in a relationship with someone to something finally as serious and stable as they’re craving it to be, mixed with how a person just wants to relax and throw all their cares and everything everyone else might be thinking about them away and just have fun with the person they trust and love the most , so I hope it worked out how you expected it to in the end? ♡ It’s filled with fluff and Lukanette being happy and in love and in that recently-finally-officially-started-dating phase so I’m also hoping you’ll like it anyway, let me know how you feel about it ♡

Send me a lyrical prompt for a Lukanette fic ! ♡

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I wanna live a life from a new perspective

Words: 4647 pfff this used to be a ‘drabble or a ficlet’ prompt request whoops

Rating: Teen +

AO3 link: here ♡

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Marinette giggled slightly, leaned against Luka’s coat, her arms holding onto him firmly as the chilly winter air whipped against her face in the way that was just strong enough to be refreshing and invigorating in this sunny winter’s morning.

“Hm?”, Marinette more felt rather than heard Luka through the vibration against his back as it was unfortunately incredibly difficult to talk to your motorcycle driver both due to the wind, helmets and the fact that it’s not very good to turn your head to talk to someone while you’re rushing down the road 100 km/h. When he’s alone, Luka, even though he’s very careful about laws and regulations, did like to try and practice a stunt or two ever since he was able to pass his A1 driver’s license for a moto légère and finally legally drive a motorcycle he’s been saving for since ages now, and even though she knew he was too careful of a person to do anything stupid, Marinette still disapproved of him doing any out-of-the-ordinary stunts whatsoever on a vehicle realistically far more dangerous than a car and she was very grateful that, until he’s eighteen, he isn’t eligible to drive a bike faster stronger than this one and faster than 110 km/h.

However when she was riding with him, she actually didn’t have to worry at all. Luka was a picture perfect example of caution and precision in his driving, making it very clear that, with her there, he wasn’t risking anything even remotely bad happening, adamant on not allowing anything from her not actually getting hurt but just feeling a slight discomfort because of sudden turns or bumps, to far, far more horrible options he didn’t even want to think about. Turning his head, even ever so slightly so she could hear him through their helmets, was one of those things he would not do, which was fine on smaller routes, but excruciating today, of all days. Because they’ve been driving for almost forty minutes now and the endpoint was a surprise he was planning for their two months dating anniversary. And Marinette was a responsible, calm, understanding young woman.

Patient and immune to insanity-inducing curiosity, however - she was not.

“I gave up on trying to get clues out of you about”, she shouted through the glass of her helmet loud enough so he could hear the teasing tone in her voice before it grew a bit more warm and sensitive, “I was thinking of something different now… Almost a year and a half ago, I was riding behind you on a much slower bike and you had just told me that you were almost finished with your song for me…”, Luka couldn’t turn around but she could almost swear that he was smiling right now and, for the lack of being able to do anything else, he very gently nudged his helmet against hers in a way that made her chuckle. “You know if we were already there, you could have even kissed me right now, but instead, you must suffer, I must suffer in my ignorance of any details about today, it’s all rather tragic…”, the teasing tone was back and she could feel him sigh, followed by what she recognized was a chuckle, sending warm shivers down her spine and brightening her smile even more. Content, with her curiosity eased down for now, she leaned against him even tighter and gazed at the gorgeous French fields stretching on both sides of them, sprinkled with frost, blurring next to them as they passed them by.

Soon, they came near a more inhabited area, embraced with a perfect mixture of urban and rural charm and, upon reaching a specific cottage at the edge of what seemed to have been a wooded area, they stopped.

“We’re here?! We’re finally here?!”, the raven haired girl practically shouted as he turned the engine off, one foot on the ground, arms clapping excitedly, but her helmet still on her head.

Carefully stepping off of the motorcycle, Luka laughed softly, took his own helmet off in one fluid motion, placed it to rest against the steering wheel before helping his girlfriend take hers off and placing a kiss atop her forehead.

“Yes and no.”

The sound she produced, frowning deeper and deeper, sounded almost like a quiet growl.

He laughed again, putting away their helmets and pulling his bike a bit further aside to park it next to the cottage’s entrance. “You waited for almost an hour, now you can’t wait for fifteen more minutes?”

When he reached her, she immediately jumped into a hug, but the eyes looking up at him from the ruffles of his scarf were those of the most adorable rage he has ever seen in his life. “I have had my waiting, Couffaine, give me hints or risk dire consequences!”, she murmured against the woolen material and he cupped her face, bringing it up closer to his as he leaned down to kiss her.

“Soon, my small bundle of anger and rage, soon.”

She moved away and swung her glove at him at that with feigned anger and quickly hopped back to give him one more peck as they both laughed.

“This place here,” he nodded towards the cottage, “Is where a really good friend of my mom’s lives. He works here. And therefore we have special privileges and access that hardly anyone else has, just for us, just for today”, he took her hand and lead the way into the wooded area.

She chuckled. “So… Driving five kilometers per hour faster on the road was out of the question, but trespassing into a strange wooded area outside of Paris is perfectly fine?”

“Hey, it’s not trespassing if it’s…”, he looked aside, puzzled, “Authority approved type of trespassing?”

Marinette went from holding his hand to hooking her arm around it and hugging herself against his side, “You know, everyone keeps thinking you’re this bad boy with a guitar, or just a heartthrob badass rocker on the rise, but in fact, you’re just a teddy bear.”

He laughed pressed his lips against the top of her head, “Yeah, but I’m your teddy bear.”

She smiled, looking up at him with loving eyes, “Yes you are.” And she wouldn’t change it for the world. Her perfect mix of prince charming and a dashing rogue, of sunshine and moonlight, the perfect combination of absolute kindness and softness with a perfectly fitting edge of just enough of exhilaration and wildness. And to think that, a year and a half, after first hearing the first version of ‘her song’, in front of her parents’ bakery, she was still partially capable on letting him slip away for Adrien. Now she wouldn’t let him slip away even if the entire universe offered itself up to her.

“But wait, technically… We are trespassing?”

“Today, you are not to worry about secondary things like that.”

“Luka!”, she nudged his ribs with a genuinely concerned expression now that she realized he really wasn’t joking.

He chuckled again, “It’s gonna be fine… We’re not going to get into trouble and it’s worth it, trust me!”

“Hmm…”, Marinette mused, excited, but quite puzzled and just a bit nervous. In a way, it was a good feeling, to break away from doing everything by the line for a change, and she knew she was not only safe with Luka, but also that he, as mentioned, never would do anything dangerous or fully illegal with her, not to mention that she fully and unconditionally trusted him. So she decided to be brave.

And she didn’t have to stay in her mildly perturbed state for too long as, very soon, they reached the end of the small wooded area.

Marinette clutched at his hand tightly, standing there fully astound.

“Welcome to…”

“Versailles…”

Luka chuckled slightly, “With it’s premises entered by an ever so slightly backdoor way.”

She turned to him, still in a state of absolutely blissful, overjoyed shock, “How did you know that I…”

At her sudden lack of words, he smiled and pulled her into a gentle hug. “Juleka told me you’ve never been here yet”, he shrugged pulling away gently, “And to have grown up in Paris and never been to Versailles is a crime that I had to rectify”, he joked, and she felt an urge of happiness to sudden, she could have cried. Hopping in one place twice, she clapped her hands and turned to the gorgeous, stunning vast fields of flawless shrubbery, grass and blue winter skies, stretching in front of them all the way to the magnificent palace at the garden’s end.

“Screw trespassing…!”, a sudden bout of courage grabbed onto her in her euphoria, “We’re getting to that castle!”

Her hand clasped tightly onto his and they shared a grinning, determined look of agreement, as though they somehow read other’s minds in that very moment, before they began sprinting through the perfect trails amidst the trees, bushes and winding pathways, all preserved perfectly under a thin layer of eyes, making the whole place seem even more like a location springing to life right out of a fairytale.

Peering behind one of the trees, Marinette stuck her tongue out playfully and smirked at Luka, laughing running towards her, “Catch me if you can, Couffaine!”

With a chuckle, he smirked back in a fiendish way that was just charming enough to make Marinette feel an array of fireworks of tingles all over through her body. “Challenge accepted, Dupain-Cheng”, he replied completely confident, causing her to giggle out a tiny squeal of faux panic before she set of to find cover behind the next rich green topiary, luscious even in a winter as cold as this one, as was, somehow, the entire garden.

Reaching the stunning Colonnade grove, Marinette stopped next to one of the beautiful columns, catching her breath quietly as she glided her palm across the smooth marble, admiring the texture of the perfect icy cold surface. Each column the a stunning fluid shade of red or blue, one following the other in a perfect circle with the Abduction of Proserpina by Pluto statue placed right in the middle - a perfectly white vision in marble. She felt like she was in a fairytale. How on Earth did she never come here before…

Suddenly, she felt a hand graze her other palm and in a second, in unique kind of instinct where her hand recognized the other one before her mind did, she instantly intertwined their fingers, only to be spun around and swiftly wrapped into a familiar warm embrace.

"Got you now, my princess", he whispered before placing a soft peck against her lips, the sparks within her vivid once more, spreading from her heart to every corner of her body, causing an array of sensations from the soothingly knotted yearning at the pit of her stomach, to the utmost tender tingles she felt all the way to the tips of her fingers, like pure happiness sparkling through her, so strong and genuine that it couldn’t be contained.

She giggled and locked her lips with him before pulling away only so they could catch their breaths, rosy-cheeked and chuckling blissfully, their foreheads and noses still pressed together.

“Come on my brave trespassing knight”, she stepped away, taking his hand with a grin, “Show me more of your kingdom before the royal guards catch us and give your mom and my parents a heart-attack when they call to tell them their kids have been arrested in a castle outside of Paris”

“I honourably promise that I shall let no guard come anywhere near you, my princess! I swear by my life that I will protect you and our parents’ health for I have fallen for you far too much to jeopardize either of those two”, he grinned and made a surprisingly authentic and gallant knightly bow before her, causing her to break into a fit of blushing giggles again for a moment.

"I bet you say that to all the girls you take on romantic, secret walks around the Versailles gardens in winter", she pouted teasingly.

"No", he shook his head with a smile, “I only say it in hopes of making this one girl in front of me as absolutely and entirely smitten with me as I am with hers.”

"And is it working?“, she interlocked their fingers.

"You tell me, my fair maiden.”

Her shoulders shrugged as they walked, a jokingly disappointed look on her face, “I don’t know… I mean a true princess is never fully charmed until she’s had her first romantic waltz with her dashing suitor.”

Still grinning, he quirked an eyebrow, “What happened to the incredibly-scared-of-dancing-especially-if-it’s-a-real-ballroom-dance-Marinette?”

“You happened, you goof!”, she punched him jokingly and he laughed. “And, that Marinette has never been in the middle of the most beautiful winter outdoor ballroom in the vicinity of one of France’s most stunning castles”, her hand let go of his only to tip-toe a few steps away, spreading her arms and spinning around as she took in the gorgeous view of the Roccocco Grove. The massive, gorgeous stones adorned with decorations and fountains all around them and, even though the fountains didn’t work at the moment, even though the breath-taking arena-like structure lacked the marble flooring, colors, vast audiences and lights that it featured when it was originally built centuries ago, the whole vision of the entire outdoor ballroom structure, covered by thin translucent snow, sparkling in the light winter sun as if it was thousands of little diamonds spilled and strewn across the cold stone, was as if it somehow appeared all around them straight out of a dream. A dream from which Marinette never wanted to wake up.

Regarding the waltz and dancing in general, partially, she was only joking and, partially, she still was a bit terrified to embarrass herself in front of him and to therefore singlehandedly somehow ruin a moment like these, so she wasn’t truly expecting it when he closed the distance between them again, took another graceful small bow that he probably thought was silly but to her it was so charmingly dashing and perfect that, with his smile and the absolute magic radiating from this particular garden grove, it honestly caused her to instantly feel irrevocably and entirely smitten and taken aback by the now increasing levels of dream-likeness of this entire situation.

“Well than…”, he offered her his hand, “May I be so bold as to ask you for a dance, princess?”

And, also somehow without expecting her own courage, but also fully well knowing that there was no way she was capable of uttering anything else right now, she took his hand and with a shy, adoring smile replied, “You may.”

She always forgot how good of a dancer Luka actually was. Coming from a musical family and loving music so much, one would assume that, other than having a huge passion for guitar and, so far secretly, singing, he would also enjoy dancing in more casual, modern music-related situations. So she was incredibly surprised to have learned that he actually could, and very well at that, waltz! Of course, she knew the basic steps, for which she was insanely grateful currently because it was the only thing allowing her to be able to follow his lead, but Luka was gathering more and more points for secretly being a prince behind that façade of just a calm, introverted, punk-rock boy. In fact, it reminded her of that day more than a year ago at the ice rink where she was too busy and blind chasing after Adrien to fully appreciate the down-right movie-like way he spun her around, lifted her and held her in his arms on that rink before Philippe was akumatized.

This time, on the other hand, she was entirely without any other care, focus, or distraction in her mind, now for her the only thing that existed was him and how light and free and so incredibly loved and beautiful she felt in his hands. The ballroom around them might as well have had actual candles, diamonds, fountains and decorations behind them, there might as well have been real music behind them and even if she stumbled in her steps a few times, even if she faltered a bit occasionally, he was there to help her, to catch her, and she never stopped being amazed at how easy it was to just laugh in each other’s arms, ignore life for a moment and just… be, when she was with him.

“Hold on to my shoulders with both of your hands now”, he said suddenly, smiling, and she obeyed, although a tad confused, before she found herself lifted up by her waist slightly mid-spin and swiftly brought back down into his embrace, like they were in scene from Beauty and the Beast.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug as she laughed in that breathless, entirely interwoven with joy way in which only people in love can laugh when they’re completely overcome with how they feel when they’re with the person the care most for.

“If this isn’t reality, never wake me up, please…”, she kept chuckling, “How are you even real, Luka, how did I ever even deserve someone like you?”

She giggled a bit more, but quickly turned dead silent and pulled away as she felt Luka’s smile against her neck fade away slowly, his hands around her losing the strength of their grip. The sudden cold change of attitude was so strong it Marinette snap out of their dreamlike state within a second, replacing it with a string of panic and worry.

"Luka?”, her tone was quiet but nervous, “What’s wrong?”

"Marinette… I need to tell you something… I need you to know, really know something…“

He stepped back a bit, carefully plucking her hands from his neck and placing one of them in both of his own.

The dark haired girl turned an alarming shade of pale that matched the lithe frost covering the surfaces around the grove. "What… is it?”, her voice was cautious and silent, but upsetting her was the last thing Luka wanted to do right now, so he tried to muster up a small sad smile, gently squeezing her hands in his own.

„You’ve been kind of stressed lately and it’s only been so briefly since we’ve been… an actual couple…”, a pause and a shy smile graced his features that Marinette could only describe as breathtakingly adorable, but after that, heartbreakingly fast, his smile faded. Slowly, she studied his eyes with hers, puzzled and worried, as he ran the fingers of his free hand down his scalp through his teal locks before stopping to rub at his neck with a brief sigh, a habit of nervousness and a sign of hesitation, she knew how to recognize these small signs when they painted themselves across his features when he tried his best to hide them and when everyone else thought they were just random quirks. But she knew. “And suddenly“, he continued, torn, silent, suddenly avoiding her gaze, „I feel like I haven’t been as good anymore at keeping you happy or relaxed, and I think it’s because I know everyone’s still saying that…”, his cheeks reddened, but his face somehow grew even more somber. He sighed once more, “Literally, someone from our group said to me a few days ago that they all know I’m just that boy who’s going to be someone to ‘keep you busy’ while you’re getting over Adrien, someone to check all your ‘firsts’ with, until you gather some confidence from this before you finally get together with Adrien for the long term…”

“Luka… Who said that, was Chlo-…”, Marinette tried to stop him, reaching out to place a hand against his cheek, but he caught it and cradled it again in his own palms instead, this time both of his hands held hers in a way in which a person craddles a final drop of water that’s helping them cling to their very life amidst a desert. Lovingly, tenderly, and almost desperately in the way they shook ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry, please, I-I just need to say this, cause if I don’t, it’ll take me getting akumatized again and fearing that I’ve hurt you or lost you to say anything, and than I’ll stay silent again for six months until I muster up the courage to try to again attempt saying something that’s been hurting me bit by bit on the inside, until it’s almost too late to say anything, like the last time, cause…”, he gave her that heartbreaking small but growingly sad smile again, “I could write and play a thousand of songs, melodies and tunes to show you how I’m feeling, but sometimes, as much as I’m… very clearly horrible with words, sometimes they need to be said and something nothing else is enough when things like this bubble up unspoken… I’ve seen it with my parents, with other people, and I swear to always be completely honest with you, even with things that are scaring me.”

Marinette had to fight an urge to touch his cheeks and somehow smooth the sudden immensely strong fear and lack of his typical mellow optimism off of his face, but she suppressed it, for now, and simply carefully nodded, urging him to continue.

“The worst is, the person that said this… They, I’m pretty sure, didn’t mean it as a necesarrily bad thing, they just said it kind of as a casual humorous observation cause they, somehow, thought I was okay with it, that I was the kind of chill, fairweather guy that am in on that… Of course, people like Juleka knows I’m not, maybe Rose and Ivan know, people really close to me that spend almost every day with me…but the truth is…”, he frowned for a moment, shaking his head before his eyes met hers again with an earnestness so fierce and pure she could swear she could feel it, “I’m not. I’m not okay with it.”

His fingers caressed her knuckled with the kind of gentleness she’s never felt before. It didn’t matter it was icy cold outside, it made her very core light up with a summer-like warmth and she had to once again fight the urge to grab his face, scream if needed that 'I know you’re not like that, I know!’, just to extinguish this ridiculous notion that she shares this opinion of him with this insanely cruel person, but before she got the chance to, he hesitantly parted his lips to speak again. “I know I’ve told you this before, but to me, this is more than just having another crush or a girlfriend to date for a few weeks or months cause we’re teenagers, and you’re still getting over Adrien, and I’m the easy-going yet rebellious punk rocker who’s here as your rebound and that’s how relationships go in our age …”, he shyly rolled his eyes, angry at the very fact that things like this are expected from people their age because eighteen and sixteen isn’t old enough to know love, when he knew the love he felt well enough to propose to this girl right here and now and not regret it until they’re old and grey and shrivelled up, and he saw the kind of honest, strong love in other people their age all around them, in Alya and Nino and Rose and Juleka and Ivan and Mylene and shattered his heart that he finally found a girl that made him feel like he was constantly dreaming, even when loving her made him hurt, even when being by her side meant that he wasn’t the one she would prefer there, even back when standing by her made him feel both more happy and broken than he’s been in a long time, perhaps ever, he knew how terrifyingly, beautifully, most assuredly different and strong this was. To the point Juleka even mocked and teased him for a while until she realized that this was actually real and very much happening to her introverted, strong but bad with emotions big brother that hardly ever even having had a proper crush or two before.

“What I mean is… What I want to make sure you know about and what I say to anyone thinking or saying stuff like that, because I know more of them have thought something like that as well but were perhaps too polite to voice it and what I mean to say to those people and that outlook on love and on us is…”, he held her hands just a bit tighter and took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers with an unmistakable sense of fear for her reaction, but his words were determined, “…to hell with that, and to hell with what we have being anything close to just that. You’re the first thing in my life that anchored me this strongly or made me feel this way this hard and now that you’re finally with me and are perhaps feeling at least an inkling of what I am, after everything, I am not letting this be a typical cliché teenage passing thing, no matter who thinks that it is and it’s so, so important for me that you know that too…”

His expression, locked with hers, soon grew fully terrified when she didn’t immediately respond, but in reality, Marinette was only out of words for an entirely different set of reasons than the darkest case scenario that he was imagining.

She now firmly placed her second palm onto his hands and squeezed them, smiling and shaking her head in disbelief of what this amazing, mature, selfless boy was somehow made to believe she thought of him. “Luka, I never thought you were like that in the first place and you have nothing to prove to me… The fact is, you are the most kindhearted, empathetic, caring boy I know and I definitely agree with saying ‘to hell’ with what anyone thinks of us…”. She glanced aside with a small rueful sigh, “I know that after more than a year of my very obvious and embarrassing pining for Adrien… it may seem like I need more convincing than necessary but, my truth and my opinion is… You’re not Adrien… And it makes me so happy that you’re not and that’s why I love you. Because just meeting you slowly made me finally realize that, all this time, I needed and felt best and truly loved not Adrien, but you, you silly thing! All of what you just said,“ she chuckled happily, „I’ve known it already. And I am very happy to be here to stay for as long as you’ll have me…“, giggling quietly, she hunched her head down a bit, flush rosyness coloring her cheeks swiftly though, through a set of thick black eyelashes.

And just like that, his lips pulled into that gorgeous, bright grin that accentuated his cheekbones in a way she loved so much and lit up his eyes so that their teal to aquamarine shades almost seemed to have all grown a hue brighter.

„For as long as I’ll have you?“

Suddenly, his arms were wrapped around her as he spun her around, causing her to instantly squee and laugh loudly as she held herself tightly against his chest.

When he put her down again, he brushed a stray lock of dark hair from her face and pressed his lips to her forehead, then against her lips. “How does forever sound?“

#lukanette #lukanette fic #marinette x luka #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #my fic #miraculous ladybug #ml #words #long post

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luvleekaotix-imagines · 5 years

Text

Hide (Reader x Connor)

A/N: So I wrote this for the Christmas in July fic exchange in my Discord server. I asked my recipient @c-qcat if I could post it publically and they kindly said yes. Shout out to my bae @spheri because I love you forever and always and this event couldn’t have happened without you. The request was for something Connor, so… Here is some Connor content.

Summary: You do something that could be construed as taking advantage of Connor. He’s new to this deviancy thing and you don’t want to monopolize his emotions when he’s learning what to do with them.

✤✤✤✤✤✤

“Wait.” Connor reached out to you and pulled you back around the corner. “There are guards coming.” He stopped you from peeking around the corner as he could scan for the guards anyway. He wasn’t entirely certain that they knew what the two of you looked like, but it wasn’t out of reason they would have scanned everyone’s faces coming into the event.

You were doing your best not to panic, but if you were discovered, there would be huge ramifications that you did not want to deal with. “I knew this was too risky—why did we take this job?”

The gala was busy enough for you and Connor to sneak in with falsified invites and get what evidence you needed, but you weren’t careful enough not to alert some already suspicious guards and now they were looking for you, making it very hard to escape.

“There is one exit that has minimal security. We can disable the guard and sneak out that way.” Connor nodded his head to the sole exit on the other side of the ground floor. “The problem is—”

“Guards are coming this way in a few seconds and it’ll alert them if we just run over there!” You hissed, feeling a bit bad after seeing Connor’s mildly surprised look at your quiet outburst. “Sorry—we have to—” You had to think of something now. If you could evade the incoming guards then you’d be in the clear to sneak out, but if the guards scanned your faces you’d be caught. Then an idea dawned on you. “Shit—shit, Connor I am so sorry for this!”

It was a panicked idea and one Connor would likely have never thought of. He was puzzled when you placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips against his. You prayed he wouldn’t push you away, but you weren’t sure if it was because you didn’t want to be found or that the rejection would hurt way more than you wanted it.

Technically, Connor knew what kissing was. He knew the definition and he knew what it looked like, but he had never done it, never seriously considered in participating in such a—human action. He could feel that you were shaking slightly, likely scared of the guards about to pass. He didn’t know what to do, so he raised his hands to place them over yours at his cheeks. There was something—Connor felt something, but he also didn’t understand.

You heard footsteps and a mild sound of disgust. The guard took a quick glance before looking away and passing by without any suspicion. As soon as you felt it was safe, you gently pulled away from Connor and refused to meet his eyes. Even though he didn’t reject you, it still hurt. Fuck. “Let’s get out of here.”

Connor silently followed after you.

✤✤✤✤✤✤

The agency was technically a residential home. Having the facilities to get ready whenever or pull an all-nighter for a case was handy. Hank knew something was up when you returned. You were quiet, handing over what you needed to before disappearing into the back. Connor said nothing and he watched you as you left.

“It went that well, huh?” Hank questioned with his arms crossed.

The android’s gaze lingered on the doorway you had left through before considering his answer. “The mission was completed,” His words hung in the air unfinished, not sure what to follow up with. “We—” Connor couldn’t think of what to say. Something sat heavy on his mind. It weighed down on him and he couldn’t figure out what it was. It didn’t hurt, but something akin to it. Maybe. “I can debrief you.”

Hank slowly nodded. It didn’t seem like you were going to do it. He made a mental note to check on you later.

Meanwhile, you had stripped down to nothing and had settled in the bathtub which was filled with very warm water. The steam was slowly filling the bathroom, making everything hazy. You curled up with your arms around your knees, listening to the splashing water. As the water rose, you focused on the sound to try and drown out your thoughts.

You should have come up with a better idea for going undetected. Why was that the first one that had come into your head?

You turned off the water and softly sighed. You supposed you knew. It was a secret you had kept for weeks, something you had pushed away whenever it had surfaced in your mind. You didn’t want to admit that you had any budding feelings for Connor. There were too many complications involved in that, him being an android aside.

Would he even really understand how you felt if you told him? You had no doubts that he could feel something, but was it something that mirrored your own feelings? Taking a deep breath, you shut your eyes and slid under the water. You held yourself beneath the surface, listening to the muted rippling, wanting to hide. The ride back to the agency was silent, but Connor had kept looking at you and then turning away. Was the kiss too much? Did it confuse him? Did it make him uncomfortable?

You emerged from the water and took deep breaths of air. What would be scarier, Connor not understanding your feelings at all or the slight possibility that he could feel the same way? That he was disgusted? If there were any reciprocal feelings, would he really be feeling the same or was it just because you were really the only other person he’s bonded with? Would it be real? Or were you just digging your own emotional grave? How would you be able to face him now?

Outside, Connor finished debriefing and Hank stared. No wonder the android looked so confused. “Huh.” Oh boy, he had a feeling that you and Connor might have been bonding, but he wasn’t exactly sure how. It really wasn’t any of his business and he had no idea how to talk about relationships and emotions—he was an old fashioned kind of guy. Still, it was very obvious to the detective that Connor was struggling to process whatever was going on.

The android thought the debrief would help with how unsure he was feeling, it was kind of like offloading data onto a server and reporting in, but it definitely didn’t help in this case. Connor wanted to ask Hank what he thought, but his questions didn’t sound right. Should he have been concerned about the kiss? Logically speaking, no—it was a diversion that worked so they could escape safely. However a kiss was also something to show affection, but there were different types of affection, so—

“Connor, I think you should have a talk with them.” Hank carefully interrupted the android’s thoughts. “I mean I think your head is workin’ overtime right now and it ain't helpin’. The only way you’ll sort it out is if you talk to them.” He stood up and pet Connor on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go out and get a drink. I’ll be back later.” It was probably a good idea to give the two of you some space as well.

“Hank—” Connor stopped his partner.

The man huffed. “You’ll be fine, Connor—the both of you. Go have that talk.”

✤✤✤✤✤✤

After your bath, you had escaped to the spare room to get dressed in loose, comfortable clothes. You didn’t feel like going home; the agency with Hank and Connor was starting to feel more welcoming than your empty apartment. You slumped your shoulders and sighed. You didn’t want to make things awkward. Not only that, you worked so closely with Connor and Hank, it would be so unprofessional for you to chase your feelings now. You would have to let your feelings go. You had to. The thought hurt a lot more than you wanted it to. It stretched your heart thin and you took a few shaky breaths to will away the telltale sting in your eyes.

A gentle knock at the door pulled you out of your thoughts and you looked up to see Connor standing just outside of the room, waiting for permission to come in. There were always little reminders that he was still learning to be his own being in his actions. Lines in his programming that made him follow strict etiquette or mannerisms. It just reinforced the idea you had that it wasn’t right to try and pursue anything romantically with him right now.

“May I come in?” Connor asked softly. It was only the two of you alone now and something felt fragile between you. Connor didn’t fully understand, but his fairly new instincts told him to be careful. Certainly something was making you behave differently. Usually, after being out in the field you’d have a long list of complaints, mostly for Hank’s entertainment rather than actually complaining, but you were so quiet this time.

You offered a smile gestured for Connor to sit beside you. He had likely noticed that you weren’t behaving like you usually did and would question it. He carefully sat beside you and the tension you personally felt was at a breaking point. You’d apologise to him for the—the kiss. Tell him it was a mistake. You had to do it while you still had a little nerve left and the two of you would move on and forget that it was ever a thing. Maybe. Hopefully. Please.

Connor wanted to bring up the kiss, but he wasn’t sure how. Would it be rude? Why did you look so—conflicted? Sad? Were you thinking about the kiss too? Was that how it made you feel? Were you upset that you had kissed him? The android wanted to understand why the idea of you being uncomfortable hurt him. He didn’t ever want you to be sad or upset, especially with anything that involved him.

“Connor, I’m sorry.” You broke the silence first. “I’m so sorry about what I did as a diversion.” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it was a kiss. “It was bad—really unprofessional. I should have trusted you to figure out a better way, but I took things into my own hands and—I’m sorry.” You looked down at your hands. “It was just a diversionary tactic—it didn’t mean anything—and we don’t have to think or talk about it ever again.” You didn’t expect it to hurt so much when you said it, even though you had practised it in your head. Still, your delivery was perfect and you didn’t waver. “What do you think?”

When you looked up again, you were sure to give Connor a big smile, but your heart stopped when your gaze caught his. You had never seen him with such an expression—like he was disappointed. He looked away, thinking of what to say to you. The silence was heavy and you were certain that Connor could hear your heart thumping away in your chest. It was so loud in your ears. Waiting for his response was like holding your breath underwater all over again.

“I think—I feel as though I would find it regrettable.” Connor caught your gaze again and this time he held it. “It may have been a diversionary tactic for you, but I believe it was different for me...” His words trailed off as if he wasn’t even sure of what he was saying. He had never expressed himself like this before and while he knew it was important, he was struggling. There would be no use lying to you.

Tentatively, you reached out for his hand and held it tightly in yours. Mostly to encourage Connor to take his time with expressing himself, as you did so often when he struggled. Emotions were difficult and while you had learned to deal with them as soon as you were born, Connor had only started learning recently. It was scary, for both you and him. You felt like maybe you knew what he was trying to tell you, but you still didn’t want to get your hopes up and you really didn’t want him to feel like he was forcing himself.

Connor felt a range of emotions all at once; worry, fear, shame—it all sat heavily within him. It was different to the other types of stress he had felt as he came to terms with his deviancy, but having you there in front of him, his hand being held by yours, he found that he had the courage to say what he felt he needed to. “I don’t know what this is, but I find I don’t want to let it go.”

Your heart broke. You surprised Connor as you fell into him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders in a tight hug. He was stunned, confused by the difference between your actions and your words. Were you lying when you implied that the kiss didn’t mean anything? You buried your face in his shoulder. “I have feelings for you.” Your voice was muffled, but he could hear you clearly. “I didn’t want to tell you, because I thought it would be too complicated. You’re already having to learn so much every day, I didn’t want to burden you with this too.”

A sense of relief flooded Connor. You weren’t scared or disgusted. The stress melted away as his arms curled around you. “It isn’t a burden if it's you.” He could feel your heart beating its gentle rhythm, he could feel your warmth. It was calming.

You held onto Connor tightly. “I’m so—relieved.” The tension in you was gone. Sure the admission of your feelings would complicate things in the future, but you suddenly didn’t have the energy to care. Exhaustion washed over you as your adrenaline from stress teetered out; you were also physically exhausted from your job earlier in the day. “I know this is new, so take however you feel about me at your own pace. Okay?” There was no rush.

As with many things, Connor didn’t understand—not yet, but he trusted he would find out with you. Even though he was always learning new things as a sentient being, you were never impatient or belittling. You never made him feel ashamed when he asked what was likely obvious questions about being alive. He adored your patience and understanding and level of empathy. Following his instincts, he gently touched your hair and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you.”

Hank returned a few hours later to find the two of you cuddled up on the bed. You were fast asleep and Connor had likely suspended himself somehow. The man smiled to himself and left the two of you alone. Although he never told you, Hank thought you and Connor made a perfect pair. “Nice going, kids.” Whatever had happened between the two of you after he left obviously went well; that’s all he needed to know.

He always knew you’d figure it out.

#detroit become human #connor #connor x reader #hank anderson #its been a long time

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andiandyandee · 4 years

Text

We Are Going to Be Friends Pt. 7

I finally got freakin’ part 7 written, you guys do not realize how much I had to fight with this chapter for no goddamn reason.

Words: 1585

Tag List: @datfearlessfangirl @princemesscharming @illogicalthinking @holliberries

Here’s the series on ao3 here’s the last part in case you missed it

Okay here’s the Fic:

Logan did not expect that comment in his English class to escalate to.. this, but he didn’t argue when a freshman girl, one of the others who had begun taking high school classes early and was therefore in several of his classes, asked if she could sit with him at lunch, just so nobody would bother her, a few days after the incident. She had braces and glasses, looking far more like a traditional ‘nerd’ than Logan did. He obliged, leaving his headphones around his neck in case she decided to speak. He had chosen not to go back to Remus and Roman’s table, though they had offered. The girl, Alex, didn’t speak much, other to explain that she had been getting bullied by some of the older girls in her Physical Education class. Logan nodded but didn’t say much one way or the other in her defense. He did, however, give her his cell phone number, and the number of a self-defense trainer he knew. She began classes the next week.

Logan did not make friends, per se, but he did find himself with a few people more often than not. He had even begun regularly speaking to Elliot and Kai again, albeit tentatively. There were a few others like Alex, who mostly appeared hoping that being around Logan would help them avoid any harassment, but there were a few others, people who also liked science and literature, people who liked the same bands as Logan, a few members of the GSA that despite not knowing Logan’s sexuality adopted him into their groups, and convinced him to attend their meetings. His group was not unlike the group the twins had around them, though they tended to be less rambunctious in the school. Outside of school ended up being a different story, and Logan began spending less and less time at his parents' house. Evenings at punk shows in subpar bars and basements, killing time at parks and people’s houses, study sessions in the only library in town, where the Librarian pretended to shush them, as if they weren’t the only ones there, protests and counter-protests took up all of his time. Logan hadn’t dropped the apathetic nature he had developed, of course, but the people he sounded himself with didn’t seem to mind, and none of them were close enough to actually know that it was an act. He adamantly refused to make up with his brother, who would come into his room every night when he heard Logan climb in through the window to tell him he was being irresponsible. Logan would counter that his grades were even better than they had been previously, he had finally gotten his history grade up from a B to an A, and it had been Larry’s idea that Logan begin hanging out with people his own age, anyway.

Larry reminded Logan that he had lost weight because he was now regularly skipping meals to sit outside with his ‘friends’ and was never home for dinner. He pointed out that before he spent time with these people, Logan had been in fights, but never to the extent he seemed to get into them now. Logan had not, of course, told his brother that he spent most weekends at mosh pits or punching nazis, so of course he had assumed Logan was fighting. And sure, it wasn’t Larry’s fault that Logan still didn’t have much movement in his right hand, but he had not done anything to help, and that was just as bad in Logan’s eyes.

And then, as Remus had mentioned on their first day, they began the unit on Shakespeare. Remus immediately began getting frustrated in English class, taking longer to finish quizzes, groaning at the sub-par grades he was achieving. Logan tried his best to ignore it, but eventually, he had to step in.

“Remus, you’re overthinking this sonnet. You can take it nearly at face value and comprehend the meaning.” Logan had finished his sonnet evaluation worksheet after about five minutes, and Remus had been glaring at his for nearly twenty minutes now.

“I just.. don’t get it. What the hell is ‘summer’s lease’?”

“Well, what is a lease?”

“It’s basically when you like, temporarily own something right? Like renting? What the hell is summer renting?”

“What does summer do only temporarily?”

“I don’t know? Exist, I guess?”

“So, it would stand to reason that summer’s lease would be…?”

“The.. time it temporarily exists? So it’s just saying summer isn’t long enough?” Logan gave him a small smile, nodding.

“Precisely.”

“Why couldn’t he just say that? ” Remus groaned, jotting down the answer. “Are you busy tonight?” Logan raised an eyebrow, but shrugged.

“Not really, no.”

“Want to come over? I think Roman is having a weekend sleepover thing, but I really need someone who isn’t going to be singing Next to Normal songs to spend time with or I’m gonna jump in front of a moving train, which means I’ll have to walk to a train station, because otherwise, they’ll tow dad’s car, and it’s so COLD outside right now, I hate winter, so I’ll probably freeze to death before I even make it to the nearest train station, and I-”

“Did you know Grasshoppers have ears on their stomachs? One on each side of the first abdominal segment, directly beneath the wings.” Logan said nonchalantly, pretending to not notice the way Remus took a deep breath before replying,

“What?” Logan laughed, slightly too loud in the small classroom, before nodding at Remus

“I would love to attend, Remus. So long as it isn’t going to cause a problem with your parents, or the other.. guests involved.”

“Nah, they’ll be fine with it. See you at like five, then?” Logan nodded, going back to staring into space while Remus went back to glaring at his paper.

At 5 PM, Logan stood outside the Sander’s house, looking blankly at the “For Sale” Sign in the front yard. They were leaving? What was the point of having this “Sleepover” if they were planning on abandoning their group anyway? He heard Remus’ voice call to him from the porch.

“Specs! Come on in! We only bite with your explicit consent!” Logan turned from the sign to smirk at the teen in front of him. Remus must have seen what Logan was looking at. “Don’t worry, we aren’t going to screw up the house tonight. Dad would probably kill us.”

“I was unaware you were moving, where will you be going?” Remus looked only slightly surprised.

“Oh! I can’t believe you haven’t heard Roman bitching about it. We’re just moving across town, like ten blocks over. Dad wanted somewhere that had room for studios and offices and stuff, and this place only has one guest room.” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Why is Roman complaining if you’re only moving ten blocks away? You won’t even need to transfer schools.” Remus shook his head.

“Because he’s dramatic? He drew the short straw so He doesn’t get the attic room in the new place and he’s bummed about it. It has this massive bay window thing that turns into a skylight.” Remus grinned. “And it has an ensuite.” Roman groaned as the two walked into the living room.

“Are you telling even MORE people about how I was SLIGHTED- Oh, Hi Logan,” Roman immediately stopped talking in his standard dramatic yell in favor of a small, more reserved voice, turning away quickly from them. Elliot coughed, and Kai was patting their back with a grin.

“Hey, Lo! We didn’t know you were coming!” Kai was still rubbing Elliot’s back, and they were still bent over, body shaking in what appeared to be a quite serious coughing fit.

“Are they… alright?” Logan was mildly concerned. “They seem to be having trouble breathing.” As if on cue, Elliot wheezed, in what almost sounded like laughter.

“They’re fine, just swallowed something wrong, don’t worry.” Kai’s grin seemed out of place still, but Logan nodded.

“Alright. Well, I am in attendance because Remus invited me. I didn’t mean to -er- interrupt.” Roman had laid his head in his hands, and Elliot had finally sat up, tears streaming down their face. Remus chuckled and pulled Logan towards the stairs.

“Come on, Lo. I want to work on some of the English work before we have to endure them for the night.” Logan, grateful to be pulled away from the nonsense that was occurring in the living room, nodded.

“Oh, okay!” They made it up the stairs and into Remus’s room, which was far neater than Logan expected. It wasn’t spotless by any means, but it was definitely cleaner than Logan’s room.

“I am so sorry for him, he’s such a nightmare.” Remus laughed, dropping down onto his bed with an unceremonious ‘oof’.

“Who, Kai? He seemed a little too amused at Elliot’s coughing, but I wouldn’t call him a nightmare…” Remus looked at Logan incredulously.

“What? I meant Roman.” Logan was confused.

“What did Roman do? I mean, I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I’ve always suspected Roman didn’t particularly like me. I don’t mind it, so long as he is civil.” Remus’s mouth was hanging open.

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Kidding about what?”

“Never mind.” Remus shook his head, mumbling something akin to ‘useless gays, the lot of them’ under his breath before pulling out his English textbook. “Please teach me the ways of the bard before I spontaneously combust.”

#logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #sympathetic remus #roman is a useless gay #Logan is a punk #and a useless gay #remus is done with their shit #swearing #discussions of fighting #kai from cartoon therapy #elliot from cartoon therapy #punk au #eventual logince #if these idiots ever figure it out #Larry is Logans brother #mentions of parental abuse

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snarkwrites · 4 years

Note

fake fic title - Glass Houses

Bless you for this title, anonymous. I wanted to say that before I say anything else. Now that I have, I just want to say that my brain wanted to go two totally different directions with this ( and I’m lowkey afraid you’re not in either fandom, but I hope you enjoy it in the same ) so that’s exactly what I did. It’s one title done two totally different ways?

Heads up, the stranger things one is kind of an au of my own au, oops rip me.

Both are kinda angsty. Kinda. There’s also banter.

Tag Squad : ( for the SOA version ) @rampagewriting | @chasingeverybreakingwave | @kyleoreillysknee | @sassymox

( for the stranger things version ) @rampagewriting |

[ tag list doc - add yourself or I won’t tag ] | [ masterlist ] | [ keep ‘em comin - these are hella fun ]

{ STEVE HARRINGTON x CHARLOTTE (oc) }

Nancy caught up to me just as I got out of Jackson’s car and started to walk towards the double doors of Hawkins High. She glanced from me to the retreating black Impala and bit her lip as if she wanted to say something. Before she could, Barb caught up to both of us.

“Did your dad get a new car?” Barb asked, letting out a low and appreciative whistle at the car driving away before meeting my gaze.

“Nope.”

“Who was that? He looked like he was at least 21.” Nancy’s question was blunt and filled with concern when she asked it. I shrugged and bit my lip, waiting a second or two before answering.

“That was this guy I met over the summer. His name’s Jackson. He was one of the other counselors at that camp I worked at. Speaking of guys, where’s your new one?” I asked the question mostly to get her off my back, the last thing I wanted this early in the morning was one of her lectures.

It wasn’t like she had any room at all to talk, her letters over the summer had been filled with instances of her sneaking out, sneaking around with some guy. She’d been vague about a name, but honestly, I half expected it to be Jonathan Byers. This sweetheart of a guy in our grade that we’ve known since we were babies… And maybe I’ve always thought Nancy made goo goo eyes at constantly, even if she’d die before admitting it.

Before she ever even got to answer me, Steve Harrington appeared out of nowhere and I swallowed hard, giving him my best blank look for a few seconds. “Are you lost, Harrington? The jackasses and their cackling hens are all that way.” I nodded towards where he’d parked his new BMW, where Tommy H currently stood, exhaling smoke through his nostrils and laughing about it. I rolled my eyes before tearing them away.

“Ouch. I totally forgot how grouchy you are first thing in the morning, Charlie.” Steve mumbled, lazily pulling Nancy closer.

I tried, but before I could stop myself, I was flinching a little. Luckily, no one seemed to notice it because Nancy and Steve were all over one another and that only had me tensing just a little more. Yep. this is going to be one hell of a long year.

“It’s Charlotte. I like Charlotte now.” I licked my lips and finally retorted at Steve as I shifted my backpack from one side of my shoulder to the other, tapping my foot impatiently against the concrete of the sidewalk.

Nancy looked from me to Steve and when he pulled her closer, I couldn’t help the split second flinch that came. I bit my lip and spoke up. “This is the dreamy guy, Nancy?” I gave a light snort of laughter and blatantly ignored the pout Steve sent my way as he stared at me over the rim of his dark tinted sunglasses.

What, did she lose her entire goddamn mind this summer? Steve? I’d gotten my hopes up to coming back to find out that she and Jonathan were finally a thing because I just have a feeling about those two.. And I wasn’t the only one, either. One look at Barb quickly told me how she felt about this whole thing and I gave a covert nod, sure we’d both be trying to puzzle it out later between the two of us. I couldn’t wait to hear what Barb had to say about it, actually, because I wasn’t the only one Steve ditched as a friend back then.

“Mhm!” Nancy gave a soft and happy laugh and I had to really bite my tongue.

,, hello, has she totally forgotten the sleepover in 8th where I cried because Steve told me he couldn’t be my best friend anymore because it was ‘weird’? She was all about calling him a jerk then.” I had to literally fight to keep from saying it.

Rather than say any of what I was thinking, what Barb was probably also thinking, I gave a soft laugh and eyed Steve, shrugging. “Have fun with that, I suppose.” was the best I could come up with. Nancy eyed me and bit her lip nervously and Barb tensed, her hand going to her mouth. I literally couldn’t take another second of Nancy and Steve all over one another, so I turned to Barb and asked mildly, “Hey, do you wanna walk down to the girls room with me? So I can show you that thing my aunt got for me?”

“Wh-” she almost asked what thing but I carefully nudged her side and she nodded, the two of us hurrying away. The second the door to the girls room shut behind us, I was pacing and ranting about the whole thing and when I lightly punched the paper towel dispenser on the wall next to the row of sinks, I cradled one hand in the other and swore quietly.

“Feel better now? Did you get it all out? Look… All I’m saying here is that I got over the way Steve ditched all of us a while ago… Maybe there’s another reason you haven’t?”

“Don’t you dare shrink me, Barbara Holland.” I pouted, going quiet before finally admitting to it quietly. “For as long as I can remember, it’s always been me and Steve. We were so close. So close and I just…”

“You kinda fell for him.” Barbara finished and I sighed, putting my back to the bathroom stall and dramatically rolling my eyes upward. I didn’t even have to nod to acknowledge that yes, she was 100 percent right. Somewhere between kindergarten and 8th grade, even though I know it’s stupid and I realize that nobody knows who they love until they’re much older, more mature.. A small sliver of my heart was Steve Harrington. Then he took it and he broke that sliver that belonged to him and since then, I’ve just kind of… Silently been bitter.

The bathroom door burst open and Nancy stepped inside, laughing and lit up, practically glowing. I shared a look with Barb and prepared myself to put on a tolerant face. A happy face, even. Barb gave me a nod and Nancy spoke up.

“What’d your aunt get you?”

“Oh, uh…” my brain crapped out for a minute, and she raised a brow, looking from me to Barbara.

“She thought she bought it but she left it home.” Barb stepped in with the quick save and I mouthed a thank you to her when Nancy was too busy reapplying her lip gloss to notice. “So, what do you think? I mean, I’m still shocked that he likes me.”

,, you’re honestly not the only one.” the thought came accompanied by an almost crippling wave of guilt, especially in light of what Barb and I just discussed. I was getting the distinct impression that this year was not going to be an easy one at all.

The tardy bell had the three of us dashing down the hall for class and I slid into my seat with such force that I bounced lightly off of Jonathan Byers side. He glanced up and over at me for a few seconds.

“Are you okay?” he gave a smirk as our eyes met and he asked the question.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” I said it quickly. Way too quickly. He chuckled quietly and nodded to the textbook I’d just dug out of my backpack. “This is History. Not Biology.”

I locked eyes with him, cheeks burning hot all over. And this literally had me blinking in shock because everything I’d just thought about Nancy being with Steve -and exactly how flustered he’d gotten me in the hallway just popping up like he had, it all came rushing back and I really had to work at shoving it down.

Because I wasn’t like her. I was not going to break girl code. I knew that she’d always kind of secretly liked Jonathan and that most likely, Steve Harrington was just a phase. I also knew that I was totally overreacting and yet...

,, Says the girl whose still being so silly enough to even remotely think she actually loved Steve at one point in time. Or that it matters at all in the grand scheme of life and stupidly refuses to just let go like she needs to.”

“Thanks.” I muttered, digging around a little more in my backpack. When I produced the pack of cinnamon flavored gum, I caught Jonathan gazing at the pack in my hands almost longingly, so with a shrug, I did my best covert lean-in, holding the pack out to him, giving a playful pout when he didn’t reach and grab immediately.

“Oh come on, Jon. Live a little, doll. The teacher’s old, nearly blind and mostly deaf. He’s never gonna know you’re chewing gum.” I giggled softly. Jonathan chuckled at what I said and he took a stick from the pack.

I went back to paying attention to the textbook and about halfway during the class, a folded square of paper landed neatly on the corner of my desk. I glanced up and around, and after confirming that the teacher obviously hadn’t seen it happen, I slipped my hand out, gripping the folded square and slid it back towards me, my bracelets jingling and making me pause a second.

The note was from Steve.

I’m sorry. I miss being your friend, okay? I really miss it. I hope this doesn’t get weird...

There were several different ways I could’ve gone. If I bothered responding. But frankly, the fact that he’d ditch me and Barb like we hadn’t been best friends our entire lives… just because he wanted to be popular and we weren’t good enough at the time… I didn’t bother answering. Letting him sweat it out was way easier.

JUICE ORTIZ x HAZEL TELLER (oc)

“ What’s she doin here, huh?” Juice asked the question to my brother Jax as loudly as possible and I tensed at the chill in his voice, biting my lip. I didn’t turn around immediately because if I did, I knew he’d take one look at me and know he’d hurt me a little. But he was getting good at that lately. So dismissive.

“She’s gonna work the bar for us until she finds a job, man.” Jax exhaled a drag from the cigarette pressed between his lips and finished off the glass of bourbon I’d poured him before the others came in. “Is there gonna be a problem, Ortiz?”

“Just wonderin.” Juice grumbled quietly.

I was finally pulled together enough at this point that I could turn around and face him. With the sweetest smile I could muster, I poured him a glass of his favorite beer and silently shoved it right at him. When a little of it sloshed up over the rim and splattered on the front of his white tee shirt, I shrugged and bit my lip before turning away again.

Naturally, it was Tig who spoke up, clearing his throat. “You two gonna act like this all the time? If the tension gets any thicker in here, I’m gonna bust a nut.”

“Jesus Christ, Trager.” Jax coughed, glaring at the other man. “That is my sister, man. I don’t wanna think about that shit.”

I turned and gave Tig a teasing smirk. “What tension?”

Oh, I know perfectly well what he’s talking about. Nobody’s forgotten the fact that way back… before this MC bullshit crept into his life… Juice and I dated. Then when he pledged, we broke up because at the time, I didn’t want the danger and the pain this life has been known to cause.

Not to mention dear old stepdad. It was pretty much either break things off or risk Clay trying to kick his goddamn head in. Or so I thought at the time. Apparently, I found myself thinking bitterly as I wiped down the bar top, I was wrong because here Juice is, a full member of the Sons.

Obviously, the fact that I’m here and working at the MC would show that my stance on that is changed. And you wouldn’t be wrong, it has. It took me leaving to realize that I threw away a really good thing. A near fucking perfect thing. Just because I was afraid of both letting down my guard and allowing myself to really love Juice Ortiz like he deserved and the thought of losing him due to something happening.

So, I came back. And naturally, now he hates me.

#Anonymous

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tonystarkissist · 5 years

Text

IronDad Bingo Fic #3

Trope: Protective Tony

Tony sighed dramatically and pressed the palm of his hand to his face in exasperation. This kid was going to drive him insane. “I can't believe I actually have to tell you this… No, you cannot test your new ‘venomous’ webs on yourself.”

Peter rolled his eyes and Tony had the sudden urge to give him a light smack upside the head for being ridiculous and teenager-y, but he couldn't do that… because Peter wasn't there in the lab with him. The kid was face-calling him from school for some God-knows reason, claiming to be bored in study hall with no homework to do to pass the time.

“Whatever. Are you picking me up today?” Peter questioned, fiddling with the earbuds in his ear, then dropping his gaze to pick at some tape stuck to his desk with his fingernails, looking bored and tired as he propped his elbow on the desk and rested his cheek in his hand.

“I thought you were spider-manning today,” Tony hummed, looking down at his own desk, examining the guts of his most recent project sprawled across the surface.

“Well, yeah, but um…” Peter paused, looking up at the phone with a sheepish laugh, and Tony should know, because Peter was sheepish a lot.

His eyes narrowed when he picked up on the nervous tone lined with faux amusement in an attempt to lighten the mood. He lifted his head to look at Peter and glared, because what could he have possibly done this time?

“What did you do?” He questioned calmly, narrowing his eyes, leaving no room for debate because the obnoxious child would most certainly try to veer around it if given the opportunity.

“I didn't die…” Is what the kid decided to start with.

No wonder he, the child's mentor, had so many grey hairs.

“And?” Tony prodded, becoming increasingly more desperate for answers the more Peter screwed his face up into pure humiliation and resentment.

“And I didn't get hurt… bad.”

“Oh God, kid. What. Did. You. Do??”

He saw Peter's gaze flicker around his classroom silently, as if looking for eavesdroppers before bowing his head and dropping his voice to a soft whisper.

“I might have tore up my suit on the last night’s patrol.”

“The multimillion dollar one?”

Tony tried not to sound panicked, because the kid was fine. He was sitting right there, painless, and joyful. There was nothing wrong. But goodness, that stirring in his gut started again, and the taste in his mouth went really, really sour. Why did he have to choose the reckless, teenage vigilante to mentor? He could have gone for one of the older, more mellow ones. One of the ones that weren’t reckless and stupid, and all around crazy. The ones that wouldn't give him so much stress and panic at all hours of the day.

“Peter,” he grit out slowly, “What. Did. You. Do?”

He tried repeating the question again. Maybe Peter would get the hint and answer it right that time.

“There was a dude, and he had a lot of knives. And I mean a lot-”

Tony didn't like where it was headed, but then there was another voice speaking, and it took precedence over current revelation he was slowly squeezing out of his spiderkid. It was an obnoxiously loud, teasing tone growing louder with each syllable while it drew closer to Peter. Tony didn't like the voice, or the words used in the least. He most definitely didn’t like the notification he received on his watch when Peter’s heart rate spiked a substantial amount.

“Who you talking to Penis?” The boy taunted.

Tony's back stiffened and his gaze hardened as he turned to look at the screen intently, searching for the source of the voice. He couldn't find it, because Peter had already laid his phone flat on the desk to hide both parties from the other, giving Tony a perfect view of a completely black screen with his frowning face reflecting back at him in the top corner.

“Peter.” He pressed sternly, “Peter, who is that?”

Peter didn't answer him, instead he answered the boy who taunted him, and being the smart spider he was, he didn't use a name to address him. Sometimes Tony hated how smart his kid was.

“Nobody of concern to you,” he stammered out. “Just leave me alone.”

“What, you embarrassed or something?” The boy taunted even more, his voice dropping between the lines of smug and demeaning.

Tony was seething, and his grip on the screwdriver tightened.

“Peter! So help me, you better tell me who this kid is. What's he doing? Is this the kid that hit you last week? He better not lay a hand on you-”

Peter still didn't answer.

“Is it your boyfriend or something, Penis? I saw you grinning and whispering like a little girl. Who is it??” The kid prodded, his voice growing clearer to Tony as his face apparently drew closer and closer to the microphone on Peter's headphones.

“No-no, it's not my-my boyfriend!” Peter insisted, sounding small and wrecked as he tried to get rid of his tormentor. “Just-just leave me alone.”

“What're you gonna do?” The boy continued to taunt, “you gonna stick your ol’ pal Tony Stark on me for bullying his little boy-toy of an intern?”

“THAT’S IT!!” Tony shouted, throwing down his screwdriver angrily onto the table, resulting in a loud clang and series of crashes and shatters as it tumbled across the parts on his desk. “PETER! I swear you better tell me who this little prick is before I blast over there and take care of this myself.”

He swore he heard Peter swallow nervously. He wasn’t sure if it was because of him, or the bully patronizing him, but he didn’t care. Nobody messed with his kid like that.

“Oh, I can hear him getting all angry,” the kid mused, laughter in his voice. “What’s he saying? Is your boyfriend upset that I’m messing with his favorite little-”

“Flash,” Peter’s voice wavered dangerously, “I really, really think you might want to stop talking now.”

Tony felt mildly triumphant at the name given to him. It obviously wasn’t his ‘legal’ name, and if it was then goodness that kid’s parents must have been on drugs, but it still gave him something to work with.

Peter felt a smidgen of relief when his mentor stopped badgering him in his ear and he released a breath as he turned to look at Flash with a serious, calm expression. He lowered his voice to a whisper, in hopes that Tony would miss his next words over the loud, determined clickety-clack of his keyboard.

“Flash,” he whispered softly, garnering the confused and slightly wary boy’s expression, “you really, really should have stopped talking.”

“Wha-what?” Flash scoffed indignantly. “Was that supposed to be a threat, Penis?”

“No!” He replied immediately, shaking his head emphatically. “I just meant…”

He chewed on his lip worriedly, hoping for some excuse to come to him. Any excuse would work. Anything that would make Flash go away and prevent Tony from flying all the way from the Tower to beat the crap out of him, because if Flash opened his mouth again, Tony might just do it. Then, an idea hit him. One that would make Flash sit down and shut up and one that would appease the angry Tony on the other end of the line and potentially even distract him enough to blow if all off as fun-looking teasing.

“My-my Dad’s the one on the phone,” he screwed his mouth into an apologetic grimace at the way Flash’s face paled. The bully tried to make it seem like it didn’t faze him, but it was obvious that the admission didn’t settle well in his stomach.

He could also hear the keyboard clicking stop, and he knew Tony was listening.

“Kid, what?”

But Peter ignored it, swallowed down the minute embarrassment at Tony hearing him refer to him as ‘my Dad’, and went along.

“He’s um, now he’s kinda pissed. And-yeah. You really should have stopped talking.”

“Wha?” Flash spluttered, reeling back at the insinuation Peter was making. Then, after a moment of reflection, the boy’s face contorted into an angry scowl and an accusing finger was jabbed into his chest.

It took Peter by surprise, because he wasn't expecting for Flash to attack him when he knew his ‘dad' was on the phone, listening.

“What are you even talking about you little liar? Your parents are dead. You’ve been a sad little orphan for years. Stop lying about everything. You don’t know Spider-man, you don't know Tony Stark, and you don’t have parents who love you. None of that is true no matter how much you want it to be.”

Well, that plan sure did burn and fail. And Tony was back at it, spiraling through another one of his little conniption fits. Peter couldn’t help but wince at the high-pitched screech of the genius launching into a long string of various, foul curses, some Peter had never even heard of before.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m coming over there right now,” the man seethed after finishing with his little tantrum. Then, Peter heard the distinct sound of repulsors and the call immediately cut off.

He panicked, full on panicked. Because oh god, Tony Stark was coming to his school to tell of his bully. Oh god. It was actually happening.

“Oh, no. No-no-no-no,” He grabbed his phone frantically and stared dubiously at the lingering icon of him and Tony smiling in a picture. “Oh god.” He finally relented, dropping the device back onto the desk and cradling his face in his hands, wishing desperately it weren’t true.

Flash obviously wasn’t very sure how to digest the look on Peter’s face. He just sorta stared at him with a confused, yet irritated, lilt to his brow; not quite sure how to proceed.

“Flash, oh god, you gotta get out of here.” Peter pressed, standing from his seat, and trying to usher the bully away. The teacher certainly didn’t care, because she left the room long ago. The bully wouldn't be missed. He just had to GO, now.

“What the heck, Penis? What do you think you’re doing? Get your hands off of me!” Flash slapped his hands away and gave him a good shove backwards, but Peter didn’t let it faze him. He couldn’t let Tony kill one of his classmates, because that’s exactly what was going to happen if Flash were still here when Tony came barging in, blasters ready.

“You don’t understand,” Peter backpedaled, pleading for the bully to listen to him. “He’s coming. He’s coming to the school, and he’s going to kill you! He's going to legit kill you!”

By then, they’ve garnered the attention of the rest of their classmates, and they looked up at the pair in confusion.

Flash seemed worried, but quickly built up the facade of unperturbed as he laughed in Peter’s face.

“Who? Your imaginary dad? That’s a bit pathetic. Even for you Parker.”

“No, it’s worse,” Peter squeaked helplessly.

That admittance just got another laugh out of Flash, and a few of the other students joined in.

“It’s Tony Stark,” Peter whispered frantically, desperate for Flash to understand the deep, dark hold he had just dug himself into. “I was on the phone with Tony Stark.”

For a second it looked like Flash actually believed him, but he brushed it off with a roll of his eyes and another accusatory finger jabbed into Peter’s chest.

“You’re just a dirty, fat, little liar looking for attention. That’s all you are you dork. Stop lying, stop making up these ridiculous stories, because nobody believes you.”

When Flash said that, Peter frowned and took a moment to reflect, asking himself why exactly he was trying to protect his bully. In fact, he should be happy that his mentor was coming down to set things straight, and it'd definitely shut everyone up about the internship. Why should he be so upset?

So, Peter rolled with it, sighing, and dropping his head, wearing a smug little grin. If Flash was too dense to listen to him… it wouldn’t be his fault, because he tried. He tried warning him, but he didn’t listen. Not his fault. He was done putting up with the jerk. It’d be nice to see a bit of fear in his eyes; give him a bit of humility… Goodness, that sounded terribly cruel of him…

“Whatever Flash,” he relented, narrowing his eyes challengingly, “just remember that I warned you.” He was the one to jab his finger in Flash’s chest that time.

“I’ll give you one last warning to make it a little clearer. Tony Stark is coming here, to kill you, because you messed with me. Well, not literally kill... more like, mentally and emotionally scar for life...” He smirked triumphantly and crossed his arms over his chest at Flash’s terrified, befuddled expression that quickly spread across his face when he came to the heart-stopping realization that Parker was not, in fact, lying. “So… if I were you… I’d start running.”

For a second, Flash looked as if he might have done just that, but it was too late.

The door swung wide open, and in strut a seething, red faced Tony Stark with his suit disengaged, waiting idle a few feet beyond the doorway.

“Where’s this little prick?”

Flash paled at the sight of him, and Peter was happy to point him out.

What was the use in having an overprotective Dad if you didn't take advantage of it from time to time, right?

This one was kinda fun to write :) Thx, @scaredhuman88 and @annofarkansas for requesting it, and thank you @irondadbingo again for setting this whole thing up. It’s crazy fun :D

Um, yeah, besides that, I’m sorry if Peter seems a bit OOC when it comes to confronting Flash, I just love the idea of Peter putting him in his place because the little prick really deserves it.

Thx for reading :)

#irondad #irondad fic #fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker gets bullied a lot #and his dad tony really doesn't like it #tony stark #tony stark is so done with peter parker #peter is a total gen z #spiderson #spiderson loves his irondad #protective tony stark #bullying #flash thompson #flash being put in his place

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nnegan13 · 5 years

Note

can you write a fic about Ele telling Edo the backstory of her tattoos like while cuddling in bed?

hi! thank you for the absolute softest prompt ever. literally was melting the entire time I was writing it.

on ao3

rest is under the cut! again, I would advise not to read on mobile bc the formatting gets fucked up but like, its ur funeral lmao

—

MONDAY 30 MARCH23:14 ELEONORA’S BEDROOM, SAVA’S APARTMENT

Eleonora ignores the pathetic whine that comes from her naked, stupid boyfriend on the other side of the bed as she swings her legs off the mattress, his large hand slipping over the bend of her hip but finding no purchase as she turns on her bedside lamp and stands up. She looks over at him, eyebrows raised. Edoardo pouts and she stoops down to pick up his discarded T-shirt so he doesn’t see her smile.

He’s been too pleased with himself tonight. Not that she minds, or anything, but it’s still fun to tease him.

Another whine escapes him. “Where are you going?”

Pulling the shirt on over her head, she stops at her dresser to slip on a clean pair of underwear and shoots him a little smirk over her shoulder before disappearing into the hallway. A low grumble and an obnoxious amount rustling reaches her ears; he must’ve burrowed into the blankets. The image makes her smile.

Despite the tightly shut windows, a late March chill fills the apartment and goosebumps erupt across her skin. Maybe she should’ve put on pants.

After she pads down the hall and finishes in the bathroom, she makes her way to the kitchen to pick over the remnants of their dinner from a few hours ago; the rumbling in her stomach is too loud to ignore.

Edoardo appears in the doorway of the dining room, clad in a pair of sweatpants, as she exits the kitchen, hall-full bowl of pasta in hand and half a mind to go check on her plants outside. It’s starting to warm up, even just a degree or two, and she wants to see how soon she can move the less winter-friendly plants back out into the sun.

He must be able to what she’s thinking in the distracted way she chews and darts her eyes around the dining room because he catches her around the waist before she can make it back to her room and climb out to the veranda. The knowing look on his face makes her chest warm. Even doing long-distance, he knows her almost as well as she knows herself. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Mm,” she hums in lieu of a better answer. It’s nonsensical to check, she knows—she was the one who told him so when the idea first popped into her head the night his flight got in—but it takes up an itchy amount of space in the back of her brain.

“You can always check in the morning.”

“Or,” she muses, turning her gaze from the hallway to Edoardo’s mildly exasperated face and offering him a forkful of her food, schooling her own expression into one of mock innocence, “I could check now.”

Before he can voice more protests, she shoves the fork into his opening mouth and takes off toward her room, giggling as he swipes at her arm. She can picture him standing there in the maw of the hallway: fork protruding from his mouth, eyes crinkling at the corners, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and hands opening and closing like they want to grab at something soft—her waist, no doubt, and the thought makes her smile even in her late night induced single-mindedness.

Once she makes it into her room, she abandons the bowl of pasta on her desk and climbs through her window onto the veranda, ignoring how the chill outside is much worse than in the apartment—she really should’ve put on pants—and dutifully wandering the deck to check her various pots and plants. Inside, she hears Edoardo shut her bedroom door and collapse onto the mattress.

After poking and prodding her plants long enough that the cold has seeped through her muscles down to her bones, she scurries back inside, shutting the window firmly behind herself and plopping her cold body directly on top of Edoardo amidst his squirming and quiet, humorous complaining. Even as he mutters how obscenely cold and cruel she is for doing this, he wraps his arms around her huddled form.

She scoots around his chest until she hears his heartbeat firm and steady underneath her ear. Body heat radiating into her, he kisses the top of her head and tightens his hold as a happy sigh escapes her.

When he speaks, she thinks she might be dreaming. Especially because he’s got her arm pulled away from her ball of a body and is inspecting her wrist like it’s entirely new to him. He’s so gentle, though, that Eleonora doesn’t even notice he’s manhandled her—to put it frankly—until he says, “Who’s Lulu?”

Blinking, she tilts her head up to look at him. “What?”

“Your tattoo.” He lets her pull her arm back to her person, and she stares at the black words inked onto the inside of her wrist like she’s never seen them before. The late hour combined with his intoxicating body heat makes her brain slower than normal. “Who’s Lulu?”

“A little cousin of mine,” she says after a long moment, slithering off him to pull the blankets over both of them. Once they’re covered, she lays back on his chest. He’s propped himself up on a pillow, now, and she rests her chin on her folded hands atop his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing lulls her back to the brink of sleep and she resists with her best effort. It’s difficult, but she manages.

They’re having a conversation; she can’t exactly fall asleep on him.

Edoardo reaches down until he finds the hem of his shirt she has on and slips his hand underneath, starts tracing his nails on her skin. She closes her eyes as they roll, mild pleasure flickering through her.

Eventually, Eleonora forces her eyes open again and finds him watching her. Lulu is a heavy subject, one she isn’t sure is appropriate for the light fun that she’s had a hand in supplying for Edoardo’s spring break, but talking to one another, telling each other things when it feels right, has always been something they’ve tried to do.

The words slip out with an ease that’s grown over the past year, with Filippo, with Eva and the girls, and with Edoardo, most of all. “She passed away when I was younger, probably eight or nine. All my older cousins got a tattoo of her name and Filo took me when I was old enough.”

“Were you guys close?” His voice rumbles in his chest, vibrating into her person; it’s a true effort to stay awake.

“I mean, she was just a toddler,” she murmurs. On his face, his expression morphs from one of sleepy interest to sleepy concern and his hand flattens against her back, thumb rubbing slow against her skin. There’s not much to comfort her about; it happened a long time ago, but she appreciates it all the same. “Had a heart defect and got really sick. I don’t really remember much about it, but we would go see her all the time before it all happened.”

For a moment, they stare at one another, her words hanging in the air between them. She rises and falls with his chest, his thumb continues to sweep against her skin, and a microscopic part of her heart breaks again. Then she shifts off her hands and presses her mouth to his chest, her shoulders relaxing as she moves.

When she pulls back, he cups her cheek with his other hand and draws her face to his, kissing her twice, gentle motions more for reassurance and affection than anything else. Her chest warms, and she settles back into her previous position.

“What about the others?”

“The other what?”

“Tattoos.”

“Mm.” Edoardo studies her with those deep brown eyes of his, fingers tracing aimless patterns once more, and Eleonora try to decide where to start. “What do you want to know?”

Shrugging, he pulls her off his chest and helps her tuck into his side. Once she settles, her head pressed into the crook of his shoulder, his arm curled around her, and his hand under her shirt resting against her stomach just above her hip, he takes her forearm and exposes the inside to the soft lamplight illuminating the room. “You don’t grow any sunflowers.”

When he traces a fingernail along the edge of the sunflower inked on her skin, she shivers. “What an observant person you are.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, peeking up at him and grinning when he rolls his eyes a little.

“Why’d you get a tattoo of one if you don’t grow them?”

As she contemplates for a moment, pursing her lips, he goes back to studying her tattoo, tracing the lines and maneuvering her arm around to see better. She’s not embarrassed, but still thinks it’s true: “You’re gonna think it’s stupid.”

“I don’t think anything you do is stupid.”

“Mm.” Watching him makes her smile. “Okay, sure.”

“Remember, I’m not the one who thinks the other is stupid in this relationship.”

She props herself up on her elbow to properly glare at him. He grins, self-assured, back at her. “Hey.”

Squeezing her waist, he says, “C’mon, tell me.”

“Fine.” She purses her lips and thinks about sixteen-year-old Eleonora’s reasoning behind the multitude of tattoos she got amidst her change in schools. They’re still things she wholeheartedly believes, but sixteen-year-olds aren’t the most eloquent people on the planet, so everything is choppy and awkward in her head. “Don’t laugh.”

A sweet smile cracks onto his face. He looks excited at the prospect of learning about her tattoos and it makes her grin. “I promise.”

“Have you ever heard of heliotropism?” He shakes his head. “Certain flowers do it. They track the movement of the sun during the day because the light reactions help with pollination, or internal temperature, or is part of their circadian motion.”

“And sunflowers do heliotropism?”

“No, actually.”

“How misleading.”

Eleonora gives him a pointed look that he grins at before continuing. “Sunflower buds will do it when they’re developing, but once the flower is fully mature it stays facing east.”

“And there’s a metaphor, somewhere.”

Automatically, she says, “No,” even though he’s right.

It’s Edoardo’s turn to give a pointed look, eyebrows raising and mouth twitching, and she relents. “Fine, there’s a metaphor, but I didn’t know the specifics of heliotropism when I got my tattoo like I do now, so it doesn’t really work all that much anymore.”

She sinks back down into him, his arm curving around her shoulder again as she situates herself against his side. “I always focused on what other people thought of me at my old school: what my friends thought of me, what my ex thought of me, if I was pretty enough or skinny enough or small enough. And my grades slipped, I stopped eating, I stopped hanging out with people, it was just—it was bad.

“It got worse when everything happened with my ex. I wound up in the hospital for a little while.” It hits her that she’s saying these things out loud; she’s saying these things to an actual person—to Edoardo—not just to herself. For a moment, her pulse spikes and her stomach turns and her muscles tighten, like they want her to ball up on herself, but he smooths his thumb across her hip and kisses her hairline and she remembers that he’s already seen her lows, he already knows a good chunk of the hurt she’s been though—he was there, after all—and she takes a deep breath. Looks at him. Tries not to blush or smile or do something stupid when the only thing she can read on his face is deep-rooted concern. “I transferred a couple weeks after that.”

Edoardo says nothing, still, which she appreciates.

“I started gardening when I got out of the hospital,” Eleonora says, a wistful smile forming on her face as she thinks of her crude attempts at keeping her mother’s deck plants alive. “And Filo wanted me to put a giant pot of sunflowers in the corner of the deck because he thought everything was too green. I told him we couldn’t put them in the corner because they have to track the sun to survive and out of nowhere he said that I was like them, that I cared about people’s opinions so much that it would kill me. Then we were yelling and I was crying and he was telling me I needed to focus on something else or I would die.”

She snorts. “He’s so dramatic.”

Edoardo’s hand flexes against her waist and she looks up at him. He’s not frowning, looks rather contemplative, actually, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “I don’t know if I’d call it that. You did end up in the hospital.”

Pressure builds up behind her eyes as he speaks. It’s weird, hearing another person say she was in the hospital, especially when he’s so close to her—it makes it all feel very, very real again. The need to snark back, keep herself from crying, turn this serious moment into something they can laugh at instead, wells up inside her, but she pushes it aside. She wants to be honest with Edoardo, and not just with her words.

“Okay,” her voice is thick and she doesn’t actually start crying, but he presses his lips to her forehead just the same. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Not a maybe,” he mumbles against her skin.

The hand that was holding her arm up for his inspection of her tattoo slips down her wrist and grasps hers, squeezing softly. She takes another deep breath.

“Filo gets all his tattoos to remind himself of things. He thought we could do the same—that I could do the same—so he took me to the parlor he got his done at,” she says. “I was still crying and Filo didn’t know what to do, so he just apologized to the artist once we got inside. And he had decided in the car that I would get a sunflower and what it would remind me of and then I got it.”

“Filo decided on the metaphor, then?”

“Yeah. Well—we did, together.” This is the part that’s corny and cheesy and all too fitting of a sixteen-year-old even if the sentiment holds true. She sighs and looks at Edoardo. The brush of his thumb against her hip helps with the nervous flips of her stomach. “The sunflower focuses on the sun to survive, and I should focus on myself to survive.”

For a moment, he says nothing, just studying her face with the corners of his lips gradually turning up and it’s only this that lets her know that he heard her, that her voice didn’t fade into the darkness engulfing everything outside her bedroom.

He curls their bodies together, pulling her up into him with the arm tucked around her back and his neck bending and body curving until his lips press into her forehead and the space between them shrinks into a tiny width she could close in a minuscule movement. Their legs tangle together under the blankets. Once he’s situated his other arm across her waist, he draws his mouth a hairsbreadth away from her skin and mumbles, “So you’re the sun and the sunflower in this situation?”

“Yes,” she says, closing her eyes, and adds after a beat, “Asshole.”

A chuckle rumbles in his chest and out of his mouth against her forehead and the warm, sleepy feeling descends upon her again. The light’s still on, her brain reminds her, but Edoardo exudes heat and his skin is soft, and she loves laying here and talking with him, even if that talking will soon dwindle into sleep, and so she can’t be bothered to turn the lamp off.

“I don’t think it’s stupid, Ele,” he murmurs as she fits her head under his chin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t think it’s stupid, either, but it’s nice that he agrees.

—

TUESDAY 31 MARCH 14:22 LIVING ROOM, EDOARDO’S HOUSE

“What about the spider?” For such a dangerous question, his tone is entirely blasé.

Eleonora pauses mid-stride and scans the floor and walls around her. Not a spider in sight. Scrunching her eyebrows, she looks back at Edoardo’s wiry frame sprawled out on the couch, his deep brown eyes following her as she returns from the kitchen. A lazy grin tugs at his mouth. If she wasn’t preoccupied with other matters (read: spiders) she might’ve smiled, entertained a few ideas that popped into her mind as he laid there, committed to one and climbed on top of him, but she is preoccupied. “There’s a spider?”

When it comes to spiders, she doesn’t have an opinion one way or the other, but a confused half-smile spreads on his face, he props himself up on an elbow, and he says, “Yeah, the one on your arm,” with a tone and matching expression that would be cute if he was saying anything else, and she thinks she might have a heart attack.

“On my arm?”

Immediately, her heart rate spikes and adrenaline floods her system and she flails her arms around, starts batting at herself to get the alleged spider off her person. If she makes a few inhuman sounds during her brief panic, that’s her problem, not anyone else’s.

There’s a spider on her arm—on her fucking arm—for fuck’s sake.

“Is it off? Is it off? Get it off!”

Edoardo’s half-grin turns into an amused grimace and suddenly he’s there across the room to where she’s backed up in her panic, grabbing her thrashing wrists and saying, “Ele, Ele—”

“Don’t fucking—”

“The tattoo! I meant your tattoo.”

Mouth open, chest heaving, eye widening, she stares at him long enough that his grimace turns back into a little grin. Is he fucking kidding right now? Then his expression turns sheepish as she glares and he shrugs. “We fell asleep before we finished talking last night.”

A beat passes, then—“You’re so stupid!”

Once she’s ripped a hand from his grip, she shoves against his chest. There’s not enough heat behind her words for them to stick or force behind her hand for it to hurt, and he looks adorable when he tilts his head like that. Against her will, the corners of her mouth turn up even as she keeps glaring and Edoardo loops his free arm around her waist and draws her into his side. All the while, she keeps shoving against him, tries to force down the part of her that finds the whole thing funny, too. He’s being dumb, she reminds herself, and she’s irritated, but she recognizes the look on his face, the angle of his brow and the twitch of his lips; if there’s one thing she’s a sucker for it’s—“No, no! You don’t get to kiss your way out of this!”

Already, he’s peppering her face with his mouth, little sweet kisses on her forehead, along her brow-line, down her temple, even as she wriggles in his hold.

He uses them to punctuate his words: “I don’t—” one on her cheekbone, “—know what—” two on either side of her nose, “—you’re talking—” one by the corner of her eye that forces a smile to her lips, another on her other cheekbone, “—about.”

He’s made it to the edge of her face, now, and starts pressing tiny kisses from the top of her ear to the corner of her jaw. When she tries to pull away, he laughs a little and holds her tighter, even as she walks her hips, her legs, away from his body. He follows her, kissing diligently at her skin and using the hand still clasped in his to navigate her body back toward him, and she tries to keep her expression neutral, her tone neutral. Tries. “Fucking—liar.”

“Mm—” Eleonora frowns, but the kisses—slower, now, open-mouthed and edging toward fervent—down her cheek and to her jaw have her lips twitching upwards. His mouth is intoxicating, she decides as her skin heats and her feet stumble. He hasn’t even made his way to her lips, yet, given her a proper kiss that would warrant her mind i wandering, her resolve wavering, her efforts to escape lessening. Damn him. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She musters a little heat now. He’s so nonchalant, and she’s—worked up in more ways than one. “You’re so—”

“Funny?” More heavy kisses along her jawline, he releases her other wrist and uses his second arm to pull her back into his chest. “Handsome? Wonderful?”

“Annoying!” It’s an effort to get that same heat she just had into her words, but she’s successful, even against his mind-numbing, blood boiling barrage. Her skin tingles wherever he touches her—his hands on her waist, their legs brushing against one another, and his damn mouth on her neck—every touch zinging up her spine to her brain; she’s so, so warm, and he’s everywhere.

“Ah, yes, this is exactly what I wanted from my spring break.” The kisses along her jaw and under her chin paired with the brief tease of his teeth against her pulse point undermine his statement, as does the humor in his tone and the smile she feels against her skin. That’s what gets her, she thinks, his fucking smile. “To have my girlfriend call me annoying.”

He’s enjoying this and knows, even if she tries to say otherwise, that she is, too.

“Mm,” she hums, the hand that should shove against his chest slipping up to grip his shoulder as he continues to tease his mouth along her skin. At her waist, his hands flex, thumbs kneading into her skin, rolling into the tension in her muscles. It’s an effort not to let a moan escape her. Eye closing and mouth stuttering a little, she gasps. “Glad I, um—lived up to your—ah, your expectations.”

He steps them backwards toward the couch, his hands continuing to flex and squeeze against her waist and a chuckle rumbling in his chest when—despite her best efforts—an embarrassing noise falls from her lips. Teeth grazing her collarbone, he sucks hard enough against the same spot that she’s sure there will be a bruise. She clutches his shoulders as her knees grow weaker and weaker; damn him and his stupid, maddening mouth. It pops off her skin with a wet noise and when he pulls back, she opens her eyes.

Where the fuck does he think he’s going?

The tiniest of smirks spreads on his lips and her chest heaves against his; he laughs as she manages a soft glare. “Oh, you surpassed every one of them.”

“I’m so glad.” Voice weak but pointed, it doesn’t take much effort for him to walk them the rest of the way to the couch he previously occupied, mouth returned to nibbling on her neck, sliding one large, warm hand up to cup the bottom of her shoulder blade and the other down just low enough that she starts to get ideas. She isn’t sure how, but he draws her closer and closer, even though they’re as close together as she thinks they possible can be, and her jaw shudders up and down as he licks a stripe up the side of her neck. She’s embarrassed to feel lightheaded at the whole thing—she hasn’t even kissed him once—but then his mouth makes its way back up to the corner of her jaw and he pulls her earlobe through his teeth and her eyes roll. She shudders, pulling the fabric of his sweater between the fingers of one hand and gripping harder to his shoulder with the other. “Leave a—a good review for me on, uh, girlfriend Yelp.”

“Girlfriend Yelp?” Incredulity colors his tone like a heady flush colors her face. If she had planned to use her witticism to distract him long enough for her to escape—like she probably should have—or started her own opened-mouth, tongue-included, mind-blowing kissing barrage against him in revenge, she’d be sorely disappointed. Even in his disbelief he doesn’t let up, lips, tongue, and teeth making their way across her jaw, under her chin, and to the other side of her face. Blood pumping, knees shaking, hands balling into weak fists against his chest, Eleonora can’t help the noise that slips out of her mouth as he starts the whole process over on this new, untouched, unattended side of her neck.

Skin hot and tingling, with enough ease that he can guide them toward the couch, he drives her oversensitivity up the wall.

That’d be nice, she thinks as he does something truly wicked that makes her knees buckle, to be pressed against a wall. Or to press him against a wall. Her hands slide off his shoulders and fist in his sweater, feeling the hard plane of his chest through the fabric, with half a mind to do just that, but it’s almost like he can tell what’s circling in her thoughts.

He sucks this other earlobe into his mouth and laughs—fucking laughs—when she groans.

When the back of his legs hit the couch and their momentum stops, her entire body seems to sag against his and, try as she might to move her hands to pull his face to hers so he could fucking kiss her or something crazy like that, she can’t; he overwhelms her entire nervous system. He sucks on her pulse point again and she thinks she might start convulsing. She remembers, now, that he’s making fun of her for being nonsensical thanks to his stupid, mind fogging neck kisses, and pants, “Trying to be funny—or, or something.”

“Mm?” That hum sounds entirely too pleased.

“Yeah—yeah.” The hands at her waist slip just a little further down her body and she gets her own hands to move as well, but all they seem capable of doing is gripping his shoulders and sliding into his hair, pulling it between her fingers. At this, his own little moan vibrates from his chest out of his mouth and into her skin. It feels so good—too good—but it gets him to detach his lips from her neck and she gets a moment of clarity.

She’s supposed to be yelling at him for being a little asshole right now.

Just as she realizes, his arms band a little tighter around her, he pulls her up onto her toes, and presses his lips back into her skin, muttering, “Well, I hope I get an equally good review on boyfriend Yelp.”

Her moment of clarity disappears and goosebumps burst along her skin, up the back of her neck, and all over her scalp. She tries not to shiver too hard, one hand fisting in his hair again and the other squeezing his shoulder.

And finally, blissfully, maddeningly, Edoardo shifts his mouth from her neck onto her lips and she whimpers, tension leaking from her body. Their progression to sit on the couch pauses for several long seconds. These kisses are slow, sensual, mouths sliding hot against each other, his tongue sweeping across her bottom lip. When she tugs on his hair, his mouth opens in a slight gasp before she licks into his mouth with a laugh.

After enough time passes that she can’t tell whose breath is whose anymore, Edoardo pulls his mouth from hers, pressing their foreheads together and eliciting a whine from deep in Eleonora’s diaphragm. Laughing, he braces his hands at her waist and sinks into the couch, pressing singular kisses to her lips as she bends to follow him.

Once he settles, she lowers herself onto the cushions, first one knee and then the other on either side of his hips, and slides her mouth over his again; her hands cup his cheeks and he tilts his face up to her. As she takes her time kissing him into as much senselessness as he had done to her, he palms the back of her thighs, heat warming her skin as he trails them up her ass to the top of her shorts. His fingers slip into the waistband and her shirt comes untucked. She shivers, his hands slipping under the fabric, nails tracing over her skin as his hands move up and up, from the small of her back around to her ribs, up her sides. She sinks into his lap, her shirt rucking up and exposing her heated skin to the cool air of his living room. A gasp slips from her lips into his—

Edoardo draws back, chest heaving, and her mind registers the smug, excited smile spreading on that mouth that she should be kissing but isn’t anymore. What the fuck is he—

One of his hands drops lower on her waist, thumb pressing against her skin over and over as if to say hey, don’t worry, we’ll be getting back to this in a moment. The other pulls her shirt further up her side until his fingers run along the waistband of her bra and the skin underneath. He ducks his head out of the gentle hold she has on him, and for a hopeful moment she thinks he has other ideas, but his mouth doesn’t latch onto her ribs. No, he just stares at her skin, fingers ghosting a hair below the waistband. Eleonora frowns. “Edo.”

“Hm?”

She leans back, taking a hold of her shirt so she can see whatever he’s looking at, and glares as their eyes meet. It’s the fucking fast forward symbol tattooed on her ribs right in front of his face. “Really?”

He leans back into the couch as she drops her shirt. It pools over his wrist, his hand still cupping her ribs underneath her bra, and she folds her arms over her chest. “We never finished talking about them.”

“And so you asked about the spider.” A nod. “And scared the shit out of me.”

A smirk slides onto his face. He intertwines his hands together at the small of her back and pulls her closer to him. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” She raises an eyebrow, her earlier annoyance flaring up and down as she studies his damn face, contemplates the fact that he used a known weakness of hers—fucking kissing, it’s so distracting—to get her to talk about her tattoos again. It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. “Don’t lie.”

“Okay.” Another tug closer. She braces her hands against his chest to keep her balance and the corners of his mouth twitch up.

“Okay.” She sits back in his lap but it does little to put more space between them, even though that’s what she needs to keep from giving in again. “And you had the perfect opportunity to ask me about them again, but you kissed me instead.”

“You brought kissing up first.”

“Mm, don’t turn this on me.” She pokes his chest. “You are the only one at fault.”

He nods, his hands slipping from one another. One presses flat against her back and the other opens and closes into a loose fist against her skin, light scratching. He’s doing it again, trying to distract her from her mild annoyance, and he knows it’s working, like she knows how to get him worked up, too—skin heated, mind dizzy, too aroused for public decency but not so much as to be cruel—even when she’s not in the mood for anything more. He’s playing her at her own game. The problem is: it’s working.

She tries not to smile. The game, she knows he enjoys it even if the outcome is mildly infuriating for him; she just can’t believe that it’s the same now that the tables are turned: even if she’s annoyed, there’s a thrill underlying it all.

“Okay, I take all the blame,” he says, grinning. “What does this one mean?”

He’s going to love this: “Nothing.”

“Nothing.” His grin slips from his face. She presses her lips together to keep from laughing. “You’re serious.”

She nods. “As serious as I’ve ever been.”

A pout replaces his grin, and he shakes his head. “I can’t believe—”

“Hey!” She shoves at his chest. “Not every tattoo has to have a super deep meaning.”

“Mm, okay, why’d you get it then?”

“I think rib tattoos look really cool.”

“Ele—” she doesn’t let him get much farther, cupping his face and surging forward, foregoing her internal debate about the morality of their game in favor of using it to distract him once more. She slides her mouth over his and laughs at the surprised sound he makes. His hands flatten against her back, pulling her torso flush against his, and her hair falls like a curtain around their faces. After a moment full of his mouth and his tongue and his breath mingling with hers, she slips a hand into his curls and tugs just hard enough.

Plus, she thinks as his mouth opens underneath hers and he bites her bottom lip, they both like the game. Her tattoos can wait.

—

FRIDAY APRIL 3 16:33 DOCKS, FIUMICINO

“Okay,” he starts, drawing her attention from the glint of the sun off the waves to his face where he lays with his head in her lap. He’s got his eyebrows raised. “Just to preface: I’m not asking about an actual spider this time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eleonora says, looking away, but smiles when he laughs something sharp and bright. When she pointedly keeps her gaze locked on a passing boat in the distance, he tugs on her shirt until she relents. “What?”

“Hey.” Edoardo’s voice is soft and sweet, now, sensitive to her annoyance but still amused, if only a little, by her reaction. Earnestness shades his eyes. “Will you tell me why you got the spider tattoo?”

For a moment, she watches him, studies his eyes, the way the sunlight glints off their glossy surface and turns his irises into a backlit brown, like coffee or cola. His hand encircles the wrist she rests on his sternum and one corner of his mouth pulls up. The smile that blooms when she nods is bright like the sun. Her chest warms.

“It was Filo’s idea again.”

His laugh echoes off the water. “Really?”

“Mm.”

“Do you have any tattoos that weren’t his idea?”

“The fast forward,” she says, pinching his chest and raising her eyebrows when a playful wince scrunches up his face. “And you seemed pretty interested in that one the other day.”

“Well, what piques my interest piques my interest.”

“Piques? Is Cornell expanding your vocabulary, or something?” Her other hand drifts into his hair, winds a curl or two around her index finger. His smile makes her chest warm further. “I thought you were there for business: finance and accounting and math.”

“I’m interdisciplinary.”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

He snorts a little, and covers his eyes with the back of his wrist. “C’mon, tell me.”

“Okay.” She presses her lips together and draws her hand from his hair so she can lean back on it. From the moment the topic of tattoos came up, Eleonora knew they’d be delving into rough terrain, so to speak. A lot of things have happened to her and the tattoos have been—therapeutic, if nothing else. They’ve covered heavy stuff, stuff she’s been scared to talk about with most people before, but he’s still here with her, still sleeping in her bed, still laying with his head in her lap, still waiting to hear every word that comes out of her mouth.

What’s a little more weight, then?

“Nymphomaniac wasn’t the only thing I was called at my old school,” she says, voice dropping to a whisper. “It was mostly your typical slut-shaming rhetoric, but everyone’s favorite seemed to be ‘man-eater.’”

His voice hints at derision, low and rough, and his jaw clenches as he mutters, “What a title.”

“I know, right?”

A beat passes. They listen to the waves lapping at the docks and crashing against the sea, the wind whistling at a low pitch, each other’s breathing. Edoardo’s hand doesn’t tighten or loosen against her wrist, but rather his hand shifts to cover millimeters more of her skin, to offer his presence. Tension she wasn’t aware of drains from her shoulders.

“And the most famous man-eater is the black widow. Filo said I should get a tattoo of one, reclaim the term. Give an actual reason to be called it, besides rumors that weren’t true.” She shrugs, even though Edoardo’s hand still covers his eyes. “So I did.”

Several moments pass and she turns her face up to the sun, closing her eyes. That warmth in her chest doesn’t disappear as she talks about her tattoo, rather spreads as the sun falls on her skin, and soon her entire body is pleasantly warm. Filippo was clever when he came up with the idea, she thinks, her lips twitching up, and it’s fun to tell someone else about it.

Edoardo hums and she looks back down at him. He’s pulled his arm off his face and watches her with a contemplative expression, like he’s trying to decide how to feel: angry on her behalf, or amused by Filippo like she is, or maybe even indifferent. It happened then and now it doesn’t anymore. Not much to do. She doesn’t figure out what he chooses, he speaks too soon: “Can I see it?”

Shrugging off her jacket, she braces herself against the early April chill and rucks up the sleeve covering her tattoo before twisting her arm and showing it to him. His hands are gentle when they grasp her arm, one steadying her wrist and the other beneath her elbow. Unlike the air around them, his hand is warm and helps maintain the contented feeling grown in her chest, spread down her limbs, along her bones. She smiles while he studies it closely, his head lifting slightly from her lap to peer closer.

Once he’s done, he lays back in her lap, the fingers at her wrist slipping down to hold her hand. The other settles on his stomach and she relaxes her arm so their clasped hands rests against his sternum above his heart. “Mm, I like it.”

Eleonora smiles. “I’m glad.”

He closes his eyes against the sun again and for a few minutes, they sit there quiet in the bright afternoon light. In her lap, his head grows heavy enough she thinks he might’ve fallen asleep, though he hints at a smile when she starts playing with his hair. They’ve stilled enough she can feel his heartbeat beneath where their hands lay. A few beats pass. “All this talk of tattoos is making me think of getting one.”

“Yeah?” He’d look good with tattoos, she thinks. They’d look nice against his skin, against his body. She presses her lips together to keep from smiling. “What would you get?”

“Well, since you think rib tattoos are super cool—” of course he’d mention that, the asshole, “—obviously I’d want to get one of those.”

“Mm, yeah?” She brushes a few curls off his forehead, and a mingle of dread and anticipation fills her stomach. He’s going to say something stupid, she knows, and amusing in that infuriating way of his. “Of what?”

“A big ass drawing of your face.”

“Asshole,” she says, stifling her laughter.

He grins. “I was thinking I could get Nico to do it.”

“He is the only one who could get my face—or anyone’s face—to look good as a tattoo, you’re right.” It really isn’t meant to be anything self-deprecating, but Edoardo takes each and every opportunity to tell her she’s beautiful that he gets. Even something silly, like this.

A squeeze to her hand, accompanied by an earnest smile, raised eyebrows. She scrunches her face even as he says, “You’d look magnificent as a tattoo.”

“Oh, compliment me further, please.”

“Ele,” he chuckles a little like he can’t help it, even as he tugs on her hand. “I’m serious. Even if I wouldn’t get it tattooed, I’d love to commission Nico to draw you.”

“Like one of his French girls?” She doesn’t look at him, she can’t look at him.

“Ele.”

She looks at him. Her breath hitches. A blush rises to her cheeks. Even after a year, Edoardo does and says things that make her heart beat faster. Says them all with the most serious expression, the most genuine tone, that it’s impossible not to believe him, and it makes her chest smart. The fucking charmer. “Don’t say things like that if you’re not serious about it, you’ll get my hopes up.”

In an instant, he sits up, ferventness smoothing his expression until a small smile remains and the middle of his brow lifts. The skin around his eyes crinkles as that smile grows. “Yours is a face people would put in museums, Ele.”

“Stop.”

“No.” He leans toward her and presses the lightest of kisses to her mouth and draws back so she can see his face once more. “You’re beautiful.”

“Stop.”

“You know how you feel when you look at a garden or at a flower or a bush you think is really nice?” he asks, ignoring her protests, shifting his legs underneath himself to turn more fully toward her. He props up a bent knee and wraps his arm around it, scooting himself closer. “That’s how I feel when I look at you.”

Her lips part as her focus flickers back and forth between his irises. Not a speck of dishonesty mars his face and the warmth in her chest spikes, her pulse races. “Edo—”

A finger comes up and presses to her lips, replaced quickly by his thumb. It ghosts over her skin and goosebumps erupt down the back of her neck and along her shoulders. “No, don’t say anything, you’ll ruin it.”

Eleonora raises her eyebrows, face scrunching up. He’s right, after all. Accepting compliments is not her strong suit, even after a full year of him giving her a multitude of opportunities to practice.

“You are beautiful, and wonderful, and smart.” He cups the back of her head. “Let me tell you that, okay?”

After a moment of hesitation, she nods, and he proceeds to do so for several long minutes that make her squirm and smile and blush and makes her heart ache. She blushes so much as he lavishes her with an endless string of impassioned compliments that she’s far warmer than she was just the other day when the same mouth—now spouting adoration in a tone that can only be interpreted as honest—riled her up so much she thought she might burst from it. At the end, he gives her sweet kisses that can’t be strung into anything longer because they’re both smiling too hard; her out of the absolute fluster he’s caused and him from the reaction he’s drawn, she’s sure.

A final kiss, then he sits back and beams at her.

She purses her lips and shakes her head, squeezing his hand before changing the subject. “Okay, beyond the one of my face, what tattoo would you get?”

Edoardo smirks at her pointed look, but his expression sobers as he thinks. After a second or two of consideration, he shrugs. “Probably something to remind me of my mom.”

A soft smile slides onto her lips. Her voice is quiet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His own smile broadens as he thinks further. “She loved the sea, being in the water. Maybe I could get a wave, or a boat. Or a surfboard, she loved surfing.”

“That sounds really nice.” She brushes the stray curl always falling into his eyes away from his face and he kisses her palm when she draws her hand back. As she speaks, his gaze never leaves her face. “I think she’d really like that.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, and her smile turns sheepish as she thinks of what she wants to say next. He spent several long minutes singing her praises, its the least she can do to say what she’s thinking: “I didn’t know her, but I know you. And something tells me that’s close enough.”

The smile she’s rewarded with makes that warmth in her chest flare. He is as bright as the sun, talking about his mother, and radiates light. It’s contagious, she grins wide.

“You’re too nice to me, sometimes.”

Of their own accord, her eyebrows raise. “Says mister ‘compliment my girlfriend for ten minutes straight.’”

“Those are well deserved.”

“So is this.” She hopes he reads her honesty, understands how much she means it. As he studies her, his eyes flicker over her face, lighting on each of her features before returning to her eyes. He shakes his head, but smiles, and she squeezes his hand again. “She’d like anything you do.”

And again, the staring. Just as she can’t take her compliments, neither can he, even after her attempts to match him the whole year.

She whispers, “Let me tell you that, okay?”

It’s his turn to part his lips and look hopelessly at her and nod after a pause. Eleonora smiles.

A quiet few minutes pass in which they kiss and kiss and kiss until she’s out of breath, the wind whistling in her ears and cooling her skin, but not her heart. The sun shines bright, still, but it’s nothing compared to the light on Edoardo’s face as they draw apart. They settle into a cuddled clump once more, waves still lapping at the dock like he hadn’t upended her world for the thousandth time. She tucks into his side, one of his legs propped up behind her back and the other slid under her bent knees, his arm draped across her shoulders so he can play with her hair.

Every muscle in her body relaxes when he tugs her closer and she smiles, turning her face into his chest. His sweater is soft against her cheek. “You could get Nico to draw the tattoo for your mom.”

“You think?”

“Of course.” A yawn escaped her. “You’ll want to have it drawn up before you go to the parlor. What reminds you of her the most?”

“The ocean. When I play the guitar. Being with my nonna.”

“Hm, okay, what we need to do is talk to Filo, of course, he’s the resident tattoo expert, as you probably know.”

Edoardo’s laugh rings clear out over the ocean. Eleonora grins.

#asks #skam italia #incantava #incantava fic #eleonora sava #edoardo incanti #this prompt literally killed me it was so soft #I'm dying #thank you for sending it in #and really pls read it on ao3 it always looks so much nicer there

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mycupoffanfiction · 5 years

Text

Witching Hour Part 1

Bucky x Reader

(an actual short series, not one where I tell you it’s like 5 parts but it turns into a 20 parter *cough* His Second Chance *cough*)

Bucky’s best friend outside of the tower is seemingly innocent, running her bookshop with her brother J. But when supernatural happenings begin to occur, there might be more to the Reader than Bucky first thought.

Warnings: Supernatural creature, violence (mild), slight mention of the use of practical witchcraft, language, protective Bucky, fluff.

Word count: 3500

Masterlist

Hellooo! Inspiration was running low on my other fics, so here is one I’ve already written, depending on how I split this up, it’ll be two or three parts. But I took the time to finish the full story before posting 😊💖

All taglists are always open 💗

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A storm was brewing, the wind picking up and making your old apartment creak. You sat on the windowsill, looking down at the empty streets below as rain lashed down, the faint glow of the streetlamps barely lighting up the pavement. The lamp closest to your building flickered a few times before going out and your whole building was plunged into darkness. “Can you get the breaker?” Your brother called through the apartment. “Yeah.” You sighed, getting up from the window seat, stumbling about the room until you reached the chest of drawers where you kept the flashlight.

You made your way out of the front door and down the stairs into the bookshop below that you owned with your brother, J. Before you could move further into the shop, you heard a wooden creak and groan. You took a deep breath, reassuring yourself that it was probably just J moving about upstairs. You passed through the store floor to the back where the door to the basement was – your least favourite place in the building and you were quite unhappy that J hadn’t gone with you.

You swallowed thickly as you slowly descended into the basement, moving your flashlight about nervously. You paused when the beam above you groaned under the movement above you, perhaps J had come down to the shop floor to check on you, perhaps you were taking too long. Resuming your walk down the steps, you made it into the basement and shuffled across the concrete flooring to the very back where the circuit breaker was mounted.

With a huff, you pulled open the cover, a confused look crossed your features when you realised everything was as it should be. You nearly jumped out of your skin when a bang from above you could be heard, echoing through the quiet building. Your heart was pounding, but you knew how to keep yourself calm. It wasn’t one of those nights, you hadn’t mentally prepared yourself for dealing with this kind of thing. You frantically fiddled with the breaker, hoping that you could somehow get the lights back on again.

Bang.

Your breathing picked up and you whirled around, becoming paranoid of your surroundings. “It’s nothing, it’s just your head messing with you.” You mumbled to yourself.

Bang.

It was much more forceful this time and you turned around fully, a streak of confidence rushing through you as you strode through the basement, quickly gripping a stray tool from J’s workbench on the way out. You crept up the stairs holding out the crowbar in front of you, poised to hit something if anything or anyone jumped out at you. “Sweetheart?” J called through from the shop entrance. You came back through into his view as you climbed the last stair, closing the door behind you. “Oh thank god.” He breathed out relieved. “Looks like the window latch is broken again.” He gestured over at the window at the other end of the store, swinging back and forth on its hinges, hitting the frame over and over again.

“I’ll just get it; you go back up.” He instructed. “Right, uh, there’s nothing wrong with the breaker, must be our street.” You concluded; eyes fixed on the front windows as you watched the storm rage outside. “Must be the power lines.” You murmured, eyes squinting when you swear you had seen a glimpse of a figure darting passed the window. You were just paranoid, that was it, you would be fine. You were at home with J, nothing could possibly go wr- “Holy shit!” J yelled, causing you to bolt towards the back of the store towards him.

A tall, pale, almost grey lanky figure stood in front of J, hunched over itself. It was grotesque, lips drawn back with its jagged and sharp teeth bare for you to see, dripping with blood. A horrifying scream ripped through it’s throat as it lunged at J, large hands reaching out and clawing for him, it’s fingers were morphed into long, sharp claws. You ran, dropping the flashlight in your haste and swung the crowbar, hitting the creature square in the jaw. It stumbled back, letting out a screech as it’s pure white eyes stared you down. You were frozen in fear, but stood poised, ready to attack, J sprawled out on the floor and struggling to control his breathing.

With the blink of an eye, the creature tore out of the back window and into the night, leaving both you and J on high alert.

***

“We have twelve reports from the same area last night, four dead, seven injured and a lot of people who swear they saw something inhuman.” Steve paced the room, briefing the small team, consisting of Bucky, Sam and Wanda. “What do you mean, inhuman?” Sam asked, squinting his eyes a bit. “I don’t know, some people say it was a demon, some of them said it was an alien. It could’ve been anything though.” Steve sighed, sliding the mission file across the table. “Shouldn’t SHIELD agents be handling this?” Sam asked, not receving an answer.

“Best description we got was from a lady who runs a bookshop with her brother. They were attacked by whatever it was last night and she fought it off.” Steve pulled the statement out of the folder and handed it to Bucky. He paused as he read it over, a grunt came from him as he frowned. “Is she alright? The lady from the bookshop?” Bucky asked, a hint of concern in his voice as he kept his eyes glued to the paper. “Yeah, she’s unharmed, Buck.” Steve responded simply, Wanda knowing there was more to it than just simple concern as she shot Bucky a knowing glare, trying to prompt him to speak up.

“Spit it out, Buck, you know something.” Wanda prodded him sharply in the chest as they filed out of the briefing room. “You know I’m not just gonna read your mind either.” She rolled her eyes before he could even comment on it. “Let’s just go speak to her.” Bucky tried to move away from Wanda, but she gripped his flesh wrist and stopped him from moving away. Bucky could easily escape her grasp, but he allowed her to stop him, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Don’t tell Steve, if he knows, he’ll kick me off the case.” Bucky hissed at her. “Your secret is safe with me.” She smirked. While she was being mildly playful about the situation, Bucky knew for a fact that Wanda was serious. Anything he ever told her would be said in confidence and she’d never tell another soul unless he asked her to. “She’s my friend.” Bucky sighed, closing his eyes. “A very close friend of mine.” He added, nodding at himself before turning back to see Steve and Sam motion impatiently at them to follow. “Whatever happens, don’t let this mission get to you.” Wanda patted him gently on the shoulder before giving him a reassuring smile and walking ahead to join the boys.

“Bucky and Wanda, you two can visit the bookshop, we’ll take the Smith residence across the road.” Steve pointed in the directions before receiving a curt nod from Bucky. The pairs split off from each other and approached the respective buildings, Steve and Sam disappearing into a fenced garden and out of view.

Bucky knocked a few times on the shop door and waited. A few minutes went by with no answer and he sighed, glancing over at Wanda. He knocked harder this time and waited until he heard rushed movements on the other side of the door and someone fiddling with the keys to open the door. “Hi Buck.” J put on a smile as he greeted your close friend. “Hey, this is Wanda, we’re here about the attack last night.” Bucky gave J a greeting nod and without a second though, J moved aside, allowing them to both enter the shop.

“You’ll want to speak to my sister; I don’t remember much from last night.” He admitted. “You alright? You hurt at all?” Bucky asked. “N-no, nothing like that. All it did was push me but I don’t even remember that, I think the shock of it all just-.” He cut himself off before he could continue. “She’s upstairs.” He jutted his thumb out over his shoulder towards the stairs to the apartment above the shop. “She alright?” Bucky asked. “Mhm, handling it better than me.” He nodded, a nervous, wobbly smile making it onto his lips before J looked away and shrunk back behind the counter to busy himself.

Wanda quietly followed Bucky up the stairs to the apartment. She didn’t say anything when he pulled a spare key out of his jean pocket but she gave him a look, wondering if his friendship with you was really just that, or if it was more considering he had a key to your apartment.

Bucky unlocked the door and pushed it open, calling out your name into the apartment, knowing you didn’t mind him letting himself in. “Bucky?” You called out, poking your head out of your bedroom door. “Hey, darlin’.” Bucky gave you a soft smile, ushering Wanda into the apartment next to him. “J let you in?” You asked, walking out into he lounge area. “Yeah, we gotta talk to you about last night.” Bucky nodded, walking a bit further into your apartment. “This is Wanda, she works with us up at the tower.” Bucky gestured at you. “I know, I’ve seen you on TV.” You giggled, striding across the lounge. “Sorry, that was weird, I’m a friend of Bucky’s, he’s told me a bit about you guys other than what I’ve seen on the news.” You explained, holding out your hand to shake hers. “It’s nice to meet you.” Wanda gave you a genuine smile as she shook your hand, taking a moment to study you.

“Mm, and you said the power went out before it started?” Bucky asked after you were finished recounting the story of the attack to them both. “Yeah, there wasn’t anything wrong with the circuit breaker, I checked it at least twice last night and then again this morning.” You explained. “Could’ve been the storm.” Wanda suggested, watching as Bucky took a sip of your homemade flower tea. She’d never seen him even want to touch tea, so it surprised her that suddenly in your apartment, he was even excited to have your homemade brew.

“Is it alright if I speak to your brother? I might be able to help.” Wanda, glanced over at the door and you nodded, watching her get up and leave.

“Listen, darlin’, I don’t want you here if this thing is around at night killing people.” Bucky sat up straight and rested his hand on your knee. “I know you protected yourself and J last night, but what if it comes back?” Bucky asked. “Trust me, we’ll be fine Bucky.” You reassured him, although no matter what you said would likely go in one ear and straight out of the other. “You don’t know that! Come and stay with us at the tower.” He pressed, gripping your knee a little tighter. Your hand came down to rest on his. “I know you’re concerned Buck, but we’ll be fine, really.” You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I-,” Bucky stopped himself and let out a sigh, closing his eyes. “Just be careful, okay? You call me and I’ll come runnin’, doll.” Bucky locked eyes with you, a look of desperation on his features and you knew he wasn’t going to let this go so easily, but that was quite understandable. “I know, Bucky. Thank you.” You leaned forwards, gently pressing your lips to his cheek. “Really, thank you, Buck.” You smiled, Bucky catching the sincerity in your tone and feeling a little more reassured by that. You were his best friend outside of the tower and he wasn’t about to let anything happen to you.

“Keep all the doors locked, maybe put something in front of that stupid window tonight.” Bucky walked with you down the stairs to meet back up with Wanda. “At least do that for me, doll, otherwise I’ll worry all damn night about you.” Bucky whispered in your ear. “I’ll put something in front of the window.” You assured him. “Can’t have you losing sleep over me.” You smirked, knowing that you perhaps weren’t appearing to take it as seriously around Bucky as you should, but it was hard to when you knew how to deal with the situation. “Promise me you won’t go fighting that thing tonight.” You poked him. “You didn’t see it, Buck.” Your laid back demeanor faltering and turning serious. “Can’t promise anything doll, you know it’s in the job description.” Bucky sighed, pulling you close. “Call if you need anything.” He murmured in your ear before slowly parting with you. “I will.” You nodded, watching him duck out of the door into the shop and join Wanda, who waved goodbye before leaving.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” J asked after he’d bolted the door shut. “He’d worry himself sick if I did, J.” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “You didn’t tell him that you like him either, did you?” He smirked, crossing the shop towards you. “Time wasn’t right for that.” You shook your head. “According to you, there is no good time to tell him.” J rolled his eyes, shoving you playfully with his shoulder as he passed you to ascend the stairs. “I’ll secure the building; you gather the supplies for tonight.” J instructed before ascending the stairs. “Let me do it, J.” You protested up at him. “No, you need your strength for tonight, sweetheart.” He shook his head. You knew better than to argue with your older brother and sighed, nodding your head.

***

“Any idea what this thing is?” Sam asked, flicking through the pages of Steve’s notebook where he’d scribbled down everything he’d heard from the witnesses. “Not a clue, reports seem pretty shaky.” Steve shrugged from the drivers seat of the SUV the team of four rode in. “We’ll stake out the area tonight, keep an eye on things, maybe have a pair of us split off and patrol just in case.” Steve rubbed his chin, keeping one hand on the wheel as he drove.

“Not sure if it’s related Cap, but Maria said a guy went missing around here about a week ago just before we started getting reports of strange things happening.” Sam cut in, changing the subject as he read off the message Maria Hill had sent him. “Any idea what happened to him?” Bucky asked, glancing across at Sam who sat next to him in the back seat. “No, guy just disappeared, no sign of forced entry or anything.” Sam shrugged, rereading the report again. “Weird.” Wanda mumbled, looking out of the window, gazing at the streets of New York as they wove between traffic.

She’d known something when she had been in your apartment. There was something about you, it wasn’t malicious or bad, but she knew there was something you weren’t telling her or Bucky. Something you kept guarded.

Perhaps you knew something they didn’t.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Bucky let Wanda push him against the wall outside of his bedroom. “You know damn well what I mean, what’s she not telling us?” Wanda prodded him. “I don’t know Wan, I know she keeps some stuff to herself; the poor girl lost her dad a few years back, all she has is J.” Bucky squirmed, sure that you weren’t hiding anything big, at least he didn’t think you were. “Do you- you think she’s involved?” He asked, straightening out his black t-shirt. “No, but I do think she knows something.” Wanda shook her head. “I have no doubt that she’s a sweet girl, hell, she’s the only one I’ve seen that you actually allow to make you tea.” Wanda rolled her eyes, smiling up at him playfully. “What? Her tea is great.” Bucky scoffed, moving away from the wall. “It’s homemade.” He smiled to himself, obviously quite smitten with you, Wanda sharing a knowing smirk with him before stepping away. “I just think she’s not telling us everything Buck, just be careful.” Wanda sighed before walking away, leaving Bucky to himself.

“Alright, me and Buck will take the trail of this missing person while you and Wanda stake out around the area.” Steve instructed Sam as they pulled up in an SUV to the edge of a forested area just outside of the neighbourhood. Steve and Bucky got out and watched as Wanda and Sam drove back into the suburb to keep an eye on things.

“Where are we setting up tonight?” Wanda asked, sitting back against the front passenger seat, getting comfortable as Sam drove them back into town. “On the main street, might move us around a bit now and again.” He shrugged, pulling the car around a corner. “Maybe keep an eye on the bookshop, being a central point.” She suggested as she sat back in her seat.

***

“This isn’t a good idea.” J huffed, pacing the apartment living room as you packed your backpack. “You don’t have a say, Bucky could be out there right now, dealing with that thing and get killed by it.” You were short and curt with him, fed up with his fussing. “I know you’re upset because you picked the short straw to stay here, but you need to trust me on this J.” You inspected the silver stake in your hands before you tucked it into your jacket before reaching for a silver knife and sheathing it at your thigh. “I put protection circles around the building, if that thing comes near here and it’s a Wendigo, it won’t be able to get in.” You explained, zipping up your backpack. “It was a damn mutated vampire.” He huffed, crossing his arms. You stared him down and raised a brow, J backing off slowly. “I know, just be careful, sweetheart.” He gave in, reaching out to grip your hand and squeeze gently. “I will.” You smiled, squeezing his hand back before moving away from your brother.

You walked up to the edge of the woods, stopping to listen to the sound of movement not far from your position. You stepped into the dense forest, which you were familiar with like the back of your hand. “Come over this way.” You heard a familiar voice calling out through the woods. “I think there’s some tracks over here.” The voices began to move away and you quickly tried to identify where they were in case they were to stumble on anything potentially dangerous. As you walked through the woods, you kept a good distance between you and the people you were following.

Bucky stopped to inspect some shredded clothing caught on the edge of a tree while Steve took a few steps ahead. Definitely a Wendigo. The missing guy from a week ago likely had the Wendigo spirit inhabit his body and mutated his figure into the monster. “Hey Buck, check this out.” Steve called him over, the pair of them investigating something as you inched around the area, keeping your distance as much as possible while still keeping an eye on him.

You winced, cursing at yourself in your mind when you stood on a twig too fast and it snapped below your weight, the men in front of you whirling around to see if there was anything there. You caught a glimpse of Bucky and Steve and you instinctively held your breath and tried extremely hard not to move. “Someone there?” Steve called out, looking between the brush as you slowly backed away from them. “Hello?” He called out, neither of them paying attention to the direction they’d been going in before.

A large, hulking greyish white figure approached, looming over them from behind and your breathing caught in your throat. Bucky was the first to realise something was lurking behind them and he slowly turned around and stopped, almost completely frozen at the sight. It let out a horrible, gargled scream, causing Bucky and Steve to scatter. You bolted off in a different direction, careful not to get involved with the boys and took a deep breath. “Steve, fuckin’ move!” Bucky grabbed him and hauled him out of the way of an attack. You let out an ear piercing, throaty scream, trying your hand at replicating a Wendigo. The creature perked up and paused for a moment, attention flitting back to the boys and then again in your direction. You took in a deep breath, ready to scream again but you quickly jumped into a sprint when you saw the Wendigo starting to go in your direction.

“What the fuck was that?” Bucky breathed out, helping Steve up from the ground, both boys unharmed. “I don’t know, but I think there’s more than one.” Steve brushed his shoulder off. “We should get back to Wanda and Sam, m’not sure we’re equipped to deal with this.” Steve gripped Bucky’s shoulder, tugging him away from the scene.

Something was telling Bucky that there was more to this than whatever the hell they just saw.

Maybe Wanda was right.

___________________________________________

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decaffeinatedcatastrope · 6 years

Text

Sorry for not posting much this week, it’s the busy season at my workplace and I’ve been doing 60′s! Mostly just teaching people how to not be stupid or lazy.

Anyway, have this snippet from the fic-in-progress; Red and Sans meet for the first time.

aka: Sans is pissed that he got blamed for dumb stuff Red did, got thrown in jail for three days, and wants to ‘talk’ to Red.

aka: Red thinks Sans is gonna kill him (he’s not) and falls off a roof, and Sans gets threatened with dick biting.

There’s some weird perspective shifts, since Red still thinks of himself as Sans at this point in time. There’s also some Papyrus being a cutiepie.

warnings: cursing and injury

‘should be a good haul this time’ Sans thought with a grin, as he practically jingled with loot he’d lifted off random humans around town. Cash and coins were all well and good, but so many humans only carried those stupid plastic cards protected by PIN codes that were completely useless to him. So, he’d moved on to sneaking off with watches and jewelry, sometimes whole handbags and even sunglasses. So many humans owned stupidly expensive pieces of garbage.

The door to the pawn shop beeped as he entered, and the pawn broker, Johan, beamed at him. He’d become a regular in the past few months, and the shady little shit of a man never questioned exactly where he’d gotten all his loot. Sans swore he’d stolen the same custom Rolex off three different people already. But as long as he got paid...

“’ey bud. got some good stuff for ya.” Sans sauntered up to the counter and began to empty his pockets.

The door beeped again, another customer, but no one got in line behind him, so he ignored it. He was well disguised enough now that he didn’t worry about getting recognized. Curiously, he plucked a ring out of the pile of shit he’d stolen before the broker could snatch it away. Thick band, gold with a ruby red gem. Fake, but pretty. Some kind of class ring or something, probably not worth much.

It fit on his middle phalanx nicely, and he just grinned as Johan gave him an incredulous look. “Cheap. It suits you.” He replied, mildly amused.

“fuck you too bud.” Sans grumbled, also amused. He felt pretty good today. Less pain. Today was gonna be a good--

He jolted as he felt himself being checked, and barely stopped it before it completed. Whoever had entered the store was a monster, and one with shitty manners at that. Hardly anyone just randomly checked him anymore, unless he freaked them out.

Curling in on himself, Sans hid his hands in his pockets and looked over his shoulder. He didn’t see anyone, but he knew they were there. He could feel them staring daggers into his back. “...hey, i’ll be outta yer way in a sec.”

Johan was just finishing up the tally on his haul before dumping it all into a box and setting the case full of cash on the desk. “Alright, I can give you 250 for all of--”

“250? the fuck man, you know that watch is worth at least a hundred on its’ own. 350.” Sans snapped.

Johan rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine, you’re right. 300?”

“fine, you frugal ass. gimme. ‘m in a rush.” Sans held out his hand for the cash, and as soon as Johan was done counting, he turned to leave. “alright i’m out. see ya.”

“Until next time, friend! Maybe rob a Hot Topic this time so you don’t smell so much like a fast food dumpster!” Johan called after him, laughing. Sans snarled and flipped him off, before taking all of three steps before he ran right into whoever had checked him.

Sans glanced down to see his alternate in all his short, shitty glory glaring up at him, his sockets dark. Welp. “...hey buddy. i think you and me need to have a talk.” Spoke an all too familiar baritone. Just barely an octave deeper than his own.

Of course it has to be him. Fuck this day. Fuck me. Just fuck. Sans paused for just a second before shoving his alternate out of the way and bolting for the door.

“shit shit SHIT.” He hissed, slamming through the door and running for the corner, before he felt himself bodily flung against the side of the pawn shop, held there with blue magic. “fuck, why did it have to be him!”

“well that was rude.” Other Sans replied, approaching him cautiously. His left eye was blazing with magic, and he hardly looked like he was putting any effort into keeping Sans pinned. It was actually infuriating how easy the weakass bastard made using Blue Magic look.

“the fuck’s your problem, man? put me down.” Sans demanded, trying to play the ‘i have no idea what’s going on so you better stop’ card. Hopefully his hood was keeping his face hidden.

Other Sans caught his bluff and simply scoffed.

“nah. you and me, we’re gonna have a chat. if you behave, maybe i’ll put you down. but maybe not, since you’ve got some pretty heavy LV going on there. you’re probably pretty dangerous, actually.” Other Sans commented.

Sans flinched. He’d stopped the check, when had he...? Oh god, was this Sans also The Judge? The cold, knowing look he was getting told him that yes, this was The Judge of this world and his ass was getting Judged real hard.

Sans tried to speak, to say something, to do something, but he was panicking. The way he was now, he was way too weak to do much damage, even backed by strong intent. But all it would take was one hit, just one, his alternate only had one HP. But...he didn’t want to do that. What kind of damage to the timeline would that cause? What would happen to him if the anomaly reset while he was here?

Other Sans raised a brow bone at his silence. “...uh, you okay there pal? you’re looking a little rattled. heh.” He asked, sounding almost concerned. Almost.

‘do something anything fuck fuck FUCK’ Sans’ mind finally screamed at him, and he delved into what little magic he’d stored back up. His alternate jumped in shock before being thrown across the street into traffic, causing his hold on Sans to falter. Unfortunately, Sans’ own hold failed not long after, letting his alternate shortcut safely out of the way of a passing truck.

“shit.” Sans whispered, ducking into the alleyway before forcing himself into his own shortcut. Just getting on top of the building hurt like a bitch and made his soul scream in protest, and he barely rolled out of the way in time to dodge a set of bones flung at him with surprising accuracy. For someone with such shitty stats, Other Sans sure seemed to have good aim.

It took him another moment to realize that now he was actually being attacked by his alternate, and decided he’d probably pissed the smaller skeleton off enough to be worried. Another set of bones came a second later, and he took off sprinting across the roof. There was a pop as his alternate appeared behind him, and Sans managed to escape another attempted pin by shoving Other Sans back with his own Blue Magic. But his alternate barely stumbled.

He was nearly at the edge of the roof when a wall of bones shot up to block him. Out of instinct, he pulled himself into another shortcut - at least, he tried, before he felt the most god awful stabbing pain in his chest and he screamed. His magic had refused, and he tumbled into the bone attacks before slipping off the roof.

Looking back, he barely caught the shocked look on his alternates face before he crashed against the railing of a fire escape, bounced off a closed dumpster, and tumbled onto the asphalt to lie in a heap.

Everything was pain. Drawing in air for non-existent lungs was pain. Trying to moan in pain was pain. He shuddered and felt the tingle of shortcut magic shoot up his spine, his soul screaming at him for magic he wasn’t using.

“--oh fuck. i thought you’d shortcut around them, not run right through them, geez.” His alternate whispered harshly, tentatively reaching out to touch his shoulder. “i’m sorry, i just--”

Sans snarled, and snapped his teeth in an attempt to bite the little fucker’s hand. “don’t fuckin’ touch me, you little bitch.” He hissed.

His alternate pulled back and glared at him. “wow, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” He spat. “sorry for actually worrying about you, asshole.”

Sans managed to choke out a laugh. “y-you should be sorry. for being a f-fuckin’ creampuff.” He shook with the effort of talking, and everything was just...pain. Why did this hurt so much?? “...although, for someone with only 1 ATK, this...hurts. a lot.”

His alternate actually looked...remorseful? “that’s because of your LV. only one attack, but it hits you once for every LV you have. So, five bone attacks multiplied by your 13 LV--”

“i know basic math, dipshit.” Sans coughed. He tried to get up, and cried out in agony as his bad arm gave out. His alternate had the gall to try and hold him down.

“don’t move, you also took some pretty nasty damage in the fall. just, uh, don’t try to bite me again.” Other Sans let him go after a moment, and pulled a monster candy out of his pocket, offering them to him. “here.”

Sans’ soul clenched at the sight. He wanted to, he knew that the candy was full of magic he so desperately needed, but he also knew it’d probably kill him at this point. “god no, please. no monster food. i can’t.” He moaned, almost sobbing.

His alternate pulled back in confusion. “what? you need to heal, this’ll--”

“i know what it does, i just - i can’t take it. yer fuckin’ creampuff magic is trying to kill me.” Sans explained. It didn’t seem to help. “ugh, i’m not...from here. this universe. so turns out, my magic is different enough from yours that they’re incompatible, or some shit. i dunno...” He felt something in him give way, and everything went dark for a moment. But at least the pain stopped.

Wait, that was probably bad.

“...so you are me. how did you even - wait don’t fall asleep, you gotta stay - oh fuck.”

---------

Holy crap, so this was actually Sans’ alternate from another timeline. Or universe. An entirely different set of timelines, so different that he said his magic couldn’t even process their food. And he’d probably just killed him by chasing him off the side of a building.

“paps, it’s near the pawn shop. yeah, i’m fine. i’ll explain everything in the car, just hurry.” Hanging up the phone, he cautiously gave the other skeleton a quick check, since he couldn’t just cheat his way out of it this time.

Sans

LV: 13

ATK: 60 DEF: 10

HP: 12/145

*His bark is worse than his bite.

Sans grimaced. Just...what kind of twisted hell verse did this guy come from, where any version of himself was forced to have so much LV? At least his HP seemed to finally stabilize. He sighed, deciding that there wasn’t much else to do but wait for Papyrus, since he’d figured a shortcut would probably do more damage than good.

Cautiously, he reached out and touched one of his Other’s distal phalanges. The ends were slightly darker, curled into barely noticeable claws. He wore a well-worn leather jacket that held the lingering scent of Dust that he’d hoped would stay in his nightmares.

And his teeth, they were jagged and pointed, one of them having been knocked clean out at one point to be replaced with a false, gold one. The bone around the area was still cracked, and Sans hoped that was from the fall rather than being a lingering injury - it wouldn’t scar like that unless it’d had to heal the natural way. The long and painful way.

It...hurt, to see someone, anyone, this...worn down. And yet...he couldn’t ignore that LV. There was no way anyone got that amount of EXP just by defending themselves. And yet, his alternate hadn’t attacked him. Actually, no one had been attacked. It would’ve been on the news. And, if he was correct in thinking that this was the suspicious ‘doppelganger’ that’d gotten him thrown in jail for three days for missing curfew too many times, he’d clearly been here for months already. But where?

Then he realized. The pawn broker had taunted him about smelling like a dumpster. He’d...he’d been on the streets for months. Had resorted to petty thievery to survive. Was literally starving to dust because of some kind of...magical incompatibility? Sans jumped when the skeleton in front of him groaned.

“hey, don’t move too much. you passed out.” He said, his tone as gentle as possible. It didn’t stop the doppelganger from jolting and struggling to scoot away from him, staring at him and at his surroundings in confusion. In complete terror.

“it’s okay. you’re okay.” Sans assured him, and his Other focused on him for a moment before slumping in exhaustion. Sans noticed his eyelights, the normal ones, were red instead of white. Maybe another result of his LV twisting his magic? He certainly recalled Frisk’s eyes having a crimson glint in the bad timelines...

“...ugh. well, ‘m still alive, so...i’m guessin’ yer not gonna kill me.” His alternate whispered, his voice hardly audible. Sans looked heartbroken.

“no, i’m not going to kill you. also, what the heck kind of accent is that?” He asked, genuinely curious. Maybe he could make light of this situation, kind of put him at ease. The doppelganger snorted.

“...picked it up off mobster movies, to sound intimidating. it, uh, kinda stuck.” He replied quietly, and Sans was surprised to hear just how similar they sounded when his Other got rid of the accent. Similar, but different enough.

“whoa, that’s...so weird. to hear you talk in my voice.” He commented.

“that’s my voice, you asshole.” And the accent was back. Along with the anger.

Sans shook his head. “stars, are you what i would’ve sounded like if Paps hadn’t forced the swear jar on me?”

His Other stared at him in shock, and after a moment he realized it was because he’d mentioned Papyrus. “do...do you have a Papyrus?” The doppelganger’s eyelights went out, and he started to shake a little. Sans backpedaled, holding his hands up in apology. “hey, s-sorry i mentioned--”

“yeah. yeah i do.” His alternate choked on the words. “i...i was hopin’ to avoid yours. i miss paps so much. he’s still...back home.”

“...oh. i’m sorry. i can’t imagine...”

His alternate let out a shuddering sigh. “it - it’s fine. he probably doesn’t even care that i’m gone. probably thinks i’m dust. he’s better off.”

Whoa. Hearing that shook Sans to his very soul. It just sounded so wrong, Papyrus would never just...not care. About him. They were brothers. “that’s not - stop. don’t think like that, i’m sure he’s worried about you.” Sans tried to assure him, and his alternate just gave him an empty laugh.

“that’s a nice thought, princess. i dunno what yer paps is like, but sounds like he’s a lot better than mine...”

“that’s not what i meant, your brother can’t be that--”

“SANS!” Papyrus ran towards them, before skidding to a stop at the sight of the other skeleton. “WHAT...SANS, WHAT HAPPENED??”

“it’s...a long story, bro. just help me get him home, he’s hurt pretty bad.” Sans said, getting to his feet. His doppelganger didn’t even try to fight him when he looped an arm around him, he was too busy staring at Papyrus.

Papyrus shook himself out of his shock to help Sans lift the stranger. “WHY ARE THEY INJURED?? AND...A SKELETON?” He asked. Sans ignored him to wheeze at the effort it took to lift his doppelganger.

“oof, why the fuck are you so heavy?” He asked, only to wince when Paps glared at him. “LANGUAGE, SANS! ...HE IS ODDLY HEAVY FOR A SKELETON.”

“oh for fucks sake, let go of me you absolute fuckin’ weenies.” Sans’ alternate snarled, and the brothers jumped back in shock.

It took some effort, especially with his injured arm and barely being able to stand, but the doppelganger finally managed to shrug off his jacket. It landed on the pavement with a disconcertingly heavy ‘thud’, and the brothers looked between the jacket and it’s owner for a few moments before Papyrus reached out to grab Sans’ other before he toppled over again.

“what the heck is that thing lined with, concrete?” Sans asked incredulously.

“special metalized-polymer i developed back in my lab days. stronger than concrete but heavy as shit.” The doppelganger panted slightly, before yelping when Papyrus picked him up bridal style, his face flushed faintly with red magic. He seemed so much...smaller without the jacket, too. More similar to himself.

“WOWIE! THAT WAS CERTAINLY WHY YOU WERE SO HEAVY, YOU HARDLY WEIGH ANYTHING WITHOUT IT!!” Papyrus chimed, before heading towards the car.

Sans looked back at the jacket for brief moment, before turning to follow.

“you better not leave my fuckin’ jacket back there you dick!” “LANGUAGE!”

Flinching, Sans rolled his eye lights and retrieved his Other’s coat. It must’ve weighed 100 pounds, at least. Thankfully, Paps had the trunk open and he wasted no time hefting the stupid thing into it. Panting, he headed towards the passenger seat before he noticed his brother shaking his head and pointing to the back.

“i can’t sit back there, the uh...our friend is back there.” He said through the door.

“BECAUSE HE IS INJURED, I DON’T WANT HIM TO ACCIDENTALLY ROLL OFF AND HARM HIMSELF FURTHER.”

“sooo...?”

“SANS, JUST SIT BACK THERE AND HOLD ONTO HIM, PLEASE. YOU SAID IT IS URGENT THAT WE GET HIM HOME AND, WELL...” Papyrus fidgeted shyly.

“ah, right.” Paps was...well, to call him a hazard behind the wheel was a understatement. Sans opened the door to find himself being glared at by his flustered alternate. “heh...hehe, you’re lookin’ a little red there, bud.”

“shut the fuck up and get in before i die in your brother’s car.”

“PLEASE DO NOT DIE IN MY CAR. OR ANYWHERE ELSE FOR THAT MATTER.” Papyrus tensed, upset.

Sans shoved his alternate further into the car so he could sit and put on his seatbelt. His other elbowed him in the knee, before scooting back so his skull was resting on Sans’ leg slightly. Sans raised a brow bone at him curiously. “...w...what are you doing?”

“makin’ sure i can bite you in the dick if you let me fall on the floor.”

Sans tensed, his look shifting to one of horror. “wh - i don’t even have it - what the actual fuck is wrong with you??”

“LANGUAGE, SANS! AND DO NOT BITE ANYONE, Uh.”

“...let’s just call him Red, bro.”

“that’s not my name.”

“do you wanna tell him your name? be my guest.”

“...name’s Red.”

“HELLO RED! PLEASE REFRAIN FROM ACTUALLY BITING ANYONE, ESPECIALLY IN...INAPPROPRIATE PLACES. LIKE MY CAR.”

Sans’ doppelganger, now dubbed Red, broke out into wheezy laughter at Papyrus’ statement, before whispering “oh my god, creampuff, he’s precious.”

“Paps can you please just drive? now??” Sans hissed, his face dusted with blue.

#kustard #decafcat does writes sometimes #the thus unnamed fic dubbed only as 'we do stupid shit for the ones we love' right now

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sonderlivra · 6 years

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Request: EreMika; Eren as a med student/doctor and Mikasa running on a treadmill while connected to a heart monitor as part of a stress test; the stress proving too much for Mikasa's heart, resulting in a massive heart attack and Eren must revive her

Oh, anon, anon. What an amazing ask this is! I’ve kinda maybe gone totally overboard with the prompt. Fair warning, though, I think you maybe wanted an emotionally intense Eremika fic, but it’s turned out pretty light-hearted, tbh. Still, thankyou thankyou thank you for this amazing prompt!! Especially after that clusterfuck in the latest manga chapter…

Ugh, what a shitty day. Mikasa tapped her foot on the aggressively clean floor, sulky and impatient. I never faint.

“This is a waste of time,” she muttered, not for the first time. Her cousin looked away from his phone, and his scowl somehow deepened.

“You really don’t want me to agree with you,” he snapped, “unless you want your mother here instead of me.”

She frowned right back at him. “We had a deal.”

He sniffed and turned back to his phone. “Not really a blood pact, was it? I could still call your Mom right now.”

“You do that and I’ll tell her about your boyfriend.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” was all he had to say to that and he stood up to fetch himself more coffee. Mikasa watched him leave, her frustration increasing. Coming to the hospital was pointless, she was sure. She knew she was fine, she could feel it in herself. She had only fainted at the gym because she hadn’t eaten anything all day, but her stupid cousin had to get all protective and responsible and drag her here.

The nurse poked her head into the waiting room. “Mikasa?” She said, smiling sweetly. “We’re ready for you.”

Mikasa put away her phone and looked for Levi, who, of course, had to go away at that exact moment. With an irritated shrug, she gathered her things and followed the nurse.

A treadmill hooked up to an EKG machine awaited her. Thinking wryly that this wasn’t so different from the gym, she put aside her bag and jacket and stepped on the treadmill.

“Dr. Jaeger will be with you in a minute,” chirped the nurse in parting, and left her alone in the room. Mikasa sighed again when she left, tapping her foot impatiently.

She was looking at her phone, wondering if she should call Levi, when the door opened.

“Thanks for waiting, Miss Ack-uhhh.”

Mikasa turned to the doctor, who had frozen in the doorway. Her first thought was ‘he’s so young’, followed by an immediate ‘wow he’s cute’.

“Ackerman,” she murmured, feeling a soft flutter in her chest.

The young doctor gaped at her. “Huh?”

“My name,” Mikasa explained.

“Right. Sorry. Miss Ackerman. Hi. Thanks for coming. I mean, I hope everything’s alright.”

“Yeah. Um, I hope so too,” she said shyly, cursing internally that she didn’t have Annie’s guts or Sasha’s confidence.

“Right. So, I’ll just… hook these up.” He held up wires connected to sticky pads and glanced at her, and she felt a small jolt of excitement when she realised he looked nervous.

“You’ll,” he cleared his throat and gestured at her. “You’ll have to lift your shirt.”

She had on a tank top inside. Still, she could not help the slight blush when she did as told.

The doctor - Dr. Jaeger, she reminded herself - froze again.

“Wow, you’re beautiful,” he blurted, then gasped, “Built! I meant built!”

“I work out,” she said, trying to be nonchalant, holding back her smile and then the shudders when she felt the cool surface of the sticky pads below her collarbone.

He stepped away rather quickly when he was done. “Well, your base heartrate is a little high,” he said, watching the monitor, “but it’s nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”

Mikasa nodded; she wasn’t surprised at the heartrate at all.

“Just start with a gentle walk and slowly move faster,” he advised her, and Mikasa began to move her feet. They were silent for a minute or two until he spoke.

“So,” he cleared his throat again. “What do you do? To work out, I mean,” he added, and then grinned, waving at her toned midriff. “Clearly it’s pretty intense.”

Mikasa almost stumbled when she saw how adorable he looked smiling. She could tell he was trying to smooth over the first few awkward moments and hastened to play along. “Started with muay thai but I’m mostly into capoeira now.”

“No way,” he said, raising a thick brown eyebrow. Mikasa had to turn away from his sparkling green eyes, they were too unfairly pretty. “I do muay thai, too!”

Mikasa’s eyes shifted back to him. “Really?”

“Yeah! I go to this gym called Scouts -you know it? Some pretty good instructors there.”

“I’m - I’m an instructor there,” she admitted, excitement jolting in her once more.

Those beautiful green eyes widened. “No way!” He gasped again, leaning against the side rail of the treadmill. “What do you teach?”

“Capoeira,” she mumbled, her nervousness increasing and footsteps quickening when she noticed him lean closer to her.

“Probably why I haven’t seen you there,” he said, ruffling the back of his head ruefully. “Plus, since I started my residency I haven’t been able to go as often as I’d like.”

“You must be very busy,” she nodded. Her voice was starting to get breathy but she didn’t notice.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he snorted grimly. “God, it sounded amazing and all, wanting to be a doctor, but the amount of work involved is just…”

“Overwhelming?” She finished for him.

“To put it mildly,” he agreed. “When I get back home the last thing I want to do is stay on my feet.” His mouth twisted in a pout, and Mikasa had to fight the urge to reach over and do something stupid -like patting his unruly hair into place, or poking his frown until it turned into a smile once more. To curb this embarrassing urge, she increased her pace on the treadmill even more.

“I mean, I like muay thai,” Dr. Jaeger continued conversationally. “Been doing it for years. And I’ve had great instructors too, since I joined Scouts, but now I hate that I can’t make the time for it, you know?”

Mikasa nodded, pursing her lips tight to avoid wheezing. She was already jogging now, and the treadmill’s incline had increased, but she didn’t want to burst this little bubble of conversation that they had found themselves in, just the two of them.

So she took in a few quick shallow breaths to make sure her voice didn’t tremble when she asked, “So who’s your trainer?”

His face brightened. “Oh yeah, you probably know them! I started with Annie, and she's… you know. Kickass, literally.” He grinned and Mikasa nodded, muffling the jealous twist in her chest. “But I wanted much more of a challenge, so I-”

A sudden memory hit Mikasa at that moment - Annie’s smirking face, her voice slightly more animated than usual, “There’s this guy in my class. Wants more than he can handle, the idiot. I tried to get him to change his mind, but he’s gone and-”

“-got myself transferred to Levi’s class.” He finished blithely.

Weeks and months of her cousin’s griping suddenly crashed into her conscious mind, and Mikasa froze so suddenly the belt carried her a few inches back.

“You’re the medical brat?” She gasped, a bead of sweat trickling onto her eye.

A frown appeared on his face, deeper than before. “Yeah -how do you know-”

Somehow, her brain had filed away the rare instance of his actual name being mentioned in the numerous rants she had witnessed.

“You’re Eren.” She whispered, and right at that moment, her legs gave way and her world turned black.

She came to what felt like moments later, her lips tingling and shouts pounding in her ears.

“-the fuck did you do to her, you fucking idiot?!”

“She -she collapsed, I -I didn’t-”

“The fuck kind of doctor do you call yourself-”

She had never heard Levi shout like this before. Blinking blearily, she lifted her woozy head to see Levi red with rage, screaming down a very upset-looking Eren, the kind nurse from before trying tearfully, and failing, to calm him down.

“Levi…” Mikasa groaned, and his shouts cut off abruptly. She blinked again, and Levi was already kneeling on the floor next to her.

“What happened?” He asked, his thin brows twisted in concern.

She tried to sit up, shaking her head slowly. “I’m fine…”

“The hell you are.” He sounded angry again and shot a furious glare at Eren, who stood with his back to the wall, his face pale, his anxious eyes fixed on her face.

“It was just a BP drop!” Eren managed to yelp, but was quickly overruled.

“Aren’t you supposed to watch for that shit in a stress test?” Levi demanded, and Eren somehow turned more pale, even as Levi’s face turned red once more. “I’m gonna sue you and this hospital, you fucking brat-”

“Levi,” Mikasa said, her voice firmer than before.

“This is gross incompetence-” Levi argued.

“Just, stop, please. My head is pounding.”

That seemed to work, and everyone shut up instantly. The nurse hurried forward to help Mikasa to the bed, and Levi snapped at her to get a real doctor right away. Mikasa avoided Eren’s gaze as he slunk away from the room.

Her cousin didn’t calm down until his friend came down personally to check on her. Dr. Zoë was the reason they had come to this hospital in the first place, and Levi vented to her some more about how her new intern had jeopardised Mikasa’s life. Dr. Zoë absorbed it all with a sort of cheerful poise that left Mikasa in awe. Very few people could handle an angry Levi, after all.

“-and of all the things, the fuckin’ idiot is trying to give her CPR, as if that’s what she needed-”

Mikasa’s heart gave a treacherous lurch. Is that why her lips felt… strange?

Dr. Zoë was smirking. “CPR, you say?” Mikasa glanced away, embarrassed.

“Yeah, didn’t you hear me?” Levi snapped. “Anyway-”

“Levi, hun, we all think it’s sweet how much you care for your baby cousin, but you really need to chill, right now.” Dr. Zoë put away her stethoscope, and Mikasa stared at her once more.

“You want me to chill.” Levi grit out.

“She’s fine,” Dr. Zoë said airily and turned to her. “Maybe a bit of a diet change for your blood pressure, and ease up on the cardio for a few days, hmm?” Mikasa nodded dazedly. “Of course, if you still feel faint or get chest pains or anything, come see me right away, okay?”

Mikasa nodded again. Dr. Zoë turned back to her cousin and said grandly, “But I should prescribe you some pills, Mr. Boiling Kettle.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“No dear, you get out of my hospital, now. My work here is done.” She scribbled something onto Mikasa’s patient form and nodded brightly at them both. “See you on leg day!” She beamed and walked away.

“Everyday is leg day, shitty glasses!” Levi called out, and Dr. Zoë left with a booming laugh and a wave.

There was a split second of silence. Then Mikasa sighed, “Let’s go home.”

But before he could respond, there was a soft knock on the door, and Eren slipped into the consultation room.

“Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Eren said hurriedly, and when Levi didn’t interrupt him, he continued, “I’m really sorry for -for not taking care of your…” He hesitated. “Niece?”

“She’s my sister, you incompetent loon,” Levi barked. “How old do you think I am?”

“Cousin,” Mikasa clarified with a half-smile.

“Right. Sorry. I’m sorry, really.”

Mikasa shook her head. “Wasn’t your fault.”

Levi looked close to murderous again, so she reminded him of the paperwork and medicines he needed to get sorted before they could go. Almost reluctantly, Levi agreed and left, pointedly ignoring Eren.

Leaving them both alone together, once more.

“What did Dr. Zoë say?” Eren asked softly, and Mikasa told him.

“That’s good,” he sighed. He took a hesitant step or two forward. “I really am sorry. Really.”

Mikasa shook her head hurriedly. “It wasn’t your fault.” His eyes were still so wide with remorse, that she threw caution to the winds and ducked her head and muttered, “I only blame you partially -indirectly.” A quick glance at his face. “You made me nervous.”

She heard the deep intake of his breath, saw his feet shuffle forward. “I made you nervous?”

She risked a glance at him, and felt the flutter in her chest again when she saw how his wide eyes were practically shimmering.

He stood right in front of her now, and placed his hand right next to hers on the cot. “Um. Wow.”

“Yeah,” Mikasa murmured, lips twitching into a smile. “Did you really try CPR on me?”

His dark cheeks flushed beautifully. “I panicked,” he admitted, his fingers twining between hers.

“You were stressed,” Mikasa said softly, moving her own fingers until they were holding hands.

Eren let out a bark of laughter at that. “Yeah thanks for that, by the way.”

“Anytime,” she grinned back at him, squeezing his hand.

They stared intently at each other for a long moment, before Eren let out a rueful chuckle. “Oh god, Levi’s gonna murder me in class.”

“He won’t,” she assured him confidently. “I can handle him.”

“I believe you,” Eren muttered admiringly. “Maybe I should just change classes or something.”

“Maybe you should try capoeira.”

His grin widened. “Maybe I should.”

“Whenever you’re finished,” came a sulky interruption from the door. Mikasa simply rolled her eyes and slipped off the cot, feeling suddenly bereft when Eren jerked his hand away. Pointedly ignoring her cousin, she smiled, “See you later, Eren,” and placed a quick kiss on his warm cheek.

His stunned face made her smile wider, and he managed a loud “Bye, Mikasa!” just as they left the room.

Levi was ominously quiet as they made their way to the lobby and out the front doors. He only spoke when they reached the car.

“If I catch the two of you up to some stupid shit in the gym…”

“Then you’ll do exactly as I did when I caught you.” Mikasa said calmly, slipping into her seat. “Right?”

“Tch.” Levi put on his seatbelt with a vicious click, his ears reddening. “Fucking brat.”

Mikasa simply smirked and looked out the window, feeling like a balloon of joy had expanded in her chest. For the first time ever, she understood why fictional characters sometimes randomly burst into song. She got it.

Levi reversed the car smoothly from their parking spot, then glanced at her.

“Ice cream?”

“Hell, yes!” Mikasa laughed, and finally, for the first time that day, Levi smirked.

All in all, an excellent day, Mikasa mused happily. 10/10, would faint again.

#snk #eremika #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #eren x mikasa #snk fanfiction #i did like the bare minimum of research for the medical stuff so i could be hopelessly wrong #if you have mikasa's symptoms pls go to an actual doctor thank #also my need for an ackerconversation in canon has reflected here i think #poor levi lol #also yall know who mikasa caught levi with right? right???#just have a looksie down in my blog if you're wondering :)#asks #delivras

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