#happy birthday again!! this is one I would have done a quick sketch for if I'd seen it first | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pillow-anime-talk · 3 years

Text

dating them.

synopsis: Some sweet, funny and also crazy moments in your relationship.

# tags: headcanons; current relationships; romance; mild comedy; fluff; PDA; sfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. reki kyan, langa hasegawa, miya chinen, kaoru sakurayashiki & kojirou nanjou {sk8}

author’s note: so... i’m just in love with this anime...

— REKI

↘ He’s such a precious boy who cheers you up in the blink of an eye; I think he has an extra sense, so he knows when you feel worse than usual or when you are in even the slightest pain (for example, you bumped your elbow or you haven’t eaten breakfast before ‘cause you missed your alarm clock and therefore you have a stomachache).

↘ Reki is a supportive lover; whether you are passionate about singing, learning languages, reading manga, sewing mascots or painting, a seventeen-year-old will always be right next to you to praise what you do or the way you look. He will notice every, even stupid detail about you and mention it immediately when you’re going to hang out. He’s definitely your fan and doesn’t hide it. Additionally, if you introduce him to what you love, he will also get interested in it in a way and then he will come to you to show off what he has done like a sketch of the two of you or an opinion about the anime you recommended him three days ago.

↘ The boy is really devoted to you and loves physical contact; grabbing a hand, kissing on the cheek or forehead, cute texts in the morning it’s something totally normal for the two of you. I also think that Reki could melt if you run your fingers through his soft hair or make small braids for him, decorating his head with a few colored hairpins or hairbands.

↘ If you know how to skateboarding, he will be delighted and your dates will mostly be about riding together or learning new tricks. Plus, it’s another thing Reki loves about you and wow. He’s even bigger fanboy than before!

↘ However, if you have never ridden or even tried to do it, it doesn’t matter. A teen will be happy to be able to offer you some private lessons if you wish. Again, red-haired adores physical contact, so holding your hands/waist while you stand on his beloved skateboard will be a dream come true for him.

↘ He always has ticket for you, so you make a new banner for each race to support him. Hit me, but I’m 120% sure that after race (whether he won or lost it) he takes your pretty banners and hides them in this special box that has its place on his bedroom closet.

↘ Overall, Reki is a boy who fits to the definition of high school, first love.

— LANGA

↘ Your relationship is a bit more peaceful, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a bit of humor or abstraction.

↘ Langa loves your company so, so, so badly; Reki is quite hot-tempered and is literally everywhere, so when the two of you hang out together after school or at the weekend, blue-haired feels that he can breathe and relax every muscle in his body. You’re his comfort person, and your room is a safe place without fear and noise.

↘ He also enjoys physical contact, but much more prefers to show affection in private, for example in your home or in his own bedroom.

↘ His favorite type of PDA is cuddling; he prefers to be a big spoon and hug you from behind, but he has no problem hugging against your chest or warm stomach, especially when he feels down because of school or racing.

↘ I have a strange feeling that Langa is the type of romantic who would make an amazing Spotify playlist for the two of you so you could listen to the songs, cuddling each other in the bed.

↘ If you can skateboard that’s great! For sure you, Langa and Reki will be a good trio that will meet often in the skate park or in ‘S’. I’m also pretty sure he’ll cheer for you, but at the same time he’ll be very cute with it and definitely more calm than his bestie. For example, if you do a trick... you’ll get a quick kiss on the nose or Langa will buy you your favorite drink. He definitely likes to pamper you.

↘ If you don’t know how to skateboard but you really want to start skateboarding to share your lover’s passion... Well, he will definitely give you a short (long) monologue about how dangerous it is, and you need to be careful – because he knows best of all how a fall on butt or face hurts.

↘ He always keeps a tiny set of colored plasters in his jacket or pants pocket to take care of you in the case of an unexpected accident, as Reki used to care for him.

↘ He’s a good teacher, but he will definitely need to calm his emotions, because sometimes instead of showing you how to slide down the railing, he will suggest something more down-to-earth, like going to the cinema to watch the movie you mentioned three days ago.

— MIYA

↘ Ahh, my precious smol baby.

↘ You are Miya’s first partner, so he still thinks that he’s not good enough for you, although you always reassure him with a light peck on the nose that he’s the best thing that has happened to you and that you’re very glad that you can be with him in every good and bad moment.

↘ The teenager is terribly shy about any physical contact outside, so if you aren’t at home, don’t expect a ton of hugs or kisses from him. He much prefers when you two are alone – then he doesn’t feel overwhelmed by the gazes of other people, especially other skaters who like to make fun of him.

↘ I swear I’ll bite and beat them all...

↘ Miya is a delicate soul and he really likes to feel that someone look after him, so in a relationship he definitely prefers when you cares for him. For example; just touch his soft hair, ask about his well-being or when he will have a race and a huge smile will appear on his face.

↘ I think if he feels that you are the only one for him... Maybe he will lend you his favorite hoodie with cat ears and tail? He’ll be overjoyed to see that you feel good in it. You look extremely cute, but he’ll never admit it.

↘ It smells like him, like wet earth and a hint of sweet perfume, and although it’s a strange combination, it feels really beautiful, downright safe and homey.

↘ For the next holiday (your birthday, your anniversary, Valentine’s Day or Christmas), he will give you a sweatshirt that matches to his own. It will be in your favorite color and will also have an animal accessory, not necessarily catish, because if you prefer dogs, rabbits or cows... You know, there are many options.

↘ If you know how to skateboard, he will be really calm and will feel that finally someone will want to spend time with him, training and riding together; not like in childhood when everyone turned away from him. He will definitely be moved when you grab his smooth hand and offer a long ride in the park. He definitely loves praise, so give him praise every now and then when he does a nice trick. He will also compliment you more than once and even give you a kiss on the cheek (of course if nobody is watching!). He’s not good at words, but he tries!

↘ If you don’t know how to skateboard... He may be a bit skeptical, but naturally he’ll agree to a few lessons in front of your or his house. Of course you originally just wanted to be close to him and hold his hand more often than usual, but it turned out to be pretty fun! Now, training is your typical dates.

↘ Miya is a sweet boy and although he may not look like that, he’s really protective, often jealous and always puts you at first place.

— KAORU

↘ This beautiful man, this angel-looking ideal, this ahhhh... Being in a relationship with him is pure pleasure and daily healing for the soul.

↘ He’s a calm, understanding and loving partner. I think he’s a bit old fashioned but that only adds much more charm to his person.

↘ He often calls you his ‘dearest’, ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’, isn’t that cute?

↘ You two don’t go out on dates too often, but I think Kaoru loves to spend time at home, having tea or on the couch while one of you is reading a book and the other is listening to music or just sleeping. He definitely doesn’t look like that, but he loves PDA/cuddling and is the best at it!

↘ He also likes it when you suggest learning calligraphy together. He never forced you to do this, but when he first heard that you would like to meet one of his passions, he was really happy and immediately showed you how to write with ink on the special paper he had in his flat. Obviously, more than once you ask him to write a simple letter or word, because you just love his handwriting and how focused he seems. He’s really hot then, I swear to god!

↘ You love his long hair and are always eager to give him a new, nice hairstyle; normal braid or fishtail braid. Maybe a bun or a ponytail with a few hairpins? He loves everything you do on him. In addition, the gentle head massage you give him each time is the most soothing thing in the world for him.

↘ If you know how to skating... He’s really surprised, but that doesn’t mean he’s unhappy or angry. He wants to see what you can do right away and you will surely feel a sweet kiss on your forehead more than once when the trick will be good or even better than you both thought. He’s a supportive boy, but doesn’t show it as vehemently as Reki, for example; he prefers to smile at you or clap softly.

↘ If you don’t know how to skate yet, but you asked him to teach you how to even stand on it... I imagine Kaoru going pale and trying to distract you from this idea because, as an experienced skater, he’s afraid that you will hurt yourself like any beginner. But your big eyes and ruddy cheeks are his weaknesses, so he’ll trust both you and Carla and help you keep your balance on his beloved, black-violet board. Reward him later with quick kisses or give him his favorites, okay?

↘ To sum up, Kaoru is a good and honest lover. He definitely loves your company and won’t mind spending his free time seriously and frivolously with you.

— KOJIROU

↘ This guy is the definition of the sentence ‘Through the stomach to the heart’. Any objections? No. So let’s gooooo!

↘ Kojirou is a PERFECT second half. Both in character and appearance. If he fall in love with someone seriously, and it will be you, then know that he’ll care for you like about a member of the royal family; breakfasts in bed, an Italian supper, the perfect choice of wine for a chicken or steak are things that have become a sweet daily thing for you at some point.

↘ He loves to show you affection and absolutely has no problem doing it in public, even when he’s working or when you two are in a tight crowd on the train or in the ‘S’ before his race. He will kiss you hard on the lips, grab your skin on your butt or hug your waist. It’s just that everyone needs to know that you belong to him. He’s just as clingy as Reki, and sometimes even worse and bolder.

↘ Of course he has cute side; he likes to lie on the bed or the sofa with you on his chest. He loves being between your thighs and sleep there. He definitely has a weak point in that when you you run your finger on his tattoo or cook dinner with him, throwing ingredients at him and laughing out loud.

↘ Another romantic who uses thousands of pet names (like babey, cutie, doll, pumpkin, kitten). Plus, he loves to dance with you in the kitchen and steal a few kisses here and there. Also, if you aren’t looking, he likes to surprise you with a big, bear hug.

↘ I think he’s a bit impatient, so he doesn’t like to sit at home and prefers dates in crazy places (such as an amusement park, swimming pool, karaoke bar) – it’s his favorite way of spending your time together. As a gentleman, he always pays for you, unless you go faster and bring your ATM card to the card reader as first. But don’t be surprised when Kojirou will just buy you cotton candy or popcorn shortly afterwards.

↘ If you know how to skateboard, he’s as excited as a kid and will definitely offer you a date at the skate park. Naturally, he wants to show off to others what a super cool partner he has, but he also wants others to know that you’re here together to kick everyone’s asses with your abilities. You’re definitely a powerful couple and you have the matching necklaces!

↘ But if you don’t know how to skating then... well, well, well. Just be prepared that one day (without even asking for it) you’ll stand on his beloved board and he will grab your hips, smiling silly. He enjoy skin ship so this guy feels utopian when he can be near you. He definitely won’t spare you compliments, long pecks, and smack your butt when you do something great, so you have to get used to it... and it’s going to be a long training session, so good luck, my friend.

↘ He’s a funny guy, but he’ll never cross your limits, so don’t worry about that. However, he will always find a topic for conversation or a joke to relax the atmosphere or cheer you up. You will never be bored with him.

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iam93percentstardust · 3 years

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Haii so i have a promot for you, it’s stuckony and it’s based around a carrie Underwood song called “ Renegade Runaway “

So basically Steve and Bucky are outlaw, who rob trains, banks, and gamble

Tony is a sharffes and teacher kid, who is also one hell of a gunslinger (like Doc holiday,bat masterson, and Wyatt earp), he’s also a blacksmith

Also happy early birthday! 💙

Thank you for the birthday wishes! This ended up being a lot sadder than I originally intended and I wasn't able to include everything, but I hope it still lives up to expectations!

As always, this fic is also on ao3

Tony has his pistol out almost before the door closes behind him. He peers into the darkness of the yard behind the smithy, silently complaining about his eyes taking too long to adjust from the bright fires to the gathering twilight. It puts him at a disadvantage for whoever is waiting out there for him.

“Aw darlin’, is that any way to greet your two favorite outlaws?” someone drawls.

Tony snorts and holsters the pistol again. “Two outlaws, you might be, but my favorites? Far from it,” he snarks.

Bucky Barnes steps into the light spilling out from the window, hand dramatically placed over his heart. “Tony, that cuts me to the quick. Really, the cruelty of your words, they break my heart.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony says, unimpressed. He turns his back on Bucky and locks the smithy door. Peter will leave through the front when he’s finished sweeping and extinguished the lights. Everything else is already stored in the backroom for the night, so there’s no reason he needs to worry about leaving the door unlocked, though he certainly could. Timely isn’t the sort of town that invites trouble, not like some of the lawless towns further west.

When he turns back around, Bucky has moved closer, nearly looming over him. Tony leans back against the door, letting Bucky press against him. Bucky will do it anyway, it’s easier to just give in to him now instead of putting up a fight they both know he doesn’t want.

“You gonna apologize for bein’ so mean?” Bucky breathes into his ear.

“No,” Tony says flatly, crossing his arms. “It’s the honest truth.”

It’s not. Nearly everyone in Timely knows Tony’s sweet on Bucky and his partner, who must be around here somewhere since Bucky mentioned both of them. But it wouldn’t do to be too easy for them. He’s not one of Natasha’s girls after all, giggly and flirtatious and willing to turn their skirts up for a little bit of coin. He likes to make his boys work to get him soft and smiling.

“Now that’s just an outright lie,” someone else says. Tony turns his head to see Steve’s bright blue eyes much closer than he’d expected given that he’d only sensed one of them in the yard earlier. “You love us.”

“Don’t,” Tony denies, turning his head in the other direction so he doesn’t have to see either of them. Steve may be right, Tony isn’t nearly as annoyed by them as he pretends, but loving the two of them makes his life so very hard that it’s easier to pretend he doesn’t have any feelings for them.

“Tony,” Steve murmurs.

Tony stubbornly refuses to look at them. These two outlaws waltz into town all too rarely, typically on the heels of some mess that’ll raise the rewards on their heads yet again, and turn Tony’s life upside down for the brief time they’re in Timely, only to break his heart when they inevitably leave. Sometimes, he wishes he’d never met them.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers eventually, keeping his eyes fixed on the side of the saloon down the street. “The sheriff’s in town tonight. If he catches wind of you—you know Howard wants to be the one to bring you in.”

“Your father’s on a wild goose chase, honey,” Bucky says. “He got word we were hiding out in Howling Canyon.”

“Are you?”

“Do we look like we’re in Howling Canyon?” Steve asks amusedly.

“No. I meant when you’re not—” He stops, biting back the last few words. When they’re not in his bed, he means, but he can’t bring himself to say that. After an awkward pause, he finishes, “When you’re not in town.”

“No,” Steve assures him. “We’re staying—”

“Don’t tell me where,” Tony interrupts, finally turning back to look at them. They both look worried, and he wonders if they know how tired he is of this game they’ve been playing for five years. “You know I’ll have to tell Howard if he asks.”

Not that Howard would. The sheriff is one of the few people who doesn’t know that his son houses the two outlaws when they’re in Timely. He couldn’t even imagine that his son would dare defy him under his nose like that. But both Steve and Bucky know what happens when Tony doesn’t jump to Howard’s every order. They were the ones who took him to Dr. Banner’s after all, after Howard broke his arm for taking too long to finish the horseshoes for Jericho.

Steve’s eyes are stormy at the reminder of Howard’s wrath. Bucky’s mouth is set in a tight line. Neither of them approve of Howard. They’ve told Tony once before that they would take him away from here if only he would let them. But he won’t. There’s too much keeping him in Timely: his mother and Rhodey, even young Peter, who’s only been apprenticed to him for a few months. He can’t just go gallivanting off into the sunset, no matter how badly he wants to. And besides, he knows that the only reason they ask is so that he can get away from Howard. He doesn’t delude himself there. They’d let him go with them just out of range of Howard’s reach and then they’d cut him loose. It’s pity that makes them ask, not—not anything else.

“Just—” He sighs and ducks out from under Bucky’s arm. “Come on. Howard isn’t stupid. He’ll figure out you’re not in Howling Canyon eventually, and I’d like both your cocks at least once before he does.”

Tony once had aspirations of being one of the best gunslingers in the west. He had the best aim this side of the Mississippi and he was quick. He’d been planning on making a name for himself, same as his father had.

Bucky’s bullet through his left thigh had put an end to that dream real quick.

He’d been young—hardly even an adult—foolhardy, and unwilling to listen to Jarvis’ warnings that he wasn’t ready to take on Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, who’d been terrorizing the towns in their small territory for the last three years. He’d been so convinced that he would be the one to bring them in and collect on the bounty. He’d studied their movements, known how they thought, and when Timely had gotten word that the two outlaws had robbed a bank in Faircreek, he’d ridden off on his own toward Harshaw instead of Tombstone like all the evidence pointed to.

He’d been right; the trail to Tombstone had been a false one. But he hadn’t had long to rest on his laurels because he’d been noticed. Steve and Bucky hadn’t been as lax in their vigilance as he’d assumed and they’d lain in wait for him, ambushed him, and ultimately shot him.

To this day, he doesn’t know what drove the two outlaws to take him in instead of leaving him out there to die in the desert, but they had. They’d carefully nursed him back to health, taken care of him when his injury had led to fever, and eventually, after nearly two months together, brought him to their bed with sweet words and sweeter kisses. He’d thought he would have done anything for them after that night, but the next morning, they’d sent him back on his way to Timely with nothing more than a promise that they’d be dropping in to check on him. It had been kind, though the damage had already been done. Tony’s injury ensured he’d never be the gunslinger he’d once dreamt of and his heart had been shattered. He’d apprenticed with Happy, taken up blacksmithing as a trade, and moved out of his parents’ home and into a small house not far from the smithy as his bad leg kept him from walking any great distances.

And when Bucky and Steve had kept their promise and stopped by his house to see him, well, his resolve to send them packing had withered. He’d made sure no one had noticed them and welcomed them inside, his poor heart still beating against his ribs in the pattern of their names.

They love him, he thinks, or at least they love him as best as they can, which is to say they don’t love him as much as he loves them. They certainly don’t love him enough to take him with them. And he understands—he does, despite what Rhodey thinks. His bad leg is a hindrance to outlaws such as themselves, particularly when it isn’t like they have a home base they could leave him out while they go out to commit whatever crime has struck their fancy. No, they’ve been nomads for as long as Tony has known them, never tied down to any one place, and he’s grateful that they at least love him enough to stay in this area instead of moving on to greener pastures.

He checks that the street is clear and then hurries them into his home. It’s changed slightly since the last time Steve and Bucky were in Timely. Pepper gifted him with a rug to go in front of the fireplace six months ago and Peter’s aunt made him a series of sketches of the view from the top of Howling Canyon that he hung in the kitchen. But other than that, the house is much the same as it’s always been, and he isn’t surprised when neither Steve nor Bucky pay any attention to the changes in favor of following him to the bedroom.

They strip him in silence, hands so gentle he’d call them reverent if he didn’t know any better. But he does know better. They don’t love him enough to be reverent. Reverence is saved for each other, for how Steve looks at Bucky in the early dawn when he thinks they’re both still sleeping, for Bucky saving Steve an extra cup of coffee, for the way they know how to tack each other’s horses just as well as they know their own. Reverence isn’t saved for him.

But he treats themreverently. He’s always treated them that way, since the night they took him to their bed. He’s never known any other way to love. They had been his first, the ones to ruin him for all others, and a small part of him hates them for that even as he kisses them hungrily, savoring these few moments he gets to spend with them.

He goes to his knees for them, worships Bucky’s cock with his mouth while Steve undresses, then lays down for Steve to open him up. He lets them fuck him, moans their names while they whisper praises in his ear, and pretends that this is enough, that he doesn’t want more. He imagines it though, imagines Steve lifting him onto Nomad and following Bucky out of town, never to return.

Bucky falls asleep when they’re done—he always does—so Steve is the one who stands and finds a washcloth from somewhere in the house. He wipes the three of them off and then lays down on his side, facing Tony.

“You’re sad tonight,” he says quietly.

“No,” Tony denies. He doesn’t want them to know that he wants more, that he’d do just about anything to get it. They’ll only feel bad that they can’t give him what he wants, like it’s any fault of theirs.

“You are,” Steve insists. “You try to hide it, but you are.”

“Steve…”

“I won’t ask you.” Steve’s own eyes are sad as he reaches out to run delicate fingers over Tony’s face. “I know you wouldn’t tell me anyway. That’s okay; you’re entitled to your secrets, sweetheart.”

There’s something terribly earnest in Steve’s expression, something that Tony doesn’t think he’s seen before. And he’s so close to blurting it out, begging Steve for something he can’t have. He swallows the words back with difficulty and asks instead, “What did you two do this time?”

Steve shrugs as best as he can. “A train.”

“A—” Tony stills. “You didn’t. Steve, you couldn’t. You’ll bring the Marshals down on your heads.”

“Had to,” Steve says casually. “Was the only way to get enough.”

“Enough what?”

“Gold,” Bucky says from behind him, startling him.

It takes a moment for the word to sink in, but his breath comes faster as he realizes just what they’ve done. “You didn’t,” he repeats, sitting up. He scrambles to the end of the bed, as far away from Steve and Bucky as he can get. The outlaws sit up as well, leaning against the headboard as they watch him warily. “What were the two of you thinking? No, don’t answer that. I know exactly what you were thinking: you weren’t. Because if you were, you would have known better. Forget the Marshals, you’ll bring the whole damn army down on your heads. How could you have been so stupid?”

“We were thinking we’d like to get a house,” Steve says, cutting him off.

“A—a house?”

“Mmhmm,” Bucky agrees. “We found ourselves a little patch of land in California we’d like to settle down in. Needed one last robbery to get us enough money to buy it.”

Tony’s heart stops beating, he swears it does. “California,” he repeats faintly.

“Sure, they’ll never think to look for us in California.”

Bucky sounds so calm, as though he can’t see that Tony’s heart is breaking in front of them. How can he be so cruel? How can he just causally mention that they’re leaving him forever, as though the last five years mean nothing to them?

“When are you leaving?” he manages, and it shocks him how calm he sounds when he feels as though his grief is visible from the stars.

“Tomorrow,” Steve says. There’s something careful in the way he looks at Tony, like he at least might have some idea of what’s going through Tony’s head.

Tony repeats, “Tomorrow.” He nods, blinking furiously to try to clear his eyes of the treacherous tears he can feel welling up. He can’t let them know. They’re leaving tomorrow and he doesn’t want them to go. He knows it would have happened eventually. The lawless west is shrinking more and more each day. It’s only a matter of time before the law catches up to them. Their only option is to leave and go somewhere no one knows them. But does it have to be so soon? He’d thought they would have more time.

“So this is goodbye, then,” he says, twisting the bedcovers in his hands. He can’t look at them, too afraid they’ll know what’s racing through his head if he does.

“…Goodbye?” Steve asks. He sounds puzzled. Tony hates that. What right does he have to be confused? That’s for Tony, seeing as how he’s the one who’s been left out of the loop during all this. God above, how long have they been planning this? It must have been at least a year in the making.

“Yes, goodbye,” he says. “One last fuck to see you off, right?”

“One last… Tony,” Bucky says sharply, “do you think we’re plannin’ on leavin’ you here?”

Tony’s heart stops for the second time in as many minutes. “You’re not?” he asks, daring to peek at them. Steve looks horrified, Bucky thunderous as he leans forward to tug Tony into his arms. Tony doesn’t resist, too tired of pretending, too confused by the twists this conversation has taken to argue. Steve curls up against Bucky’s side, carding gentle fingers through Tony’s hair.

“Sweetheart, did you think we weren’t gone on you?” Steve asks, kissing his forehead. “We’ve been fallin’ for you since you figured out where we were goin’ and chased us down.”

“But you never asked me to come with you.”

“S’pose that’s my fault,” Bucky says gruffly. He gingerly touches the scar on Tony’s leg where Bucky’s bullet had ripped through him. “We saw how much pain you were in an’ we couldn’t bear to make it any worse. An’ that’s just what would have happened if you’d spent every night out there with us. We wanted to keep you safe, thought you’d be happier if you weren’t always in pain.”

“I wanted you,” Tony says, pressing a kiss to the underside of Bucky’s jaw. “I didn’t want to be left behind.”

“Yeah, we, uh, we get that now,” Steve mutters sheepishly. “Tony, say you’ll come with us this time. Don’t make us go off on our own this time. We want you to come, can’t imagine a future that doesn’t have you in it.”

He should argue. He should remind them that in the five years they’ve been riding off and leaving him at home, he’s built a life. He has a business and an apprentice and a little house that he likes. He’s not the wide-eyed child he once was, dreaming of adventure. But then, neither are Steve and Bucky, if they really do mean that they’re going to get to California and settle down.

“Darlin’?”

The next morning, Peter arrives at the smithy to find the backdoor locked and the fire cold. He frowns; it’s not like Tony to still be home at this hour. He turns on his heel and heads to Tony’s house. It’s as dark as the smithy is though it doesn’t look like anything is out of place.

Tony is nowhere to be seen. He wonders for an instant if Tony spent the night at Rhodey’s, as he sometimes does when it’s been too long between Steve and Bucky’s visits (though Peter isn’t supposed to know anything about the outlaws). He turns to leave, planning on heading over to Rhodey’s to ask if he’s seen Tony this morning, only to catch a glimpse of something on the kitchen table, glinting in the early morning sunlight pouring in from the door.

Curious, he wanders over to find a single gold coin—and a letter addressed to him. Peter immediately pockets the coin and then opens the letter. It’s written in Tony’s messy scrawl and he reads it eagerly, hoping it’ll tell him where Tony’s gone.

Peter,

I hope you’ve spotted this. The coin is for you. Under the bed, there’s a pouch full of more coins, but those are for Happy. They should be enough to drag Happy out of the quiet life to finish your apprenticeship. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay, but it was time to move on.

If anyone asks where I’ve gone, tell them I’ve run away to California.

Tony

#alle writes #alle answers #stuckony #if you like please reblog #nsfk #ish

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gotnofucks · 4 years

Text

Ball’s In Your Court

Paring: Steve Rogers x Reader, (platonic tony x reader)

Summary: Steve and Y/n have been playing games for years. But now that Rogers is acting like a little bitch, Y/n throws him a curve ball that will either make them or break them.

Words: 2.7k

Warning: None man. Its fluff and angst. Language (?)

A/N: I was experimenting with the third person P.O.V for reader. Hope it’s to your liking.

MASTERLIST

+++++

For as long as Steve could remember, their life together had been a game; bet after bet, challenge after challenge. He had met her when she was just entering her teens, a little girl with a lost wild look in her eyes. She was in all respects Tony’s daughter, rescued by him from the wreckage of his own weapons. He had almost done a double take when Tony had introduced her to the team.

“This is Y/n, she will stay with us from now”

The compound was not used to the pitter patter of little feet or their furniture appearing embellished overnight. She had lost everything, including it seemed herself. So, their first game ironically had been Hide and Seek. She was small and he lost count of how many times she had bested him by crawling under the cramped spaces of desks or vents (Thanks for teaching her that, Barton).

When Tony had complained about the hundredth time that she just wouldn’t eat, Steve would challenge her that whoever finished their breakfast first could choose the movie for tonight. When she refused to let them leave for missions, he would challenge her to a game of cards. She was too young to win against him but her stubborn streak never turned down a game.

Their every interaction had been a game. They could get each other to do anything by playing chess or softball or a game of Horse that drove everyone else up the wall. He got her to open up about school bullies by besting her at Pictionary and she had effectively gotten him to shut up about healthy food by kicking his ass at video games. They dealt with drama via games (Whoever tosses the least paper balls in the bin tells Bruce we fucked his experiment ), they dealt with humor via games (let’s see who can manage to steal Nat’s gun without getting caught), they dealt with grief via game (if you beat me at Heads Up I’ll let you choose the gravestone).

Growing up, she was Tony’s daughter and Steve’s best friend. While Tony raised her, Steve gossiped with her. They were pals and all was fun and games until she grew up from a little girl into a young woman. Steve didn’t know when things changed but the first he noticed it was when she had run into his arms bawling because some idiot boy broke her heart. It was when he found himself conflicted between anger at the boy and jealousy that this shit started.

He had tried, he had really tried to keep it in check. He had tried to keep up with their game’s night ritual, their silly bets and ridiculous challenges. He had tried his best to be a friend, but this was one challenge he lost. She was no more the 14-year-old girl asking him questions for her history project or the 16-year-old nightmare who would put cockroaches in his bed as revenge. This was a young woman in her 20s with curves for days and an attitude that raised hell. It was a classic falling for your best friend story (if only he weren’t old enough to be her dad or was her dad’s best friend).

He had of course been under the impression that he was being subtle about his change in feelings. He tried not to stare when they went out for a swim, he resisted the urge to lick her lips after a nacho eating contest. He was trying so fucking hard, but as anyone could have told him, “Steve, you don’t have a subtle bone in your body, you frisbee throwing maniac”. She was Tony Stark’s daughter; she was not raised to be stupid. She was smart and observant and almost as quick a study as her father. It was no surprise then that she figured out what had Steve so wound up around her.

Maybe it would have creeped her out had it been anyone else, but Steve was her person. He was her one constant, from kissing her boo-boos to getting her home after she drank herself silly, Steve was there. It shouldn’t have surprised Steve so much then when she cornered him one evening and planted a wet one smack on his mouth with a muttered, “This sexual tension it killing me, gotta do something about it because you won’t”.

He wished he could say he clutched her body to his and dragged her to his room for a wild night of passion. But in reality, he chickened out like a bitch and ran away. Not just from her, but he completely disappeared from the compound for two weeks. When he came back, it was with the intentions of telling her they couldn’t do it, it was wrong and a betrayal to Tony. But Steve needn’t have worried because he came back to the compound to find her introducing the team to her boyfriend.

As far as others know, Steve didn’t deliberately break those glasses that night or push the idiot boy in the pool. It was an accident, and if such accidents kept happening around men she dated then it was purely coincidental.

It was a new kind of game they played then, a more dangerous one and if one’s being honest, a very sensual game. She would date someone; he would scare them away. One of them will find the other, have a passionate make out session, probably end up straddling the other on a desk and then one of them will get up and leave with the same lie “This can’t happen again”. Repeat.

Gone were the days of challenges and competitions, in its place was a sexually charged game of Tag. A cat and mouse game where they always chased each other, touching fleetingly before retreating again. Neither would be the one to make a commitment, neither would concede to being the person who would put their hearts on the line. They were two bulls who were made to butt heads (who occasionally took time off to play a quick game of tonsil-hockey).

Steve had known there had to be an end to this. It had gone on for so long that he could bet other people suspected some shit. He had honestly expected for Tony to sucker punch him half a dozen times by now. Right now, he would have taken those punches to the news she had just given to the team.

“I am getting married!” She announced, offering her left hand so others can admire the gorgeous diamond ring that sat on her ring finger. She looked happy, absolutely radiant and it was all Steve could do to stop himself from dragging her out of here by her hair and throwing that offending ring into the garbage chute. What the fuck kind of game was she playing?

He waited until everyone was asleep before he broke into her room. Well, breaking into would suggest it was forced but truly only him and Tony had the authorization to enter. Their relationship may have changed from ‘you’re my best friend’ to ‘I want to be your best lay’, but they still knew each other the best and cared just as much as before, if not more.

She was under the covers in her bed, a small nightlamp on. It had been a while since Steve had been in her room and it was like taking a big gulp of nostalgia. Her room was her sanctuary, so it reflected her heart’s desires. Every surface of the room was littered with one of their memories together. Her pinboard was still holding the notes he would write to her in school, the birthday cards he made himself and the portraits he would sketch for her. On her desk stood the numerous gifts he had gotten her, each well taken care of despite the years between. Right beside her on the cabinet was a picture of them together, both of them holding hands and smiling at each other in what could only be called as “lovesick smitten idiots”.

He was cautious as he lowered himself next to her on the bed, her face so peaceful he felt like he would taint it by his touch and presence. He had looked at her for years, sketched her details hundreds of times and yet each time he beheld her, he felt his heart skip a beat. She was a memory that he tried to forget and yet it emerged every time he closed his eyes. She was in his skin, a part of him in a way that defied all laws of nature and social customs.

“Are you going to keep staring at me and be the creep from Twilight or do you plan on getting inside?”

Her voice made him jump because she hadn’t opened her eyes. She was smiling that lazy smile of hers when she would catch his bluff in poker. He chuckled and shifted the sheets, climbing under them and curling his body around her. It may as well have been cliché to say that they fit like a puzzle, but it was true. They were molded to fit against each other perfectly, like that lid you close over a box and the satisfying ‘tick’ sound it makes when it clicks into place. That’s what being with her felt like. Fitting in. Coming home.

“Why are you doing this Y/n?” Steve asked and she pushed her body into his so he could hug her tighter.

“Because you won’t do anything Steve. We’ve been running around in circles for so long now, and every time I think that finally we’ll be together, you abandon fort and run. I can’t do this anymore.”

Steve took her left hand and watched her ring twinkle in a taunt. It could have been him. It should be him.

“Don’t marry him. He will never give you what you want.”

“I know that Steve, no one can give me what they want because they aren’t you. But I can’t keep waiting for you in the sidelines hoping you’ll pull your head out of your ass. I want to be loved, preferably in this life.”

His arms were like tentacles around her, but she didn’t complain. Every embrace and moment between them was so fleeting, a stolen moment that she enjoyed what she could get. This was probably the longest in a few years that they had held each other without one running for the hills.

“I love you, you know that.” He whispered in her ear, longing evident in his voice.

“I know that, as much as I know that you won’t do shit about it. Loving someone is not always enough Steve. It’s just the beginning. I – I won’t keep my love a secret. I don’t want ten angry sensual minutes in the broom closet. I want walks in the park and two dogs and a cat. I want picnics with our family and pictures that are not restricted to my room. You can’t give me that. You won’t.”

She had run out of tears. Her fiancé may not be Steve Rogers but at least he was an honest man who tried his best to love her the way she deserved. She had met his family and they had met hers; they could post pictures on social media with cheesy captions and hold hands as they drank coffee from a cheap corner place.

“You can never love anyone like you love me” It was a sulky declaration by a hurt lover and she almost cooed to him like a mommy consoling her baby. Steve may have been older to her in years, but when it came to love he was an immature brat.

“That may be true, but I will try. I am not Penelope waiting in the balcony for Odysseus to return. I love you, and that love may never fade away. But my life will go on. It is your choice if you want to be a part of it.”

She faced him, her eyes open and clear. He didn’t know when the little girl who needed help to reach the jar on the shelf had grown up in this headstrong woman who could beat a sailor when it came to cursing. But he couldn’t bear the thought of her staying like this in someone else’s bed, looking at them the way she looked at him. Steve rarely coveted something in his life, but he didn’t realize until now how much he coveted her love. If he lost that, he feared he would lose himself.

“Your father is going to kill me” Steve groaned, and she laughed. Her head was on his chest and an arm around his torso.

“We can elope, you know. Run away and get married. It will be too late to do anything then. You’ll be stuck with me.”

“Did you just propose to me?” Steve questioned and she nodded, her eyes naughty.

“I’m always a step ahead of you Captain. I figured you would take another month at least to ask and I have wasted too much time already.” She whispered against his lips. He leaned up to kiss her deeply, unhurried for the first time. It was like their first kiss all over again, like two star-crossed lovers smashing through their final obstacle and uniting. Steve didn’t know how he had survived so long without having her like this, but as his hands found her soft curves, he swore he can’t go a day without it.

“Stop stop!” She said, pushing his chest and rolling away from him. “We’ve waited this long. You’re not getting your dick wet until you finally commit to me.”

Steve looked more dumbfounded than offended and responded by finally taking off the ring on her finger and throwing it away carelessly.

“I’ll steal the Quinjet, meet me in the hanger in half an hour. Don’t pack shit. We’ll make one stop for the rings and get the first officiant I can find to marry us. We’ll probably be back by breakfast. And then,” His arm wound around her waist “I will lay rest to the sexual tension of years by getting my dick wet. Repeatedly.”

+++++

It was to be expected that Tony’s daughter wouldn’t do anything halfway through. A flair for dramatics was her inheritance and she and Steve walked into the compound newly married in rumpled night clothes and shit eating grin. They found everyone eating in the kitchen, and greetings stopped halfway when the rest of the team noticed their clasped hands.

“What the fuck…” Bruce said, half eaten celery dangling from his open mouth.

Y/n flashed them her award-winning smile and showed the matching rings on her and Steve’s hand. It was a riot under a minute, chairs scraping as they crowded them, trying to see if it was a joke. Then just as suddenly everyone stopped and Tony stepped forward, a spatula in his hand that to Steve looked as threatening as a gun.

“You sick son of a bitch!” Tony shouted and Steve flinched. He looked at Y/n but all she did was wear a smug look on her face that should be illegal in about three continents. “You little bitch! You are supposed to be from the 90s! You were supposed to ask her hand from me like a gentleman you sick little fuck!”

Steve blinked in confusion while she laughed, hopping like a little girl to hug her father.

“Pay up, daddy! You owe me 500 bucks.” She said and Tony groaned, pulling out his wallet and handing her crisp five 100s.

“I – what? What happened?” Steve sputtered, still surprised he wasn’t being beaten by the Iron Legion.

“You weren’t supposed to elope you bastard. Always knew chivalry was dead!” Tony huffed then went back to cooking. “Congratulations by the way. Fucking finally. I’m not surprised my girl had to do everything anyway. She’s taken after me.”

This was a plot twist Steve never expected and he looked at his new wife with a look of horror on his face that could only be translated to as ‘what the fuck have I gotten myself into’.

“I told you baby, I’m always a step ahead of you.” She said, trying and failing to blush like a bride.

+++++

Taglist is open

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x you #steve x y/n #tony x reader #tony stark x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you

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lesbianlotties · 3 years

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Sam Fraser Has a Good Day

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson Characters: Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street), Deena Johnson Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Not Canon Compliant, Everyone Is Alive, Nightmares, Breakfast, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Napping, Dancing, Late Night Conversations, Making Out, Kissing, Fluff without Plot, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff, literally what the title says Words: 2401

In the span of a couple of days, Sam Fraser was: in a car crash, chased by several undead killers, used as bait, almost overdosed, drowned, possessed, tied up in the trunk of a car, hit in the head several times... and somehow she survived.

She deserves a good day. She deserves to: stay in her girlfriend's house and steal her sweaters, sleep until noon, have a good breakfast, eat jello in peace, get clean bandages, play video games, eat ice cream, take a nap, dance to her favorite songs, go on a late-night drive for cheeseburgers, and cuddle and kiss her girlfriend the entire day.

Sam wakes up startled, as usual. She is gasping for air and sitting up hastily. Was she having a nightmare? Is she stepping into a nightmare now? Because she can tell she’s wearing one of Deena’s t-shirts. But what if her mom sees her? Is she going to catch her? Should she start running from something, or keep herself from running toward something?

“Sam?”

That soft voice is the one that breaks the spell.

“Deena,” Sam sighs.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Deena whispers, tentatively wrapping her arms around her girlfriend. Instantly, she feels Sam relax in her embrace.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles, tucking her face on the crook of Deena’s neck. “Just a nightmare.”

“I got you,” Deena says softly. She places a kiss on Sam’s forehead and carefully guides them to lay down again. “It’s early. Why don’t you go back to sleep?” Deena asks, realizing right after that Sam fell asleep before answering at all.

A couple of hours later, Sam wakes up again. This time there are no nightmares, no screams of terror caught in her throat, no reaching out blindly for air or a weapon. She wakes up slowly, clutching the heavy blanket that covers her body, yawning without restrain, and eventually opening her eyes slowly. The first thing she does is look for her girlfriend, and she finds her sitting at the foot of the bed, sketching on a notebook with an endearing frown of concentration on her face.

“Good morning,” Sam says through a new yawn.

“Well,” Deena smirks fondly at her, “it is closer to noon now, but good morning to you too, baby.”

“What? Noon?” Sam frowns and attempts to rub the sleep off her eyes. “Since when do I sleep longer than you?” Sam asks, and puts on a pout on her lips for her next question, “And why are you so far away?”

Deena chuckles affectionately at her and puts away her pencil and notebook. She crawls back to her girlfriend and playfully flops down beside her. “Hey,” Deena greets her with her signature raspy tone. She receives a dreamy “hi” and a soft peck on the lips in response. Afterward, she explains, “To answer your question, I just thought you deserved a day to sleep in.” When Sam gives her a look of pleased surprise, Deena adds, “In fact, I think you’ve earned a full day, just for you, to rest and enjoy.”

“Deena, you don’t have to do that,” Sam attempts to protest, right before her girlfriend interrupts her with a kiss that turns into two, and three, and four, and soon enough they simply lose count.

Deena’s plans encounter an obstacle as soon as they manage to leave the comfort of her room to go make breakfast. Sam was fresh out of the shower, wearing one of Deena’s t-shirts this time. Deena barely gets to open the fridge before Sam tries to intervene with a soft-spoken, “Let me.” It’s safe to say that Deena puts up quite a fight, though.

“I just wanted to take care of you for one day, okay?” She insists. “You fucking deserve it.”

“That’s sweet,” Sam replies, feeling absolutely endeared. She leans in and places a kiss on Deena’s forehead, and Deena tries and fails to keep up her frown. “Listen, I appreciate it, and I love you for it, okay?” Sam says, giving Deena’s lips a small kiss. “But consider this. One, you already took care of me at my worst. Two, a perfect day, for me, means that you get to enjoy it too, and I get to take care of you too, got it? And three… do you really want to burn my breakfast on my special day?”

Sam attempted to quickly kiss Deena’s cheek and run away, but the brunette was quick enough to reach out and take her in her arms, ticking her in revenge for the not-unfounded critique of her culinary skills.

After their meal, the two girls make their way to the living room’s couch, where they are free to cuddle and exchange lazy kisses for as long as they could possibly want. Eventually, though, Deena finds the strength to pull away long enough to have an actual conversation.

“So, while you were sleeping, Kate and Simon stopped by,” Deena says. “Everyone feels kind of bad about you, you know, getting possessed and shit.” Deena pauses with a grimace, not proud of her choice of words, but Sam quickly kisses her cheek to urge her to go on. Deena begrudgingly stands up from the couch, to look for a certain bag, and explains, “Josh, oh so generously, gave us the gift of privacy and he is staying the fuck away from home for the day. He’s sleeping at Simon’s house. Also, he says you can play his video games, if you want. And… Kate and Simon brought all this.”

Deena drops a bag from the Grab N’ Bag on the couch and Sam eagerly looks through its contents. She gasps, “Finally!” And pulls out one of many packets of jello.

Deena’s love-sick laugh spills right out of her lips. “You’re adorable,” Deena says before kissing the top of Sam’s head and climbing back to the couch beside her. “There’s also popcorn, chips, ice cream is in the fridge, a couple of your favorite movies that I think were yours in the first place and they’re just returning, and a happy birthday card because they don’t exactly make cards for the shit we’ve lived,” Deena explains, content to watch her girlfriend smile and nod happily while enjoying her jello. Then she clears her throat and not so contentedly adds, “We also have a bunch of uh, fresh bandages and stuff.”

The two girls exchange a look and understand exactly what this means.

“This is not what I had in mind when I planned to give you a perfect day,” Deena says. She is sitting on the bathroom counter without a shirt on while Sam gives the final touches to the fresh bandage on Deena’s stomach. At the beginning, her hands were shaking with guilt, and fear, but she quickly got them under control and lovingly worked on the healing wound that a different version of herself caused.

“I told you,” Sam insists without looking away from her work. “I also want to take care of you, you know?” She is standing there without her shirt on, with an equally fresh bandage on her back.

When Sam iss done, Deena gently grabs her hands and moves them up to her lips to kiss them sweetly. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Sam turns breathless at the gesture. She feels butterflies in her stomach and decides to tell Deena how much she’s enjoying her day. Speechless as she is though, Sam only thinks to lean forward and connect their lips, determined to kiss her girlfriend until they lose track of time.

Some time later, Sam finds herself comfortably seated on her girlfriend’s lap, wearing her sweater again, and biting her lip in great concentration as she tries to succeed at one of Josh’s video games.

“You nerd, I can’t believe you’re into this,” Deena chuckles fondly behind her.

“Hush, I almost got it,” Sam mumbled.

As much as Deena wants Sam to win whatever game that is, she thinks it would be a crime to hold herself back in a position as convenient as this one. So she moves Sam’s blonde hair out of the way and starts placing feather-light kisses on her neck. At first, Sam tries to ignore her. Then, she squirms just a little. After a very effective bite from Deena, a small whimper escapes from Sam’s lips.

“Tell me,” Deena starts saying with a seductive whisper. “Do the other cheerleaders know you’re secretly a dork?”

That finally gets Sam to stop the game and turn around with a gasp. “Deena!” she protests, although she’s laughing. And she crashes her lips together. She would hate to let Deena win so easily, but she feels much more like a winner in this situation.

Sometime in the afternoon, Sam wakes up on the couch with her head on Deena’s chest. She’s so perfectly comfortable and warm and safe, that she starts to feel suspicious. She didn’t even have a bad dream at all. She starts to fearfully consider this might be nothing but a dream about to turn into a nightmare, but then she moves her head up to look at her girlfriend and her worries vanish all at once. Deena is still asleep, she’s frowning a little and her lips are slightly parted as she adorably mumbles in her sleep. The feeling of love and adoration in Sam’s chest is so strong and so real that she doesn’t have any doubt this has to be her reality.

After all the pain, the fear, and the danger of it all, this is real, and they earned it. It’s not even just about those days of extreme violence when they ended the curse, it’s even bigger than that. It’s a moment of well-earned peace and happiness that’s been more than three hundred years in the making. They have been fighting for this moment their entire lives, and they were so close to losing hope forever, but they made it. Deena was right, they fucking deserve it.

So, Sam makes a couple of decisions. First, she decides it’s best if they go one day without watching a horror movie. As much as she loves them, they have had enough horror for a while. And two, she decides that continuing her nap is the perfect way to honor Deena’s wish of giving her a perfect day. She gets comfortable again on top of her girlfriend and drifts back to sleep.

Not too long later, Sam and Deena are in the middle of a tube of ice cream and halfway through watching Grease. Well, Deena is watching the movie. Sam is a little more focused on the extremely amusing sight of Deena trying to avoid smiling at the movie.

“Oh my God, you love it,” Sam keeps giggling whenever Deena slips up and grins at the movie on the television screen.

“No, I fucking don’t,” Deena rolls her eyes, makes no move to quit the movie, and adds through gritted teeth, “I just acknowledge that it’s a classic.”

Her words only make Sam smile even brighter as she continues to take spoonfuls of ice cream and marvel at the sight of her girlfriend.

A perfect day, of course, wouldn’t be complete without listening to the mixtape Deena made for Sam, and dancing in the middle of her bedroom without a care in the world.

Sam is the one that starts dancing, swinging her arms around, not very gracefully. And Deena shakes her head at her with extreme fondness. “You are a weirdo, Sam Fraser,” she says, making her girlfriend laugh, completely unaffected by the comment.

“Dance with me,” Sam replies with a carefree grin on her face. She steps forward and pulls on Deena’s arms until she convinces her to dance with her.

As usual, Deena tries to put up a fight that she loses as soon as she stares into precious blue eyes. There’s not a thing she wouldn’t do for Sam. They already had to do the most extreme things for each other. How could she refuse her girlfriend a dance?

It’s a perfect evening to a perfect day. The two of them dance to their favorite songs, laugh wholeheartedly, kiss without holding back, jump and spin and fall in each other's arms again and again, as if falling in love all over with every new song.

As comfortable as it would be to stay home for the last few hours of the day, the perfect dinner to complete the day means getting cheeseburgers. Not even Deena complains about the idea. After all, she always loved driving around town with Sam in the passenger seat, humming along to the songs on her mixtape, her blonde hair glowing under the streetlights they passed, completely comfortable silence between them, without a destination in mind.

They park the car at a familiar spot. They eat their cheeseburgers, playfully feed fries to each other, and have a perfectly good time. Conversation flows easily between them, reminiscing of old memories or sharing dreams of a bright future that starts to feel more possible than ever before.

When Sam starts yawning, Deena is quick to point out, “You’re sleepy.”

“Am not,” Sam scoffs in that very particular way that tells Deena her girlfriend is blatantly lying.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Fraser. How rude,” Deena teases her.

Sam giggles happily in response. She can’t deny she’s looking forward to returning home to Deena’s bed, but she genuinely loves to put up a fight against her girlfriend, no matter how often she ends up losing.

“I’m very awake,” Sam insists, a knowing look on her face because she can easily predict Deena’s answer.

“Prove it,” Deena says.

Even before she’s done saying the words, Sam is leaning in to kiss her. They kiss, again and again, until Sam whispers against Deena’s lips, “Take me home.”

It’s well past midnight when Sam and Deena finally agree that even perfect days must come to an end. They lie in Deena’s bed, facing each other, legs tangled together, often exchanging kisses or sweet words that only exist in that vulnerable space between them.

“Thank you,” Sam whispers. She pushes a stray brown curl behind Deena’s ear, then her hand rests for a moment there on Deena’s cheek, her thumb lovingly caressing her skin.

“I told you,” Deena replies in an equally hushed tone even though they have the entire house for themselves. “You deserve it,” she adds, then she turns her head just enough to place a small kiss to the inside of Sam’s wrist, making the blonde smile timidly.

“I’m not talking about today,” Sam says. She considers explaining that she means she’s saying thank you for absolutely every moment they spent together since they met, but…

“I know,” Deena says. Her smile widens and she adds, “Just so you know, I also enjoyed today, a lot. So thank you too.”

Sam replies with a sweet kiss to Deena’s lips. Then the two of them cuddle closer and slowly, peacefully, happily drift off to a good and restful night of sleep.

#fluff without plot!!! i said fluf!! without! plot!#fear street #sameena #sam x deena #deena x sam #sam fraser #deena johnson #fs #fear street fanfiction #fear street trilogy #fear street movies #my fic

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chrwrites · 3 years

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Bad Ideas - Chapter 2: “The first round is free for a lovely couple like you!”

For @astronavigatrix. Sorry I’m so late with the update, hope you like it!

Ch 1

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Luka sighed a breath of relief as he found his seat on the train, and smile settled on his face as he watched the city fade into the distance. He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to relax.

He was going home.

Exam season was over, and now that he was done with the first year of university, Luka felt like he could breathe again. He still had to wait to get the results, but he could let the nightmare the last weeks had been behind and focus on the familiar warmth that being back in Paris brought instead.

He had been looking forward to staying in the city for more than two days and finally see his friends in a better setting than a rushed meeting, especially Marinette. They did keep in touch while he was away, but it wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person and hanging out like they used to do, not to mention that they barely managed to meet during the short periods of time Luka was back because of Marinette’s busy schedule.

It was rare for them to spend a whole afternoon together, still, Marinette always made sure to be at the train station to say goodbye to him in person. Even when he had to leave early in the morning, she would be there to send him off with a tight hug and fresh out of the oven croissants, “In case you get hungry,” she’d say.

He knew he wouldn't find Marinette welcoming him at Gare de Lyon when he arrived, but he would see her the next day. For now, he was content with seeing his Ma and Juleka waiting for him when he stepped off the train. How long had it been since he last was home? Two months? Juleka didn’t even grumble as he hugged her.

The first thing Luka heard as he got off the car with his sister and Rose was a familiar, happy gasp whose owner he'd have recognised everywhere. He couldn’t hold back the smile curling his lips as he turned to the source of the sound, Marinette’s figure was running towards him in the half empty parking lot and he opened his arms to welcome her.

"I missed you so much!" Marinette’s cheery tone was muffled on his chest, and in answer Luka held her tighter, "I missed you, too," he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion he didn't dare to define.

After Marinette let go of his embrace, Luka tried his best to ignore the sudden cold lingering on his skin and greeted the rest of his and Juleka’s friends before they all headed inside the Jardins de Tuileries.

It didn't take long for the group to split up, everyone eager to try different attractions of the carnival fair first, and Luka and Marinette ended up wandering around the park by themselves.

He listened intently to Marinette rambling about this new fashion course she was taking during the summer, smiling at the enthusiasm clear in her voice and indulging in staring at her for longer than he should have. He couldn’t help but feel drawn to her sweet features despite knowing he shouldn’t have thought about her that way. That was part of the reason he decided to leave Paris after all, to clear his mind and come back not thinking about wanting his friend (and his sister’s friend, for goodness sake) to be something more than that.

"I don't understand why you didn't stay in Paris," Marinette said suddenly, interrupting Luka’s stream of thoughts. He sighed, taking some time to think about the answer.

"I figured it was time for Jules to have the room to herself," he shrugged, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans.

Marinette let out a quiet giggle, "Right, but Montpellier is pretty far!" she pouted.

"It takes only three hours to get there with a TGV. Plus, it's unbelievably quiet for a city, and it's only one train stop away from the seaside," Luka said.

Marinette frowned, "Wait— are you telling me that you picked Montpellier because it's close to the sea?”

"... maybe?" Luka shrugged, "I mean, there's also a pretty good university, but you're right. That definitely comes second."

Marinette laughed and shook her head in disbelief, “I don’t even know why I’m surprised, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you!”

There was a moment of silence after that, and Luka's unashamed smile faded as they walked further into the park.

“Do you like it there?” Marinette’s question was unexpected, and Luka hesitated for a second. You're not there.

He shook the thought out of his mind and let out a deep breath before speaking, "Yes, I really like it there. You should come visit me sometime,” he said.

"I’d love to, but I’ll have to find the time for that.”

When Luka nodded in understanding, Marinette added, “See, that’s why you should’ve picked somewhere closer. We could see each other more often!” she teased, bumping her shoulder against his. Luka sighed and before he could answer, Marinette spoke again, suddenly looking serious.

"You know…”, she paused and started fiddling with her bracelet. Only then Luka noticed that she was playing with a small cherry blossom charm, the one he’d gotten for her birthday. He had it delivered since he couldn’t be in Paris that day and he had never seen her wearing it until now. Marinette let go of the bracelet, her arm stilling by her side as she turned to face him.

“It's weird not seeing you on board of the Liberty when I come over," she admitted.

Luka looked down at his feet, one hand going to rub the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the sudden change of pace of his heart, and offered Marinette a bashful smile only when he was sure that his heart wasn't going to jump out of his chest because of the way she was looking at him.

What was happening to him? It's not like he didn't know that Marinette missed him. He knew that, and he missed her too, as much as he missed the blissful afternoons she stayed at the Liberty after band practice, when he would provide a soundtrack to her sketching and she’d end up spending more time talking to him than actually getting her work done. That was probably what he missed the most. But how was he supposed to tell her that when his stomach had started twisting and his hands were sweating?

Maybe he just wasn't used to seeing her that often anymore, things would get back to normal for him now that they could see each other without longing for the next time they would meet again. It’s not like Marinette saying that she was his girlfriend that one time still lingered on him sometimes and he couldn't shake that off.

He took a deep breath, finally facing Marinette and ready to tell her how cute it was that she missed him and how he wished to–

“Do you want to have a go with the Balloon Pop game?” a woman was waving in their direction, a happy welcoming smile on her face as she gestured at the small balloons behind her.

Luka let out a sigh of relief and felt his shoulders relax, thankful for that woman saving him from saying stuff he would have probably regretted.

“The first round is free for a lovely couple like you!” the woman continued.

Actually, forget that.

Marinette giggled at the comment and wrapped her hand around his wrist to pull him towards the stand, and Luka’s feet shuffled against his will, “Marinette…” he protested weakly when he found himself in front of the stand.

“You have to pop at least four balloons to get one prize for your girlfriend”, the woman said.

Luka felt his throat go dry, his brain struggled to get his mouth to move, “I–I'm not– She's–”

“Aw, Lu, come on! We haven’t tried anything yet!” Marinette said cheerfully, her hand wrapping around his arm as she looked at the exposed prizes. She pointed at a teal stuffed snake with huge pink eyes that was standing on the top shelf, “I want that one!”

Luka’s mouth twisted, and Marinette blinked at the confused frown forming on his face. She raised her index to smooth the crease between his eyebrows before pouting, "Please?"

Luka sighed, shaking his head before giving in, "Alright," he said, leaning to the counter.

The woman handed him five darts and winked at him. Luka focused on the target and held his breath until he heard the sound of the first balloon popping and Marinette's happy cheer. He couldn't help the grin spreading on his face, his stomach twisting in an unusually pleasant way. He was happy that she was cheering on him, and that made him only more determined.

He threw the other two darts without much effort and, incredibly enough, both times he managed to make the balloons pop. But when Marinette brushed his arm to soothe his tense muscles, he got distracted and the dart landed right next to the balloon it was supposed to hit.

"Not fair, you've distracted me", he teased, making Marinette roll her eyes and take a step away from him, raising her hands in defeat.

Luka steadied himself, he couldn’t miss his target now. Not when he was almost there, not when that would make Marinette happy. He threw the dart, and heard the last balloon popping instead of watching it. Marinette gasped, but soon enough she was squealing by his side, "I know you could do it!"

The woman at the stand applauded, surprise clear on her face, "Congratulations!" she said, handing the small snake to Marinette, who squeezed it closer to her as she leaned on her tiptoes to give Luka a quick kiss on the cheek, “Thank you!”

That had him smiling like a fool for the rest of the day. Soon after they left the stand and walked further into the park, Marinette sighed, “I can't believe that woman thought we were dating.”

Luka shook his head, “I can't believe that you went on with that anyway.”

“Excuse me?” Marinette asked, raising her head to better look at him, “She said it was free for couples, and this – she proudly held the snake up to his face – was too cute to be left there.”

“I’m just impressed that you can’t lie to save your life but apparently you don’t have any problem when it comes to cute stuffed animals."

“Well, cute animals are worth it," Marinette said, "Besides, these stands are overpriced and rigged. I’m surprised you actually managed to win this without needing a second chance."

Luka giggled, "What can I say, I'm a man of many talents."

They basked in the sun, casually strolling around the park and trying the different attractions. When they got tired of wandering around, they stopped to get some ice cream and rested in the shade of a tree.

The sun flickered on Marinette's midnight hair as she gesticulated about something that had happened at the bakery the previous morning, and Luka tried really hard to focus on what she was saying instead of the way her lips moved or how her hands floated in the air, but no matter how hard he tried, he ended up getting lost in her sweet features, her voice was dimmed down by the sound his heart thundering in his chest.

Stupid, Luka.

Wasn’t that the reason he decided to get away from Paris? That way, he would be able to keep her friendship and not be tempted to blurt out his feelings or worse, tell her that he wanted her to be his girlfriend for real. He tried so hard to stop thinking about that time she came to his rescue the month before lycée was over, but that exact moment flooded his mind when he was around her and there was nothing he could do about it.

He still cared too much for her to let his stupid feelings ruin their friendship, so he did what he could and took the first chance to step back before he could do something he could regret. It was working, kind of.

The sun was low in the sky when Luka and Marinette met with the rest of their friends, the carnival attractions lit up the place in an explosion of colours and the group went on the different rides together. For the first time in a while, Luka’s mind felt light.

When Ivan suggested to go on the bumper cars and split in teams, Marinette and Luka ended up together again.

The perks of being the only singles in the group.

Marinette insisted on driving her and Luka's vehicle. She put her stuffed snake in her bag before giving it to him so he could keep it safe, its head peeking out. “Take care of it,” she said before the ride began and she steered the wheel in the direction of their friends.

She laughed when she hit Ivan and Mylene's car, and Luka felt drawn by the sound ringing in his left ear. Turning to look at her was a mistake, for the surprised gasps and the silly faces she made when someone hit their car unexpectedly made her look even cuter.

It was beautiful, seeing her happy and relaxed like that. His hands twitched on his knees, but when he found himself under the stern glare of his sister after another hit from the bumper car she was sharing with Rose, Luka gathered himself and tried his best not to focus that much on Marinette or on the way the lights of the games flickered on her pretty face.

“Ah, that was fun!” Marinette sighed happily when she sat on the passenger seat of Luka’s car, and she smiled when he asked her to pick the music as they left the parking lot. Luka ignored Juleka's inquisitive gaze coming from the backseat, engaging in a conversation with Rose about Jagged Stone’s newest single to distract himself instead.

He gave Marinette a small smile when they reached her house, and she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before saying goodnight to him, Juleka and Rose and closing the door behind her. Luka's hand tightened on the steering wheel in an useless attempt to recompose himself.

He started the car again, his eyes on the road as he steered away from the bakery, and Rose called for his attention, “Sooo… what’s going on between you and Marinette?” she asked, he could see her eyebrows rising from the rearview mirror.

“There’s nothing going on,” Luka said absently.

Juleka huffed, and Rose leaned as much as the seat belt allowed her to look at him, “I wouldn't call that nothing,” she tutted.

“What do you mean?”

“Aw, come on Lu, don’t play dumb with me! Are you two dating? Or maybe you’re just testing the waters since you can’t see each other that much and that’s fine, too. I mean, you two would be so cute together and…

“Rose…” Luka said a little breathlessly, pondering the idea of stopping the car in the middle of the road to interrupt Rose’s excited rambling, “We’ve already been through this. No.”

She didn’t seem to hear him, “… you were so cute today, I’m sure she likes you a lot, just as much as you do. Who wouldn’t like you? You’re such a gentleman, and Marinette is incredible, isn’t she? You guys are the perfect m—

“Rose!” Luka’s voice came out louder than he intended, but at least it stopped Rose from finishing the sentence. The girl blinked at him.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat, “I don’t like her. Not in that way, at least.” Luka lied, hoping to sound as convinced as he wished to be.

“But… you won a stuffed animal for her!” Rose protested, “It's like one of the most romantic things ever! You don’t have to hide this from us, Lu.”

“It's not what it looks like…” Luka warned, but, again, Rose didn't seem to be interested in what he had to say, “... and then we could have double dates and we'd have so much fun!!!”

“Rose, please…” Luka sighed, but it wasn't until Juleka called her attention that the girl stopped babbling about him and Marinette together with dreamy eyes.

“Am I wrong, Jule?” Rose whined, and Juleka shook her head, “He’s just being stupid as always.”

Great, Juleka. Thank you.

“Guys,” he groaned, “I'll tell you again, Marinette and I are just friends. It's not what it looks like.”

Except he kind of wished it was.

#lukanette #endgme lukanette #pro lukamari #lbsc exchange 2021 #fic: bad ideas

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spencerreidslove · 4 years

Text

Let’s Be Bad

A/N: I was rewatching season 6 episode 13 “The Thirteenth Step” when it hit me. What if Spencer and Y/N were a crime duo being hunted by the BAU? So this idea was born. This fic is my baby and probably one of the longest things I have ever written. There is mentions of aclchol, a couple sexual themes, and normal Criminal Minds case stuff, so be aware. Let me know if you guys want a part 2 with their interrogation and stuff.

————-

“Buckle up crime fighters, because this one is bad.” Garcia said, standing up at the board. She clicked the remote to show a murder scene, four bodies in total, in a totally destroyed gas station.

“Not only did our bad guy murder four people last night in Chandler, Arizona, the police believe that he also did this.”

Gracia clicked her remote and the picture changed to another scene, six bodies this time, in a drugstore.

“A massacre just outside of Las Vegas, three weeks ago.”

“Three weeks is a long cooling off period.” Rossi said.

“M.O’s the same, though. All shot in the head and then all dragged into a line, store totally destroyed.” Prentiss said.

“With last night’s murder bringing the body count up to 10, the police need our help now. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch said, standing up from the table.

“Seriously? You want to go somewhere cold?” Spencer asked as you made your way into a small sandwich shop, just over the Utah border.

“Yes! Imagine waking up on Christmas Day to a white Christmas.” You said, wrapping your arms around one of Spencer’s.

“Where would we go that’s like that?” He asked, looking up at the menu, printed on a board.

“Wyoming. Up in the mountains. It’s nice there. We’ll get a cabin, live up there, together.”

“Alright,” Spencer said, smiling. “We’ll go to Wyoming. After.” He put one of his arms around your shoulders.

“After.” You agreed.

The two of you made your way to the counter, where a man, no older than 20 or so was waiting.

“What can I get you?” He asked, cleaning a spot on the counter.

He looked up and immediately his eyes latched onto yours.

Spencer said his sandwich order, but the boy didn’t seem to hear him. He was too busy staring at you, making you very uncomfortable.

“Hey.” Spencer said, slamming his hand on the counter. This seemed to knock the boy out of his trance.

“Sorry.” The boy said, still not taking his eyes off you.

“Take your eyes off my girlfriend and take our orders.” Spencer said, getting angrier.

“Sorry, she’s just like really pretty.” The boy said. Under his breath he mumbled, “I don’t see how she ended up with you.”

“That’s it.” Spencer said. He reached into his waistband and pulled out his pistol. Spencer quickly shot the boy in the head, and then turned to the other two patrons in the store. He quickly shot them, and then started moving to put them in a line.

This wasn’t the plan. You had only killed 2 days ago, the police would be quick to link you to this murder. But, Spencer sometimes had a temper and when it took over, there was no going back.

You pulled out your own pistol, and shot the remaining store worker who had come out from the back room.

“I’ll line them up.” You said to Spencer. “Go clear the security cameras.”

Spencer nodded and went into the back room. You spent the next few minutes lining the bodies up in a row. When you went into the back room, you saw Spencer toying with the panel that controlled the cameras.

The cameras quickly went blank, and only showed dark screens.

“I’m so glad you’re smart enough to know how to do that.” You said.

“IQ of 187 sweetheart.” Spencer said. “C’mon, let’s get going before the cops show up.”

“Hotch!” Emily called putting across the parking lot. “You aren’t going to believe this.”

Hotch turned his attention from the local police officer to Emily.

“A witness was next door at the craft store and saw a man and woman leave the sandwich shop together a couple of minutes after the gunfire.” Emily said.

“We’re looking for a man and woman killing team?” Hotch asked.

Emily shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Another witness said he saw the back of the liscine plate from across the street.” Morgan said, coming up to the group. “He didn’t get any numbers but he saw it was from Nevada.”

“Makes sense of their first murder was in Vegas.” Emily said.

“Prentiss, make sure the witness who saw the man and woman gets to a sketch artist. Morgan, see if the man remembers what type of car they were driving, then see if Garcia can find anybody from Nevada who drives that model.” Hotch said, directing out tasks.

“Going from three weeks to a 2 day cooling period is a massive deescalation.” Rossi said. “Something in that shop must’ve set them off.”

“You said the security cameras were wiped?” Hotch asked.

“Yeah, you can’t even access them now.” Rossi said.

“Get then to Garcia, she’s the only person who might be able to get them back and working”.

“They’ve found out that we’re a man and a woman team.” You said, calling out to Spencer, who was in the bathroom. You were laying on the bed in a random hotel, watching the news, where a blonde woman was talking about your most recent murder.

“Doesn’t matter. They haven’t linked us to the others, have they?” Spencer asked, coming out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

“They don’t have a clue.” You said.

“Good. For all they know we just shoot random people. They have no clue about the others.” He said.

You smiled as he came over beside you and started kissing your neck. “They’re never gonna get us.” He said.

You laughed a little as Spencer nicked lower on your neck.

“They’re too stupid to know what we’ve done.” You said. You could feel Spencer smile as he continued his kisses lower.

“What have you got Garcia?” Hotch asked to the laptop that was sitting on a table in the local police precinct.

“Not a lot, sir. Whoever wiped these cameras is some kind of genius. It’s nearly impossible to get the footage. And I am a cyber genius.” Garcia said.

“So you can’t get any footage off them?”

“Sir, I said it was nearly impossible. I will have this footage recovered wether it kills me. Au revoir!” Garcia said, signing off.

“These sketches aren’t helpful in the slightest.” Prentiss said dropping the pictures on the table. “The witness said she only saw the side profile of the woman and the man had sunglasses on and was faced away from her for most of the time.”

Hotch sighed. “We don’t have enough.”

“Ok, why these people? Why these places? They’re clearly going somewhere, but where is that?” Morgan asked.

“We have too many questions and not enough answers.” JJ said.

You were laying across the backseat of the car, your head in Spencer’s lap. You were drinking some kind of random alcohol Spencer had picked up straight out of the bottle.

“I can’t believe we’re here.” Spencer said, stroking your hair and looking out of the window.

“I could’ve waited.” You said.

Your car was parked down the street from your childhood home. It was your brother’s birthday and you knew he would be home. It was finally time to exact your revenge, just had Spencer did.

“Y/N, c’mon. It’ll be good for him to be gone.” Spencer said. “Plus, I get to see your childhood room in all its glory.”

You laughed a little and shoved him lightly. “You got it?” You asked.

Spencer moved as he reachedfor his bag in the front seat. He pulled out a small vile of poison. “Wouldn’t forget it.”

You slowly sat up. “We have a birthday party to attend.”

“Oh!” Garcia cried, looking at her computer screen.

She quickly reached over and dialed for Hotch’s phone number. “What have you got, Garcia?”

“I got the footage back! It took a lot of work and a lot of trouble but I got it! It’s already sent to your tablets.”

Hotch picked up the tablet and clicked play on the video Garcia sent him. In the video, a young man and woman were walking into a sandwich shop, talking and holding hands.

“Keep an eye on those customers that just walked in.” Garcia said.

They reached the counter and engaged in a heated discussion with a worker.

“There’s no sound on the original video, so I don’t know what they’re saying.” Garcia said.

The man took a pistol out of his waistband and shot the worker, and then turned and shop the other customers. The woman reached and grabbed a pistol and shop the other employee that had come running out.

The woman began lining the bodies up while the man disappeared into the back room. The woman joined him, and then the cameras went dark.

“Garcia, run their faces, see if anything comes up.” Hotch said.

“Already on it. If they have ever been photographed, I will find their entire life.”

Hotch let out a sigh of relief.

They finally had a break in the case.

“I’m nervous.” You said. You and Spencer were standing on the front porch of your childhood house, waiting to ring the bell.

“It’ll be fine. We get in, act all friendly, and then we put it into their drinks, and then we get out.” Spencer said, coming over and rubbing your back.

“Alright.” You said, ringing the doorbell.

There was a moment before somebody came to the door. “Y/N?” A woman asked on the other side of the door.

“Hi, Mom.” You said.

“I thought you said you’d never wanted to come back here again?” Your mom asked.

“Yeah, well things change.” You said. “This is Spencer, he’s coming in too.”

You and Spencer made your way past your mom into the living room where your brother and his wife were sitting.

“Y/N?” You brother asked.

“Max.” You said, addressing him. “Happy Birthday.” It took everything in your power not to slap him. He was the reason for all your suffering.

“It’s nice to see you.” He said, standing up and going to hug you. You flinched slightly, but still managed to hug him back. He squeezed you just a little too tightly.

“And who’s this?” Max asked, looking at Spencer.

“Spencer.” You said.

Max sighed and shook his head. “Never one to elaborate.” He stuck out his hand for Spencer to shake.

Spencer kindly shook it back, giving Max just the slightest smile.

“Happy Birthday.” Spencer said.

You caught Spencer’s eye as Max moved to sit back down. It would be a happy birthday, just not for Max.

“We are looking for a man and woman killing team, they are most likely in a relationship and are on a mission.” Hotch said, standing in front of the local PD.

“At this time we do not know what their mission is, but we believe they are on a trip to reach that point. They started in Nevada, and were last seen in Utah. They could be headed for any of the surrounding states, including back to Nevada or Arizona.” Prentiss said.

“They are rapidly devolving, as they went from having a three week cooling off period, to two days. We don’t know when they’ll strike again and have to catch them sooner rather than later.” Rossi said.

“All of their attacks have been in small stores; a drug store, a gas station, a sandwich shop. We believe they choose these places due to personal connection to one. Whoever they are going after probably owns a small store.” Morgan said.

“With that in mind, we suggest all owners of small stores who know somebody who looks like this, to keep an eye out. Do not try to approach them, they are armed and dangerous.” JJ said, from her place outside, briefing the news.

“Everybody keep an eye out and be vigilant.” Hotch said.

The crowd dispersed. Morgan’s phone began to ring.

“Talk to me Babygirl.” He said, answering.

“Well, tall dark and handsome I have some great news for you. I got a hit off the faces from the security feed.” Garcia said.

Morgan put her on speakerphone and the team gathered around to listen.

“Your man is Spencer Reid. Child prodigy from Las Vegas, he graduated high school at age 12 and his IQ tests 187. He dropped out of college at age 16 due to the fact that his mother’s schizophrenia was getting worse. Reid became her full time caregiver until around age 25, when he sighned her up for a new drug test that involved her living in a new campus.

“It seemed to be working, until a year ago when the main Doctor administered a new drug cocktail that was not FDA approved, and ended up killing Reid’s mother and several other patients.” Garcia said.

“Garcia, where’s that doctor now? They might be going to kill him if they both lost a parent.” Rossi said.

“I would say yes, but it seems like they already have. Four weeks ago the doctor, his wife, and son were found dead in their apartment from cyanide poisoning.” Garcia said.

“What about the girl?” Prentiss asked.

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She is from Silverton, Colorado. She was working in a casino in Vegas until around a month ago.”

“Must be how they met.” Morgan said.

“She filed several cases against her older brother Max Y/L/N for physical abuse, but the charges were dropped everytime. From the looks of her hospital records it was bad.”

“They’ve exacted their revenge on Reid’s nemesis, now they want revenge for Y/N. Garcia what’s Max’s address?” Hotch said.

“He won’t be there. On his wife’s Instagram it says they’re going home for his birthday. I’ve sent you that address.” Garcia said.

“We need to get there, and fast.” Rossi said.

Talking and laughing with your family for several hours was painful, and Spencer could tell. They had watched you suffer for years at the hands of your brother, and did nothing.

“Why don’t I refill everybody’s drinks?” You asked, standing up.

“I’ll help you.” Spencer said.

After you had collected everybody’s cups, you made your way to the kitchen where you filled everybody’s cups with what they had asked for.

Spencer pulled the cyanide vial out of his pocket, and put a little bit in each cup. When you returned to the living room, you handed everybody their cups and watched as they took drinks.

It would be a few minutes before the poison started to kick in, but you couldn’t wait.

After a few moments, your mom started to choke.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Your dad asked. Then he started to choke. After just a few seconds, everybody was on the floor, choking in pain.

You and Spencer quickly came around, grabbing phones and smashing them with your heels, making sure no one could call 911.

When you reached Max, you kicked his face. “That’s what you get you son of a bitch!”

You kicked him again, and again. Before you could do some more damage, Spencer grabbed your arm.

“We better get out of here, darling. We have a lot of ground to cover.” He said. You nodded and followed him out of the house, with one last slam of the door.

“Dammit!” Morgan said, entering the house and seeing that all members of the Y/L/N family were dead in the living room floor.

“They’ve already been here.”

“Hotch, these bodies are still warm, they can’t be far away.” Prentiss said. “We probably just missed them.”

“Hey! We just got a hit from APB, their car was seen headed twoards a hotel a few miles from here.” The local sheriff said.

“Dave stay here and figure out what happened, Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, with me.” Hotch said.

You and Spencer we laying on your bed in your hotel room, drinking the same alcohol from earlier.

“You were right.” You said.

“I am about most things. Be more specific.” Spencer said, taking the bottle from you.

“That it would feel good to have him gone.” You said. “I already feel twenty times freer.”

“I knew you would.” Spencer said. He placed the bottle on the bed side table and rolled ove on top of you. “I know lots of things that would make you feel good.”

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the door.

“Spencer Reid! Y/N Y/L/N! This is the FBI open the door!” A male voice called from the outside.

You and Spencer both looked at each other in terror.

Could they maybe have found us? Your eyes asked.

The door was suddenly knocked open and FBI agents were flooding into your room.

Spencer and you were being pulled apart and cuffed.

“Spencer Reid, Y/N Y/L/N, you are being charged with the murders of 21 people.” A serious looking man said.

“What?” You said. “You have the wrong people!”

“No we’re pretty sure we don’t.” A brunette woman said.

“You have to have the wrong people! We haven’t done anything!” Spencer said.

You were both being hauled up by the agents behind you.

“Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.” The agent behind you said, reading off your Miranda rights.

Your eyes caught Spencer’s as you were pulled to separate police cars.

Could this really be it? You thought. It looked like it just might be.

Tags! (Open)

@rexorangecouny @magnificentmgg @rachelxwayne @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @just-damn-bored @andreasworlsboring101

#aaron hotchner #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #derek morgan #dr spencer reid #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #mgg #spencer reid fanfic #penelope garcia #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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writingthingsisdifficult · 3 years

Text

Saving the world (Double booking pt 2)

I was asked to write a second part, and as inspiration struck, well… here it is.

They've shared a room. Now what?

If you like it, let me know :D

Word count: 5655

Part 1

_______________________________________________________________________

The light is seeping under the curtains, dragging you back to the conscious world, but you're not ready to get up just yet. So you squeeze your eyes shut and stretch your back. It's stiff as a board, and your cheek has seemingly set in a permanently squished position. The room feels stuffy and warm, and there's a soft noise you don't recognise at first. But when you finally open your eyes, you can't help but smile.

Everything's a bit blurry without your glasses, but there's no mistaking the man sleeping in the bed next to yours. His arm, which you suddenly notice isn't gloved, but a prosthetic, is hanging over the edge of the bed, and if you strain your imagination, it's almost stretched towards you.

It looks like he hasn't moved at all during the night. Neither have you when you come to think of it. When you stretch again, your neck cracks as if you were eighty, and it's a struggle to lift one leg over the other, though that might just be that you're still half asleep.

As you fumble for your glasses, Bucky opens his eyes and gives you a sleepy smile. "Good morning."

Your heart skips a beat, and it's as if you've forgotten all suitable responses to such an innocent greeting. "Yeah." That's what comes out of your mouth, and you groan.

"You sleep good?" He yawns and props up on his elbow.

"Mhm. Like a baby."

"Me too."

You grin and roll over on your back just as the loudest growl erupts from your stomach. Heat creeps up your neck and ears, and you mutter a soft "Sorry."

Bucky laughs. "Don't apologise for being hungry. What do you say we go get some breakfast?"

"I could eat."

After a quick shower and a couple of frustrating minutes picking an outfit, you really don't want to look like a slob in front of Bucky, you're both seated in the restaurant, devouring the bacon and eggs like your lives depend on it.

The conversation is light. You're slowly getting to know each other. "I'm freelancing for the government," Bucky says and gulps down his orange juice. "It's all really boring, though."

You nod and stuff your mouth with bacon. "I'm sure it isn't. But paperwork, am I right?" you add with a chuckle.

Nodding, he wipes his mouth and takes another bite. "Mhm. How about you?"

"Oh, it's not very interesting. I freelance too, I guess. Right now I've been hired to design a calendar with paintings from the city. It's not well paid, but it's fun."

"So you're an artist? May I see some of your work?"

Suddenly you feel a bit self-conscious. That's weird. You haven't had doubts about your art in forever. "I've got some photos in my phone." You hesitate for a second, then fish it out and unlock it. Scrolling down, you find the series of paintings you did last spring. Green and lush, you get a pang of longing for the fresh air and colourful flowers. The contrast is vast from the grey city.

"Wow, these are good!" Bucky exclaims and starts gushing over your lines and colour and the composition, and you feel your ego inflating with every word. All you can do is sit there with a stupid grin on your face, and a pulsing heat in your cheeks, while he builds you up like he's a professional.

You've totally forgotten the time when the staff tells you that the restaurant, unfortunately, is closed now, but that you're welcome back for dinner later. With many an apology, the two of you get up and head to the lobby, where you stay, talking for almost an hour before you remember why you are here in the first place.

"Sorry," you say, and mean it. "I need to get some work done before the light goes. I was thinking of heading down to the harbour today. See if the water can inspire me."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Bucky looks down on his feet and gives you a small smile. Then he looks up again, his eyes shining, competing with the glorious smile that grows on his lips. "Do you mind if I come with you? I mean… you don't have to say yes, I just…"

"No, of course." You're relieved that he asked, letting you out of asking him yourself. "Some company would be lovely. Just gotta get my stuff. Meet you back here in ten minutes?"

He nods and sighs almost imperceptibly once you've turned away, watching as you almost skip towards the elevator. A tiny voice in the back of his head warns him that he has tripped and is going to fall hard if he doesn't get a grip soon, but he ignores it. The feeling is too pleasant to care just now.

The next few days you establish a routine of sorts. Bucky knocks on your door, asks to sleep next to you, you say yes, and you wake up, turned towards each other. After breakfast, you head out into the city, sometimes he's leading the way, sometimes you have a plan, and you spend the day drawing and talking and without realising it, falling hard for him. Every evening you have dinner in one of the restaurants near the hotel, and every evening you forget what is happening around you, and all you can focus on is Bucky.

_____________________________________________________________________

The sun is shining. A bird is singing in the tree behind you. You can barely hear the traffic from the road outside the park. Bucky is lounging on the grass, chewing on a straw, and you've been drawing him in secret for the past two hours, your original subject completely forgotten and rejected. When he looks up at you, his face is filled with happiness. "This is nice," he says, careful to mask his full joy.

"Yes, it is," you reply, quickly hiding the drawing under a sketch of the bridge and skyline.

He sits up and looks like he wants to say something, but he closes his mouth instead. After a small pause, he gets up and holds out his hand. "Let's go grab something to eat."

"Okay," you whisper, breathless from the feel of his hand in yours. "Lead the way."

He takes you to a small café at the edge of the park, explaining that it's famous for its fries, and they've got the bestdipping sauce, you just have to try it.

You're in the middle of the meal, laughing at a joke, when a shadow interrupts. Looking up, you hear Bucky mutter a curse under his breath, and you feel a pinprick of fear in your neck. He's glaring at the stranger, and the stranger surprisingly returns the look.

"Um…" You look between Bucky, sat at the table with a curly fry sticking out from the corner of his mouth, staring daggers, to the man who just interrupted your lunch. The truth smacks you in the head with force. Holy shit! That's Captain America. Captain freaking America! And it slowly dawns on you who Bucky really is.

The glass you just picked up slides back to the table, sprite sloshing over the sides as it hits, but you don't realise your hand is cold and wet. All you can focus on is that your roommate for the last week is… Bucky Barnes, AKA The Winter Soldier. Yeah. You try very hard to swallow the food in your mouth, but it's so dry, and forcing it makes your throat ache.

Said soldier quickly chews the curly fry and swallows thickly. "What do you want, Sam?"

Sam hands him a pad, and upon reading the contents, Bucky's frown deepens.

"It's very nice to meet you," Sam says, his shining smile lighting up the whole room. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Y/N," you reply, still unaware that the hand you're using to shake Captain America's hand with is wet and slightly sticky. Actually, you're kinda unaware of your surroundings altogether.

Sam laughs, making Bucky look up from the message, scowls at Sam, then returns to his reading. "So you're the one who's keeping Bucky busy, huh?" He winks, and you feel that heat creeping up the back of your neck. "From the look on your face, I'd say you didn't know who you're having lunch with, right?"

You nod, squeaking a confirmation.

Sam laughs. "I thought after the whole Flag Smashers case, everybody knew who Bucky was."

Your ears burn, and you breathe a little faster now. Of course, you've been to the exhibit at the Smithsonian, and of course you know about Steve Rogers' best friend, it just never connected in your brain that this super sweet man is a WWII hero and assassin.

Your eyes flick from his prosthetic arm and up to his face. "Uh… I'm just not super into the whole celebrity thing?" you offer, blurting out the first thing that pops into your head.

Snickering, Sam turns to Bucky. "And you didn't tell her?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Bucky picks on a stain on the table before setting up a defiant face. "It didn't come up." And he wants to add And by the way, how do you go about saying Oh, and FYI I'm a former assassin and murderer, to a woman you really want to get to know better?

He looks so uncomfortable, you get a strong urge to hug him, but now you're uncertain of all this. What if the two of you are against the rules? Wait, what are you, really? Friends? Accidental roommates? You like Bucky. You really like Bucky, and you had kinda hoped it would grow into something… more, but now… Swallowing the lump in the back of your throat – that was an unexpected reaction – you smile flatly. "Are, are you allowed to, to… I mean, can you be friends with…" You swallow again. "Civilians?"

Sam's eyes widen for a split second, and somehow you feel as though he can see right through you. Then he laughs, and all the tension around the table dissipates. "Of course. We're human, Bucky's human, as difficult as that is to believe. Of course we're allowed to have friends, relationships, family. Wouldn't be much of a life without it, would it? But expect them to do a background check on you, hell, they probably already know what you ate for dinner on your twelfth birthday."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I'm afraid I have to whisk your boyfriend away for a while. There's a situation."

"We're… we're not…" You have to admit that thought feels good, but really, any hope you had has been well and truly smashed.

Bucky gets up and smacks the pad at Sam. "I'll see you later?"

"I'll be here," you reply with fake confidence. "Please be safe. Both of you," you add with a small smile.

"You too," Bucky says softly. "Be careful if you go out after dark. It's not as safe as you think here."

That makes you snort. "It's me. I don't even like people, what am I supposed to do outside after dark, huh? Don't worry. I'll probably stay in my room and paint all day anyway."

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "good", but it's hard to hear over Sam. "I'll take care of him," he laughs, ducking under Bucky's hand as he swats at his head. "Come on, Buck. Let's roll."

"Be safe," you mutter again, looking after them as they head to the black, unmarked car waiting by the flower shop on the corner. It's as if all colour drains from your vision.

_______________________________________________________________________

The first sip of coffee feels divine; just what you need to wake up after spending another night without Bucky. It has been another restless night. You tossed and turned and couldn't settle properly. And the dreams… You'd rather not think about them. Never before has your brain produced such chaotic absurdities, such eldritch horrors, but to be honest you're not really surprised. Sleeping next to Bucky; something just clicked. You smile into your cup, feeling calmer just thinking about it. It's weird how quickly you got used to his presence, and how wrong it feels when he isn't there.

But you don't get to enjoy your drink for long. Before you've even finished the second sip, someone shoves you hard from behind. The coffee spills over the sidewalk, painting the concrete and splashing all over your shoes. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" you bark, turning to confront whoever pushed you. But before you can even see them, they pull a bag over your head.

Panic rises in you, and you scream until your throat feels raw. Someone smacks you across the mouth, and the shock and pain shuts you up. Your lip thumps: it's split, you can taste the blood now. Tears stream down your cheeks, the soft fabric of the bag clings to your skin. Feeling the darkness caress your mind, the world starts folding in over itself. Still you possess enough awareness to kick the person holding you. They yelp and swear, resulting in a sharp rap over your ear. Your head is ringing.

A pair of strong arms pick you up as if you weigh nothing, and haul you along, struggling with your flailing arms and legs. There's a metallic clang, like a van door opening, then you're half lifted, half pulled up, all while screaming and cursing, hoping someone – anyone – will hear.

Someone speaks a language you don't recognise; your sleeve is pushed up and there's a sharp prick in your arm. Seconds later your brain starts spinning. The faint light that seeps through the weaving of the bag blinks like a starry sky.

You sway back and forth, feeling off kilter and fuzzy, as the voices around you grow all garbled and muted. Someone pushes you backwards, but before you hit the floor, you're out. As the world fades from your consciousness, you just wish you could have seen Bucky one more time.

When you come to, your head is pounding, your mouth is dry, and everything is dark. You try to move, but your hands are shackled, and your feet are bound to whatever you're sitting on. At least you're right side up, you think, before the situation dawns on you, and the contents of your stomach threatens to make an appearance. You swallow thickly. God, your mouth is so dry. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and there's not enough liquid to even wet your lips. All you can do is grimace, feeling how they crack and pop. It stings. The taste of metallic, rusty blood coats your tongue.

Your throat itches, so much so that you can't even speak, but you can cough. Hard, like explosions in your head, and it's enough for you to lose your breath.

Something floppy is shoved into your hands.

"It's upside down, you idiot!" someone shouts, and the paper is turned.

Panic surges through your body, and your throat constricts, increasing your coughing. Your heart is racing, but everything happens so fast you just can't process it. Someone removes the bag from your head. The light burns in your eyes, and the shock stops your coughing instantly. Everything is white. There's voices, and movement, but you can't see anything clearly, and for a moment you wonder if you've lost your contact lenses. Slowly your vision returns, but they all keep to the shadows, and they've covered their faces, so you can't make out any details. The buzzing in your ears almost drown out every sound in the room.

"Look straight ahead," they command, and by some miracle you actually manage to move your head. "Keep your eyes open. Ready!"

There's a bright flash, someone else yells "Got it!" and then, in a flurry of motions you're untied, dragged through a dark hallway and unceremoniously dropped on the floor. The door clangs ominously behind you, and you freeze, waiting for someone to grab you or hurt you. There's no one in the room, but you remain in the floor, rubbing your wrists and trying to calm your breathing.

It's cold in your cell, room, whatever people call it, but at least you've got a blanket, and they've fed you, so there's that. But no matter how many times you've asked, nobody tells you anything.

You're over the initial shock now, and the fear has begun to settle into anger, but you're too numb to react.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? I'm no one, never been important in my whole life, hey, someone please say something." Silence. You bang on the door, not sure what you're hoping for. In the back of your mind you know it's risky, but you need to know. The silence is making the walls come closer. You lick your lip. It's bleeding again.

You figure your friendship with Bucky has something to do with your current predicament, but you're not sure exactly what they hope to achieve. It's not like you're best friends or anything, but maybe what you have is enough for him to come for you. That thought sends an electric jolt straight to the small of your back. For a moment you allow yourself to hope, to imagine him blasting through the door and marching in with murder in his eyes, angels singing, and the light surrounding him like a halo.

You laugh grimly. What are even the odds of him finding out where you are? Does he even care? He is the Winter Soldier, after all. He's probably got better things to do, he's busy saving the world, no doubt.

_______________________________________________________________________

Bucky smiles as he walks through the hallway, the ugly carpet muting the urgency in his steps. He can't wait to see you again. It's only been four days, but it feels like forever so the moment he got the all-clear after mission report, he made Sam drop him off at your hotel.

A short walk later he's standing outside your room, heart in his throat and arm outstretched, ready to knock. His stomach dances, pure happiness courses through him. It's been so long since he felt like this; he swears he can almost feel it in his metal arm.

A soft knock. No answer. He knocks again, harder this time. Still no answer. It's only a few minutes past eleven, you won't be asleep yet. You never fall asleep before midnight.

Suddenly it's like someone's poured a bucket of ice water over him. Putting an ear against the door, he listens like some kind of creep, but the room is silent. Maybe you're out. But that doesn't make sense either. It's too dark to get any proper work done, and you're not one for night clubs, or so you've said. Could you have checked out? Bucky's heart skips a beat. What if you're gone? But… wouldn't you at least have left him a message?

Turning on his heel, he marches back to the elevator as if he's got the devil on his tail. There's a really nasty feeling growing in his gut, something he just can't afford to think about now.

He presses the elevator button multiple times, but it takes its sweet time, so instead, he heads to the stairs, taking several steps at once, then skips the steps altogether and jumps over the railing, landing with a heavy thud on the ground floor.

There's a tenseness to his stride as he walks to the front desk, feeling more and more anxious with every breath. He never thought he'd feel this way again; that pit in his stomach and the growing stone in his chest. Last time, he was on a plane, heading for Italy in 1943, not knowing what was waiting for him.

"Excuse me," he says, rather gruffly, spooking the receptionist, though how she didn't hear him stomping through the lobby is a mystery. His own ears buzz loudly, and it's a miracle he can hear her at all.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" She smiles in that professional way people do when they're interrupted and don't really want to talk.

Bucky glances at the reflection in the glass wall behind her. Solitaire. He shakes his head to clear it a bit. "Um, yeah. Is there a message for me? For James Barnes or maybe Bucky."

She looks through the papers on the desk and shakes her head. "Sorry."

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. "Okay. Don't suppose you could tell me if Y/N has checked out of room 508?" His brows furrow, but he tries to smile anyway.

Another head shake. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not allowed to disclose that kind of information." She looks briefly at her screen, then back up at Bucky, fake smile plastered on her face.

Bucky bites his tongue and swallows the rage that's building in him. It's not the receptionist's fault. She doesn't understand. But then he gets an idea. "Right, of course," he says, making his voice sweeter. "But maybe you will allow me to leave her a message?"

"Certainly. Let me grab a pen and paper for you."

So you haven't checked out. From the look on her face, the receptionist doesn't realise she's confirmed his suspicions. Well, he'll leave a message just in case, but it's time for drastic measures.

Outside it's dark now. Low clouds are threatening with rain. No one sees the dark figure slipping around the corner and jumping to grab the lowest rung of the fire ladder. Bucky easily hoists himself up, and climbs to the fifth floor, keeping to the shadows and making as little noise as possible. He knows where the window to your room is, and in less than a minute he's standing on the tiny balcony, peering in.

The room looks untouched. The bed is made, your stuff is all there. There's an almost finished portrait on the sketch pad on the desk; a smiling, content picture of himself. Nothing is missing except you. Bucky is three seconds from losing it.

A cold raindrop hits the back of his neck, drawing him from his haze. Soon the sky has opened up, and he's blasted with icy water. It soaks through his jeans, and drips from his hair into his eyes. Without looking back, he slides down the fire ladder and lands in a puddle. He doesn't know what to do next. Maybe Sam knows, so he ducks back into the hotel to get out of the rain, but before he can make the call, he's interrupted by the receptionist.

"Mr Barnes, I apologise. I didn't see this before. Someone left this for you." The woman hands him a large, brown envelope. All of a sudden he's transported back in time; drowning in flashes of memories of past missions, but he shakes himself out of it. Leaning on the column by the door, he opens the envelope.

There's nothing in there but a photo. It makes his stomach turn, and for the first time since he's been free, he has to fight the rage of the Winter Soldier, expanding, threatening to explode and send him on a vengeance fuelled killing spree. "When? Do you know who delivered it?" His voice is darker than usual, and the woman steps back just from the sound.

"I'm sorry," she squeaks. "It's been here for a couple of days, I think. I wasn't here when it was delivered." She hurries back behind her counter, putting a safe distance between them.

Bucky adjusts his stance, and forces his voice to sound kinder. "Thank you. Is there somewhere I can make a phone call, undisturbed?"

She nods and points to a nook behind the oversized fern in the corner. There's a sliding glass door that will provide some privacy.

Turning the envelope over in his left hand, Bucky is careful to not leave any more fingerprints on it. It is unmarked, but he knows people who can read things that no one else can see.

Whipping out his phone, he dials the first number in the contact list. He doesn't realise it, but he's shaking. The four seconds it takes for Sam to pick up are an excruciating eternity, and Bucky grips the door handle to keep himself from running off without a plan.

Before he can even say hello, Bucky wheezes: "They've got her, Sam!"

"Who?"

"Y/N! They've taken her!" He closes his eyes. The photo has burned into his mind.

"I'm on my way."

Bucky relaxes his grip on the door. There's a dent in the metal, and that makes him even angrier. They've made him lose control. He curses as he exits the tiny room, pacing over the floor, waiting for the voice of reason to arrive.

Being Sam, being Captain America, opens a lot of doors, so when he shows up at the hotel, requesting to look through the surveillance tapes – though it really is a demand; he's got a way with words, Bucky muses, thinking back to when he realised that what he first took as being soft, really isn't soft at all. Anyway, they all fawn over each other, fighting to be the one to give Cap access. Bucky can hardly watch.

"Give us a few minutes," Sam says with a smile, settling in front of the computer.

"Of course." The manager bows and closes the door.

Then Sam turns to Bucky. "Okay. When did you see her last?"

"Four days ago, right before we left on that goddamn mission." He wants to beat himself that he exposed you to danger, and he resists the urge to take out his irritation by slapping Sam over the head. Instead he settles on a flat, emotionless that he hopes conveys all his frustration.

"Right, so somewhere after last Thursday, then." Sam pushes a button, selects the right floor and presses play. Nothing happens for a while, and he pushes a new button, making the footage speed up.

"There!" Bucky shouts, pointing at the screen. There you are. Leaving your room with a large bag over your shoulder. Bucky smiles in spite of his fear. A soft expression on your face and your trusty art supplies at your side. Everything looks normal.

Fast forwarding through the footage, nothing out of the ordinary happens. You return around seven, looking a little bit tired, but happy enough. Food is brought to your room an hour later, and you don't go out again that night.

"Sensible girl," Sam comments, drawing Bucky out of his thoughts.

"Yeah. But she didn't know how much danger she was in."

The night passes in a blur. A drunk couple stumbles through the hallway around two in the morning, but other than that it's quiet, until you leave again around 10am, again with your bag over your shoulder. You look tired, yawning and dragging your feet. The bounce in your step is gone, Bucky notices, and he wonders if it has anything to do with your abduction.

They keep fast forwarding, but when the time stamp shows 11.30pm, Bucky's chest plummets. He knows you're not coming back.

Sam looks at him. “Calm down, man. You look like you’re about to explode!” he hisses, putting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky shakes him off and glares. “Because I’m this close.”

“But that won’t do her any good, will it? We gotta keep our cool, don’t do anything rash.” Sam's voice is still calm. Bucky doesn't know how he does it.

"Fine." Bucky takes a deep breath, just how his therapist taught him. "Show me what direction she went."

Sam clicks and drags the front camera onto the screen. You stop outside for a few minutes, then head down the street towards the city centre. They follow you on the screen until you disappear from view.

There's a shoe shop on the corner where you turned, so after thanking the hotel manager for the help, they follow your moves through the city. The shoe shop doesn't have a quality video, but it's enough to recognise you. Tracking you through the streets feels like an endurance hunt, Bucky thinks, impatient to find out who took you and where you are. That's all he can focus on: to get you back. And god have mercy on your kidnappers if you're not okay. Eventually Sam and Bucky stop at a small restaurant, but they don't have surveillance at all.

"Okay. Let's head to that Starbucks," Bucky says, nodding across the road. "They're bound to have surveillance, right?"

Sam rolls his shoulders. "Let's go."

The video shows three large figures, lurking in the shadows in one of the side streets. They're watching as you enter the café, and when you exit with a large coffee in hand, the gang is ready. The footage jumps a bit, but it captures the terror in your face, and Bucky feels like throwing up. You're hauled into a waiting van, it's an unmarked, normal van, but as it speeds away, luck strikes. The camera got a clear shot of the number plate.

Bucky lets Sam handle the rest. He can't shake the guilt, the pit in his stomach that grows larger and larger. And his anger grows too. Why didn't anybody react, nobody can convince him that nobody heard or saw anything. He watches as Sam talks on the phone, already mentally punching your kidnappers to a pulp. The metal arm flexes involuntarily.

Sam puts down the phone and turns to Bucky. "Okay, so here's what they told me: The van isn't connected to anything, they didn't even have a name for me. It's probably a fake number plate. But they said it's been spotted driving to and from a warehouse not too far from here. Let's go suit up while we're waiting for the address."

Bucky exhales. They better hurry up with the address. You've been in captivity for far too long already.

_______________________________________________________________________

It's quiet in the building now. You don't know what time it is; they've taken all your stuff, but you know it's late. Your eyes sting, both from exhaustion and from wanting to cry, not to mention your contacts are getting dry, but you refuse to remove them – not being able to see would terrify you. But neither sleep nor tears come. Sitting on the cot, wrapped in the blanket they thankfully provided, you are too wound up to relax enough to sleep. What if someone comes in while you're out? There's not much chance to defend yourself, but at least if you're awake you can try to put up a fight.

How long have you been here? It's hard to tell. After the first shock they've pretty much left you alone. Except for the interrogation a few hours later. They kept asking you about where Bucky is, what he's doing, details on his mission, but you told them, truthfully, that you don't know anything. And they seem to believe you. But they still won't let you go. You sigh and pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Even if you knew everything you wouldn't have told them anything, but you didn't say that out loud.

Suddenly there's a loud bang reverberating through the walls. Instinctively you flinch, trying to make yourself smaller. Your blood roar in your ears, and it feels like your heart is trying to beat its way through your rib cage. There's a pause – the silence is deafening, then someone yells. You hear gunshots. Heavy boots rush past your door. It's torture just listening to the fight, not knowing what will happen. What if there's a fire? Or what if you're abandoned here? Is this how you're gonna die?

The fight is getting closer. You drag the blanket over your head, locking your arms around your neck. Unfortunately it doesn't mute the sounds, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. Slowly the fight dies down, and for a moment everything is calm. You feel woozy, grateful that you're already sitting down, and you steel yourself for what comes next.

The door opens. Heavy boots slaps against the hard floor. Someone blocks out the light, and you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, making you flinch and whimper.

A soft voice whispers in your ear. "Y/N?"

You forget to breathe again.

"Y/N," the voice repeats, coaxing you out of your makeshift cocoon.

You look up, and into the eyes of the man you never thought you'd see again. His face is blood-spattered, and his expression is a murderous rage, but the moment your eyes meet, he softens. "Bucky," you breathe, folding yourself out, and reaching for him like a toddler.

He scoops you up, holding you close as you begin to sob into his neck, and he rocks you back and forth until you calm a bit. "Are you hurt?"

Shaking your head, you climb down from his lap and looks over at Sam, hovering by the door. There's a look in his eyes that you can't quite decipher.

"You're bleeding," Bucky says, touching your lip gingerly.

"Oh." You don't know what else to say, as he helps you up on your feet. His arm stays around your shoulders all the way out into open air, and you lean into his embrace. The building is littered with bodies, some are definitely dead, others are being detained by soldiers dressed in black. Your knees buckle from the sight.

"Hey, I've got you," Bucky murmurs into your hair.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming to get me."

"Of course," Sam says, offering you a reassuring smile. "Why shouldn't we?"

You exhale shakily through your nose. "I thought you were busy saving the world and all."

Bucky pulls you closer.

"Don't you know?" Sam asks quietly, so no one else can hear. "You are his world."

_______________________________________________________________________

@schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel fan fiction #fanfic #female reader #fluff #angst #marvel

47 notes · View notes

immacaria · 3 years

Text

Box of Memories

Happy belated birthday, A-Sang! Wish you all the joy and love life has reserved for you!

Almost three weeks after the actual birthday I've finally finished this thanks to my dear school (grinds teeth angrily). Anyway, this is a bit short, like almost 4k or something, and I took this insanely amount of time because of school, but it's alright I finished it now. So I hope you guys enjoy this and I can make your day a little brighter with it. As always, stay safe and healthy!

_____________________________________________________________

It was Nie Huaisang’s birthday and Jiang Cheng was more anxious than when he had to survive Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen and Meng Yao’s shove talk one after the other. For the heavens and all above, they had been dating for four years now and met each since they were five and six! There was no reason for him to be so nervous! They passed so many birthdays, with so many presents exchanged and Jiang Cheng was still nervous. And just because he made the present with his own hands and it turned out horrible!

Like not the ‘you can’t even look at’ type of horrible, but the ‘didn’t meet my expectations exactly what immediately makes it horrible’ type of horrible. He started doing it exactly two days later after Nie Huaisang said he wanted it and guaranteed that nobody would buy it for him, exactly nine months and eight days before his birthday. He had seen it on Pinterest, in a video where a girl was making a “box of memories” (as Jiang Cheng came to call it) for her younger sister.

She had chosen their favourite memory and made something like a box of shadows to show it. There was a light bulb in the middle with various metal plates cut in the shape of the memories. When turned on, the metal plates started to revolve around the light bulb and create images on the wall, recreating the memory with the shadows. Nie Huaisang loved it and showed it to every person who he knew could give one for him or make one. Thankfully, none of them could give it right away which gave Jiang Cheng enough time to plan how he would do it.

It all began with him asking what memory he would use of all his favorites and asked what happened there, memorizing them to the heart and writing everything down the second he saw himself alone. His drawing skills weren’t as good as Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen’s, but as long as they remained a sketch, they would do. After sketching it all, he went to Nie Mingjue and asked him to teach him how to cut the metal plates and arrange them properly in the other metal pieces. Apparently, there was a machine that did that for them, the only thing they needed to do was insert the images and the sizes of the plates and let it do what it needed to do. Which led Jiang Cheng to ask for some draw lessons from Lan Xichen and digital design from Lan Wangji, which cost several years of his life but he guessed he was bound to do everything needed for his boyfriend.

He planned everything on the little planner he bought (if it was specifically brought for that no one needed to know) and every day he ticked something off. Besides the box of memories, he wrote a letter everyday to him and hid it in the last drawer of his wardrobe under piles and piles of clothes. From Open it now to Open it when you are sixty years old and Open it when you are in doubt about us, everyday a letter for 281 days and too much ink, paper and ideas, too much feelings engraved in those. But should he regret it, knowing that it would make Nie Huaisang happy? The boy loved this kind of old, romantic things like handwritten letters, so why shouldn’t he give it to him too? Handwritten letters with little doodles on the edges of the paper and little trinkets.

At the beginning of May, Jiang Cheng started putting it all together, doing the last reviews and adjustments. Once the plates were done, he called Wei Wuxian to help with the electric part of the thing, the shameless idiot being graduated in electrical engineering somehow. He had to endure his little ramble about how he had become so romantic and how considerate of somebody else’s feelings, how he was going miles out of what everyone said was normal. It would be a lie if Jiang Cheng ever said that he wasn’t slightly proud and happy upon hearing that.

They made slow progress but the present was ready six days before the due date, which gave Jiang Cheng enough anxiety and stress for the rest of his life (good thing he took on his mother’s side of genetics and wasn’t getting any white hairs until a very, very old age). Would Nie Huaisang find out the present before his birthday? Would he hate it or love it? Would he simply be neutral about all the gifts? Would he fake liking it? What could possibly happen once he gives it to him? Would it destroy their relationship?

On March 20, Jiang Cheng was about to have a stroke or an aneurysm or both of them probably. Just some more hours and they would see if Nie Huaisang liked the present or not. Since it had been ready, the poor present had been tested countless times to see if it worked properly (it did, thank gods), changed locations incessantly while he wrote every single letter by hand before making a wooden box and putting all he had made in there. The memory box, the 281 letters and some fans he bought in the Yunmeng market that reminded him of Nie Huaisang.

Early on, he had promised Nie Huaisang that he would help him with the birthday’s decorations and preparations for everything . After that, he made a quick run to his house to take a bath and try to calm himself because he couldn’t throw up in the party, he even got time to test it again, watching as Nie Huaisang’s favourite memory of all time played on his bedroom wall. It was practically memorized by now, the way the images followed one by one in quick succession, recreating a story that he could tell even if he had amnesia.

Nie Huaisang, Nie Mingjue and their parents were the main characters in the memory. Nie Huaisang was maybe four or five years old while Nie Mingjue was something like sixteen or seventeen years old and they were travelling to the small cabin they passed the holidays. He always said that that weekend was the best one of his life, one where his entire family was together and happy, complete. This memory in particular was one where Nie Huaisang was being thrown in the air by his father to land in the arms of one of his mothers while Nie Mingjue and their second mother were suffering a heart attack. Even though there was some melancholy in his eyes, he always spoke fondly and laughed about the face his brother made when he landed on their mother’s arms and passed the rest of the weekend guaranteeing that their father wouldn’t do another one of those again.

Jiang Cheng would die as a happy man if he could make him as happy as he was on that day, even if for one day. Well, not die, he was still too young to die, but he would feel fulfilled and satisfied. So, he tried to focus on that when he stepped inside the party, clutching to the wooden box and breathing deep. He’s going to like it, he’s not going to hate me, he’s going to smile because of the present, everything is going to be fine, we are not breaking up. Okay, maybe he was a little bit paranoid and afraid of what was going to happen, but he was fine, he was going to be fine. He just needed to loosen up and enjoy the party until it was time to open the presents.

“A-Cheng!” Nie Huaisang said, throwing his arms around his neck and hiding his face in his neck. Jiang Cheng only had time to pull the box to the side to prevent him from getting hurt before putting an arm around his waist and kissing his temple. “Tell your brother to stop being mean to me on my birthday.”

“If Lan Wangji can’t control him, what makes you think I can?” He said, still holding him. “Happy birthday, Huaisang, many years of life and happiness for you.” He kissed his temple again before stepping away and showing him the present. “For you.”

“Oh, A-Cheng! You didn’t need to! You are already present enough.” He gasped, taking the box of his hands while Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at him. He always said that but he remembered very well what he did to Jin Zixuan when the man showed up without his present. He didn’t want to be in the same ending of his fury, thank you very much.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” He rolled his eyes again, bending a little to let Nie Huaisang kiss his cheek.

“I don’t know what you gave me, but I already love it.” He smiled brightly at him, walking to the kitchen and carefully choosing a place to put it. The kitchen was loaded with presents, some big, others small, colorful wraps or black and white with an interesting pattern on it, some didn’t even had proper wraps around it. There were a lot of presents and for a moment Jiang Cheng’s brain simply went blank and decided that, for sure, there was one that topped his present. Which was nonsense, but still served to increase his stress and anxiety (once again he thanked his genetics for not getting white hairs early). “C’mon, let’s go to the living room. Da-ge is telling some story from when we were children.”

“Is he telling the green incident? Because if he is, I would rather stay in the kitchen.” And check if the other presents are better than mine so I can throw them out the window.

“Of course not! Da-ge doesn’t remember that story anymore.” He waved him off, entering the room in the exact moment Nie Mingjue said:

“Then a bucket of green paint fell into his head.” His thunderous laugh filled the room as he started to tell the amazing story of how Nie Huaisang managed to dye himself green after he dumped a whole bucket of paint on his head when he was seven years old.

“Da-ge!” He screamed, going red instantly. “What are you doing?!” He yelped, high-pitched, as he threw a cushion at him. “Shut up!”

“What? I was just talking about the green dye you did on your skin.” He laughed again, dodging the cushion and showing his tongue to him. It was strange to see a man of his size acting like that, but sincerely Jiang Cheng sometimes forgot that he too was human and (kind of) young. “Hey, Wanyin, do you want to sit here?”

“Hey, hey, hey. No stealing boyfriends on my birthday or ever, Da-ge. You already have two.” He wrapped himself around his arm, glaring at his brother. “Stop being so selfish, Da-ge.”

“Selfish? Take that back, brat, before I break your legs.” He narrowed his eyes at him, pointing a finger at him.

“It’s his birthday and you don’t get to threaten the birthday boy, Jue-ge.” Lan Xichen sighed, pulling his hand down. He was beside Nie Mingjue and sitting next to Lan Wangji, talking quietly between the two of them before the threats started rolling out.

“Stop covering him, Lan Xichen.” He turned to him as Nie Huaisang pulled him to the bench next to the window and between two high bookshelves full of sketchbooks, some completed, others completely blank.

“So, what’s your present?” He suddenly asked, playing with Jiang Cheng’s fingers.

“What? It’s a fucking surprise, A-Sang, I can’t tell you.” He spurred, furrowing his eyebrows at him.

“But, A-Cheng, yours were the heaviest of it all. What is it?” He shook his arm, doing the puppy eyes. The fucking puppy eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. Stop, A-Sang.” He growled, avoiding looking at him. “You know I can’t take the puppy eyes.”

“A-Cheng~.” He laid ahead, searching for his eyes. And, heavens, who taught that boy that? Nie Mingjue for sure was not. Maybe Meng Yao. Yeah, definitely Meng Yao. Jiang Cheng was going to kill Meng Yao for teaching Nie Huaisang that. “Please~. I want to know.”

“Ok, ok, ok. Just one part, okay?” Jiang Cheng pushed him away, feeling the back of his neck heating up.

“From how many parts?” His eyes were shining and attentive which meant that he was probably making a million combinations on his head, comparing and guessing what he could possibly ever get him.

“I’m not going to tell you.” He scowled, taking a deep breath. “One part of your presents is fans, okay? I got you some fans.”

“Really?!” His eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his bangs. “I love fans.”

“I know, A-Sang.” He breathed out, kissing his fingers.

“But I love you more.” He smiled, leaning to kiss him lightly on the lips. “I love you so much more than the fans.” He murmured against them, hands on his neck.

“Idiot.” He chuckled, kissing him back while smiling. He always seemed to smile easily when he was near him, breath was easier too. Sincerely, Nie Huaisang just made things easier just by being near him, just his presence and, maybe, it was the reason why he wanted to do everything in his power to make him happy as he could be. “I love you too.”

“More than dogs and A-Ling?” He sat between his legs, back against his chest.

“Don’t push your luck.” He may love A-Sang, but dogs and his nephew were more important, they always brought instant happiness with them. Next to him, Nie Huaisang was chuckling quietly, pulling both of Jiang Cheng’s arms around his waist and putting his hands above before starting to talk with Meng Yao about some new exposition of them and all the technicalities involving it.

Jiang Cheng let himself fall back into the security of all the conversations around him that didn’t involve him and the warmth of Nie Huaisang on his arms and against his chest. Slowly his panic disappeared from his mind as the time passed and the presents weren’t mentioned not even once. Almost everyone was there, the only ones missing being Jin Zixuan, Jiang Yanli and their newborn Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng’s little sweetheart, who were overseas to look over the inauguration of Jiang Yanli’s new restaurant in Las Vegas (To say that Jiang Cheng was crazely proud of her would be an understatement).

Either way, no amount of time would be enough to prepare him for when Wei Wuxian and MianMian appeared in the kitchen bringing the cake and the tray of sweets. The candle was already lit up and displaying the number 23, as if nobody knew how old Nie Huaisang was. He dislocated his hands enough to clap but not remove his arm from around his waist. Nie Huaisang laughed, clapping according to the music, but sunken further on his chest, refusing to move another millimeter as his ears went adorably red.

“Happy birthday, Nie Huaisang!” Everyone screamed when the song ended, blowing confetti over them. The screams and whistles became a cacophony as Nie Huaisang blew out the candle and laughed out loud, putting both of his hands over his mouth.

“Happy birthday, Nie-xiong!” MianMian hugged him after Wen Qing, her girlfriend, took the cake from her. “Many, many years of happiness and fulfillment to you, my dear. Hope you enjoy mine and A-Qing’s present.” She winked, mischievously.

“What have you given me, MianMian?” Nie Huaisang said, eyes wide.

“Nothing you can open in front of Da-ge.” She laughed, absolutely delighted at his terrified face and Jiang Cheng’s groan. He had noticed that everyone had a tendency of calling Nie Mingjue ‘Da-ge’.

“No! You stole my idea!” Wei Wuxian complained, giving him a half-hug and equilibrating the tray of sweets on the other arm. “Many years of love and laughter, Nie-xiong, may time and life treat you well.” He fully hugged him once MianMian came back to take the tray away from him, calming Jiang Cheng’s anxiety.

“I want to see what those two gave you. No excuses.” Nie Mingjue said, serious, before crushing him in a tight hug. “Happy anniversary, didi. I’m very proud of you and what you have become. Ma, Baba and Mother would be so, so proud of you and happy for all the friends and people you have around you.” He may or may not have sniffed on that part, hiding his face on his brother’s neck.

“Thank you, Da-ge. They would be very proud of you too.” Nie Huaisang whispered back and Jiang Cheng saw him blink repeatedly to avoid the tears from falling out.

“He grew up so fast.” He mourned, resting his head on Lan Xichen’s shoulder while Meng Yao hugged and wished him a happy birthday and life. Once he was done and it was Lan Xichen’s turn, Nie Mingjue wrapped himself over him, sniffing loudly. After that, the other guests did a quick succession of ‘Happy Birthday’ and wishes for a good and long life. Not for a moment Nie Huaisang stepped away from Jiang Cheng, always at arm’s reach of his hands. Not that he had tried to pull him back when he stepped away, Jiang Cheng would never do that.

“So, A-Sang, now that all the wishes have been given and Wangji-ge and I have cut the cake. For whom is the first piece?” MianMian asked, holding a plate with a piece of cake to him.

“A-Cheng!” He quickly answered, turning to him. “For being the best boyfriend a man could ask. And not being too scared of Da-ge.”

“I’m not that scared of Mingjue-ge, but thank you, I guess.” Jiang Cheng said, taking the plate from his hands and completely refusing to look over where Nie Mingjue was.

“Woah, he didn’t even hesitate.” Wei Wuxian said, surprised. “I could swear he was going to give it to Da-ge.” That was it, Jiang Cheng was now certain that everyone, except for maybe Wen Qing, saw Nie Mingjue as an older brother. But, well, were they wrong?

“Da-ge has received many first pieces in his life. It’s A-Cheng’s time.” Nie Huaisang scrunched his nose at him before jogging to the kitchen. “C’mon people! Eat, eat! I want to open my presents!”

Jiang Cheng chuckled, starting to eat the cake as the others were doing a line to receive their own piece and, fucking hell, he understood why they wanted one. The cake was divine! It was fluffy and tasty, exploding in the mouth the moment you bite it and it wasn’t too sweet. It was possibly the best cake he ever had the pleasure to eat and by the look of the other’s face, they thought that too.

“Nie-xiong, who made the cake? I want their number.” Wei Wuxian said, pleasure written all over his face. “It’s so good!”

“Oh, it was Wangji and Da-ge.” Nie Huaisang said, pointing at them. Everyone turned their heads to them, looking in awe.

“Lan Zhan?! But he never did one of me.” Wei Wuxian complained, pouting.

“Mingjue-ge made the dough and I did the frosting and the decorations.” Lan Wangji passed a piece of cake to Wen Ning.

“And the sweets. He did the sweets too.” Nie Mingjue said, throwing one of the sweets in his mouth.

“Which are fucking marvellous!” MianMian exclaimed, doing a thumbs up for him.

“No speaking while eating.” He and Lan Xichen said in unison, without looking at her. After that everyone focused on eating the cake and the sweets. Nie Huaisang came back to sit beside Jiang Cheng, taking the sweets he didn’t like to his own plate. Most of them got a second piece and more sweets because those things were really fucking good.

“Now, the presents!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, excited and sending Jiang Cheng’s heartbeat to space. “I’m excited.” He was jumping on his seat.

“Whose present will you open first?” Lan Xichen said, getting up and going to the kitchen.

“A-Cheng’s.” He smiled as he started to bring the presents from the kitchen. Jiang Cheng prayed that his panic weren’t showing on his face nor his anxiety because his mind was running a mile per hour.

He was going to open the present and see how horrible it was that box of memories and they would break up. Maybe not now because of the fans, but once he started reading the letters and seeing how messed up he was, it would be an endgame. No one, being in their right mind, would stay after reading those letters. Before he could be totally swallowed by his traitorous mind, he heard a scream and someone throwing themselves at him, arms around his neck.

“Thank you!” Nie Huaisang screamed in his ear, pulling him against himself. “Thank you so much!” He sounded happy, but he was crying too.

“What the fuck, Huaisang? Are you crying?” He said, trying to look at his face where it was hidden on his neck. “Why are you-...” He started, before seeing the box sitting on his lap. “Oh.”

“A-Cheng.” He whined, looking up. “Look what you did to me. I’m crying like a baby.” The tears were falling two by two, big fat tears that he did not like to see on his face. “When did you buy it?”

“I made it.” He blurted out, focused on wiping the tears.

“What?” He blinked, sniffing loudly.

“I made it. I made most of the things in the box, including the box. The only things I bought were the fans, I still don’t know how to make fans like you.” He kept wiping the tears, putting his sleeve over his nose for him to blow. “You know I’m not good with handcrafted gifts but since it’s your birthday I tried.”

“I love you so much.” Nie Huaisang hugged him again while Wei Wuxian took the box from his legs and turned it on.

“What memory did you use?” He asked and, oh yeah, Jiang Cheng never told any of them what memory he was planning to use. He instructed MianMian to turn the light off, rearranging it on the small coffee table in the center.

“One from when me and Da-ge were younger.” Nie Huaisang answered as Nie Mingjue’s eyes filled with tears at recognition. “Best present ever.” He whispered, leaning on him with a small smile on his lips and watching as the memory came to life again. Jiang Cheng smiled down at him, passing an arm over his shoulders and watching as he told the story about how Nie Mingjue, who had many comments on how it was being told, almost had a heart attack when he was seventeen.

It was, indeed, the best present ever.

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honyakuninakunaru · 3 years

Text

Ways to Spend a Birthday // Mithra SSR Card Story

CHAPTER 1

(Hallway)

Mitile: "Everything's set!"

Lennox: "All thanks to the hard work you two put into it."

Rutile: "Let's go invite him then!"

Figaro: "Ahaha. Be careful, running can be dangerous."

Mithra: "..... I've finally found you."

Mitile: "Oh, Mister Mithra."

Rutile: "What might you be doing here?"

Mithra: "I've been looking for you all morning ever since you went missing. Going as far to leave without my permission... What's with the get-up?"

Rutile and Mitile: "Pardon...?"

Mithra: "Your clothes are dirty, your faces are full of scratches, and you look worn-out."

Mitile: "Ah, t-that's...Um..."

Rutile: "Oh, um, it's nothing. We took a tumble, is all."

Mithra: "Where and what were you doing? I sure hope it wasn't somewhere dangerous. Right?"

Lennox: "Don't grill them so much."

Figaro: "Right, right. They came back in one piece so you can let them off, no?"

Mithra: "Come again? To begin with, you guys are impotent, so of course, things would turn out this way. And you, Figaro, why did you bother accompanying them? Have you fallen so low that you've become unable to protect these two?"

Figaro: "Now, now, calm down."

Rutile: "There's no need to get this angry. We've brought you a special souvenir, you see."

Mithra: "..... A special souvenir?"

Mitile: "Over here. Come with us, please."

(Dining room)

Mithra: "..... What is this?"

Rutile: "It's an entire feast we prepared, all for you, as you can see!"

Mitile: "We had Mister Nero help us make it!"

Mithra: "..... Huh? Including this animal's corpse?"

Mitile: "I-it's not a corpse! It's a roasted deer."

Rutile: "It looks like quite the delicacy. You like meat, right, Mister Mithra? I do hope it suits your taste."

Figaro: "Rutile suggested that we make a grand gibier feast for your birthday."

Lennox: "The four of us went hunting this morning. Sorry if we made you worry."

Mitile: "Yes, please rest assured, the hunt was a great success! I was very startled when a very big snake appeared midway, though..."

Rutile: "Its scales were rainbow-coloured, and it seemed to be poisonous, but it was so shiny and lovely!"

Mithra: "Hold o—... Please tell me you didn't touch it!"

Rutile: "It was a little further from us, but I managed to sketch it. I drew it really well, so I'll show it to you later. We've all been in high spirits since this morning. And so, happy birthday, Mister Mithra. Please eat to your heart's content!"

Figaro and Lennox: "Happy birthday, Mithra."

Mitile: "I only helped because Nii-sama asked me to, but... Happy birthday, Mister Mithra."

Mithra: "..... Goodness gracious. Since you didn't die, I'll turn a blind eye this time. But just so you know, there won't be a next time. In the future, I'm definitely coming with you."

CHAPTER 2

(Lounge)

Mithra: "There you are, Owen, Bradley."

Bradley: "Yuck, Mithra."

Owen: "Yikes..."

Mithra: "I was just thinking we could have a tea party, and here we've got the people for it."

Owen: "What's this tea party crap?"

Mithra: "We simply chat over a cup of tea."

Bradley: "He didn't ask what a tea party is. Why do we hafta do something like that..."

Mithra: "Earlier, the Western wizards asked me if us Northern wizards were going to hold one. According to what they said, you fall asleep faster after having fun at a tea party, so I thought I'd try it out."

Owen: "You're so easy to sway..."

Bradley: "Can ya even do one with three people?"

Mithra: "Just sit down already. Do you want to do it standing up?"

Owen and Bradley: "Yeah, yeah."

Mithra: "So, how have you been these days?"

Owen: "The absolute worst."

Mithra: "How come? Did something happen?"

Bradley: "Just woke up."

Mithra: "When you say the worst, Bradley, weren't you hung upside down by the twins a while ago?"

Owen: "I witnessed that too. It looked rather fun, I must say. How did you get yourself in that mess?"

Bradley: "Tch... They ordered me to go on some mission, but I just ignored em and skipped out. Apparently, that was enough to get to those damn geezers..."

Owen: "A similar thing happened to me recently. They were threatening me while also pleading me for help. They thought I'd listen to what they had to say if they turned into their adult form. It's absolutely sickening."

Mithra: "If I don't obey them even after that and turn away, they'd have Oz bring me back."

Owen: "Same here."

Bradley: "One day it's all gonna be over..."

Mithra: ".....Talking about this is slowly making me angry."

Owen: "Hey, since the three of us have gathered today, how about we retaliate ourselves."

Bradley: "Count me in. But let's not overdo it, or Oz might show up. Let's do somethin that's gonna get those two real mad."

Mithra: "Then, shall we go to their residence? Rumour has it that they store powerful magic objects and charms there, and I want to take some of them while we're at it."

Bradley: "Bastard... That's going a bit too far, dontcha think."

Owen: "It'll be a real pain later if they really do get angry."

Mithra: "It's going to be alright since it's my birthday and all. Isn't that what birthdays are for? A day when you can be selfish and say whatever you want. If it's for today, I can be forgiven anything, no?"

Owen and Bradley: "....."

Owen: "You're right. They seem to have a soft spot for birthday boys."

Owen: ("I should make a run for it as soon as we get found out.")

Bradley: "Fine by me. Let's give it a shot."

Bradley: ("If somethin happens we can just let Mithra deal with it.")

Mithra: "Shall we get going then?"

Bradley: "They can't blame us if we get a lil rowdy, ya know how birthdays are."

Owen: "We're counting on you, birthday boy."

Mithra: "You ought to utmost thank me because if it hadn't been my birthday, we wouldn't be able to do this."

(Snow and White's room)

Snow and White: ".....M?"

Snow: "What is it with this sudden chill... I got this very loathsome feeling."

White: "Does this perhaps call for a punishment?"

CHAPTER 3

(Akira's room)

Akira: ("It's already this late, I should get going to Mithra's room...")

Looking at the clock, one could well say it's nighttime. On this very day, I was supposed to help Mithra, who was welcoming his birthday, fall asleep.

Akira: ("I just saw him receive sweets from the Central wizards, but I wonder if he's back in his room already...")

(Knock and door opening)

Mithra: "Good evening."

Akira: "M-Mithra...! What is it? I was about to head to your ro—..."

Mithra: "Do you know what this is?"

Akira: "Eh?"

Mithra boastfully showed off a very familiar-looking hat.

Akira: "...Is that Faust's hat?"

Mithra: "I received it as it's my birthday today. I've been fond of it for a while, actually."

Akira: ("He says he received it, but why do I feel like he stole it...")

Akira: "You should go and return it to him later since he probably got angry over it."

Mithra twirled the hat around his finger, showing no signs whether he was listening or not.

Mithra: "I don't know why, but for some reason, I'm feeling quite well today. I even feel like I could beat Oz and become the world's strongest wizard."

Akira: "A...ha."

Mithra: "Actually, Oz's mana would be the best present I could possibly receive. I'll go pay him a visit real quick."

I rushed to stop Mithra, who had began to make his way out the door with a light step, before he could leave.

Akira: "I-it's already late, so how about you leave that for next time? Instead, why don't you tell me how your day went?"

Mithra: "My day? Well, it was a rather busy one. In the morning, I was treated to the corpse of an animal. I also got angry with the Southern brothers who had left on their own, but the meat was good, so there's that. Later, Owen, Bradley, and I broke into the twins' residence. We did it because I can be forgiven all selfishness if it's just for today."

As he recalled the events that happened today, Mithra's voice was somewhat cheerful. He was like a happy child talking about the fun things he had done.

Mithra: "..... What so funny? You're quite the odd one."

Akira: "Ahaha, sorry, it's nothing."

Mithra: "A lot of things happened today, and I'm tired, so help me sleep, come on."

Is what Mithra said as he threw himself on the bed. I gently held his hand, enveloped in a pleasant feeling.

Akira: ("It seems to have been a birthday so fun, he didn't have time to spend by himself...")

Akira: "Good night, Mithra, and happy birthday."

Big thanks to @/_Zeotrope_ on Twitter for providing the raws for this story!

#mithra #mahoyaku #translation

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

3. Sweets for OT4 because Barclay making sweet things for his polycule is the soft that I need! Sfw, with mer Duck and Joseph?

Here it is! Joseph’s design is based on a Spotted Drum, Duck’s on a Mahi-Mahi.

Most days, Barclay’s house resembles a cookbook library. Today, it looks like a cookbook library that got hit by a catastrophic earthquake.

His goal is to find three perfect recipes to bring to the beach with him tonight, but he keeps changing his mind; whenever he settles on a menu, he turns the page or turns around and finds another contender staring at him from its glossy photo.

Indrid is the simplest; he likes sweet food in all his forms, though he’ll make concessions to the rest of the tastes from time to time. It was one such concession (to sour) that first introduced them. Indrid was shooting a fashion spread in town and came into Amnesty Lodge, where Barclay was working the counter at their little coffee bar.

“I suppose I should get a slice of the key lime pie, since we’re in the keys.”

Barclay cut him a generous slice because he liked the curve of his smile. Indrid sat at the counter, took a bite, took a second bite, and then ate so fast his fork was a silver blur. He licked his plate clean when he thought Barclay wasn’t looking. There was a dot of whipped cream on his nose that Barclay almost offered to kiss off. But he exercised restraint and gave him a napkin instead.

Indrid came back the next day, and the next, and the day after that too. When Barclay asked how long the shoot was, Indrid admitted it was done three days ago.

“I, ah, I’ve been coming down from the city just for your food.”

“That’s the best compliment anyone’s ever given me.” Barclay leans across the counter, smiling when he spots Indrid’s eyes giving him a once over from behind his red-lensed glasses.

“May I have the chance to pay you some more? Perhaps tonight if you’re free?

He was, and Indrid complimented him before, after, and during the night they spent together. Barclay would have been fine with a one-night stand, let the memory of Indrid’s tan, angular body under his hands carry him for the next few months. But the photographer came back at least three times a week and took Barclay out as much as possible. He learned Indrid was a big enough deal that he could pick and choose assignments and that he traveled often, but the longer they were together, the more he talked about moving his headquarters to Kepler.

Two years later, his office and studio are ten minutes from the apartment he and Barclay share. When he’s in town, he’s glued to Barclays side.When he travels, Barclay gets postcards signed with hearts or filled with sketches of what Indrid’s seen (and he always comes home laden with local delicacies for Barclay to try).

Wait, what were those hard candies he brought back and then ate all of? Yeah, that will work. Barclay checks to be sure he has heavy cream and makes a note to get pineapple from the grocery store. He’d hoped to avoid a trip out, but Indrid is worth it. Indrid is one of the best things to ever happen to him.

He’s also the reason Barclay has to find three recipes and not just one.

A year ago Indrid was location scouting for a dramatic oceanside shoot. On a remote outcropping, waves splashing around him, a man popped up from the water to ask what the hell he was doing so far out and didn’t he know the tide overtook this rock real quick?

Indrid, a little strange himself, recovered quickly from being scolded by a merman. And promptly asked if merman would like to pose for a portrait. If not, would he be able to show Indrid some good locations for photographing rays?

Duck, green-finned and strong, became Indrid’s guide to the reef. It didn’t take long before Barclay noticed Indrid getting dreamy-eyed when he recounted their adventures. Maybe he should have been jealous, but he was just happy his boyfriend found a hunky merman to show him the wonders of the sea.

These days, he considers Duck one of his best friends, a friend who also happens to make Indrid’s face light up like the Vegas strip whenever he smiles at him.

Duck’s palate tends towards the savory side, and on days when he needs a pick-me-up Barclay will bring him a travel bowl of french onion soup and a hard seltzer, the two of them sitting on the sand and comparing notes on troublesome customers (or, in Duck’s case, park guests in the aquatic campground on the far edge of the reef.

Actually, that gives Barclay an idea. He grabs the flour from the cupboard, sets it next to the jar of yeast and a bottle of wheat beer. They may be metamours and not partners but, as Barclay often jokes, he owes Duck big time.

See, shortly after meeting Duck, Indrid guided Barclay down to a hidden patch of beach.

“I want Duck to meet you, dearest. He also has someone he wishes to introduce to us.”

Duck barely had time to emerge before another merman pulled himself onto the beach and began asking questions.

“See, this is why I asked him to come. Joe’s fascinated by the human world. Even swam under a glass bottom boat tryin to get a look at some tourists. Which was real dangerous.”

“You didn’t seem to mind disciplining me for it” Joseph shoots a smile at the other mer, then continues his examination of Indrid’s camera.

With black hair, blue eyes, and a stunning white and black tail, Joseph is the most handsome man Barclay’d ever seen. Later, when he had to explain the fact he was attracted to both him and Indrid, he’d say that the difference in his boyfriends was like the difference between being fed by a classically trained French chef and Spanish chef pushing the boundaries of molecular gastronomy; radically different, but equally amazing.

Joseph, inquisitive and clever, began asking to see them whenever he could. Barclay started bringing food down for Joseph to try, played him movies on his phone, and fell harder for him whenever he laughed or smiled or made a bad pun.

Some nights Duck, Indrid, or both joined them. Other nights it was just the two of them and water, Joseph lazily waving his tail back and forth as they talked. One evening, he dragged it across Barclay’s legs by accident and the human wasn’t quick enough in hiding his reaction.

“Should I do that again?”

“S-sure.”

“Can I kiss you at the same time?”

“Yes! No, fuck, wait we, we need to talk to Indrid and Duck about this.”

“I suspect they won’t mind, but you’re right. We’ll take a rain check, big guy. And please pass me that cake.”

In addition to his other good qualities, Joseph has the most sophisticated palates of anyone, mer or human, Barclay knows. As in he can taste the notes of blackberry or chocolate that a wine label insists are there but Barclay can only sort of get a hint of. Barclay once bought him a sampler box of expensive wines, cooked oysters over a driftwood fire, and hand fed both to Joseph as he moaned and wiggled with delight, outlining in no uncertain terms what he’d do for Barclay as a thank you.

(He still can’t look at a bottle of white wine without blushing)

That means Barclay has to make something that's as sweet and sophisticated as the mer himself. Ripe peaches tickle his nose. He grabs his copy of Dessert for All Seasons, flipping to summer with a smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Okay, so” Barclay sets the bags down on the picnic blanket, “I, uh, I decided making one sweet thing wasn’t enough. I know that’s kinda silly but you three are so fucking important to me I wanted to do this right.”

“Doubt you’ll get any complaints from mr. sweet tooth.” Duck smirks. Indrid, lounging in linen shorts a moth patterned Hawaiin shirt, sticks his tongue out. The mer just blows him a kiss in response.

“And there’s no need to apologize for being thoughtful.” Joseph drapes his tail over Ducks, “it’s one of your best traits.”

“Thanks, babe. Uh, so, Indrid, this is for you.” He lifts the pie plate from the ice chest, “it’s pineapple cream with vanilla whipped cream on top.”

“I love you.” Indrid takes the dish with wide-eyed appreciation.

“Duck, these are for you.”

“Oh hell yeah, pretzels. Wait, is this-”

“French onion soup dip? Yep.”

“I’m gonna eat the hell outta this.”

“And, uh” he slides the cake carrier towards Joseph, “I found a recipe for a peaches and cream Prosecco cake. Hope you like it.”

Joseph lifts the lid, licks his lips, then pushes the carrier into the center of blanket so he can roll and put his head in Barclay’s lap.

“You’re the best.”

“Indeed. Which is why we have something for you as well.” Indrid stands, stepping over Duck and then eeping when the mer gently whacks his ass with his tail. When he returns (stopping to bend down a pinch the sensitive upper back of said tail), it’s with the cake carrier Barclay looked everywhere for earlier today.

Beneath the pink plastic lid is a cake coated in milk chocolate frosting.

“‘Drid said this was the one you made yourself for your birthday.”

“Oh fuck, the chocolate malt one?”

“The very same. We had to get a bit creative cooking it; Joseph suggested making the layers in cast iron over a fire, which worked well. After all, we didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

The frosting message of “happy one year anniversary” gets a little blurry, and he wipes his eyes, “this is so fucking sweet, you guys.”

“You deserve it.” Joseph kisses his hand as Indrid rests his head on his shoulder, Duck scooching over to lay across Indrid’s lap.

Barclay smiles, “We all do.”

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #mermay fills #mermay #Indruck #sternclay #duck newton/agent stern #Indrid cold/Barclay

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chatonne-rousse · 4 years

Text

Zibeline

Happy birthday, @tsuki-chibi! This one’s for you. 😘

A Christmas gift exchange story with unintended (though not unwelcome) consequences.

Read it on Ao3.

This is not the first time it’s happened. It is, in fact, not even the fourth or fifth. It’s like he has a sixth sense or the fine-tuned hearing of a fellow feline, that leads him straight to them.

Often, it’s just one cat, skin and bones and scrounging in an alley for restaurant scraps. Sometimes it’s an entire litter, abandoned and alone, mewing frantically in search of a savior. Once in a while, he finds their mom there, too, ragged and worn and tired from life on the streets.

It always ends the same way.

Chat Noir knows the location of every animal refuge in Paris, their hours, and the names of each employee and volunteer he’s met so far. Several have even set up crates in a secure area for the cats he brings after closing. It’s amazing that it hasn’t made the news in all these years, but somehow, Paris’s own black cat has humbly and quietly saved the lives of dozens of the city's neediest felines.

Tonight, Ladybug accompanies Chat Noir to the SPA to drop off a one-eyed senior tomcat they came across on patrol. His solitary eye is cloudy with age, one ear torn from a long-ago fight, but he purrs contentedly in Chat’s arms, his demeanor as gentle as the hands that hold him close.

Once the cat who’d been affectionately dubbed Pirate upon his discovery is safe and secure in the little pen, Chat sends the rescue a quick email from his communicator to let them know about who they’ll find the next morning. Baton returned to his back, he crouches down for one more scritch behind the old grey tabby’s ears.

Ladybug is used to this, well aware after several years of partnership that her own kitty’s heart is a fathomless well of kindness, but it never stops warming her heart to see it. Without thinking, her movement mirrors his, reaching out to scratch behind his leather ears, her gloved fingers tousling his hair. His faux cat ears twitch, and he glances up at her, grin radiant even in the dim light of the refuge foyer.

“Okay, cat whisperer, let’s go. It’s almost midnight.”

He nods, still grinning, and turns back to tell his new friend goodbye.

“They’ll take good care of you here, Meow-seur Pirate, I purr-omise. Cat’s honor.”

Pirate meows his appreciation as Ladybug fondly rolls her eyes.

One hand kiss, one ‘sweet dreams, Buginette,’ and one chilly swing across rooftops in the crisp December air, and Marinette can finally crawl into the warmth of her bed and curl up against her cat pillow to go to sleep. The feline theme suddenly seems so prevalent in her life that she can’t help the snort of laughter she muffles behind its ears.

Tikki zips over to hover in the air above the bed. “What is it, Marinette?”

“Cats, Tikki. Everywhere. Cats.”

They share a giggle as the kwami settles down on the pillow to rest.

“You like cats, don’t you?” she asks. “I’ve seen a cat in some of your family portrait sketches.”

Marinette can feel her face heat up. “Tikki!” she admonishes, before trailing off into laughter again. “I love all animals! Well, almost all of them. But no one loves cats like Chat Noir.” She sighs in mock exasperation. “Give a guy fake ears and a tail and suddenly he’s a magnet for strays.”

Silence falls in the darkness of the loft, sleepy and comfortable, before it’s broken by Tikki’s tiny voice.

“You know, I think it has less to do with his miraculous and more to do with his heart.”

Marinette smiles against the pillow. “I think you might be right, Tik.”

********

Even if Père Noël no longer visits, Christmas is still exciting when you’re a teenager. If nothing else, there’s a two-week break from school to look forward to, and Marinette is counting down the days until she can shelve at least one of her many commitments, albeit temporarily. Alya, on the other hand, is living for the class gift exchange.

“I hope I get Nino this year,” she whispers excitedly, dumping her bookbag on the table and sliding into the seat beside her best friend.

Marinette’s brows furrow in confusion. “Why?”

“So I can give him something awesome and win Christmas, obviously.”

“But...if you give him a gift in class, what will you have for him on the actual holiday?”

Alya wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and gives her a sly smile.

Marinette laughs and elbows her, ears burning, just as the boys walk into the room. Nino gives a quick wave and Adrien settles into his seat with a soft smile toward the girls behind them.

“Damn, Sunshine. I hope you spend the holiday break sleeping. You look like you need it.”

Adrien leans back toward Alya, blond hair brushing Marinette’s desk. (This does not go unnoticed.)

“I think we all know that’s not going to happen,” he replies with a wry smile.

Alya pats his shoulder consolingly. “Truth.”

********

The morning slides by, and Ms. Bustier ends the lecture early before they break for lunch. She leans against her desk, holding a bowl in her hand and shaking it gently. It takes a long moment and a deliberate clearing of her throat for the students to focus on her instead of packing up their bags. She smiles kindly at them once she has their attention again.

“I’d have done this at the end of the day, but not every student will be with us in class then, so we’ll choose our gift exchange recipients now.” Adrien ducks his head. He hates when people make concessions for him, but at least Ms. Bustier is thoughtful enough not to draw further attention.

She starts up the stairs, shaking the bowl again, beginning in the back row this year. “You decided by class consensus earlier this week that your gifts would be €20 or less and no bigger than a shoebox.” Nathaniel takes a slip first, his face unreadable as he folds the paper again and lays one hand atop it. Shake, shake. “We’ll have the exchange on December 21st, during our holiday party in the afternoon. You may bring your gift in the morning and I’ll keep them all in a safe place until it’s time for the exchange.” Rose chooses, followed by Juleka. Both seem pleased.

As more and more students choose a slip from the bowl, the room buzzes louder with whispers and murmuring among friends.

Ms. Bustier’s voice cuts through the chatter again. “This is a secret gift exchange, so remember, do not share your recipient’s name. No trading. We’re all friends here.” If she glances quickly at the back of Chloé’s head as she says this, no one says a word.

Marinette waits her turn quietly. In three class gift exchanges, she has never pulled Adrien’s name, nor has he chosen hers. So much for ladybug luck. All she really hopes for at this point is to not choose Lila. She doesn’t want to break Ms. Bustier’s rules, but if that happens, she’s totally trading with Alya.

The bowl shakes near her ear, and she reaches up to blindly choose a slip. Slowly, carefully, she opens the folded paper, and suddenly all she can hear is her pulse roaring in her ears. Because there, in Adrien’s familiar script, is the name she’d given up hoping to receive.

She looks up just in time to see Adrien’s ears pinken and his shoulders scrunch as he hastily refolds his own paper slip. Marinette wonders for just a moment who he’d chosen before her brain kicks into holiday overthinking mode.

She’d rethought many of the gifts for his next several dozen birthdays, repurposed them for other friends or dismantled them to their raw materials and created something new. But a portion of the chest in her room still holds gifts meant just for him. She could choose one of those, or she could make something new. She could create a gift or purchase an item somewhere. Perhaps she could knit a hat or gloves to match his birthday scarf. Oh, the possibilities are endless!

A nudge in her side shakes her from her swirling thoughts and returns her to the din of the steadily-emptying classroom.

“Ready for lunch, Mari?” Alya asks. Nino and Adrien are looking at her expectantly, too.

“Oh. Sure! Yes! Ready for anything. Soup?”

A beat of silence.

“You heard the girl!” Nino says, slapping one hand on the table and standing up. “Let’s go get some soup.”

Alya just pats her on the back and shakes her head as they pack up their bags.

********

Soup actually turns out to be a good idea today, even if Marinette has no idea why she said that. The four friends huddle around a table in the warmth of a nearby cafe, full and relaxed and reluctant to return to afternoon classes. Adrien startles suddenly when a calico cat jumps into his lap and meows loudly, demanding pets.

Nino backs away a bit, but Adrien simply melts.

“Hello there, pretty girl!” he coos. “Do you want scritches? I can do that.” The cat twists her head, showing him exactly where she wants to be scratched, and he happily complies. Marinette can hear the cat’s contented purr from across the table. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Yes, you do.”

Alya has her phone out and recording, but Adrien doesn’t even notice. This is the first time they’ve seen this cat at this particular restaurant, but she's definitely not the first resident feline to find them while they ate. Or shopped. Or hung out at the park. Adrien attracts cats like Chat Noir, and loves every moment of it.

“And here we see the Cat Whisperer in his natural habitat, among his harem,” Alya narrates the video as though it’s a nature documentary, and Adrien snorts with laughter before looking up, a sheepish half-smile lighting up his face.

“I just really like cats,” he says, and looks back down at the kitty. She abruptly headbutts his chin, making his teeth knock together with an audible clack. He stares at her for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing, rich and joyful, but loud enough to scare the cat from his lap. She trots over to the counter and stops to groom herself.

Adrien, still chuckling, brushes fur from his pants and shakes his head in fond amusement. “Cats.”

The proverbial lightbulb flashes on above Marinette’s head, the stirrings of an idea so crazy it just might work.

She has an executive assistant to email.

********

It’s shockingly easy to get permission for something so important.

“Do you think Nathalie even asked Mr. Agreste?” Marinette wonders aloud to Tikki above the whir of the sewing machine. “I can’t imagine she didn’t, but…” she trails off, shaking her head. Adrien’s household is a web of very strange relationships she has never quite understood.

Tikki hums and shrugs a tiny shoulder. “If Nathalie said yes, I guess the answer is yes.” She flies from her perch on Marinette’s shoulder to sit on top of the sewing machine; Marinette promptly releases the pedal and meets her kwami’s gaze.

“I’m glad she did, but the longer I think about it, the more I wonder if this is a terrible idea.”

“You still have a few days to decide,” Tikki reminds her.

Marinette nods before she catches a glimpse of the clock on her computer and jumps up in alarm.

“Gah! I’m late for patrol! Again!”

********

Chat Noir is waiting quietly at their appointed meeting spot, knees pulled up to his chest and tail dangling down the opposite side of the pitched roof. He unfurls like a night-blooming flower when he hears her land nearby, legs flopping to the roof, arm raised to wave at his partner, tail animated and alert. His bright smile makes Ladybug smile in return as she plops down next to him.

“Sorry I’m late, kitty. I lost track of time.”

“It’s okay, Bugaboo.” He bumps her shoulder with his own. “I knew you didn’t forget me.”

“As if I could!” she laughs, bumping him back.

He’s still smiling, but silence descends over the pair after a moment.

“You okay, Chaton?”

“Yeah, just thinking. Our class is doing a gift exchange for Christmas and I’m having trouble deciding what to get for my...my person.” He glances at his partner, but she only nods in response. “I got one of my friends this year. Not that they’re not all my friends, but...she’s special.”

“Special, huh?” Ladybug asks, a teasing lilt coloring her voice.

“It’s not like that,” Chat rebuts. He breathes a laugh, but his smile turns impossibly soft as he looks out over the lights of the city. “We’re friends, but she’s...I don’t know. There’s no one like her. She deserves a gift as beautiful as she is.”

Ladybug blinks once, twice, caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice. If she didn’t know any better, she might think the feeling in her chest was jealousy, but that can’t possibly be right.

His words catch up to him when he looks back at her again and frantically waves his hands between the two of them. “Oh! Not like that!” he repeats. “I mean, like, beautiful on the inside. Her heart.” He holds a clawed hand to his chest, and Ladybug quirks an eyebrow.

“Okay, she’s beautiful on the outside, too. But it’s...really, it’s not like that. She doesn’t like me that way, and I…” he trails off. “You know.”

Ladybug takes pity on him and tucks her hand in the crook of his elbow, patting his forearm indulgently as the inexplicable knot in her chest loosens a little. “Yeah, kitty. I know. Maybe I can help. What does she like?”

Patrol is forgotten for the evening as two superheroes take the time to simply be two friends chatting about Christmas above the city they protect.

Some of his ideas need to be reined in.

(“It’s just a skein of wool!” he gripes.

“One of the most expensive in the world, Chat! Don’t you have a spending limit?!”)

Others are nixed immediately.

(“You are not buying her an embroidery machine!”)

Finally, he decides on a pool of several items that might work - he's leaning toward tickets to a fashion show, and Ladybug is only a little bit envious of Chat's 'very special classmate' - and settles back on his hands, relieved.

“What about you, Bug? Your class does this every year, too, right?”

She nods in assent. “Yep. But I already know what I’m getting him.”

Maybe he hears it in her voice, or maybe he’s just returning her earlier tease in kind. “Ooooh, him? Did you draw Mr. Mystery Crush’s name this year?”

Ladybug doesn’t answer, but her blushing cheeks do.

“Well.” Chat clears his throat and starts over. “Well, what is this lucky guy getting for Christmas from Paris’s favorite bug?”

She turns to him with a grin. “A cat.”

It’s his turn to be left speechless with his own twinge of jealousy.

“Before you ask, I already got permission from his family. Sort of. Well, I...the bottom line is that I got permission. I’m going tomorrow to the SPA to choose one for him. I’ve already called and made sure that I can bring it back without a problem if he doesn’t like it, but I can’t imagine that happening. Chaton, I’ve never met anyone else whose love of cats rivals yours. It’ll be perfect.”

After a long moment of silence, Chat seems to come to a decision before he stands and bows gallantly to his partner. “It would be my honor to accompany you to the shelter tomorrow to choose a feline fur-ever friend for your friend. I am the chief cat-bassador of Paris, after all.”

Ladybug looks up at him and thinks of how he cradled Pirate in his arms the other night on the way to the refuge, the calm, gentle way he whispers to tired mother cats, his delight in being approached by the everyday cats of Paris out for their evening strolls before returning home for the night. It has less to do with his miraculous and more to do with his heart, she hears Tikki whisper from the back of her mind.

She takes his hand and lets him pull her up before wrapping her partner in a hug.

“It would be my honor, kitty.”

********

And that’s how Marinette finds herself at the SPA just before closing on a Saturday afternoon, suited up as Ladybug and accompanied by Chat Noir, to adopt a cat for her friend Adrien, who happens to be a teen supermodel.

She thinks distantly of how she once said she was an ordinary girl with an ordinary life and wonders what in the world she was thinking.

The staff at the shelter are friendly and positively bubbling over with excitement to have Ladybug and Chat Noir in the facility to adopt a cat instead of simply dropping off rescues. Chat is eating it up, and Ladybug can’t help but smile with pride. He’s ridiculous, but in a dozen lifetimes, she could never find a better partner.

They make their way to the cat room amidst the distant sound of barking dogs from the other side of the shelter. She knew to expect it, but the look of absolute delight that crosses Chat Noir's face as he walks in the room is like the first rays of sun after a week of rain - brilliant, bright, and beautiful.

A cacophony of cat vocalization fills the room as they walk the rows of cage enclosures, from tiny mews to hearty meows. Little paws extend through the bars when they approach, and Chat tickles their toe beans or brushes their soft fur with his own clawed fingers. It's all a bit of sensory and emotional overload, so Ladybug purposefully brings her mind back to the task at hand, turning toward a shelter employee.

"I'm thinking of a relatively young cat, but not a kitten. Calm and friendly."

The employee nods. "We have a few that I think would be perfect for you." She smiles warmly toward Chat Noir, who is currently holding a giant ginger tabby who'd been roaming free in the room. "He's rescued several of the cats housed in this room right now. We're so grateful for him." She leads Ladybug to a bank of cages to the left, swinging open the door of an enclosure at eye level. "I've been calling this fellow Sable, but your partner was a bit more creative with naming when he brought him to us."

The label on the cage reads: My name is Zibeline. I'm super happy to be here instead of on the street! I was brought to the SPA on 14 December. I am about 8 months old, fixed and up to date on my shots. I'm a little shy, but I love treats and cuddling and I'm good with kids. I get along well with other cats after proper introduction. Are you ready to take me to my forever home?

Ladybug's heart twists. She can't choose the very first cat she sees, can she?

"Oh, you found my Zibby Bear! Hi, buddy!"

Chat Noir resituates the ginger tabby cozied up in his arms and reaches out a hand over Ladybug's shoulder to scratch Zibeline under the chin. The cat extends his neck and purrs happily.

He turns to the staff member. "He looks amazing. I knew there was a gorgeous coat under all that matted fur."

"It's true. He's like a brand-new cat."

A few moments later, Ladybug finds herself sitting cross-legged on the floor, dangling a little mouse with a bell in it over the head of a deep brown Burmese mix, falling more and more in love every time the cat turns his big yellow eyes toward her. He's active and alert but still mellow and sweet. As soon as she tucks the little toy behind her back, he climbs into the space between her crossed legs and settles his front paws on her knee. She looks up at Chat Noir helplessly, and he and the employee both laugh.

"Well, that was easy," he says. "Is The Zibster the one?"

She nods, running her gloved fingers gently through the cat's thick sable fur. She can't wait to pet him with her bare hands when they get home.

The staff member leads them to the front desk while another volunteer prepares the impending adoptee for his freedom ride. As they walk, Ladybug notices a large posterboard full of photos on the wall just outside the cat room door. "Thank You, Chat Noir!" is spelled out in die-cut letters across the top. Some photos are of cats looking out from their enclosures, some include Chat Noir himself holding either cat or crate. She does a quick count by fives and is astonished at the number she comes up with.

"Chaton, you've rescued 32 cats?"

His cheeks heat up, but his smile is soft. "At this shelter, yes."

Ladybug swallows quickly around the lump in her throat, changing tack to cover her sudden surge of emotion. "And do you give all of them ridiculous names?"

"Hey, I'm an excellent cat namer, thank you very much."

"What does Zibe-whatever even mean?"

He laughs. "It means sable - it's a little animal like a mink. My mother had a long sable coat that I remember her wearing to big, fancy events when I was little. Zibby's fur reminded me of that when I found him. Er, well...I thought it would once he was cleaned up."

"Why not name him Sable?"

Chat spreads his hands out in a grand gesture. "Well, I'm a learned gentlecat who speaks four languages, Buginette. Also, I already named one Sable last year."

Ladybug just shakes her head and laughs. This dork is truly one of the best people she's ever known. Perhaps she's luckier than she thought.

********

Monday morning dawns bright and lovely, a cold, crisp Winter Solstice to mark their last day of school before the long holiday. Marinette wakes to a shaft of sunlight across her bed from the skylight above, illuminating the deep chestnut fur of her temporary companion purring against her side. She can't resist reaching down to pet him, rousing him from sleep. He lifts his head with a questioning "mrrr?" before he closes his eyes again.

"Do we have to give him to Adrien, Marinette? I want to keep him." Tikki looks up at her with huge blue eyes, and she almost, almost decides to just give Adrien the forest green beanie she knitted for his 28th birthday. But she doesn't have time for a pet, her parents are busy with the bakery, and, well...this is already Adrien's cat, even if he doesn't know it yet, and she can't take that away from him.

"Sorry, Tik," she says with a yawn, sitting up and scooping the cat into her arms to help him down the ladder to her room. "We'll just have to swing over and visit him at Adrien's sometime." Her cheeks flush at the thought.

She preps a small gift bag with the supplies she purchased with her €20 - a little bag of catnip-infused toys, a shaker container of treats, and a bell collar embroidered with brightly-colored fish. Adrien doesn't need to know that the shelter waived the usual €150 adoption fee, nor that the neon green litter pan and carrier were thrown in for free as well. She has a feeling those were a donation by a certain masked black cat, but no one mentioned it outright and she didn't ask.

She kisses the little cat on the nose with a reminder that she'll be back for him later, opens her purse for Tikki, and sets off for school.

********

The class is abuzz with excitement. They've slogged through a morning of last-minute assignments and a pop quiz that brought groans from the students until the teacher said they could use their notes. Lunch was spent trying to get each other to give up the secret of who their giftee was, but none of them would budge. Marinette had made a quick trip across the street to "pick up something she forgot" just before the lunch break ended.

Finally, finally, it's time to return to homeroom for their Christmas party. Nino's phone plays a curated playlist of holiday music that provides a cheery background the students' chatter. Ms. Bustier's desk and a little table set up next to it are filled with snacks and treats. Red and green macarons decorate a silver tray, and a bowl filled with berry punch sits next to it, little splashes marring the smooth surface of several adjacent cookies. Marinette snags those for her own plate and slides the tray a few inches away before going back to her seat.

When everyone's plates are left with only crumbs, the teacher finally gets their attention. Nino turns the music down but not off, and everyone scrambles to get their gifts for the exchange.

Marinette sends a quick text to her mom before setting her phone on the desk beside the little gift bag. Adrien, she notices, holds a simple envelope in his hand, tapping it nervously against the desk.

Gifts are given to squeals of delight, oohs and aahs and one "whoa, rad!" from Alix.

When Sabine Cheng peeks in just as Nino is digging into his gift bag, Marinette excuses herself for a moment before returning with a carefully-ventilated shoebox. Okay, it held a pair of her father's giant shoes, but Marinette still followed the gift-giving guidelines. Sort of. She settles back in her seat, the contents of the box making a loud scrabbling sound, followed by a plaintive meow.

Every eye in the classroom is suddenly on the second row.

"Why don't you give your gift next, Marinette?" Mrs. Bustier says, eyes focused on the now-wriggling box.

Marinette slides the box forward on the desk toward Adrien, who is already turned in his seat, eyes wide. His gaze flickers to hers, to the meowing box, and back to her.

"Joyeux Noël, Adrien."

Chloé huffs at the look of wonder on his face as he brings the box into his lap, but no one else makes a sound.

Slowly, reverently, he begins to lift the lid. After just a few centimeters, a tiny black nose nudges into the open space, followed by one little paw covered in deep brown fur, then a second, before the cat pushes the lid up and off and climbs Adrien's t-shirt like a tree. His hands wrap gently around the cat's body and hold him close to his shoulder. Oblivious to the class going crazy, Alya filming the moment in shocked glee, and Ms. Bustier remarking to no one in particular that she thought they'd been told not to give living creatures as gifts, Adrien simply buries his face in the cat's fur.

"I thought you'd like, crochet a blanket or something, Mari," comes from somewhere behind her. Across the aisle, she hears, "Or bring a cake or madeleines or, I don't know, not a cat!" And, predictably, "Giving a cat as a gift is utterly ridiculous." But none of that matters. The world narrows to Adrien's shaking shoulders and the beautiful chestnut cat sniffing at the hair above his ears, making no move to wriggle free of the hands that hold him firmly but gently in place. For several frantic moments, Marinette is gripped with the fear that she has made a horrible mistake here.

When he finally raises his head, Nino surreptitiously passes him a tissue and pats him on the back while he reluctantly hands the cat to a squealing Rose, the first of many in a long line of cuddles in the cat's immediate future.

Marinette couldn't have said whether she was breathing or not before Adrien's eyes meet hers, but she's distinctly aware of the moment her breath catches. Where she thought she'd see the same joy he'd displayed during his many feline encounters over the course of their friendship, she finds something different. Gratitude mixes with a tinge of sadness, but behind it is something profound that makes her feel exposed and comforted all at once.

He blinks, his brow furrows, and the moment is gone.

"Marinette, I...well, my father..."

"Oh!" she exclaims. "I got permission. I can show you Nathalie's email if you'd like." She reaches for her phone, but Adrien stops her with a hand over hers.

"You're amazing, Marinette," he says, voice painted with the same wonder that shines in his eyes.

Alya is making a sound like a whistling tea kettle behind her still-recording phone. It takes Nino asking, “So, mec, what are you going to name your new little dude?" to truly bring them all back to the moment. The three sets of eyes in Nino's immediate vicinity snap to him, but the rest of the class looks to Adrien for his answer.

He rubs his neck and glances at the floor before answering. "His name is, um...Zibeline."

"Ziba-what now?" Kim asks, and half the class laughs.

"It means sable," he says quietly. "His fur reminds me of a coat my mom had that she'd wear to fancy events when I was little."

Max pipes up, “Adrien is correct. The sable is a type of marten found in the forests of Central Asia." He looks down at his phone for more info. "In fact, its scientific name is Martes zibellina. Zibeline is a little-known term in both French and English used to describe the sable or an item with sable-like qualities."

"Well, it's a very fitting name, Adrien. I do hope you enjoy your new pet." Ms. Bustier gives Mylène a pointed look, gesturing toward Adrien with her head, and the cat is reluctantly returned to his new owner. "Next year, please, no live animals in the gift exchange."

Alya nudges a malfunctioning Marinette, who nods absently. "Got it, Miss," Alya answers for her.

Marinette hears none of this. Her heart pounds in her ears, drowning out the class, their teacher, Alya. She stares, transfixed, at Adrien's bare hands holding Zibeline, trying and failing to reconcile that those same hands, previously gloved in black, had scratched the cat's chin two days before at the shelter. It can't be true that the same doofus who makes incessant cat puns and throws himself toward danger with a smile, who finds and saves the most vulnerable cats and kittens in Paris and has loved her for literal years is sitting in front of her now, cradling the cat they adopted together and looking back at her with those big green eyes she's seen in her dreams since she was thirteen. Right? Right?

Except...he can. He is. She sees it with perfect clarity as soon as she allows herself to truly believe it.

Less about his miraculous and more about his heart, indeed.

She's brought back to the moment when a crisp white envelope slides across her desk.

"For you, Marinette."

(Oh, even his voice is the same. How did she never realize?)

Inside are two tickets to a fall preview fashion show in early January, just as she knew there would be, just as she and her partner had discussed at their chilly rooftop meeting point on Friday night.

"Thank you," she whispers, finally meeting his eyes and finding a guarded hope that makes her heart ache.

Well, that won't do, she thinks.

Ms. Bustier wraps up the gift exchange, thanking the students for their participation and wishing them a very happy holiday. The class moves around them, students getting more snacks and punch, Christmas music turned up again to party volume for the last few minutes of the day. Alya and Nino get up together to refill their drinks, leaving their two seatmates and one cat.

There's a beat of silence between them.

"Beautiful on the inside, huh?"

Adrien's eyes widen in relief and he hides a laugh in Zibeline's fur. "I'm pretty sure I said inside and out."

Marinette giggles helplessly as a giddy glee spreads through her. "You did. And then you picked out your own Christmas gift." She reaches out to pet the cat but Adrien goes one step further and presses Zibeline into her arms. The cat settles happily, propping his paws on her forearm before laying his head on top of them.

"I love him, Marinette. Thank you."

Her breath catches in her throat again. Ostensibly, he’s talking about the cat, but his eyes speak something slightly different, with a weight that compels her to respond in kind.

“You’re welcome. I...I love him, too.”

His answering smile is pure, radiant joy. It makes her heart beat a little out of rhythm, and she clutches Zibeline just a bit closer, grounding herself in the feel of his thick fur. For a moment, Marinette is stunned by the wave of emotion that rises in her chest, a sudden vision of limitless possibility that makes her feel as powerful and determined as she does wearing her spots.

As he slides from his seat to refill his plate with likely-forbidden snacks, Adrien gives her a cheeky wink and leans in close enough that she can smell his familiar cologne. “That embroidery machine is still on the table, by the way. Seems like a super gift for a girlfriend who’s beautiful inside and out, doesn’t it?”

Marinette sputters as he saunters away, her ears and cheeks burning.

“Well, well, well,” Alya drawls as she sets down her drink. “Three years and two dozen failed schemes, and it turned out all it took to make something happen between you two was a cat.” She pops an entire macaron in her mouth and chews thoughtfully. "You won Christmas, by the way."

"I thought the competition was between you and Nino?"

Alya shrugs and points at Zibeline. "No one can beat that." After a long swig of punch, she reaches over to scratch the cat behind the ears. “Girl, I hope you like cats, because in a few years, this one’s going to be yours, too.”

Marinette looks down at the cat in her arms, then back at her best friend, and all she can do is laugh.

“Don’t worry, Alya. I love them. I always have.”

#miraculous ladybug #fan fiction #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #I'm trash for reveals #happy birthday chibi!#my writing #of course there are cats involved

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httphopewrld · 3 years

Text

I Don’t Know What to Call This | (f/m/a) sneak peek!!!

Just Friends? Friends with benefits? Dating? Questions swarmed your mind when one of your dear friends, Allie, asked about you and Hoseok’s relationship. The truth was you didn’t know. You and Hoseok were close, knowing each other since elementary school, and considered each other friends. However, as you two grew older, maturing into separate professions—you a well-known fashion designer, and Hoseok a famous musician and dancer—you two had engaged in some intimate activities (sex—lots of it.) After Allie’s simple question, you had to confront your feelings. But were you and Hoseok ready to be more than close friends and fuck buddies?

Pairing: friend/lover/bfhoseok! x female reader

Genre: slow-burn fluff, some angst, and SMUT

Rating: 18+ because there’s swearing and pretty detailed smut

Warnings: swearing and SMUT (one of the most detailed smuts I’ve written, and there’s more than one sex scene.) Smut includes: switch!reader and switch!hoseok, grinding and thrusting, protective sex (USE CONDOMS, I cannot stress that enough), lots of kissing, ass-grabbing, dirty talk, a wee bit of choking on both sides, squirting, male and female oral, fingering and handjobs, vibrator use, cyber-sex, reader uses dildo, slight degradation, and just lots of filth—YOU’RE WELCOME FELLOW FILTHY ANIMALS.

Word Count: more than 10,000 (not finished yet)

A/N: Happy birthday J-Hope! Although the fic won’t be released today, or tomorrow, on his birthday, it will be out next Friday (February 26). Please let me know in the comments if you wanted to be included in the taglist, and what you think!

Taglist: @kirbykook @kleritata @taestannie @jenotation @hemmos-obrien @zeharilisharaban @speed-of-wind

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You can move those over there,” you gestured to the left corner of the windowed room, where a pile of boxes waited. The move was going to take longer than you expected because the movers arrived a week later than your assistant, Rachel, said. I really need to talk to her about this. You stressed in your mind, rubbing your temples. “Are you okay?” You looked up, vision resuming its focus on your friend, Allie. Allie, your friend for as long as you could remember, offered to help you move to your new building. She would help you manage everything, including the movers, tracking your company’s items, and the layout you gave to her for said things while you managed the company. “I’m just irritated at Rachel,” you noticed her confusion, “my new assistant.” She nodded, remembering, “Right. Why is she still employed?” “Because she’s new, and being an assistant is a tough feat. She’ll get it soon.” You reassured, “Rachel is a fast learner, and this is her first mistake. We’re prepared for the next show, though, because Westley helping me organize it.” “Remind me who Westley is?” Allie asked. You sighed. “West is like my second brain. He helps organize the fashion shows, hire the models, find the venues, and secure the guest list. He has other people help him too, but he’s the brains of that. I create the fashion, and he finds a way to present it.” Allie nodded, “Gotcha.” Your phone rang, and you answered. “Y/N.” “Y/N!” Rachel chimed on the other end. “It’s Rachel. I’m so sorry about the mix-up on dates. It won’t happen again, I—” “I know it won’t, Rachel. You’re new, so I expected to slip up. I’ve gotten it taken care of,” you nudged Allie’s arm, and she smiled. “We’re luckily prepared for the next show in Vancouver, so you don’t have to worry about the mess up. All I need you to do now is make sure that my fabrics are coming in.” “Yes! They’ve arrived at the studio.” Rachel replied. “Fantastic. Thank you. That’ll be all for now. Please check on West if he needs anything.” You requested. “Will do, Y/N. Talk to you soon.” You hung up. The Vancouver show was in five months, giving you and your team enough time to design the clothes for the production and move to the new building. The show’s theme was natural bodies of water and nature, a nod to Canada’s landscape. The clothing catalogue would include various icy blue shades to represent waterfalls and warm emerald tones like flora and fauna. These colours would be encapsulated in elegant gowns and suits, worn by different shapes, genders, and colours. The materials would be made from recycled fabrics from your previous shows and from your fellow artists. You were known for designing elegant attire, so it was best to keep to it. However, it was rare to see different sized, coloured, and gendered models on a runway; because of having to customize clothes to those models. Additionally, making clothes from recycled fabrics would be tough. “Okay,” you began, “I need to talk to my design team and plan out the gowns. Can I leave you here to deal with the movers?” Allie gave you a thumbs up. “Thank you,” you smiled, hugging her, “if you need anything, please call me or Rachel, or both. We’ll be back to help.” Before you left, a thought struck you. You turned around to face Allie. “I should just hire you.” She chuckled, “Why?” You scoffed, “Because you’re here all the time!” You backed back to her. “Listen, you’re the best manager I know. You can be my third brain. You already are, outside of work, so it would make sense.” Allie seemed unsure. “I already have my job at Youth and Hope.” You grasped her hands. “You would be given a great wage, not just because you’re my best friend, but because you’re going to be busy with lots of work. You would be handling the management tasks, like West. You’d be given a good amount of vacation, trips for shows and meetings would be paid for—you could get that loft you always wanted downtown.” You wiggled your eyebrows, and Allie laughed. “Don’t I have to go through an interview process?” You brushed a hand through the air. “I can get someone to interview you and officially hire you. Once that’s done, you’ll start getting paid.” You checked your watch, and a quick rush of panic ran through you. “Shit, I’m going to be late. Consider it, alright! Let me know your availability, and we’ll schedule an interview!” “Okay!” She shouted back as you left. . . The coffee had become bitter. You weren’t sure if it was the roast or the fact that this was your fourth cup of the night. It had been a month since the fabrics arrived. Thanks to Allie, your friend and now employee, your move to the new building was complete; however, your designs weren’t translating as smoothly as you wish. “Fuck,” you cursed, taking your head in your hands and rubbing your temples. The sketches waited in front of you. The measurements and ideas raking at your confidence. Your designs are redundant. You’ve done something similar last time. Boring. Plain. You turned back to your mannequins, still bare. The theme was in your mind, and your design team reassured you that your sketches were fine, but it all felt fuzzy. “Y/N,” Rachel peered into the studio from the door, “there’s a gentleman here to see you.” “His name?” You asked, still looking at the mannequins. You heard footsteps retreat into the front lobby, then come back to the door. “Jung Hoseok?” You turned around, trying to contain your excitement. “Please send him in.” Rachel nodded, jogging back to the lobby. You heard a muffled “thank you” before heavy footsteps approaching your studio. Hoseok reached the doorway, beaming his signature smile. He wore acid-washed jeans, a baggy white sweater that matched his chunky light sneakers. His dark hair was slightly wavy and parted in the middle. A tote bag was slung over his shoulder. “Y/N!” He cheered, opening his arms wide. “Hoseok!” You replied, running into his arms and hugging him tightly. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw Hoseok—a year or two? “Fuck, how long has it been?” You asked him. He pulled away, thinking. “About six months?” Totally off. “Seriously, it felt longer than that.” You argued. Hoseok pulled out his phone and scrolled through his calenderer and photos. He made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Ah, see here,” he showed you a few photos of you two with his friends, who were also his bandmates, “six months ago, you joined us on tour for a couple days before coming back here. I have it also marked in my calendar.” He showed you the dates, which were marked with ‘💚Y/N’s visit💚.’ “Can Namjoon or Yoongi confirm this?” You crossed your arms. Hoseok mimicked your body language. “I can call them right now,” he challenged. You two stood in competitive tension. You succumbed. “You win this time, Jung Hoseok.” He playfully chuckled. You realized that Hoseok doesn’t live around here. “Wait, why are you in town. Shouldn’t you and the others be in Korea planning another album or something?” You speculated. “Our company gave us a month for vacation because we spent most of the year touring.” Hoseok sighed. “So, I decided to come to visit.” You hugged him again, happy to see someone who wasn’t your employee amidst this chaos of stress. “How long are you staying?” You asked, muffled against his chest. He paused. “Maybe a month?” You pulled away from him, shocked. “A month? Here? That’s all your vacation time.” “Yeah,” he replied, as if that wasn’t a big deal, “I didn’t want to travel to a bunch of places because the group and I have been doing that for almost a year—and it’s pretty chill in this area.” He sighed. “Besides, I don’t think many people would recognize me. The airport wasn’t busy, and I haven’t been swarmed by fans yet.” “Do you have a place to stay?” You asked. He nodded. “Yup! I’m staying at a fancy hotel. I got the suite at the top floor,” he made a gesture with his hand, indicating how high up his suite was. You playfully elbowed his side. “Wow look at you, Mr. Famous. You can afford a top suite now. Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me, though?” Hoseok dismissed your offer with a wave of his hand. “It’s alright, Y/N. Thank you, though.” He peered over your shoulder, “It looks like you’re busy anyway, so I think I’ll just stick to my suite.” He walked past you, over to the bare mannequins. “Are you preparing for that show in Vancouver that you told me about?” You nodded, relaying your theme and ideas to him. He smiled. “That sounds really cool,” he pointed to the mannequins, “but don’t you need some clothes for the show, then?” You rolled your eyes, chuckling at him for being a smart ass. “Yes, I do. I’m brainstorming some ideas right now, but I’m coming up with nothing. I have the design team coming in tomorrow with drafts, but I’d like to bring my own thing to the table, you know? I’m the main brain of this operation, and it’d be embarrassing if I come in with zilch.” You leaned against one of the tables, facing the mannequins. “The tough part is designing gowns that fit the right people, you know. Sure, you can make a collection of clothes, but they won’t look good if they don’t fit the models.” You shook your head. “Maybe it’s just tougher to design clothes for different bodies, genders, and colours. I should just stick to one type of person and leave it at that.” Hoseok walked up beside you, leaning against the same table and facing the figures. “Why don’t you find the models and then design the clothes?” You looked at him, surprised. “But wouldn’t that take a long time?” He crossed his arms, “Well, how many models would you need?” “We’re thinking around seventy. There’s going to be two changes within the show.” Hoseok nodded, and you could see him brainstorming. “Well, you have four months left, right? You and your team can make some drafts, cast the models, and then finalize the ideas with said models. Which would take about a couple of months? You could do that while planning the show?” He paused, appearing to notice your hesitant expression. “Think about it. You’ve trained your team well enough to work on its own, right? That’s what you did for your last show, which was a success. You came in every day for a couple hours to make sure everything was in order, then focused on other things.” Hoseok grasped your hands. “You’re great at multitasking, so do it. It’s scary, but you can check on people every day to make sure everything’s alright.” You bit your lip, “I-I don’t know, Hoseok. That sounds like a lot of work—” “You did it last time, and it worked out just fine,” he gently squeezed your hands, “and I’m here for a month. I can help out whenever you need me. I’ll simply clean things up and fetch coffee if that’s what you need.” You laughed, “Like my intern?” “Yeah! I don’t know how to design anything or plan a fashion show, but I’ll do what I can.” He smiled. “You’re so much more than you think, Y/N, and if you need reminders, I’ll be here.” You smiled back at him, so grateful to have him here. “My god, you’re fucking sweet,” you scoffed, taking your hands out of his. Hoseok laughed. You pushed yourself off the table and faced him. “How did we even become friends?” You questioned. He actually gave it a thought. “You joined by dance club in elementary school, when no one else would.” He laughed so hard that he teared up. “I think we actually took club photos, and it was only you and I posing.” You laughed with him, remembering those days spent trying to breakdance to hip hop and presenting dance routines to your parents. “Yeah, that was before you joined that Music Academy in grade four, right?” He nodded, and you sighed, surprised you still remembered. Your mind came back to the present. “So, you’re actually okay with helping out?” You checked. “Why would I ask if I didn’t want to?” Hoseok replied. You tapped your index finger against your temple, “true.” “So, how much do you want?” Hoseok looked offended at your question. You chuckled. “Well, you’re going to work for me, so I need to pay you.” “It’s only just a month, though.” “Yeah, but—” “What about we see how much you have me do before you pay me?” He interrupted. “I might just have to fetch coffee, so you can just give me money on the spot.” You thought about it for a minute. Hoseok yawned. “This work talk is making me tired. Do you want to go out for dinner?” He looked around you, “Unless you have more work to do. I can always wait in the lobby for you to finish.” You brushed your hand through the air, “Nah, it’s okay. I’m pretty brain dead anyway. I need to be energized for tomorrow’s draft review.” Hoseok pushed himself off the table and clapped. “Awesome! Where do you think I’m taking you for dinner?” You bit your lip, trying to guess. “Sushi?” “Sushi it is!” He beamed. You grabbed your things and followed him out of the studio.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts jhope #jhope fanfic #jhope smut #jhope fluff #jhope angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #ficswithluv #houseofddaeng

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miraculouslycool · 4 years

Text

kill ‘em with kindness

Merry Christmas Affiebear! (Sorry I couldn’t tag you on Tumblr)

I’m your secret santa for the APS Secret Santa Event of 2020! Word on the street is that you are Marichat trash so take this fluff dump - I hope you enjoy it! Happy Holidays!

Summary: When Marinette turns to Chat Noir for his opinion about a present for Adrien Agreste, he is at a loss for words.

Was it because he never got presents? Was it because how perfect and flawless her present was? Was it because of her kindness? Was it because when he thought no one cared for him, she was right there all along? Was it because he did not know what he had done to deserve her?

Was it because of Marinette?

He had no clue.

Read in AO3:

"Pound it!" Ladybug bumped fists with her partner.

"Well this was a terribly close call." Chat Noir stretched obnoxiously. "But there's nothing we can't handle, can we, m'lady?"

"Well you're right there. Except for all your taunting." Ladybug rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on, Hawkmoth akumatises XY because he gets cancelled online for throwing a tantrum?" Chat Noir exclaimed.

"You gotta admit it's a little funny, even if he was a pain in the neck."

"Your musical puns were way off-key."

"Well he did get akumatised because he got caught for plagiarism - heeeeeeyyyyy you made a pun!"

Ladybug stiffened. Oh no. He was not going to shut up about it. Seriously, was he rubbing off on her?

"What's wrong, m'lady?" He leaned in. "Would being in sync with me be such a bad thing?"

'Well if he was, maybe it wasn't a bad thing.' She thought fondly, pushing him away by the tip of his nose.

"Getting to be as loud and obnoxious as you for the rest of my life? Very tempting, mon chaton."

"You know it!" He did a small salute, grinning at her so widely it must be hurting his cheeks.

She knew better than anyone that Chat Noir was basically an adrenaline junkie, but why did it seem like he was happier than usual today?

He particularly enjoyed the fight today, taking extra pleasure in dodging hits and deflecting those that came her way.

At one point she almost heard him groan when she set the purified akuma free, but that must have been her imagination.

Not that she would know if it was, but was it a special occasion that she had forgotten about?

"Besides, it's too early for this." The 15 year old superhero shrugged, shaking those confused thoughts away.

Her earrings beeped. "I really need to s-cat." She intonated deliberately. "See you?"

"You need to leave?" He asked abruptly.

"Yeah, I'm kind of almost late for something." She said absent-mindedly. "See you tomorrow for patrol?"

He didn't answer for a while, and that made her look up.

He could not have looked more different from the happy-go-lucky kitten from just a few seconds ago.

The ever-present smile on his face had sagged a little, but it was determined to stay.

"Yeah, see you!" He waved stiffly.

"Chat, is everything okay?" She asked worriedly, touching his shoulder.

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" He asked, way too innocently. She watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he gulped.

Tearing her eyes away from the long column of his throat, (seriously why was she even looking there?) she faced his eyes again. His very green eyes that thinly hid the discomfort behind them.

"Nothing, you just seemed off," Ladybug pressed on. "Are you absolutely sure you're okay?"

"Maybe-" he said, taking her hand from his shoulder, "-this cat just can't bear to be away from his lady for far too long." He kissed her knuckles leisurely. "Purr-haps he misses her too much."

"Sure he does." She meant for it to come off as teasing, barely toeing the line of friendly and flirty, but if anything it came off as even more concerned.

"Don't worry, m'lady. I just remembered something I have to do today at the last minute." He said.

"Do you need help? Is there anything I can do?" She asked, her mind already making up plans for a problem she didn't even know anything about beyond its existence.

"Un-fur-tune-ately, I can't say anything without giving away my secret identity." He shrugged. "Besides it's nothing serious. Just a quick errand I need to run."

His drooped shoulders had straightened up again in the speed of light.

"Okay." Ladybug murmured, sneaking a peek at his still-flattened cat ears. "If you say so."

She climbed on the ledge of the roof, preparing to take off. "See you tomorrow?" She asked.

"I'll be counting the seconds, m'lady." He bowed dramatically.

She couldn't even muster a laugh at that, like she usually would have. Her rapidly beating heart was taking up all her energy.

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"I'm here!!" Marinette declared with a loud shriek as she ran into her first class of the day.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, madame!" She bowed stiffly at her teacher's desk. "I had an assignment to finish and I stayed up late ironing my dog and I-"

To her surprise, she was cut off by her entire class laughing.

"Don't worry, Marinette." Alya called, making Marinette turn around. "You actually turned up earlier than Her Royal Majesty."

And that only made everyone laugh even louder. She faced the desk again, ready to flinch against her teacher's glare only to find out she had been bowing to an empty desk.

"Eep!" Marinette's cheeks colored in embarrassment as she turned to face her classmates' fond laughter.

"How's the dog doing, Marinette?" Alix catcalled.

Marinette made herself smaller as she walked to her seat next to Alya.

"I didn't mean to say that!" She protested, fuming.

Turning to her best friend, she whispered, "I only meant-"

"You were ironing your Adrien posters?" Alya giggled in a whisper.

"Alya!" Marinette flushed.

"I know, girl. Only teasing." She patted her back.

It was only then Marinette realized the lack of a certain blond mop of hair in her sight.

"Where's Adrien?" She asked. "Is he not coming to school today?"

"Hm, I'm not sure," Alya said, when Nino turned around to answer Marinette. "He's not coming to school for today, actually."

"What?" Marinette said, aghast, before toning it down. "Ahem, I mean, how come?"

Nino's face fell a little. "Well...um, how do I say this?"

Marinette glanced at Alya, who looked just as confused as she was.

"It's his mom's birthday." Nino winced.

Both girls gasped.

"Oh no," Alya said sympathetically.

"So, you know, he has to stay home and everything 'cause his father insists on having this memorial and everything." Nino looked more and more uncomfortable as he spoke, like he was imagining himself in Adrien's place the whole time. "And by memorial I mean piling more work on the poor kid."

"Why didn't any of us know?" Marinette asked, her heart twanging painfully for her crush- er, friend. "We could have done something, we could have at least told him-"

"I don't know, Marinette, but you two know how shy he is about these things." Nino said, ducking even more under his cap.

"That's true." Alya said thoughtfully, letting Nino entwine his fingers with her hand as his thumb caressed her knuckles. "He almost never talks about what's going on at home, does he?"

(Maybe now wasn't a good time to feel envious of Alya and Nino's ease when it came to affection, but it was hard not to.)

Marinette straightened her thoughts.

Her crush on him had no less faded over the last year. Her heart still beat loudly at even the slightest brush of his skin against hers, but Marinette was proud of herself for realizing that talking to Adrien normally and foaming at the mouth were mutually exclusive.

And as his friend, she couldn't let Adrien be alone at a time like this!

Not like she could actually ever get into his house unless she risked Tikki's wrath by abusing her powers.

"I can hear the gears in your brain turning, Marinette." Alya poked her shoulder. "What are you thinking?"

"Nino?" Marinette said hesitantly. "If I made Adrien something to cheer him up, and gave it to him, would he consider it insensitive?"

Nino immediately brightened up. "No way, dude! He would love something like that! Especially from you!"

"Especially from me?" Marinette paraphrased.

"Uh, what Nino means to say is that no one would ever refuse a gift as sweet as that!" Alya said through gritted teeth. "You just know a softie like Adrien would melt at your declaration of-"

"-Alya!" Marinette interjected.

"-friendship!" Alya finished, but Marinette was a 100 percent sure that was not what she was going to say. "Besides girl, who are we to stop you from a creative spree?"

Marinette sighed in relief. The last thing she needed was a conversation about her love life. She was NOT going to use this as an opportunity to confess.

"I don't think you'll be able to see him though. You'd have to mail it to him. Just like I'm gonna put his notes in that large mailbox you can't even open." Nino sounded disgruntled.

"Oh." Marinette said, her spirits sinking. Giving the present in person would have been nice. Seeing Adrien's handsome face hopefully brighten up as he opened it....

"Well, it doesn't really matter. As long as he gets it, am I right?" She said, ignoring the painful wiggle in her chest.

"Yep, don't forget to sign it, and you'll be fine." Alya teased, much to Marinette's chagrin.

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Finding a picture of Emilie Agreste was easy enough. She was an actress, after all.

But finding one of her with Adrien in it? Looks like Gabriel Agreste was talented at keeping his private life private. She couldn't find any picture or even some sort of information that would help in sketching her portrait for Adrien.

"Uh, Marinette?" Tikki landed on her shoulder. "I don't think you'll need information about Mme. Agreste's movies to draw a portrait of her."

"No, I know that, Tikki, it's just..." she put her phone down and looked at the bare boned sketch in her tablet. "I needed something to prove to myself that I'm not drawing the picture of a ghost." She gulped. "It's crazy how if it weren't for these official photos, it's almost like...."

"...she never existed?" Tikki said ominously. "Yes." Marinette sighed. "I can't imagine how Adrien must be feeling right now."

She couldn't fathom waking up one day and being told that one of her parents had gone forever, never to return.

It was too unbearable. How did Adrien live with it everyday?

"That's why he's so lucky to have friends like you, Marinette!" Tikki said encouragingly. "This is so thoughtful of you!"

"I guess..." Marinette mumbled.

"You could...maybe look up some movie stills?" Tikki suggested.

"No, Tikki, this has to be perfect!" Marinette said. "I doubt he wants his mom to look so...manufactured." she grumbled. "And I really want to draw him in too... I can always use one of his photos as reference but - what if Adrien thinks I'm insensitive for reminding him about the very thing he's trying to forget?! And then he'll hate me forever!" She catastrophized.

"Oh, Marinette." Tikki shook her tiny head. "You know, someone very wise told me that the most important thing about a present is the person giving it."

"Who said that?"

"You did!" Tikki said. "And you know that Adrien wouldn't ever say that to you."

"Yeah...he's too kind to say something bad about my lame drawing."

"Nuh uh." Tikki flew directly up to Marinette's nose. "No negative thoughts. You are going to make a beautiful painting, filled with a lot of love, Adrien is going to absolutely love your present."

Marinette half-smiled. "Thanks, Tikki. What would I do without you?"

Tikki paused to kiss Marinette's forehead. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yes." Marinette said determinedly, keeping an eye on the two photos open in her monitor as she began to sketch.

She had no idea how long she had been drawing, but for some reason her eyes kept on drifting towards the little cat toy she and Chat Noir used to communicate with each other.

Her kitty was pretty out of it today. Was he doing okay? Did his errand go well? What had made him look so disappointed?

Well, he always did look a little sad every time they had to part ways, but she always assumed it had something to do with not being able to see each other as much as they would like.

She knew because she felt the same. In a world full of school assignments, commissions, half worded excuses and akuma attacks, it was practically impossible to imagine it all without Chat Noir. He was one of the few constants in her whirlwind of a life.

Was he doing okay?

"Hey, Tikki?"

"Yes, Marinette?" She looked up from chewing on her cookie.

"Do you think Chat Noir is okay?"

"Ah, but that's a question only Chat Noir can answer."

"That does not help." Marinette grumbled. "Would I be prying if I asked today how his day went? I'm the one enforcing the secret identity rules after all."

"Just talk to him, I'm sure he'd be open to discussing things a little."

"You sure I won't make him uncomfortable? That's the last thing I want to do."

"He's your partner, Marinette, if you can't talk hypothetically with him, who can you talk to?" She said. "Literally." She added after a beat.

Marinette mustered a chuckle, eyeing the kitty toy one last time. "If you say so." She returned to sketching Adrien's vivid green eyes which so resembled his mother's.

And Chat Noir's.

Adrien needed to get away.

That was all he wanted out of life. To get away from his current one.

Staying put in his room for 13 years couldn't have been all there was to life. So he escaped to public school.

Being kind, polite, engaging yet restrained couldn't have been all there was to engage in conversations. A ring and a tiny trickster god gave him an escape route for that.

Maybe, just maybe, in an island far away, where no one could find him, where no one except Ladybug had to put up with him willingly, he wouldn't have to hold back fearing his father's reaction on his mother's birthday of all days.

He felt bad about leaving Nino on read, he felt worse upon learning that his father would not be joining him for dinner AGAIN.

For once, Plagg didn't complain, and he was grateful.

He vaulted out of his window and ran as far as he could. Maybe not the smartest of moves - as a superhero he did technically know the city better than most people.

He was also that kid trapped in a gilded cage for most of his formative years.

His feet took him somewhere, for all he cared he could have ended up in his dream island with Ladybug waiting for him there and he wouldn't have noticed.

A stitch in his side made him stop in his tracks.

His knee hit the narrow roof he had landed on.

'That's weird.' he thought. He usually had no problem running marathons in his super suit.

He grunted, panting heavily as he slid down the chimney. Was even his body refusing to co-operate today? The ONE time he wanted to run away for a few minutes - and of course he practically collapses on a stranger's roof.

'Unbelievable.'

Who was he kidding? He was the superhero of bad luck. What was he expecting, really?

A glint of a streetlight caught his attention.

He could see his school!

Which meant...the house he was sitting on-

"Such a clear night out, don't you think?"

Adrien jumped skittishly, only nearly catching himself at the edge of the roof.

Crap.

Maybe she hadn't heard him?

"Who's there?!" He heard her call out cautiously.

Ok. Maybe she thought it was a LITERAL cat.

"I can hear you!" he heard her, much more braver this time. "I am armed!"

Just when everything was going wrong today, he just had to scare Marinette too.

"WOAH!" He revealed himself, his hands up in surrender. "No need for a catfight, princess. It's just me."

"Chat Noir?" Marinette put down her...potted plant?

"You weren't gonna plant evidence of a murder, were you?" he joked, trying to calm down his rapidly beating heart.

She placed her hands on her hips. "Very funny."

He landed on her railing. "Sorry." he said apologetically. "I was just passing by and I accidentally slid off your roof. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Oh, that's okay." she waved it off. "I wasn't THAT scared."

Adrien's breath hitched a little once he finally got to look at his friend. She was wearing a cardigan over her pink and white pajamas.

And her hair was down.

"Did something happen?" Marinette asked. "Is there an akuma out?"

Her blue eyes glinted with dangerous anxiety.

He didn't understand why he found that...alluring? Of course she would be cautious about having akumas out and about. She lived in Paris just like everyone else.

"No, no." He clarified. "I was out and about. You know, just wanted to get some fresh air and look over my favourite city." he said half-heartedly.

"What about Ladybug?" she asked with a small smile. "Are you two patrolling together today?"

He winced.

"Um...no. Not today. She's probably getting some well-deserved rest, I think." he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

"Oh. I see." Marinette said shortly. "Good for her."

"Don't let me keep you!" Chat said hurriedly. "I'll just be off-"

"Wait!" Marinette stopped him, her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked, taking her hand away, but the concern still remained.

He was momentarily distracted by her pushing back one of the strands of hair away from her face.

Fisting his itching fingers, he tried to appear confused.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

She narrowed her eyes, looking at him up and down. "You look exhausted."

"Pffffft."

He didn't know why his knee jerk reaction was to laugh.

Marinette looked at him like he had grown an extra tail.

"Don't worry, ma princesse, these suits are immune to exhaustion."

"But you're not." she said flatly, making him blink. "There's still a normal person behind the mask, and he looks like he hasn't slept in days."

"Oh come on, it was only yesterday and today!" he said defensively.

"Chat Noir!" Marinette exclaimed.

"I don't see you tucking yourself in."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a superhero with a duty to the city now, am I? You need the extra sleep more than I do."

He opened his mouth to retort, but there was nothing witty about silence.

"I rest my case." she said, smugly smiling at him.

"I just couldn't sleep, okay?" he sighed, brushing his hair back. "Things...are going on in my life."

He almost found himself elaborating before realising that he still wore a mask.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Marinette asked him kindly.

Putting Marinette in danger was the last thing he wanted.

"I don't think I can explain fully." he said, truly disappointed. "Identity rules and all that."

"Oh." a flicker of sadness passed through her face, before she straightened up.

"You don't have to tell me everything! But is there anything else I can do to help?"

'Not unless you can magically find my mother again.' he thought pitifully.

"Thank you, Marinette. You're one of the kindest people I know and I really appreciate it, but there's not much I can do so..."

"Well." Marinette didn't seem to want to give up on him. "I came up here to make a present for my cr- I mean friend, and I have cookies! Do you want to rest here for a while?"

Cookies.

Cookies sounded great.

Some time with his friend sounded absolutely incredible too.

"If it's not too much of a bother..."

"Get down, you silly cat!" she laughed in a tinkling echo, pulling on his arm impatiently.

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He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten something sweet.

What a way to break a fast.

"Careful, you're gonna mold your teeth together." A finger poked his cheek playfully.

"Hm?" He started, his mouth still full of chocolate chip cookies. "Whaffyoumen?" he burbled.

Oops. It probably wasn't a good idea to talk with his mouth full. He could almost feel Nathalie's disapproving glare on him.

But Marinette only choked out a chuckle. "You should see your face right now!"

He slowly swallowed, taking in how her entire body moved when she laughed. Her slender shoulders shook in mirth...and was she wiping tears from her eyes?

"Well, can you blame me?" he said, stifling the surprise he felt at his voice sounding normal. He hadn't even realised that he had swallowed his food.

"The Dupain-Cheng cookies are out of this world!" he hummed appreciatively as he bit into another cookie. "This stray cat is probably gonna linger for a long time, disturbing your good night's sleep all for a taste of your legendary cookies, and you will have no one but yourself to blame." he warned seriously, leaning against the wooden frame of the side of Marinette's deck chair.

"Well I hope the stray knows he is always welcome here." Marinette said, putting her e-marker down.

He blinked, taken aback at her very forward words.

He really was joking. He wasn't really going to come back again and again like a creep and intrude on Marinette's night.

"And I'm probably the biggest night owl I know." she shrugged. "I'm always up sewing or drawing or something or the other."

"Wow, no wonder you're always late to school." he blurted without thinking.

Marinette stiffened, slowly raising her head to look at him.

"How did you know I was always late to school?" she narrowed her eyes at him.

Crap.

Why couldn't he keep his big mouth shut? Now he had gone and babbled to Marinette - and Ladybug was going to have his skin for this-

"I...didn't?" he stammered, thinking quickly. "But now I do!" he schooled his expression into a joking one. "Tsk, tsk, Marinette, it's not good for kids to be so tardy-hey!"

He was cut off by Marinette slamming a throw pillow into his face. "You-you trickster!"

"But I didn't do anything!" He let out a broken laugh, trying to dodge Marinette's well-placed hits.

"I wasn't the one who accused myself of being late!"

"I wasn't the one who confirmed it!" He chuckled as the pillow hit his shoulder, along with a hard hit from her knuckles. "But I bet you're in detention all the time."

"I'll have you know I'm a star student!" Marinette sat up straight, lifting her shoulders proudly. "I am perfectly capable of keeping up with all my work."

Well, he knew she wasn't wrong. Marinette was one of their best students and Adrien had often found himself wondering just how she kept up with all her work.

"My a-paw-logies, purrincess." he bowed his head deeply. "I had no idea your talents made you more than just a pretty girl. And that's saying something, coming from the prettiest cat in all of Paris." he flaunted obnoxiously.

"You silly cat." Marinette rolled her eyes, and his breath hitched.

Something about this was vaguely familiar. The proud tone of voice, the firm set of her chin, the slight glare in her eyes - like he was a challenge she was not afraid of.

Of course he knew that Marinette possessed a lot of qualities he would associate with Ladybug. Her kindness, her bravery, her headstrong nature, her blue eyes, her silky hair that no doubt reminded him of his fantasies of a Ladybug with her hair down.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Adrien felt ashamed of himself. Here she was, being impossibly more kind to him than he deserved, and here he was, acting beyond stupidly.

Marinette was a pretty girl, he had always known that, he wasn't going to deny it, but he wasn't going to fixate on it anymore.

Besides, Ladybug was the only one for him...right?

"Believe me," he reached out to hold her hand. "Talking about the new UMS update and shoving cookies down my throat is exactly what I needed."

He squeezed her hand and let go, partly embarrassed that he really wanted to kiss it and partly furious that he had even considered that.

“You’re amazing, Marinette. I really hope you know that.”

Now it was her turn to be embarrassed. “Oh stop, I didn’t do anything, I really enjoy your company anyway. But I’m really glad you’re feeling better!"

She did much more than she thought. Somehow a half an hour of proximity to Marinette’s radiance did wonders to his mood.

"Thanks." he said, the smile playing easily on his lips.

"Oh come on!" Marinette sighed exasperated, pointing to her tablet.

It was scattered on its back on the pillow which Marinette had used to bonk him.

"Oops, sorry, princess!" He said hastily, picking it up and turning it on.

He breathed a sigh of relief when it flickered on. The last thing he wanted was to inconvenience Marinette with his clownery.

"What were you drawing anyway?" he asked, grinning up at her. "Another incredible design worthy of the front cover of Vogue?"

He glanced down at the screen, and Marinette snatched her tablet away quickly.

One second was enough to register what he had seen.

"Uh, ah, not exactly...?" Marinette stammered. "I-it's nothing! I was just trying out some new sketches and stuff!! I'm always drawing dresses and that gets boring after a while don't you think?!" she let out a very loud, and nervous laugh.

Chat was sure his mind was playing tricks on him.

His mother was on his mind all day, so obviously the first thing he saw on a screen would be a very detailed and meticulous sketch of a portrait of him and his mother.

"Uh, is that the Agreste kid?" he gulped. "I recognize him from all the billboards and stuff."

"N-no! It's not! Like I said, I was just practicing sketching people and this was the first thing that popped up in google!" she dropped the tablet again on her lap to flail her arms around. "It's nothing!!"

Not that he was able to register her art in complete detail - but the first thing about it that caught his eye was well, his eyes.

"May I...?" he asked gently, holding out a gloved hand.

He waited for her to give the tablet to him, (which strangely brought about a sense of deja vu regarding an umbrella) and peered at the drawing.

It was the color of leaves, the color of grass, the kind of shade that made one slack-jawed at its brilliance.

He was always told that his almond shaped eyes were beautiful, but it's not like he ever cared for things like that.

Marinette was flustered and nervous, a lot, but she wasn't the kind to falsely exaggerate things.

Why did Marinette draw him like that? So expressive? So full of life?

One look at the beautiful, smiling woman with her arms around his shoulders gave him the answer.

Whoever said it was easy to know the worth of our loved ones wasn't wrong. His mum was smiling for the camera, but her green eyes (the same shade as his) were peering down at him lovingly.

Tears pricked at the back of his eyes but he forced them back.

He missed her. He missed how she used to play the piano for him, how she would let him place his tiny hands over hers while she taught him the chords, how she used to be a fan of every tv show he watched, how her voice reading a bedtime story used to be the only thing that would rock him to sleep.

He cleared his throat and said, "It looks stunning, Marinette. You are so talented!!"

Marinette deserved the praise. His blubbering could wait for now.

"R-really?"

For the first time, Marinette was actually shy in front of Chat Noir. "T-thank you."

"Is there a story behind this?" he asked, handing her tablet back.

"I mean, it's curious how of all people you chose the Agrestes." he tried to come off as conversational and not desperate.

"Well, I...promise me you won't laugh?"

"Is it a joke I will laugh at?" He raised an eyebrow.

(Oh no, what if it was a joke?! What if Marinette was just practicing and he went and made it more serious than it actually is-)

"Chat!" she snapped.

"Okay, okay, I promise." he drew a cross over his heart. "Feline's honour."

"Okay." Marinette took a deep breath before answering. "You know how Adrien Agreste is in my class?"

"Yeah!" he said a bit too enthusiastically before reeling himself in. "I mean, I've seen him around." he amended.

"Okay so, today is his late mother's birthday." she mumbled, twiddling her thumbs.

"You know-?"

"Not that I researched it!" she practically yelled. "His best friend told me! And he was pretty worried because Adrien didn't come to school and I was worried too - because well, uh, I really can't imagine how awful he must be feeling and I just wanted to make him something so that he could feel better....?"

Words were failing him.

She must have taken his silence for disgust because she prattled on. "I would have finished it sooner and mailed it to him but its so PERSONAL and I didn't want to be insensitive, what am I SAYING-"

"Wait." Chat interrupted. "The gift you were talking about. The one for your friend. It's this?"

She hesitated before nodding.

If the tears were imminent before, they were lashing away at his eyes, threatening to blur the lines of superhero-civilian-friend-acquaintance and throw his arms around Marinette and sob into her shoulder and thank her for the rest of his life.

Adrien wasn't Chat Noir for nothing. He had learned the difference between the emotions he could express and the emotions he had to keep in check.

"Marinette?" he asked, gulping down his tears. "Why would I laugh at this?"

"I don't know...isn't it childish? Wouldn't he prefer something better? Something that doesn't remind him of someone he is grieving for? What if he hates it?? What if he never wants to see me again??" her voice was progressively getting louder.

"Marinette-" He reached out to hold her shoulders, but she beat him to it, gripping his arms and shaking him a little.

"I'll never forgive myself if that happens!!"

Of course he knew Marinette cared. She was the kindest person he knew.

He didn't know she cared about him enough to pour her heart and soul into a beautiful present made just for him. He didn't know she cared so much about HIS opinion on something. No one ever asked him what his thoughts and opinions were.

But why him? Why him of all people?

"Marinette." he said gently, willing himself to calm down as he held her arms and pushing himself away gently.

He couldn't sit too close. If he did, he would want to hug her and bury his face into her neck and have a good cry, and worse, he WOULD do exactly that.

"Why would Adrien dislike it?" he murmured. "He would be more than happy to recieve something amazing like that."

"You're just saying that." she said miserably, her shoulders hunching over.

"No!! Trust me, Adrien is going to LOVE it. He is..." one of his claws caught absent mindedly on a stray strand of hair.

It had dislodged itself away from her hair.

Well that simply wouldn't do.

"He is so lucky to have a friend like you."

He didn't know why the word 'friend' was suddenly so hard to say.

"There's a reason why you are my favourite civilian, you know." he said, pushing the lock of hair behind her ear.

She involuntarily snorted. "You're a superhero. You can't play favourites."

"I can if my favourite is the kindest, most talented, most incredible person I know." he retorted.

Did he hear her breath hitch?

"But Adrien is the best friend anyone could ask for! He's always so supportive, he never turns down an opportunity to help someone out, even in his busy schedule - he's so hands-uh, he's very hands on!!" She stammered at the last minute. "I can't give him any old drawing and expect him to accept it!"

"That old drawing??" he repeated incredulously. "I can't believe you are insulting that work of art!"

"Oh, you know what I mean!"

"I don't, actually." he quipped. "I don't see any reason why he shouldn't accept it. And if he's half the decent dude you say he is, he will. Believe me, Marinette. Amazing girls like you should have nothing to worry about. If anything, your friend Adrien is the lucky one."

He meant it with his whole heart. If he couldn't hug Marinette (and stay there for the rest of his life) as Chat Noir, tomorrow he was going to do it as Adrien and let her know just how wonderful of a person she truly was.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one comforting you?" her tone was teasing, but sincere at the same time.

"Anything for my favourite civilian, remember?" He winked.

To his utter surprise, Marinette flung her arms around him in a tight hug.

She didn't even take him by surprise, yet he felt like the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

She practically had to kneel while he was able to envelop her in his arms while sitting down.

She was the small one, but he was the one feeling safe and protected in her embrace.

He was able to register how rapid her heartbeat was (or maybe it was his, he couldn't tell), how she breathed, how her cheek was pressed against his shoulder -

"Thank you for being such a good friend, Chat Noir." she said into his chest.

'You. Are. A. Despicable. Human. Being.' His conscience snarled as it sunk.

Why was it? He was more than happy to be Marinette's friend. He was!

"Hey," Marinette said into his ear, after a few minutes (or atleast he thought so), "Ladybug is incredible and all, but between you and me, it's you I'm a fan of."

Marinette Dupain Cheng was a CHAT NOIR fan?

MARINETTE DUPAIN CHENG was a Chat Noir fan!

His ego swelled and deflated at that.

"Well, No. #1 fan, I'm all for selfies, as long as the camera flash isn't turned on and I autograph in paw prints and ink." he said cheekily.

"Gee." Marinette said flatly. "No thank you. I'd rather not have my papers stained in paw prints."

"Well some of us can't draw as well as you. It would be unbecoming of me to scribble all over your headshots of me you're no doubt hiding."

Her cheeks turned pink at that, but quickly calmed down. "Ha, you wish." she turned away shyly.

"Marinette?" he said kindly. "I meant every word I said. If Adrien hates your present, I'm sorry to say this but he can piss right off."

He was met with a another pillow to his face.

"Watch it," she said threateningly but he could hear the smile in her voice.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette #chat noir #marichat #aps secret santa #my fics

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