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americxn · 3 years

Text

Confession (Colin x Fem!Reader)

a/n - I don’t know if Colin is only involved in missing person/murder cases but I decided to go arson instead because murder seemed way too serious for this scenario. Also, I’m not a lawyer, I have no clue what I’m talking about but we move

wordcount: 2.7k warnings: NSFW, kinda dom Colin (putting this as a warning bc I know some of you don’t like that), fingering, mentions of arson

Colin’s eyes were dark and unwavering as he pinned them on you, his thumbs tucked into the waistband of his work pants as he lounged against the back of his chair, his eyebrows slightly cocked and mouth a thin line. A portrait of increasing irritation. Your own head cocked slightly, waiting for him to repeat his question for the twentieth time in an hour. Sighing, he pulled his hands away from his waist, shifting to straighten on his chair as he leant forwards, levelling an utterly unamused look at you. His patience was wearing thin. Good. A small smile curved the corners of your mouth upwards as your chin raised slightly, Colin’s eyes flashing in agitation at your increasingly insufferable attitude. “I’m only going to ask you this one more time: where were you on the night of October 10th?” “At home.” You responded easily, the same answer you had given him with each reiteration of the question.

His jaw clenched at your unrelenting impassivity, the muscles within feathering. He braced his elbows on the surface of the cold metal table between you, leaning forwards, his eyes never once leaving yours. You bit back your amusement, leaning in slightly to meet him in mocking interest, your arrogance spilling onto the metal before you, pooling about the detective’s elbows, dripping from the table onto the concrete floor. “Let me repeat this once more,” he began, his tone dropping and becoming somewhat condensing, as if you were a child incapable of grasping the concept of the situation. “Several witnesses came forward and gave both your name and general description on the night of 10th, only several minutes after officials suspect that the fire was started.” Your amusement was momentarily doused as the image of the fire that you had ignited flashed, the memory of the pure ecstasy and sense of completion that had filled you the second you dropped the match onto the gasoline-coated floor of the large, abandoned building. Pulling your attention back to the man before you, you merely shrugged, leaning back in your chair and bringing a hand up to your face, examining your carefully manicured nails. “It was dark, detective. They could’ve seen anyone. As I’ve already explained multiple times, I was at home, not fucking around setting buildings on fire.” The lies came too easily to you. Colin seemed to be thinking the same thing as he tipped his head back to the brightly illuminated ceiling and let out a truly exasperated sigh. You quietly scoffed, folding your hands together in your lap and gazing at him with feigned innocence, allowing a patient demeanor to slip over you. “You’re enjoying this far too much. This is serious, y/n.” He gritted out as he lowered his eyes back to yours. The small smile of indifference painted on your face as he surveyed you once more served as your second act of arson, fuelling his growing anger. He knew it was you. You knew he knew. Your smile only grew. “I know that you’re guilty.” He threw the words across the table at you, his voice low. “If you’re so confident that it was me, why am I even here?” You pressed offhandedly, the front legs of your chair lifting off the floor as you pushed back on it. “Because I need a verbal confession.” Colin stated firmly. “And you’re going to give me one.” You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled out of you at his overly confident words, your eyes alight with flickering amusement. His own eyes flashed in warning. “Of course you are. And how, exactly, do you plan on getting one from me?” You challenged, your chair falling fulling back to the floor with a dull thud. Colin’s eyes flicked down to the surface of the table, as if watching through the thick metal as you placed your feet back on the ground. His own feet shifted beneath the table, his eyes lifting back to yours as his foot appeared on the edge of your chair between your slightly parted legs. You stiffened in confused alarm but kept your eyes trained on his as he slowly pressed his foot into your pussy, the pointed tip of his leather shoe spearing onto your clothed clit, too-sensitive even through the protection of your clothes. A gasp ripped free from your throat at the sudden pressure, any amusement having fled from your features, now displayed proudly on Colin’s instead. “What’re you-” the tip of his shoe twitched harshly against your covered core, the rest of your words dissipating into the suddenly tension-filled space between you. “Talk me through your evening on the 10th.” He ordered, his eyes falling wholly dark as he tracked the movement of your lower lip catching between your teeth. Your hands fell onto the arms of the chair you sat in, clenching tightly onto the cold metal as a spontaneous inner conflict took place within you. Push him off or see where this goes. This ‘interrogation’ had gone on for far too long, you were beginning to get bored. And so, you settled further into your chair, pressing yourself slightly further onto the tip of his shoe, an almost inaudible groan working its way out of you at the increased pressure. “I’ve told you. I was at home.” He retracted his shoe ever so slightly before pressing it against you once more with even more persistence. When he didn’t reply, his jaw working in annoyance, you sighed softly, not allowing any anxiety to worm its way into you as he put you on the spot, creating a vague alibi in a matter of seconds. You knew that stalling for a moment too long would only raise his suspicions. “I came home from work at around five. I drove.” You added, reluctant to leave any room for further questioning, not as his shoe began to make small strokes up and down on your clothed cunt, dulling your vital concentration. Your integrity lapsed at his increasing attention on your core, your legs parting more of their own accord. “I, um, I showered for like fifteen minutes and then I went to make food.” The lie was weak; Colin’s mouth twitched, as if a smirk strained to formed on his thin lips. “You don’t live alone, do you?” You swallowed but shook your head. “No. My roommates weren’t home.” “Oh?” He uttered, urging you to present him with an explanation. You bit down on the inside of your cheek as he pressed the tip of his shoe against you even harder. “They stayed at the college library to study.” Your tone wavered, your eyes flicking down to your shamelessly parted legs. “Unfortunately, I spoke to two of your roommates earlier.” At his cruel contradiction, your eyes fluttered closed in defeat. “They were all home by four that night.” His chair creaked as he leant forwards, your eyes flying open with a low groan as his foot was forced further against you. “What’s even more interesting, is that they didn’t see you at all that night.” “What’s the point of this?” You muttered, lifting your gaze to his. “Why ask if you know I’m lying to you?” “Because I need to hear you confess.” He answered simply, pushing back his chair and standing. Your hips rocked forwards slightly on your seat, trying to subconsciously chase after his foot as he stood. Watching closely as he slowly made his way around the table, small ribbons of nervousness finally began to unfurl within your gut, your unease growing as he reached you, coming to a halt beside the chair that you sunk further into beneath his scrutiny. The hand that he snaked onto your shoulder was a warm weight and you took a steadying breath as his other fell onto your side, Colin taking a step behind your chair. Looking straight ahead, you didn’t dare shift so much as an inch as his hand slid from your shoulder to the crook of your neck, his fingers settling onto your skin. You resisted the urge to cross your legs, waiting for Colin’s next words, the hand at your side beginning to run softly up and down the length between your ribs and your hip. Your breathing hitched as he stooped down, his own breath hot on the side of your neck. "What would happen if I was guilty? If I did confess?” You chose the words carefully but your true intentions behind the cautious question was explicit: What happened when you confessed? “Either I use the evidence I have against you in court and accuse you of being guilty. Or, you confess, and get a lesser sentence. Since no one was harmed and there were no malicious intentions, right now with no confession, you’re looking at a heavy fine and restitution.” Whilst he spoke lowly in your ear, his hand made a slow trail from your side to your abdomen and any information that he was providing you evaded your attention as all of your focus trained itself upon the hand that Colin was sliding lower and lower down your body. He drew swirling patterns across your stomach with the tips of his fingers, dipping tantalisingly past your belly button before straying back up your torso once more. Your eyes dropped to watch the smooth movements of his fingertips. A small part of your conscious scolded yourself for how wrong this was but the other, larger part sung with nervous excitement, willing his hand to fall even lower. You were going to have to give him a confession at some point or another. He already knew you were guilty, what would be the harm in getting some fulfilment from it? “But it’s ultimately not up to me. Just know that a confession will lighten the consequences.” You merely nodded, your eyes never straying from the hand that leisurely explored the stretch of your stomach, Colin’s body a warm presence behind you, his hands roving closer and closer to where you ached for him, the sweet scent of your arousal filling the room. His lithe fingers made quick work of the buttons holding your pants together, your head falling back against his chest as he pressed his body further against the back of your chair. He hummed lowly in approval as his fingers finally delved between your folds, gathering the wetness at your entrance and smearing it up to your clit. His fingers made tight, messy circles atop it as he spoke lowly in your ear: “Let’s try one last time. Where were you on the night of October 10th?” You took a sharp breath, Colin’s fingers straying from your sweet bundle of nerves to your opening, poised amongst the wetness gathered there as he awaited your answer. “At home.” You whispered weakly, trying to lift your hips in an effort of bribing the finger that languidly circled your entrance. His fingers stopped moving entirely, drawing away from your cunt and simply resting in your pants. You groaned at his blatant denial. “Okay. I left work early, around three, and went home to change -” He plunged a single finger deep into you, coaxing a low groan from your throat. You turned your face into the warmth of his chest as he twisted that single finger inside of you, trying to organise your thoughts and remember your actions of that evening as he began to move his finger in and out. “I was only home for about half an hour.” You whispered into the awaiting silence of the room as he slowly eased a second finger into your cunt, starting to pump them in a steady rhythm, the tips of his fingers curling to hit the spot within you that seemed to send shock waves throughout your entire body with each stroke of his rough fingertips against it, coaxing more information from you, using your own pleasure as a bribe. "I drove to the property. There was no one there when I arrived so I waited.” You continued, voice accented with whiny need, the expert curling of Colin’s fingers within you as you opened up to him sending more wetness gathering around his long digits, a pleasant warm sensation spreading throughout your stomach. “Why?” His voice was low in your ear and your eyes fluttered closed as his ministrations caused more pleasure to grow within your gut. You let out a quiet moan as he inserted a third finger into you at your silence, wasting no time in establishing a steady fast pace, Colin fervent to pull the confession from you. “Oh, shit.” You moaned out as his fingers thrusted relentlessly inside of you, seeming to reach deeper than you even thought was possible, his desperation to draw the condemning evidence from you apparent. “Why?” He repeated, your confidence faltering as you realised that you had given him enough information and that now all he needed to hear was your reasoning to why. “Why, y/n?” A drawn out groan floated from your parted lips, tugging your answer out behind it. “I was bored. I wanted people to see, I wanted them to talk about it.” The heat within the pit of your stomach was fuelled with each stroke of his fingers and soon your legs were trembling and your toes were curling. The small triumphant smile displayed upon Colin’s face was evident in his tone as he asked you one final question, whispered lowly into your ear: “So you burnt the building down?” Lifting your hips up slightly, you gripped onto the arm snaked around you body with both hands, trying to urge his fingers to go harder, deeper as your pleasure built and built, each thrust of his fingers ripping away a layer of the ball of ecstasy glowing in your gut, the orgasm hidden at its centre your only goal. “Y/n.” Colin prompted quietly, your poorly suppressed groan almost drowning his voice out completely as your pleasure mounted, building quickly towards release. The groan turned from one of satisfaction to one of dismay as Colin suddenly withdrew his fingers from you entirely, your hips bucking up pathetically as he rested his hand within your pants. His message was clear: no confession, no orgasm. “Yes!” You squeaked, your fingers tightening their grip on his arm, willing his fingers to resume their skilful exploration of your cunt. “Yes. I burnt the building down.” Colin plunged his fingers back into your awaiting entrance, victorious as you shrieked in alarm and pleasure, his digits filled you suddenly once more. “Cum, y/n.” Colin encouraged lowly when he felt you clenching around him and he leant down further, his teeth latching onto the soft shell of your ear and biting down sharply. The slight pain pushed you over the edge and you came undone in his arms, your back arching off the back of the chair, your head pressing further against the hard planes of his chest, your head lolling to the side as you came, the unfamiliar scent of the man filling your nose, serving as a reminder of who was granting you your blissful gratification. Colin’s tongue traced over the small hurt that he had inflicted with his teeth, his fingers stilling their relentless thrusting to move within you instead, curling at the perfect angle and coaxing every last drop of cum from you before pulling out entirely. Your thighs jerked and trembled, closing around his hand as you came down from your high with a gasp, regaining control of your body once more, your back collapsing back against the chair. Withdrawing his hand from your pants, he stepped away from you, your laboured breaths filling the small room, your wetness glistening on Colin’s fingers beneath the harsh lighting as he pulled away, walking slowly back around the table and dropping into his own chair. Your swallow was audible as he pulled his papers closer to him, taking up a pen and beginning to scribble messily formed words onto the blank sheet. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, triumph glistening there. “You can go now.” He dismissed, his attention settling back on the paper he filled out. “Go sit back in the waiting room, I’ll send someone to talk you through what happens next.” You rose from your seat in silence, your wetness smearing onto your upper thighs as you moved, your legs weak. With one final glance at the detective, you turned on your heel, trying to gather back some of your dignity as you left the room, Colin’s focus remaining fixed to the paper before him as the door closed behind you.

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caffeineforbucky · 3 years

Text

As Time Goes By...(Chapter three)

A/N: This one took a while to write. I've just been so busy doing absolutely nothing all while procrastinating, so special thanks to that. No, but I really hope you like this, fellow reader. If you like the series, let me know if you want to be tagged!

(Side note: I've been playing RE8, thirsting over lady D, and dying over and over...it's going great! It's part of the procrastination...)

Also, has anyone seen the Bridgerton musical tiktoks? I swear I've had the 'burn for you' song in my head all last month and if you've been living under a rock...here's the link:

https://youtu.be/EwY9_m5qeow

Word Count: 2,299

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

Warnings: I don't know....angst? As always, John Walker!?! AKA; Fake Cap. Umm...If I missed any let me know.

(A little PSA: I don't hate John Walker: or the actor. John is a well-written character. This is just strictly for the purpose of where my story is going. I'm more reiterating how Bucky treats him in the show. Thank you!!)

You groan, rolling from your left side to lay flatly on your back, arms spread out beside you. You inhale deeply, becoming aware of the moistened dirt and crushed wildflowers beneath you as they release their aromatics. Birds chirped around you, the busy sounds of traffic fading away while you lie still in the field, oxygen feeling heavy in your lungs.

"Y/N?!"

You barely heard the worrisome calls of Sam over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You lift your head, the view of icy mountains in the distance, blurry figures making their way towards you while you somehow managed to sit up. Your head was spinning, a sharp ache on the side of your thigh.

Your eyes flickered down, taking note of the small paring knife lodged in your thigh. You exhaled softly, nodding your head at the sight of it. "Okay," You grumble in agreement. With shaking hands, you wrap your fingers around the handle, bracing yourself by taking intervolved breaths before carefully pulling it from your thigh.

You worked fast, ignoring the crunch of rocks and dirt under the acknowledgeable footsteps of Sam and Bucky. Taking babochka, you cut off the end of your pant leg, wrapping the spandex around your wounded thigh before securing it with one of the holsters, tying the ends into a knot. You remain quiet, carefully pushing yourself up to your feet, transferring all of the weight to the opposite leg, eyes drifting up to meet the guys. "Are you guys okay?" You murmur, dusting off the clumps of dirt and dead leaves from your jacket.

"Are you?!" Sam exclaimed incredulously. "You're bleeding!" He points out, gesturing to the bright red staining the skin of your calf as it dripped down to your boot. The wrap might've held the wound shut, but that didn't mean blood wouldn't have soaked through.

"Oh, this?" You ask, glancing down at your leg, the wound throbbing in agony, but you did your best to avoid it. "I've had worse." That was true, from all those years fighting as an avenger. Getting shot, kicked, stabbed, beaten until you were purple, and undergoing mind control. This tiny stab was the least of your worries. It still hurt like hell, and you couldn't hide the discomfort in your features.

"Do you want a piggyback?" Bucky asks suddenly, slightly annoyed at your nonchalance and still concerned nonetheless. You weren't expecting it, the odd but kind offer, especially from the menace himself. Though you weren't one to pass up being carried. With a hesitant nod, you agree, watching Bucky crouch just a bit, allowing you to climb on his back.

The position was awkward for both of you. With his hands tightening on the back of your knees and your arms wrapped around his neck, neither of you could think straight. Yet, you were still thankful. The road to the airport was a long one, and you weren't sure if you could make it in your state. Bucky held you as if you weighed nothing, his super-soldier strength showing off while he carried you on his back, footsteps matching up with Sam. He didn't mind doing it, especially since he was the one who offered, and the proximity was just a bonus.

"Sorry about Redwing," Bucky muses, breaking the silence while the three of you sauntered down the empty road. There was nothing for miles, only empty plains of grass and dirt. Young trees scattered, lacking the greenery around them, evident of the cold weather in Munich.

"No, you're not," Sam remarks, narrowing his eyes to a pinprick at the winter soldier. "You've always hated Redwing."

"That doesn't mean I'm not sorry about it," Bucky grumbles, tightening his hold on you as he felt you slipping. You gasp at the sudden strength, clinging better to his shoulders as well. "How're you doin' up there?" He asks, jaw clenching from your touch.

"All things considering," You sigh, pushing aside the butterflies in your tummy at how close you were to Bucky. "I've been better. We've gotta find out where that super serum is coming from."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in, glancing at you. "-And how the hell after 80 years are there eight super-soldiers runnin' loose?"

Loud honks of a horn ring in your ears, tires treading on the gravel as an army jeep slows down beside the three of you. "So, that didn't go as planned, huh?" John chuckles, pushing the door open only for you to keep walking, paying no mind to the man in stars and stripes.

"Okay, keep going," John utters, signaling the driver to keep up as he pulls the door shut. "Look, at least we know what we're up against, huh? And I'm pretty sure it's one of the big three...so,"

"Aliens, androids, or wizards," Lemar comments as John nods his head in agreement.

"There's no such thing as wizards!" Bucky grunts, keeping his eyes forward, hands on the back of your knees.

"Fine, aliens or androids," John settles, sharing a look with his best friend beside him. "Look, it's 20 miles to the airport, and you guys need a ride. Gary, stop," He instructs, the wheels slowing down. John opens the door once again. "Get in," He sighs, motioning all of you inside the jeep as Bucky and Sam's footsteps came to a halt.

Bucky gently sets you down, taking note of the small whimpers falling from your lips. No matter how tough you appeared to be, you still carried so much vulnerability. "You okay?" He asks, eyes filled with so much concern it almost scared you. He hadn't looked at you like that in a while. "Do you want any help?"

With a soft nod, you oblige to Bucky's ask, needing more help than you anticipated. You didn't want to add any strain or force to your injury. You didn't even realize it happened, and that part of it was Sam's fault for swooping to grab you while you had a knife in hand, but you weren't going to start pointing fingers. You wrap your arm around Bucky's shoulder, using him as support while he boosts you up on the jeep after Sam climbs up first, helping you settle beside him.

"Woah!" John exclaims, almost rising to his feet at the sight of your thigh, your hands stained with blood. "Are you okay?"

With a curt nod, you adjust yourself to relieve some of the pressure while Bucky takes a seat on your left, leaving you to be right smack dab in the middle as he pulls the door shut. You blow out a breath, knowing damn well if it hadn't been for the mishap, you would've walked the damn 20 miles.

"Lemar, hand me the first aid kit," John instructs, pointing to the steel case beside his friend. You wanted to protest, but even you knew that the strap wasn't going to work. Mouthing a thank you, you take the case from Lemar's hand and clip it open.

"Okay, so we got eight super-soldiers on a bulk supply run," John continues, the jeep beginning to roll down the road. You hand the case to Sam, asking him to hold it while you searched for gauze, medical tape, and butterfly bandages, you were probably going to need stitches, but you'd worry about that later. "Why?" John asks, watching closely as you patched up your wound.

"They say their mission is to get things back to the way it was during the blip," Sam answers, handing you another strip of tape. "Maybe they're just tryna help."

"They had a funny way of showing it," Bucky adds, his eyes trained on you, a hiss slipping through your lips as you roll down the remaining spandex. You sigh in relief, the ache becoming dull as you shut the case, giving it back to Lemar.

"Better?" John asks, earning a single nod as a response. "I don't think we've properly met. John Walker," he smiles, offering a shake of his hand, but you didn't move, only staring at the outstretched palm in front of you. "Does she talk?" John mumbles suddenly, looking to Sam or Bucky for a reply.

Your eyes cast down, gaze hardening at the sight of the shield in his grasp. Flashes of Steve running through your mind, the many times he'd catch you trying to throw it like he would. Steve Rogers meant a lot to you, having joined him in not signing the Sokovian accords, being an outlaw, and helping to clear Bucky's name with Sam. So, seeing a man who wasn't Steve hold the shield awoke something in you. Something unkind and hateful.

"When she wants to," You claim, John squirms in his seat, sensing the tension as your eyes flicker to his. "And frankly has no desire to speak to you."

"You don't even know me," John defends, glancing at Bucky, a sly smirk on his lips, and Sam, who rendered quiet, his eyes looking elsewhere. John sets his attention back on you, lips razor thin.

You scoff, shaking your head softly as you fold your arms over your chest. "Jonathon F. Walker," You begin, leaning back in your seat, your eyes never leaving his. "Former Captain of the U.S Army's 75th Rangers Regiment. Graduated at the top of your class from the United States Military and the first person in American history to receive three medals of honor, ran RS-one missions in counterterrorism and hostage rescue."

John's tongue darts between his lips, a frown spreading throughout his forehead at the information you were giving him. Either you did research on him or, you just read his file, which you had done both. You were not one to go into a mission without potentially knowing who you were up against. It was better to be safe than sorry.

"So you saw the news?" John chuckles, the frown falling from his features while he shrugs. "Big deal, so did the entire world."

"Custer's Grove High school alumni."

John's smile falters.

"There you met, Lemar Hoskins and your current wife," You tilt your head in curiosity. "Olivia, right? Or am I getting it wrong?"

Clearing his throat softly, John broke eye contact with you. So you did know him, and you probably knew more than you led on. "Do they always just stare like that?" He gestures between you and Bucky, who had displayed the same distaste for him.

Sam glances beside him, observing the matched body language you shared with Bucky, its no wonder Bucky had taken a liking to you, even if he'd never admit it. "You get used to it," Sam smirks, turning his head back to Walker.

"Okay..." John drags, eyes flickering to the more sensible one of the trio, and that was Sam. "Look, that serum doesn't have the greatest track record, no offense," He waves his hand, dismissing the insult directed towards the only super-soldier in the car.

"We need to figure out where they're going. How'd you track 'em here?" Sam asks, "The flag smashers."

"Uh," Lemar murmurs, scratching the back of his head. "We didn't track them. We tracked you through Redwing."

"You hacked my tech!?" Sam gripes, straightening out his back as he sat up.

"Sorry," John laughs, "It's not exactly hacking. It's government property...kind of the government. Alright, you know things have gotten kind of..."

"Chaotic," Lemar adds.

"Yeah," John nods in agreement. "The GRC, they're doing their best to get things up and running smoothly post blip. If you guys teamed up with us-"

"No." Bucky interrupts. He couldn't let Walker finish that sentence.

"I've got mad respect for all of you," Lemar praises, looking between the trio before him. "But you were getting your asses kicked 'til we showed up."

"And who are you?" Bucky bemuses, cocking a brow at the man next to John.

"Lemar Hoskins," You mention, "I could've sworn we've been through this." You shake your head at the old man, for being 106, he couldn't hear a thing.

"I see a guy hanging out of a helicopter in tactical gear," Sam shrugs, "I'm gonna need a lot more than Lemar Hoskins."

"I'm Battlestar, John's partner."

"Battlestar?" Bucky repeats, narrowing his eyes at Lemar as he nods, confirming his alias. "Stop the car!" Bucky shouts suddenly, brakes screeching as the wheels come to a stop in the middle of the road. Bucky pulls open the handle, ducking, as to not rail his head on the bar-frame above him before hopping off the jeep.

"Look, I get it, okay?" John sighs, calling after Bucky. "I get the attitude, I do. You didn't think the shield was gonna end up here. I get it, Bucky. And I'm not trying to be Steve!"

"Good," You interject, rendering John to settle his eyes on you. "Because you will never be. And just because you're the one wielding it..." You grab the bar above your head, using it to pull yourself up. "It doesn't make you Captain America." And with that, you carefully jump off the jeep, following after the heated super-soldier.

Sighing in frustration, he rips his eyes away from your retreating figures. "I'm not trying to replace him either. I'm just trying to be the best Captain America I can be." He explains to Sam, hoping the falcon would cut him some slack. "-And it'd be a whole lot easier if I had Cap's wingman on my side."

Sam's eyes widen in surprise, his tongue darting between his lips. "It's always that last line," He scoffs, shaking his head as he jumped off the car, following you and Bucky.

John's lips thin out, face scrunching in a scowl. "Let's go," He instructs. The sound of the jeep leaving making its way to your ears.

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paperpocalypse · 4 years

Text

duty.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 13. Playing your fingers through their hair while sitting next to them on the couch.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Aristocrat!Reader

Word Count: 2,407 words

Warning: Wonky and inaccurate aristocrat/rich people politics and marrying young because of it, please bear with me

[A/N: No powers!Historical!AU]

The elegance of the Hargreeves estate is of the dark, academic sort – polished, reserved, all sharp lines and dim lighting and old books – and you’d feel quite intimidated by it if you were any less acquainted with its occupants. You and your sister always look out of place when you visit, bright splotches of summer color roaming the narrow, perpetually autumnal hallways; and when congregating with the siblings in the library or outside, any visitor could glance at your merry group and immediately tell apart the hosts and the guests.

It’s all a reflection of your respective parents, really – if you had any say in how you presented yourself, it certainly wouldn’t be in the vivid, youthful hues of your mother’s choosing, and you’re sure that some of the others have similar sentiments.

Because while your family and Five’s family are certainly different in some ways, their respective heads are both pretty damn suffocating.

“Looks like it’s a draw.”

You grunt, displeased, and collapse back in your chair, bundling up in your blanket. “Can’t take a loss, can you, Five?”

“Not if I can help it,” he answers. His frown and crossed arms speak to his dissatisfaction with the result; losing is never an option, but clear-cut victories are always better than a draw. “Want to play again?”

The suggestion is tempting. Very tempting. You reach out and pick up your king, feeling the cold, smooth marble against the pads of your fingertips, and purse your lips in thought. Your eyes flick up briefly to meet Five’s.

Oh.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you finally say, putting the piece down. “I’m getting a bit tired.”

Five studies you for a moment, head tilting in that particular, scrutinizing way of his. Then his expression smooths out and he nods.

After putting the pieces back into place, the two of you exit the warmth of the library and head towards the guest wing. The walk is silent; you keep your borrowed blanket wrapped snugly around your shoulders, the bottom dragging across the perfect, wooden floor as you look at the paintings hung along the wall. They’re landscapes, mostly – of dark green forests; cold, still oceans; blue-grey mountains shrouded in mist. Impersonal and very fitting for the tastes of Five’s father, that’s for sure.

When you reach your room, you smile at your companion, and it feels unnaturally polite. “Well, goodnight, Five.”

“Goodnight.”

The boy turns and strolls back down the hallway, and you wait until he disappears around the corner, chewing on your bottom lip, before pushing the door open to enter your room.

“You two are duller than an ashtray. 'Goodnight’?”

“Sh –” you bite back an expletive, whipping around to glare at the intruder on your bed. “Lila, go back to your own room!”

Your sister just stares at you from her upside-down position, arms and legs splayed out as she smiles. “You still haven’t talked about it, have you?”

“We don’t need to,” you snap back quietly, closing the door as quickly as you can without slamming it. “He understands it as well as you and I do.”

“You realize Mum never said you’ll have to marry the guy.”

“Of course not; she just strongly suggested it.”

“Still not an order.”

Her flippancy causes you to glare. “Lord Harold is rich and he’s willing –"

“He’s a massive creep,” she interrupts, giving you an incredulous look. “And you just came of age, [Y/n]. You’ll be miserable.”

“I can get it annulled after five years, remember?”

“You’re really going to last for five years?”

She’s trying to pull something out of you, you know it. You try to maintain your composure.

“A massive debt isn’t going to just disappear,” you repeat. “It was either him or Lady Helen, and Helen got betrothed last month. Harold’s the quickest way to fix it, in case you forgot.”

“And in case you forgot, it’s literally not your problem. Stop making a martyr of yourself when you don’t have to.” Lila sits up and swivels around to face you, crossing her legs. Her expression is expectant. “I’ll figure something out, so don’t throw a fit, alright? The debt’s going to be mine along with the estate. You can afford to disappoint Mum for once in your life.”

Your brow furrows. “Lila –”

“If you keep arguing, I’m going to smother you with a pillow,” she says. “Either you agree with me, or you tell your future love affair that you’re marrying a human toad in the spring.”

“Future lo – it’s not like that! We’re friends!”

Lila holds your indignant gaze. Then, with practiced, unladylike ease, she hops off your bed, puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows at you.

“You have the worst case of denial I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” she says.

“I’m being completely honest,” you retort hotly. And you are. You and Five are friends, and although the nature of your relationship is admittedly more comfortable than any other friendship you’ve had over the years, nothing between you and Five had ever been non-platonic.

(Not that you would mind something non-platonic – but as you’ve reiterated to Lila many, many times, you’re just as content being friends. Having a genuine, close companion in your world is rare, and you’re tired of everyone deciding what you and Five should be when the two of you are more than capable of figuring it out for yourselves.)

“Why do you care, anyway? Everything will be easier for you if I marry Harold.”

“And more miserable for you.” She lets her arms fall to her sides. “Look, I’m the oldest, so I’m supposed to be the miserable one, not you. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t marry Harold. Give yourself more time to grow up.”

You don’t know what to say.

Seemingly finished with her piece, Lila smiles before brushing past you, nudging your blanket to the side on her way to the door. You glance away when she looks over her shoulder at you.

“Sleep on it.”

… You do, though it’s a lot less sleep than you’d hoped.

—

The next morning is slow and lazy. It’s a good thing in your opinion, because as mentioned before, you had spent a great deal of the night thinking about what your sister had said, and your head feels quite foggy as a result. A cup of tea and a horse ride with everyone outside in the snow both help somewhat over the course of the day. However, by the time the sky begins to darken, you’re back in your room to take a nap before supper, and quickly return thereafter.

When you hear three quick raps on your door, you groan and drag yourself out of bed.

“Lila,” you grumble as you turn the knob and pull, “can’t you go bother Diego instead –”

You swallow your words when you see your actual visitor. Five gives you a brief, tight-lipped smile.

“Mind if I come in?”

“Uh,” you respond intelligently, then shake your head and step to the side, remembering your manners. “Of course.”

Five walks in and heads towards the window. You go to the couch nearby and sit down, slightly perplexed as he finds an interest in the candle burning on the sill – he’s welcome to hang around in here, certainly, but the two of you usually convene in his room or the library. The guest room doesn’t have much to offer in terms of entertainment.

In due time, the boy turns away from the frost-covered window and joins you on the couch.

“Your sister said you weren’t feeling well,” is all he says.

So that’s why he’s here. Shrugging, you put your hands in your lap, fiddling with the family ring on your middle finger. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

Your lackluster explanation isn’t enough, if his short, replying hum is anything to go by. Five leans forward, folding his hands and resting his chin on them. And what else? he seems to say.

“It’s … It’s just been a busy year, with Lila and me coming of age and all. More responsibilities and expectations, and all that,” you eventually continue, staring down at the thick, luxurious carpet at your feet. “Though I don’t have much of a right to complain. Lila’s bearing most of the pressure, since she’s the heir apparent …”

“She doesn’t seem too bothered,” Five points out, tone bland.

You allow yourself to grin. “Because we’re on vacation. Five, if you saw Lila this summer, you would’ve seen how hard she’s been working.” Not to mention all of the proposals that she had so graciously shot down, on account of her veto power and general distaste for marriage. “Honestly, the two of you have a lot in common and I don’t know why you butt heads so often.”

“I have my reasons.”

At that cryptic snark, you reach out and gain purchase on his hair, ruffling it in righteous revenge. Five grunts half-heartedly, elbowing you away. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth and you almost feel like this conversation is going to be normal – that is, as normal as it gets with a Hargreeves.

(His hair is very soft. You feel bad for messing it up, so you attempt to smooth it back into its original state; about a minute into that attempt you realize what you’re actually doing and withdraw. You shouldn’t be so improper.)

Do you have to do this?

You decide to pay the piper before you can talk yourself out of it. “You know,” you say when the joviality fades, “she’s the one who suggested that I talk to you. About my possible betrothal.”

Five’s expression flattens. He looks straight ahead again, resting his elbows on his knees. “What is there to talk about?”

“Well, you’re my closest friend and one of the smartest people I know, so I ought to ask for your opinion on the possibility of …” You reconsider for one final moment, then inhale deeply and let it out. “Of me refusing Lord Harold’s offer.”

To your slight surprise, Five nods.

“Did you talk to your mother about it?” he questions.

“Not yet,” you murmur. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about it for months, but I only started seriously considering it last night. And now I really don’t want to marry Lord Harold. He unsettles me and I’m not ready.”

He frowns. “Neither of them is going to accept that as a reason.”

“I know.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “They’ll kick up a fuss over finances and it’ll be a bit of a scandal. That’s why I’m asking for your advice.”

Being the pragmatist that he is, you had thought that Five would be more averse to your plan. He himself had done things that he did not want to do in order to help his siblings, so you had assumed that despite his immediate dislike of Lord Harold since the night of your coming-of-age celebration, Five would tell you to endure a few years with the noble before disposing of him and collecting your dues. It’s the easiest way to get what you and your family needed, after all.

The fact that he’s so accepting of your decision makes you curious …

“First of all, even if he recognizes your refusal – and you’ll probably have a hard time with that, which will be an issue all on its own – your mother will try to find someone else to ship you off to,” he states, eyebrows pinched. “Preferably within the next year or so, right?”

“Yes.”

“How likely is she to push back your marriage by a few years?”

“… Not very likely,” you admit.

The boy pauses, thinking, then sits back.

“I could propose to you,” he offers, “if you’d like.”

You accidentally laugh out loud, you’re so taken aback. Five? Proposing? “Come again?”

“You heard me the first time.”

“We’re practically penniless. Would your father even give his blessing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Penniless or not, you’re an aristocrat with a title. If nothing else, Dad will accept that.”

“Neither of us want to get married.”

“And yet it’s your most realistic option thus far.” Five pins you with a serious gaze, and it finally hits you that he’s genuinely, actually asking. “Are you okay with it or not?”

“I …” You fumble over your words, staring at Five with wide eyes. “I mean, yes, I’d be okay with that, but … are you sure? You’d marry me just to get me out of another marriage?”

(Your question is not born of a doubt that he’ll go through with it. Five is a person of his word. But this is a big deal, and you’re both young, and most importantly of all, you don’t want this to be a mistake.)

“Let’s just say that I’d rather it be you than anyone else,” he mutters, shrugging softly. “This is your back-up plan, anyway. And if the marriage goes sideways, we can have it annulled after a few years and you’ll get a settlement too.”

He says it as if he’s discussing the weather. You chuckle, inexplicably reassured and amused by his bluntness. “Not even ten minutes into your proposal and you’re already thinking about an annulment? I fear for our future, Five.”

“There are worse things to be afraid of,” he replies sardonically. “Bring it up with your mom when you go back. If you can’t get out of a marriage, write me and I’ll talk to my dad.”

“Alright. You should bring Allison with you, though.”

“I suggest the same with Lila. Make it convincing.”

That won’t be too difficult. You nod, and with that, the deal seems to be sealed. Although you’re still processing what just happened, and Five is likely realizing just what he and you are potentially getting yourselves into, the two of you share a small smile nonetheless. It is hard not to.

“Thank you,” you murmur after a while.

Five glances over at your hands, then down at his. “Don't thank me yet."

"Alright, then. If you insist."

As your friend twists the steel ring on his index finger, you think to yourself, yes, you do want more time to grow up. But if the world won’t give that to you, you figure that a life with Five would be the next best thing.

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limenysnocket · 3 years

Text

The Plan

Summary: It's your birthday (hooray!) and you still have to work (not so hooray). Nevertheless, you can still count on your friends to cheer you up, but not as much as your loveable boyfriend who insists you spend your birthday with him and a romantic dinner, rather than at a party your friends set up.

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, Taika (yes, he gets his own warning), some content may be explicit-ish.

Request: @whatwememeintheshadows

A/N: So people are actually planning their fics nowadays???? Did I not get the memo or something??? These come straight from my head????

THIS IS SO LATE I'M SORRY. Happy (very) belated birthday.

Tags: @honorarytenenbaum @olyvoyl

○●□○●□○●□○●□○

Okay, so maybe work was less of a bitch today, you had to admit. People were nicer to you today, you got an extra thirty minutes added on to your lunch break just because, and, of course, you got a couple of dirty birthday cards and some cash, but that really shouldn’t matter, should it? What did matter, is that you would get to have some you-time, all by yourself, with your vibrator, a couple of movies, and some nice, low calorie ice cream (that tasted like total shit). At least... That’s what you thought would happen.

“You should totally come party with us! I’ve got the booze, Jess has the men, and we’ll make a whole night out of it! Alcohol, strippers, and dancing! How does that sound?” your friend, Enid, reiterated everything for you at least one thousand times today.

“If I wanted a stripper, I’d ask Taika to dye his hair, shave himself everywhere, and oil up a little. That’s the only sight I’d be happy to see, thank you,” you huff and smile. You appreciate the effort to get you out and about, possibly be a little frisky, but your heart just wasn’t in it, and that was much to Taika’s luck.

“Oh, come on. Taika can’t have that much of a grip on you! He has a lot of ‘female friends’, so what’s wrong with you having some ‘male friends’ hm?” Jess cooed to you, but you immediately whirled around, insulted that she would even suggest that you would do such a thing. And you were sure Taika had female friends, yes, but they were just friends. Nothing else. Although, his flirtatious behavior scared you sometimes, at parties. Some of the women would just swarm him, and you feared any one of them would catch his fancy more than you did.

“No. I don’t want strippers at whatever the hell you’re planning,” you stated again, firmly this time. Your two friends whined again, Jess lowering her head in defeat.

“Fine, but can we still bring booze? Invite a few more friends to party?” Enid asked, setting a hand on your shoulder and pleading to you with large eyes.

You chew at your cheek and think for quite some time. Your friends want to throw you a genuine party, and God knows how long it’s been since you’ve hung around a group of unfamiliar faces, especially since you started to date a Hollywood writer. Maybe it was just what you needed. Taika was supposed to be busy for the night, anyway.

You succumbed to the pressure, and nodded. “Okay,” you agreed. “But if we get any noise complaints, your talking to the cops for me.”

“Hell yeah! You’re not going to regret this! Just you wait! Go home and clean your place up a little. I’ll be by in an hour or two to get things set up!” Enid clapped her hands together in mischief, and Jess suddenly looked more spry. You gave her a warning glance, and she only grinned back, before skipping away, chatting gayly with Enid at her side.

You can’t believe the shit you just got yourself into, and you still wouldn’t believe it, the moment Enid and Jess arrived with their arms full of cheap liquor, streamers, finger foods, and a bunch of colorful-looking lights that look like they just came from a Wal-Mart Christmas sale. As soon as you gave them the go-ahead, they started tearing shit open. Between setting up, your phone started to ping over and over again, as well as your friends’ phones. Apparently, just a few hours was enough time to notify everyone in LA about a party, who it was for, and where it was going to be at.

You just sat back and sipped on frozen margaritas (meant for the party, but it's your party so you didn't give two shits), until the party started and there was a heavy flow of people rushing into your home. Invited or uninvited.

When things started getting wild, that's when a pact was made. Enid and Jess would be cleaning up your house after this was over. You were already stepping over beer cans as it was.

You can't even say you were having fun there. You barely knew anyone. Most of the people there were just randoms looking for a good time, and unfortunately you saw some of them getting that good time in a dark corner. You made an excuse to run upstairs and lock all the doors of the bedrooms before anyone could think about getting there. That's what you thought, at least.

The party was getting to be too much, too quickly. In haste, you locked yourself into your bedroom, and took a step back. You could still hear the muffled voices and loud, posh laughter on the other side of the door. Those girls would pay. You rush over to your window, overlooking your backyard and see people divebombing into your pool, creating waves and getting people outside of the pool wet. People were leaving their trash everywhere, and many red, plastic cups floated in the (for now) clear waters. You didn't know how much more you could take. Maybe parties weren't your thing after all. Especially with strangers.

You sit back on your bed and you don't even bother looking out the window anymore. It was best to stay inside your room, if you didn't want to be molested or assaulted by some dumbass who thinks it's okay to anonymously grope women in crowded areas. Your face buries in your hands, griping to yourself how this would be over in a few hours. Right?

There's a subtle knock on your door, and you jump. It's in the regular, stiff-three order, so you are very hesitant about going and getting it. Then, there comes the "shave and a haircut" tune. Not a very good one, and kind of slurred, guessing by the way there was a loud thud at the very end, the person knocking was shoved against the door. Damn you and your pity.

You're quick to move, despite the strong feeling telling you not to. You just knew some poor soul was being smooshed out there. Fuck, you were nervous. This was screaming bad idea, but you were going to pull through anyway. The plan in your head seemed childish, but it should work fine if the person was desperate enough to get in. One quick swipe of the door, and you're golden! Surely...

You flick the doorknob lock and gulp, keeping a tight grip. On the count of three-- and after having to restart because another desperate knock jumbled up your thoughts-- you sent the door flying open. Sure enough, a heavy body came tumbling in with it, tripped, tried to balance, then ended up crash-landing cartoonishly into your bed, bonking their head a tad on the wooden post at the end of the frame. You hissed a little bit, then closed the door again. You rushed to their aid as the person looked up.

"I thought you liked private parties more than this," a soft, kiwi accent cooed at you, obviously through unbridled pain. This bewildered you even more.

Taika was sitting on the floor, legs extended out in front of him, making him look like a giant from your angle, and he was dressed in a blue tux, black dress shirt, and polished black shoes. Well, they seemed a little scuffed now.

"Shit, Taika-- what the fuck are you doing here?" you drop to your knees and cradle his aching head. He winced at the touch, but was too happy to see you again to deny it.

"Well, I came to take you out on a surprise birthday dinner. Maybe pick up a bottle of wine and go dancing with my favorite person, you, under moonbeams and twighlight," his head bobbled from side to side, which didn't help his animated character, "but it seems to me you have company... and a lot of it."

You sigh and brush an unkempt curl back into place while he cheekily grins at you. "This wasn't my idea," you murmur. "Friends set this up. They'll also be the ones to take it down. I didn't really want to spend my birthday with anyone this year. Makes me feel old."

"Well, you seriously should have known someone was about to stop you from taking another bite of that shitty ice cream in your freezer. They dished it out in shot glasses down there. Even a sober chick couldn't handle the taste," Taika snorted playfully and you rolled your eyes. He seemed to be taking this situation surprisingly well. It was weird. "But it was much to my misfortune that your 'friends' got to you before I could. Maybe I should have settled on a birthday lunch, but that didn't sound too appealing to me."

"Would have been much better than the chicken salad and dry-ass piece of cake I had for lunch today," you fired back. He sighed again and stood up with a groan. You followed with him.

"What now?" he mumbled, stroking the stache on his upper lip, then letting the tips of his fingers wander down to his smooth, freshly shaved cheeks.

"Well, we're both stuck here, so I suppose we settle in for the night and wait it out." You plop yourself down on your bed again and just stare up at him. He doesn't move, however. His eyes were focused on the window, more specifically the lock on it, and he was nibbling at his bottom lip. He was thinking. Some people might call it strange to watch him think sometimes. He really was like a cartoon. With one tap of his foot, he spun around on his heel and faced you.

"New plan," he clapped his hands together. "Get dressed."

You were confused for the next fifteen minutes or so. He helped you pick out a deep blue dress that would somewhat match his and black heels. He was escorting you all over the room with his hand on your lower back. He even tried to do your makeup for you, but he was so inexperienced, you had to take over. The last time he had to do someone's makeup was on the set of the original, five-minute What We Do in the Shadows film.

While you finished your makeup, he was practically smooching your window. He was staring at it like a dog asking to go outside. It made you a bit nervous, seeing the cogwheels turn in his head. He took your hand and lead you to the window, unlocking it and pushing it up.

"Want to go first?" he said behind a proud smile. When he only received silence and a pure, "what the fuck," stare back to his face, he shrugged, and stepped out the window himself. Luckily, you knew fully well he wasn't about to fall flat on his face and die on the pavement below. You had a screened back porch, with a roof over it's head as well, since the seasons tend to get very hot and sticky and mosquitoes just love to lay visits. He stepped onto the roof, trying not to bring too much attention to himself. Once he had bounced down, he brushed himself off, then looked up at you, expectantly.

"Come on, then! Don't have all night!" he hollered and waved to you. "Need me to catch you?"

You gulped, not bothering to answer him. You gently scooted your lower half out the window and taking your heels into your hand. You didn't want to break an ankle on the landing. "Lord, give me strength," you muttered, squeezed your eyes shut, then took a leap of faith. You tried not to squeal as the rushing air flew by you like sticky wind, but before you knew it, your feet touched slanted ground. You felt like you were about to tumble, but strong hands met your waist and kept you up.

"Beautiful!" Taika beamed and kissed your flushed cheek.

"I hate you sometimes," you slapped his chest and made him laugh. He took your hand and started leading you to the other side of the porch roof, and came to the end, where your driveway supposedly was. Parked dead center was Enid's big, black SUV. Tall enough to just be a little hop away from the roof.

"One more, leap, dear?" Taika was on the move again, but you grabbed his sleeve before he could actually make the jump.

"Taika, no. That's Enid's car. She already spends so much on gas, think of how pissed she'll be if she has to remove dents from her roof!" you explain, nervous from the outcome of this little plan of yours.

"Sweetheart," Taika said airily, turning his full attention to you and taking your hand again. "If she was a good friend, she would have known a massive party like this would have pissed you off. Plus, I don't think just cleaning the house is going to get even with this God awful day. So, why not put a few dusty footprints on her car, hm?" Taika was back to grinning, and before you could say anymore, he had leapt away and landed on top of the car with a large thud. He motioned to you with a swipe of his hand. You were in way too deep with him to give up on him now.

You followed through, heels swinging in one hand, and he caught you again like the perfect, Maori prince charming he was.

Car hop, after car hop, he lead the way and made sure you were okay with every stop, until you reached a small enough car to hop down, scale the lawn and make it to his jeep.

"That was," you said, breathless. You couldn't find the right words, and Taika just chuckled at you.

"Exciting?" he filled in the blank space on his own, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah," you laugh, fanning your chest and brushing a single strand of hair back. "That's a good word for it."

"Well, excitement doesn't stop here," he opened your door into the jeep for you, bowing respectfully and playing everything up for you, like you were royalty. "I have everything set up for you to have a great night with yours truly. As long as everything goes according to the plan this time..."

#taika waititi #fanfiction #taika waititi x reader #what we do in the shadows #taika waititi imagines #taika waititi imagine #taika waititi x you #taika waititi/you

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wevegottogetaway · 3 years

Text

Crashing into you

Sooo, I have no idea where this concept came from but here is you and Harry surviving a plane crash only to find yourselves stranded on an island (featuring best friends to lovers and who knows what else). There is more to come after this part, I’m just really busy with uni at the moment, so smaller pieces at the time it is. Please leave some feedback if you have any, or tell me what you would like to see happen in future parts! Happy reading xx

It wasn’t supposed to happened.

None of it was. Not the birds. Not the fire. Not the nose-dive.

And you weren’t supposed to be there either. Weren’t supposed to find yourselves floating 35,000 feet over endless stretches of sea when it happened. Not you and certainly not Harry whose presence was only the result of his boundless generosity.

It was a last minute trip on your part, an emergency response to the calling of a friend back in London; they’d gotten hospitalized and you were their emergency contact, pretty simple maths. Your assistance was irremissible and since it was cutting your time short with Harry, he didn’t hesitate before offering both his support and an express flight aboard some kind of private jet. None of you knew it at the time, but that decision turned out to be a twisted expression of serendipity, a very sick jock that the universe wasn’t supposed to make.

Except it did happened and there was no escaping the cataclysm that ensued.

***

The cabin of the small plane is plunged in peaceful silence, the deep whir of its engines and the soft snores wafting through Harry’s nose the only white noises filling the space. There is no fussing toddler, no businessman talking loudly on the phone, no arguing couple; just you and Harry, one flight attendant and two pilots. Everything around you looks pristine and expensive, from the champagne you were offered but declined at the beginning of the flight, to the refined suede upholstery covering all the seats.

You’re not used to the luxury, and frankly, neither is Harry.

He doesn’t use private planes very often, doesn’t think it makes much sense to waste all that toxic kerosene when commercial flights do the job perfectly, and doesn't like how they make him feel like the diva some people mistakenly make him out to be. But for you he’d bend the rules. For you he’d bend over and backwards to assuage any of your pains and worries. You had been so on edge when you told him about your friend, so desperate to be there for them, he had just wanted to be there for you in turn.

That’s why the two of you hopped in this small aircraft nearly four hours ago, with his hand drawing comforting shapes on your back. Now, you find yourself absentmindedly nipping at your nails, overthinking ever possible scenario that could unfold once you land and find your friend. In deep conversation with your conscience, you’ve been looking out the small window to your right, as if any of the two blue immensities painting the horizon knew all the secrets that you needed. They don’t; if anything, they bring their own mysteries to an already confusing world.

The atmosphere inside the plane is so inert, it feels like someone pressed the pause button. The flight attendant has remained quietly by her station, waiting for any signal that would indicate her presence required, and the pilots haven’t piped a word since their polite ‘have a lovely flight,’ when you first boarded the plane. The little company wouldn’t bother you so much, if Harry hadn’t fallen asleep thirty minutes in, leaving you to your own devices. You figure you can’t be too grumpy about it though, he did just rent a plane for your sake after all. Plus, his unconscious state has allowed you to ogle his sleepy figure for hours without being noticed, a treat you’re rarely privy to on top of being a nice distraction from your current troublesome thoughts.

Three years. Three years you’ve been a very dedicated friend to him and he to you. Three years of holding each other’s hand through any hardships and laughing till you’re blue in the face; three years of always supporting each other in your craziest undertakings and inspiring each other to be the best version of yourselves. You two are an indestructible pair and your friendship is the purest, most sacred thing you were given in this world.

Except, it’s also been three years of mind-boggling and consuming feelings that can’t be quelled and have no limits. Three years of secret glances when he’s too focused on something else to notice. Three years of talking yourself down from those feeling, but to no avail; they keep coming back full force and with a vengeance. It quickly became a full time job really, an art you mastered over time. At first because he was happily in a relationship, so there was no speculating whether your affections could be returned. Then once that ended, you were already so wired to ignore the skip of your heartbeats when he looks at you tenderly, or the soft and sometimes borderline ambiguous cuddles he gives you when he’s had one too many Margaritas; that the fantasy of him loving you the way you do was just unfathomable, you never even considered speaking up about it.

But these were your three years, not his.

You let out a deep sigh, as your musings once again circle back to your unrequited love. You wish you had more control over them, could limit them to sleepy fabulation sweetening your mind right before you surrender to unconsciousness. But alas, them come and go as they please, slip into your mind at any inopportune time, often betraying you by pigmenting your cheeks in cerise-colored bashfulness. Even now, in the stillness of the pressurized cabin, as your eyes settle back on his slouched form in the seat opposite yours, your skin can’t help but heat up in fondness.

Before you can get too lost in the soft eyelashes caressing his cheekbones, or the cupid bow shaping his pink supple lips, or the way a few of his mischievous curls are dandling in front of his face, slightly fluttering at each soft puff coming out of his mouth…yeah, before you get too lost in all that, you reach for the small bottle of water sitting on a small table.

You barely have the cap unscrewed before a massive tremor shakes the whole aircraft, spilling half of the bottle’s content on your lap. Your hand immediately white knuckles the armrest of your seat, your eyes widening in fear and frantically scoping the cabin for the flight attendant or anyone that could tell you what the hell is going on. Then the panic pumping through your veins prompts you to check on Harry and wake him back to alertness, but to your relief, he’s already groggily shaking the slumber from his limbs with a deep frown on his face. "Wha’s goin’ on?"

If dread wasn’t firing each of your nerve-endings, you’d find his grumpy look and slurred speech quite adorable, but the sight of the frazzled-looking stewardess coming towards you is sending a different kind of chills down your spine. These people are trained to maintain composure in all circumstances, so her trepidation can only mean one of two things: she’s either very new at her job or there is clearly a cause for concern.

"You two need to fasten your seat belts immediately," she speaks hurriedly.

"Sophia, what’s going on?" Harry reiterates his question with more alarm.

"We’ve collided with a flock of birds. We don’t know the extent of the damage yet, so I need you two to buckle in."

You and Harry share a worried look then, still confused about the situation. The plane has regain some semblance of stability, it seems, but Sophia’s anxious behavior doesn’t sooth your nerves one bit. She makes a quick exit back toward the cockpit, probably to discuss the ordeal further with the pilots. You gulp your uneasiness away, fidgeting on your seat as your hands blindly feel around for the safety belt, but the image greeting your eyes as they veer back to the window has your heart dropping to your knees.

Lambent orange and red flaring from the engines and lapping at the wing. Black smoke leaving an angry trail behind the plane and fogging up the windows.

"Harry," you barely manage to breath his name out and the urgency of your tone has him straighten up in his seat. "Harry the wing is on fire." You twist your head back towards him only to find him jumping from his seat to plop down next to you. The absolute gleam of terror swimming in your eyes makes his blood turn cold, so he quickly takes your hand in both of his before glancing at the carnage taking place outside. He gulps in apprehension before buckling his seatbelt and checking that yours is clasped in as well.

"Fuck, okay, it’s okay, love. Everything’s gonna be okay." It’s more prayers than reassurances tumbling out of his mouth, squeezing at your hand in plea, and a couple seconds after his utterance the tremors resume with greater intensity. You both can feel the aircraft slanting downward as everything around you start shaking as though you were caught in an earthquake. Except, you couldn’t be further from earth at the moment, and the shaking is not going to just pass after a while.

Objects start falling and rolling down all over, the tray of complimentary drinks tumbling down from the back of the plane to crash at the front. You and Harry are wrapped up in a protective embrace, tucking your faces in each others neck to avoid impact and because you’re both too afraid to look at the unfurling chaos. You can feel your seatbelt straining against your lower belly in a dire attempt to keep you in one place, but as the plane starts plummeting for good, top becomes bottom, right becomes left, and your bodies become masses thrown around at the hands of gravity just like everything else.

The last thing you hear before everything goes south is a defeated ‘brace for impact’ coming from the small intercom of the cabin. You feel the brutal shock of the plane hitting smooth surface if it weren’t for the speed of the collision, and then it’s just water.

Water everywhere. Water enveloping your body in a frigid clutch, water weighing you down as it imbibes every fiber of your clothes, water invading your retinas and blurring your vision. Water seeping through your mouth, pouring into your lungs when you feel the skin at your shin torn by sharp metal.

You vaguely hear your name being shouted, but the shortage of oxygen in your system makes you feel delirious. At this point you barely have enough energy to fight unconsciousness, much less the threat of your crumbling surroundings. That’s how you don’t feel the hand grasping at your shoulder and hosting you up on a floating piece of broken wing. Harry is holding onto it for dear life as well, muttering more prayers and encouraging words for you to please stay with him but soon you are both overthrown by your unconscious, slowly drifting away on the makeshift buoy.

***

When Harry regains consciousness, the first things he feels is hard grounds underneath him. His ears are ringing, his throat is sore and his mouth feels dry, not to mention the splitting headache jackhammering at his skull. Groaning and frowning at the pain, that’s when he realizes that the ground against the skin of his cheek isn’t completely hard, but rather granular at the touch. Slowly, he brings his hands higher near his face and flattens them to hoist himself up. Once on his knees, he finally blinks his eyes opened, squinting at the blinding luminosity of the sun. And then it’s just sand.

Sand everywhere. Sand stretching miles into the distance. Sand itching at the joints of his fingers, sand creeping inside his shoes and clothes, sand weaving through his hair. Sand obnoxiously lingering on his lips, and as he tries to brush it off with the back of his hand, he has to spit some out of his mouth after realizing that said hand is also covered in it.

How did he find himself stranded on a freaking island? How did this happen? How could he be one minute safely by your sides, helping you through a tough situation, and then the next, thrown into the deep end - quite literally - scrambling for his life because some dumb birds decided to crash in the engine of the plane? Why him, why-

It’s a jolt to his brain then, an electric shock firing his body up to a standing position when the thought of you clashes in his mind. His breathing picks up considerably as he recalls the last time he saw you, passed out on the broken part of the wrecked airplane. He’d passed out soon after you as well, but what had happened since then? Had you find your way on this desolate beach as well? Or had your unconscious body slipped back into the water and sank all the way to the ocean floor until you reached that hidden museum of all the things and beings that fell victim to the sea?

Harry shudders at the thought. No. He’s not loosing you, now or ever, he convinces himself as he frantically jogs along the beach. Not when he never got his chance. His heart is lodged in his throat and threatening to escape at every passing second. Not when he still has unfinished, or rather, un-commenced business with you. Sweat drips down his face in searing droplet, a faint sting above his left eye barely registering in his frantic mind. Not before you know his last secret. His breathing is starting to get scarce until finally, finally his blurry eyes fall upon a figure stretched out on the sand, waves still licking at their feet. His job turns into a sprint as he begs for them to be you and for you to still be alive, desperate cries of your name echoing in the wilderness. "Please be okay, please be okay, fuck I need y-"

His relief is short lived once he takes in your passed out form, the blueish hue of your lips and the very lack of movement of your chest, twisting his guts in a painful knot. Harry abruptly falls to his knees next to you and brings his ear to your body hoping for any indication that you are still breathing. He fights the onslaught of hyperventilation that threatens to take over his body when he finds none and quickly checks your pulse at your carotid. His eyes pinch in brief respite: it’s faint but it’s there.

His brain almost goes into overdrive as he tries to recall everything he knows about CPR before his hands instinctively start pressing at your chest as though they already know what to do. It gives him time to absorb all the composure he can muster and think more clearly. He’s got to keep your heart going, that much he knows, and if you’re not breathing, it’s probably because you’ve got water in your lungs. Upon the realization he briefly stops the cardiac massage to pinch your nose and blow as much air as he can into your mouth.

For the next couple of minutes he does just that, alternating between insufflating oxygen through your mouth and pressing at your heart. His own breaks every time he pulls away from your lips and they still don’t pink back up to their usual lovely cherry color. Tears roll down his face in a constant flow, forcing him to wipe his face against the material of his shirt at his shoulder; there is no way in hell he is stopping his action for even a fraction of a second. He’ll die trying to save you before you die on him, and then he’d kick you ass from heaven down to hell for even thinking of leaving him behind.

All of a sudden you start coughing wet sounds from your throat, your body jolting from its spot on the sand. Harry’s never been so happy to hear someone choke (on water, that is) and as you turn your body sideways to let out all the excess of water clogging your chest, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back towards the sky in gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispers out in relief, before regaining his breathing and focusing back on you. He draws soothing circle against your back as you cough the last bit of water out of your mouth, pushing your hair out of your face to give you space to breath. Lord knows you need it.

"It’s okay, pet. You’re okay, you’re alive. Fuck you’re alive, I can’t- please don’t ever do that to me ever again, you hear me?" He rambles at you as he cups your face with two trembling hands. He is in shamble in front of you, the high he was caught up in, in his order to save you finally dissolving and leaving only but shock and despair in its aftermath. You’d come this close to die in his arms, you both realize. This close from your life being highjacked from his in the middle of nowhere and the thought turns your blood even colder than it already is.

"‘kay, m’okay, Harry. We’re both okay," you reassure him too, and just hearing the sound of your hoarse voice is enough to calm him some. He brings you in a bear hug, tucking your face underneath his chin and draping is other arm over your back. You don’t hesitate before you return his embrace by wrapping your arms around his waist.

For a hot minute you remain intertwined in silence as you breath each other in and revel in the fact that you both survived the crash. Once your heartbeats have lowered down to healthier levels, you slightly part from each other and your eyes glisten as you lock them with his. "You saved my life, Harry," you whisper out to him with a tender caress at his cheeks, trying to ignore the small cut at his brow bone. "I just- thank you, thank you so much."

He answers with a small shake of his head, "don’t thank me, pet. I can’t imagine what I woulda done if y- if I couldn’t-" he struggles to let the words out and his face turns into a grimace at their implication. "M’just so relieved you’re alive, I’m the one thankful for that if anythin’," he ends up saying against the palm of your hand before leaving a small peck there.

As you move to stand up, you feel a sharp sting at your shin as soon as you apply pressure on your right leg. Looking down, you spot a gash at the skin, it’s not too profound that you won’t be able to walk, but it definitely needs tending to if you don’t want it to get infected. You let out a quiet ‘fuck’ in frustration before catching the look of concern of Harry’s face. "It’s fine," you brush it off, "just gonna need to clean it out. That cut on your face as well," you motion at his injury and he brings his hand up to feel out the cut in confusion. He hadn’t noticed the small wound, you realize. "Right, yeah," he answers after inspecting the patch of blood coating his fingers now.

Now that the shock of the situation is slowly dissipating and that reality is setting in, you both start thinking about the next course of action. You’re both alive and relatively unscathed, but now what? How do you get out form this place? Where even is this place? And how do you go home? It becomes increasingly obvious that you don’t have much resources and that you need some sort of plan if you want to survive.

"What about Sophia and the pilots? Do you know what happened to them?" you suddenly remember the rest of the crew. Perhaps they know more about how to proceed in such a situation. They might even know where you’re located, how far you are from home and what’s the procedure to ensure everyone’s survival and rescue.

"I dunno, love. Didn’t see them when we were in the water, I think they might have been on the other side of the plane," the somber look on his face betrays his pessimism as to their fate. They would be on the beach as well if they had survived. As the same reasoning courses through your mind, you look down in sadness at the vicious image of them struggling in the water before succumbing to the fatigue. Harry notices your pained expression and brings you back against his frame to leave a small comforting kiss at your hairline.

"Alright, it’s gonna be fine," you declare in pretend confidence. "People will start looking for us, right?" you try to make light of the conversation. "Hell, there’s probably going to be a whole unit created to find you as soon as we don’t show up in London and I’m sure they’ll find us fast." Hope is emulating in your belly where water had previously drown your vigor. You’re probably right; surely, if the one and only Harry Styles disappears in the middle of a plane crash, the response will be worthy of the man.

He doesn’t seem to quite share the sentiment however, if the small frown and nervous nipping at his lips suggest anything. "Love, I- Jeff’s the only one who knows we were going back to England. He might not notice right away." It’s his own fear talking, the idea that it might take more than a day for people to notice their unsettling absence.

On a normal schedule, him and Jeff would be in constant contact, sharing details for the next day’s agenda, planning tours, interviews, promotions and pitching in ideas for new projects, but be that as it may, Harry was currently on vacation. He’d taken a couple weeks off to relieve the pressure from the last busy months and catch up on some much needed time with you, and Jeff knew that meant a little less consistent contact for this break to be as rejuvenating as expected. Would he think much of the absence of texts from his friend? At some point definitely, but how long would it take for concern to replace dismissal?

Talk about rejuvenation.

"What about the plane company?" you ask, not ready to see your hopes dwindle down.

He seems surprised at the thought for a second before the anxious lines on his face smooth out some, iridescent eyes locking with your own in renewed faith. "You’re right, Jeff was the one who made the booking, so the company will have to contact him once they know about the crash." You let your lips quirk into a soft smile at his optimism before he adds, "we just have to survive until then."

"Right," you dial back on the heart-talking and dares your brain to recall any tips about survival behavior you’ve ever heard. "So we need find water asap and to make a fire before the night falls." You know water should be your priority, you have three days before you die of dehydration, maybe even less under this blazing sun. And despite behind surrounded by water, you know that the sea can’t help you with that. It’s quite ironic in a sense, you find yourself trapped by water, yet the biggest threat to you in that instance is the lack of water consumption. As for the fire, you also know temperature can drop very low at night in places like this and since you don’t have anything to bundle yourselves in, hypothermia is your second biggest threat.

Harry nods in approval before looking around. The beach is enclosed between the sea and endless stretch of luxuriant green tropical jungle. "Come on then, we should try and see if anything from the plane made it out on the beach. I think I saw some pieces earlier, maybe we’ll find something to store water." You think it’s a brilliant idea since you will need some kind of container should you be successful in your quest for water. And with that, you both start walking back towards the edge of the shore, Harry’s hand holding tightly to your shoulder keeping you close to him.

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #best friends to lovers #reader insert #creative writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles ou

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nejiraez · 4 years

Text

checking in | bakugou katsuki

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO HIMMM / more to come on this blessed day

genre: fluff/comfort

summary: bakugou goes visits your house to check up on you, as a good boyfriend would. you’ re doing anything but fine, but that’s alright. that’s why bakugou’s there//inspired by ‘🥺anon’ and an ask in my inbox!

word count: 2,008 (luv that year~)

"I don't think Aizawa-sensei is telling us the whole story."

Bakugou doesn't look up from his notebook, still jotting down notes onto his page for his class in world history. "You think?"

Despite his friend's guarded demeanour, Kirishima still pushes on with the subject. Your absence in school was a little odd, but Aizawa reassured the class that you were staying home due to "quirk complications". "Yeah, I mean, three days straight is a long time for someone to be gone," he says, "especially for (Y/N)."

There's an unexplainable expression on Bakugou's face that Kirishima couldn't quite read. Worry lines formed near his brows due to how tightly they were scrunched. And his eyes, his eyes were vacant. Almost as if he were lost in thought. "I know."

"You've recently spoken to (Y/N), right?"

"Yes," Bakugou hisses. His writing comes to a complete halt and instead, he opts to play with the lead in his pencil absentmindedly. Your curt responses to his text messages and slight avoidance of the topic him bringing up your well-being threw him off. It wasn't like you.

"And you know what's happening?"

"I have an idea of it, yes."

Kirishima leans against his chair and rests his elbow on the backing of it. Bakugou doesn't like that look on his face. The way the corner of his lips curl into a small smile as if Kirishima knows something about him that he doesn't.

"You know," Kirishima says, "it's okay for you to say that you're worried." He knows that pride was an issue for Bakugou. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he did care. "I think it'll do both of you some good if you just went to their house and—"

Bakugou's expression immediately sours, "Don't tell me what to do." He packs up his belongings and shoves his work into his bag. Disregarding the fact that his papers may be crumpled due to his negligence. "I was gonna do that anyway."

Ah, there he was.

'It'll do both of you some good if you went to their house.'

And that's just what he did.

The minute the bells rang at the end of the day, indicating that students could go home. Bakugou made no waste of time by elbowing his way past his four idiot friends and went straight on the path to your house.

'Just be patient. You can't expect (Y/N) to be in the best of moods when you arrive.' Kirishima's words echoed against the walls of his head. Another piece of advice he shoved into Bakugou's head before he left school.

Pressing the doorbell to your house, Bakugou waited for a solid three minutes before you answered the door. And when you did, he was taken back a bit. He hasn't seen you for the majority of this week and you just look... different.

"Bakugou?" Your hair was dripping wet and, the water droplets soaked the hem of your white tee-shirt. You looked a bit disoriented at the fact that your boyfriend has shown up at your house. "What are you doing here?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Bakugou adjusts his grip on the bag of food he was holding. He replies, "Checking in on you."

"Oh?" You exclaim, a bit confused at his comment. You weren't expecting this at all. "Then that's alright."

There's an uncomfortable pause of silence that hangs thick in the air. You still stood at the door, unmoving, almost as if you didn't want Bakugou inside. For whatever reason.

Bakugou frowns at how you were still standing at the doorway, unmoving. "You gonna let me in or what?"

"You... want to come inside?"

At this point, your unusual behaviour was wigging him the fuck out. "Isn't that the whole point of what 'I'm coming over' means?" He questions. "Didn't you read my text?"

You open the door and give Bakugou entry, "I was showering." His scarlet eyes flit over to your hair again, now it made sense why your hair was soaked.

The house was empty, save for the furniture and all. However, there were no signs of your parents being home, to which Bakugou assumes that they were at work.

Before he forgets, Bakugou grabs your arm and plunks the bento box he's made for you into your hands. "I brought you something..." he mumbles, fighting back the urge to acknowledge his pride. It was a real habit of his.

You take a quick peak inside to examine the contents, and realize that he brought your favourite meal. Stir fry. "Thank you!" You say, smiling for the first time since he's arrived. "Here, come with me. I'll take you upstairs."

He kicks off his shoes and follows you up the steps towards your room.

Once the two of you step inside, you feel Bakugou’s hand catch your wrist.

In an abrupt fit of sudden affection, he smooths down the stray strands of hair away from your face. "You shouldn't be answering the door for people with your hair wet," he catches a droplet of water that was trickling its way down your neck with his thumb, "or you'll get sick."

You nod your head and ignore the pressing feeling of Bakugou's eyes on you. You knew that he came here for the sole reason to check up on you. And it made sense, especially your absence at school lack of response to your friends and him. "I know, I was getting to that."

"When'd you shower?"

Bakugou watches as you pat your head dry with the towel that was on your desk. You shrug, "About an hour before you came."

Well, that was fucking odd.

Another question bubbles in his throat, but he decides to let it slide and doesn't press any further.

Why did it take you so long to dry your hair? He doesn't know, but Bakugou wasn't a complete fucking idiot to continue pressing on the matter since you were giving off clear social cues that you didn't want to be bothered on it any longer.

Ever since that dreaded Kamino incident, the annoying task of listening to people's concerns hasn't gone away. God does he knows what it's like to have people on his back. Constantly questioning on his wellbeing and current state. Almost as if they were pitying him. Something that he fucking hated.

There was only so much Bakugou could do, but he understands where you're coming from. Which is why he dropped it.

"Are you doing okay?" He asks, watching as you pace around your room, tidying up the clothes on your floor and throwing them into your hamper.

Bakugou is aware that you're able to fend for yourself. That you weren't helpless brat who needed to have their hand held through every tough decision. He knows what you're capable of and has seen you at your best.

However, the condition that you were in now was anything but that, and he was troubled by it.

Your once tender and vivid (e/c) eyes, were now deprived of any emotion. Bakugou focuses his eyes on your damp hair and the drained expression on your face. All things he found to be chilling because it wasn't like you at all.

"Could be better, but it's alright. I'm fine." You mutter, dropping yourself onto your bed once the floor was clean. You scootch over and make room for Bakugou so that he could sit beside you rather than stand at your doorway.

When he does finally join you on the edge of your mattress, the extensive number of wrappers on your comforter take him by surprise.

"Are you eating?"

"Yes, this - " You're about to lift one of the granola bars as proof that you did eat, but Bakugou was having none of it. He pushes down your hand and fixes you with a piercing stare.

"Real. Food."

An exasperated sigh escapes you once you notice the unimpressed look on Katsuki's face. "You brought me rice and stir fry, so I'll eat that, won't I?"

That didn't answer his question though, which made it clear to him that you haven't been eating. Casting your stubborn nature aside Bakugou decides that he wouldn't beat around the bush anymore.

Saying that you weren't hungry is one thing, but blatantly putting your health aside and disregarding your needs was something Bakugou refused to swallow.

"Look at me (Y/N)," he says, his hand presses against the outline of your jaw and cradles it. The scent of caramel fills your nose while the pads of his fingertips glide across your skin.

"I know it's hard. Trust me, I fucking know baby." Bakugou was nervous and on edge. He's never done this before and has always been on the receiving end of comfort. But now's a better time than ever to try.

"But you're not gonna get yourself anywhere if you continue like this."

You cast a watery glance away from him and offer a slight nod. "I know..." His hand slips from your cheek towards the back of your head so that he could card his fingers through your hair as a means to placate you.

"I know." You reiterate for a second time with much more force, trying to convince yourself once that stinging pressure in your chest throbs against your ribcage like a war drum.

Bakugou pushes your face into his shoulder, sparing you the distress of him seeing you cry and your situation as a whole. "I'm not good at this, but just know that I've got you." He ignores how the collar of his uniform absorbs your tears and the lasting effects of your shower. "So quit thinking you're bearing this alone because you won't, as long as I'm here."

And that's more than enough.

Maybe it was the overwhelming wave of emotions being released all at once which made you cry. But it was strange. To be crying yet feeling so relieved at the same time. To know that Bakugou would be there to support you if needed.

Through your sobs and tears, Bakugou doesn't make any comment on it. Rather, he sits there unnaturally quiet, taking into consideration how you must have felt the past few days.

There's a moment of unspoken words shared between you both before you pipe up. "I'm going back tomorrow," you say, wiping away any trace of tears on your face before you face Bakugou. "It's what I originally had planned."

"You are?" He holds his eyes with your own, looking for any hesitation but backs off once he sees there wasn't any. The last thing he wanted happening was for you to push yourself when you didn't need to.

"Then your ass is gonna need this," Bakugou says, shoving a notebook into your hands. "So you don't fall behind and join those idiots." You could pick up on how he was trying to lighten the mood by referring to his friends and their poor grades.

Glancing down at the notes that Bakugou had written for you, you notice that there are a few scribbles and poorly drawn diagrams on the page as if he were rushing to get it done.

Bakugou half-heartedly scowls at the sly smile creeping its way onto your face and reminds himself to stay composed, to not lose himself altogether from your shift of mood and the effects it has over him.

A warm and unwinding feeling resides within his chest while he watches you flip through the pages.

"Your writing's a little messy, you know?"

"Well— fuck me for trying to help, right?" He says, snatching the notebook away from your grasp. He tucks it under your pillow and out of view, hoping that you'd drop the subject of his messy handwriting.

"I will," you reply, squeezing his knee. You don't miss the quiet sputter of his words and how he fumbled over them at your sudden brazenness. "Thank you, Bakugou. Really."

You could be a real pain in the ass sometimes. But as long as you were feeling better...

"...Whatever."

That's all that mattered to him.

bakugou’s bday tag list (more in the comments): @tooloudarts @awkwardvampires @lilhemmo @itsbabyysunnyy @charvaughn-writes @lmaobroccoli @bakugoustanaccount @plusultratempo @wynaut @cin-midnight @hipster-merchant-of-death @peachy-yabbay @i-need-to-yeet-right-into-a-wall @wondxrgurl @gaydrowzee @blubblesss @amayau2 @restlessshadow @huntersbunker @thoughtfulpandazine2

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha scenario #bnha imagine

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fandomfindings · 4 years

Text

Smithereens

Pairing: (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Word Count: 1.5K

Warning(s): Cursing and Violence

Summary: A Spencer Reid imagine inspired by the song Smithereens by Twenty One Pilots. You and Spencer go to bar and after you accidentally spill a customers drink a fight breaks out between Spencer and the angry patron.

----------

"So he only kidnapped those women because they looked like his mom who neglected him as a child?"

"Exactly, and when they didn't fit his motherly needs, he killed them, unfortunately." Spencer said, a hint of sadness in his voice."Luckily though, we got to him before he could kill his most recent kidnapee."

You gave Spencer a meek smile, knowing he would've preferred to save all the killers victims, who wouldn't. Sadly, that wasn't the reality.

The remaining walk to the small bar from your shared apartment was quiet, not in an uncomfortable way but a content one.

You had missed Spence for, as usual, he was away on BAU business. So merely being in his presence was enough to satisfy the previous need you had to be near him.

Spence had missed you too. He always does, even if he was just at his building all-day instead of home with you when you had made it home for the day. Spencer especially missed you on this trip, for he couldn't contact you as much as he usually would. This unsub worked fast, so they didn't have much free time outside of the case.

Once at the door of the bar, you opened it, allowing Spencer to step inside first. He bows his head in thanks before entering the semi-crowded bar, its normal state.

The bar was small, and not many knew of it unless they were bar-hopping on the weekend or something of the like. You and Spencer came here whenever he came back from a case, to spend time together and get him to distress before the next inevitable one.

You both headed for the bar to order your drinks before heading to a more secluded table, noticing the bar was where most of the occupants were.

Before you got far, you heard the familiar ring of Spencer's phone, him being in front of you stopped in his tracks, causing you to stop as well. He turned to you and said, "I gotta take this. You going to be okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Find us a seat?" You asked. Spencer nods before walking past you towards the tables and booths that littered the small bar, answering his phone in the process.

"Reid," Spencer answered, letting Hotch know he had picked up his call and was ready to listen.

Spence quickly found a booth towards the back of the room and sat down, facing the front of the building and its door. He always felt more at ease when he could easily see who was entering the establishment, wanting to be aware of his surroundings.

From his seat, Spencer could also see the bar, and therefore you. He watched the smile on your face as you talked to the bartender like you were old friends. You two had been coming here so long he wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

Your brief conversation with the bartender seemed to cease once they turned around and began to make You and Spencer's drinks. It didn't take them long to do so since you two typically got the same thing every time you came.

The bartender smiled at you one last time before carefully handing you the drinks. You returned the smile; however, you weren't as careful with the glasses.

You turned around and almost immediately made eyes with Spencer. You grinned, cheerfully lifting the beverages almost as if obtaining the drinks was some outstanding achievement. Spencer chuckled lightly at your silly antics; unfortunately, the happy environment didn't last long once the sound of shattered glass filled the bar.

Spencer was briefly confused; the drinks were still in your hands. Granted, they now had less liquid in them, but the glass was still intact. Your boyfriend's confusion quickly went away once he noticed the stunned look on your face as you glanced to your side, seeing an increasingly angry man. In the wake of your excitement, you hadn't noticed the man near you when you had brought your arms back down; you had hit the patron's arm, effectively knocking his drink from his grasp.

You swiftly placed your drinks on the bar before turning to the man and beginning to apologize to him profusely. "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, I wasn't paying attention. I can pay for you another."

The man wasn't hearing any of this. He was too focused on the anger building inside of him. He looked between you and the shattered glass that previously held his beer at his feet, knowing he would soon be a sticky mess.

"You made me spill my fucking beer!" He exclaimed, fuming.

You were taken aback with his tone. You understood that he might be upset, but there was no need to shout, especially after you had apologized. "I know, and I apologize. Like I said, I can buy you another one. It's not a problem," You said calmly, not trying to escalate the situation even more than it already had.

The customer seemed to ignore your apologies completely. He stepped closer, causing you to back up into the bar, practically trapping you.

Spencer glanced with wide eyes almost mirroring yours, for they had also increased in size at the stranger's advances. "I got to go," Spencer said to Hotch, realizing he wasn't paying much attention anyway.

Your boyfriend's long legs came in handy, making his way to you in no time. Without hesitation, Spence stepped between you and the upset man, placing a hand along the man's chest, lightly moving him further away from you two.

"Hey, we'll pay for your drink." Spencer reiterated on your behalf.

"Don't put your fucking hands on me, son," The man said, his age appearing in how he spoke.

Spencer quickly analyzed him, noticing the salt and pepper hair that grew from his head and face. He also noted that the man was quite muscular for his age, which appeared to be early to mid-50s based on the wrinkles across his face, how he spoke, and the cut on his hand, which was a little over a week old. If he were younger, it would've healed by now, but it would take more time since he was older.

Spencer also inferred the man was more muscular due to his construction career, taking note of the steel-toed boot that had hints of dried cement on them. Also, since he watched the door, Spencer saw the man enter the bar from his pick-up truck in the parking lot, covered in dried mud.

"I'm not your son," Spencer corrected calmly, which only made the man more upset. As if he couldn't control his anger much longer, he took a swing at Spence, hitting him perfectly along the jaw.

The crowd shouted in an uproar, not appreciating the bar's usually calm atmosphere being disturbed by this overly aggressive man.

Spencer didn't want to fight this man. While he had the height advantage and his FBI training, the man was more muscular than him. Therefore his advantages may mean nothing if the man could get another good hit on him.

The bar was loud with protests from you, to the other patrons, and the bartender. A few men came closer, trying to restrain the man as he stepped closer, trying to punch Spencer again. He pushed those other men away, swinging for your boyfriend once again.

Fortunately, Spencer was prepared; this time, he grabbed the man's fist and quickly twisted his arm behind his back. Spencer then kicked at the man's knees, causing him to fall to them.

The angry stranger struggled in Spence's grasp for a bit before two men who tried to intervene before were able to retrieve him from the floor. He was promptly removed from the bar and banned by your friend, the bartender.

Once out of sight, you grabbed Spencer, placing him on a stool along the bar. Once sat, you examined his face, seeing how it was already red from the impact, and you would not be surprised if it further bruised to shades of yellow, purple, or black.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me."

"Of course I do. You got punched in the face for me," You stated, chuckling lightly at how nonchalant Spencer was about the situation.

You noticed the bartender had brought over a handful of iced surrounded by a clean cloth. You send them a grateful smile, to which they returned before going to clean up the mess you unintentionally made.

"I'd go through worse for you. I couldn't just sit there and watch him berate you like that." Spencer hissed once you put the ice to his face, at the coldness and the slight pressure placed on his injured jaw. "He would've had to beat me to a pulp before he could lay a hand on you," Spencer added.

"You'd get beat up for me?" You wondered out loud, questioning how you got so lucky finding a boyfriend like Spencer.

"I'd get beat to smithereens."

----------

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As some may know from my other Spencer Reid imagine Omission he is my favorite from the show and the song mentioned in the summary reminded me of him. Feel free to let me know what you guys think!

Lots of Love <3

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mikauzoran · 3 years

Text

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Three

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Three

“It’s not too close to where you used to live, is it?” Luka inquired nervously as they climbed the stairs to the third floor of the apartment building in the fifteenth arrondissement, not far from the Eiffel Tower.

“No, it’s fine,” Adrien assured, taking in how clean and in good repair everything was despite the building being older. “They leveled the mansion and built new homes on the lot, so it’s not a problem. I don’t think I could take seeing that building, that wall of windows, ever again, but the area itself is fine.”

“Oh, good,” Luka breathed in relief. “The last thing I’d want is to take you somewhere full of painful reminders.”

“No, this is wonderful,” Adrien stressed. “This place is really nice, and I’m so grateful to you for taking me in. Seriously. Thank you.”

“Not at all,” Luka assured with an encouraging grin as they made their way down the hall to the eighth and last door on the left-hand side. “I cannot stress what a weight off my mind it is to have you close by so that I can see that you’re safe. I’m happy to have you.”

Adrien looked down at his scuffed-up shoes as Luka pulled out the key.

“I’m really sorry to have worried you,” Adrien mumbled, shame making the tips of his ears burn. “I guess I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t stop to think about how what I was doing would affect anyone else. I didn’t think I really mattered to anyone.”

Luka tamped down the surge of anger he suddenly felt towards Gabriel Agreste for all the years of neglect Adrien had suffered that made him think that his existence had so little impact on others.

He reached out and ruffled Adrien’s hair. “It’s okay. Apology accepted. Just stop and think next time you’re considering dropping off the face of the earth without telling anyone.”

“Sorry,” Adrien repeated, leaning into Luka’s touch.

“No worries,” Luka reiterated, increasing the pressure. “I think we all get it. Your whole life got smashed to pieces, and there was a lot going on. No one’s mad at you. We all know you were trying your best just to survive, but we were worried and mad at our own inability to do anything. Nino is still a wreck, and that Wayem guy you were friends with was completely inconsolable. Alya, Kagami, Chloé…Marinette…”

Both Luka and Adrien flinched at the last name.

“…a lot of people care about you,” Luka sighed, moving his hand to scratch behind Adrien’s ear, slipping back into their old casual intimacies as if no time had passed.

“It’s good to know that,” Adrien replied in a weak voice, swallowing back a fresh round of tears.

Internally, he laughed at the fact that he’d cried more in that single day than he had in the preceding year.

“I’m going to need to reach out to them later tonight,” Luka tentatively informed.

Adrien’s head shot up, his eyes wide in alarm.

“I don’t have to tell them you’re staying with me or even that you’re back in Paris, but they need to know that you’re safe and well,” Luka insisted, not taking no for an answer. “You don’t have to talk to them until you’re ready, but I know what it feels like to wonder if you’re dead, Adrien. They deserve to know you’re safe.”

Reluctantly, Adrien nodded. “I see your point. …I was thinking about getting back in touch with Nino and Marinette, actually. I’m not ready right now, but…yeah. I don’t want to worry them any more than I already have.”

“Good,” Luka sighed, opening the apartment door. “That settles it, then.”

He was just about to step inside when he suddenly remembered the state his apartment was currently in after The Breakup.

Luka hurriedly closed the door and groaned.

“Problem?” Adrien inquired hesitantly, eyebrows scrunching together in concern.

Luka rested his forehead against the door and took a deep breath. “…Uh…yeah. I kind of forgot that the apartment is sort of a dump right now. I think Josie mentioned how I just broke up with the woman I had planned on spending my life with six days ago?”

Adrien winced. “Oh. That’s… Sorry.”

“Yeah.” Luka blew out a long breath, straightening up and looking at Adrien apologetically. “I’m so sorry. It’s not normally like this, I swear. I just haven’t been functioning this past week.”

“It’s okay,” Adrien assured with a look of utter sympathy and understanding on his face as he reached out and placed a comforting hand on Luka’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Sorry,” Luka repeated, voice raw as all the emotions he’d been pushing to the back of his mind resurfaced. “Sorry I’m kind of going to pieces on you out in the hallway when you’ve got so much on your own plate.”

“Shh,” Adrien soothed, coaxing Luka gently into his arms.

Luka was a little embarrassed at how quickly he melted into Adrien’s touch.

“It’s okay,” Adrien cooed, starting to rub soothing circles between Luka’s shoulder blades. “I’m really sorry that you’re having a rough time, but, honestly, the ugly part of me feels a lot better knowing that even you can be a mess sometimes.”

“I’m glad you’re able to take comfort in my suffering,” Luka laughed through tears, giving Adrien a squeeze.

“It’s just that you’re always so chill and mature and levelheaded,” Adrien teased. “You were always the one comforting me and giving advice and making me feel better about the crappy things in my life. It’s good to feel like maybe I have an opportunity to be there for you now.”

“That’s valid,” Luka agreed into Adrien’s shoulder. “…Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Adrien hummed happily, giving Luka a pat on the back.

With another sigh, Luka straightened up and opened the door. “I promise you I’m going to clean all this up starting tomorrow. Going forward, I won’t leave a mess in the common areas.”

Adrien clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Luka, it’s seriously not a big deal. I am literally homeless; I’m not going to judge your housekeeping lapses while you’re going through a major breakup. It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t feel fine,” Luka grumbled as Adrien stepped into the apartment and got his first look at the carnage. “And you’re not homeless anymore,” Luka chided, stepping inside and locking the door behind them. “You live here now, so welcome home.”

“Thank you,” Adrien chuckled, taking in the dirty laundry, soiled dishes, pizza boxes, Chinese takeaway cartons, and half-eaten junk food refuse.

“Oh my God,” Luka groaned. “Please don’t look at it. I swear I don’t live like this all the time. I’ll clean it all up tomorrow.”

Adrien turned to Luka and pulled him into a quick hug. “I’m sorry that you’re suffering. It’s okay not to be able to stay on top of everything all the time.”

Luka was stunned into silence, not sure how to feel.

Adrien pulled back and smiled, ignoring the mess and asking, “So, where do I sleep?”

“Here,” Luka replied gratefully as he stepped over the rubbish littering the living room floor to guide Adrien to the third door on the right wall. “Kitchen is there, obviously.” He pointed straight back through the apartment.

It was an open concept layout, so the living room seamlessly faded into what would have been a nice little kitchen area with an island in the middle as a workspace and a full stove, oven, refrigerator, microwave, dishwasher, cabinets, pantry, and sink…if not for the fact that, like the rest of the apartment, it looked like a disaster zone at the moment.

“That first door is my bedroom, the middle one is the bathroom, and your room is here,” Luka oriented Adrien, motioning to the other two doors in turn before opening the one that led to Adrien’s new bedroom.

“It’s kind of spartan at the moment,” Luka informed apologetically as Adrien peeked in.

It was a more-than-reasonably-sized room with generous closet space. As far as furniture went, there was a desk, a desk chair, a bed, and a nightstand. The walls were bare of decoration, and the mattress didn’t have any sheets.

Still, it was a nice room, even in its sparseness. Natural light poured in through the large windows, making it feel warm and cheerful.

“This is really nice,” Adrien whispered, voice cracking.

Luka looked to him with a tentative smile. “You like it?”

Adrien nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Good.” Luka’s hesitant grin grew into a full-blown beam. “How much stuff do you have back at your room at the hostel where you were staying? I just want to know if we need to take the car or the motorcycle or what to go get it.”

Adrien shifted uncomfortably. “Um…nothing, actually.”

Luka blinked as he did a doubletake of the small satchel Adrien had with him.

He took a deep breath and decided, “We’re going shopping.”

Adrien’s eyes grew as big as marbles for the nth time that day. “Luka, I really don’t need anything. I already feel bad what with—”

“—Hush.” Luka pressed his fingers to Adrien’s lips. “At the very least, we need to go get you some bed linens because I don’t have clean sheets to give you to sleep on. You also need a phone so people can get ahold of you for band stuff. Those things are non-negotiable.”

Adrien bit his lip, looking more and more uncomfortable as he realized that there was no way to get himself out of placing himself further in debt to Luka.

“I’ll pay you back someday,” he promised, not sure how he would ever make good on his word.

Luka’s eyes softened, and he gave Adrien a warm smile and a pat on the head. “You don’t have to, but, if it makes you feel better, okay.”

Adrien nodded resolutely. “I will pay you back.”

The first stop was a little SFR phone boutique, and then Luka took them to a nearby Monoprix department store.

Adrien picked out an inexpensive, plain bed set, but Luka put it back and steered Adrien over to the pricier, better quality sets with fun designs.

“I don’t want you sleeping on scratchy sheets,” Luka chided affectionately. “I know you haven’t had much these past few years, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve nice things. And while I’m aware that the options here aren’t that impressive, I want you to pick something comfortable in a colour or pattern that you like, okay?”

Adrien hesitated for a moment before going over to the more expensive sets and picking out a dark blue one with a white shooting star pattern. He looked to Luka for approval, and Luka smiled, nodding.

“Perfect. Now let’s get you some clothes,” Luka announced in satisfaction.

“I have clothes,” Adrien insisted, mortified.

Luka rolled his eyes. “When was the last time you got new clothes? I know they don’t have the best selection here, but you could probably use some new socks, underwear, pyjamas, shirts, am I right?”

Adrien pointedly didn’t look at Luka.

With a sad, sympathetic expression, Luka went over to Adrien and tugged gently on his sleeve. “Please let me buy you new clothes?” Luka pleaded softly, voice just above a whisper. “I haven’t been able to do anything for you this whole time, and I feel like, based on what you said, there were times when you really needed someone. Please let me try to make up for not being there for you. Can you do that for me?”

Adrien looked up at Luka, scrutinizing his face for a minute. “To be clear, I’m not asking you to do all this for me. Because I don’t need this. This is all your idea. I’m not making you spend all this money on me.”

Luka nodded, patiently confirming, “That’s right.”

“I’m letting you do this as a favour to you,” Adrien added uneasily.

Luka kept nodding. “Yes, and I would be extremely grateful if you’d let me.”

“And you’re doing this because you’re my friend and you care for me and you feel guilty?” Adrien verified. “Not because you pity me or you’re looking down on me or anything?”

Luka placed his hands on Adrien’s shoulders and stared him intently in the eye. “What I feel for you isn’t pity. It’s empathy and compassion, Adrien. You didn’t look down on or pity me when I was broke, did you?”

“No, of course not,” Adrien scoffed at the ridiculous notion.

“No,” Luka agreed. “You didn’t. You may have felt bad that you took for granted things that I went without, but you didn’t pity me. You were compassionate, and you shared what you had with me. You bought me gifts that I couldn’t afford for myself. I still treasure the things you gave me. They’re proof that you cared about me and wanted me to have nice things.”

“Oh,” Adrien whispered as realization dawned on him.

“Do you kind of get it now?” Luka chuckled, patting Adrien on the shoulder before stepping back.

Adrien pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Okay. I think…we’re probably going to have to have this conversation a couple times in the coming weeks until it really sinks in, but…I think I get it, so…let’s go shopping?” he replied uncertainly.

Luka smiled, taking Adrien by the hand and leading him to the men’s clothing section.

They picked up a week’s worth of new clothes for Adrien and then stopped by the personal care section for bath and grooming supplies.

When Adrien insisted that he didn’t strictly need an item, Luka took to saying, “I’m buying you this because I love you”.

Adrien may have protested more frequently than necessary just to get Luka to say it.

Even back when Adrien had a home and a family, he hadn’t really heard “I love you” that much. His friends (Nino especially) had often reminded Adrien that he was loved, but it had been years since he’d last been told that.

They walked past the toy section, and Adrien stopped when a bin of stuffed animals caught his eye.

He reached out to stroke a black cat plushie, and Luka saw the wistful look in Adrien’s eyes.

Luka picked up the stuffed animal and inspected it.

“I used to have one,” Adrien hastily explained, looking away. “Nathalie gave it to me for my eighth birthday to keep me company because my father had to go out of town on a business trip and my mother went with him, so I was alone for my birthday. I named him Chat Noir…. Seeing that just reminded me.”

“Do you want this?” Luka inquired, gazing at Adrien with bottomless affection.

Adrien’s eyes said “yes”, but Adrien shook his head, responding, “No, I don’t need it.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Luka chuckled, tucking the stuffed animal into the crook of Adrien’s arm. “I asked if you wanted it.”

Adrien opened his mouth to protest, but Luka cut him off.

“I’m buying you this so that every time you look at it, you’ll remember that you’re loved,” he informed, taking Adrien by the hand and tugging him along.

“Thank you,” Adrien whispered, hugging Chat Noir the Third to his chest and smiling to himself.

The next stop was the groceries section on the ground floor.

“I really need to do the shopping,” Luka groaned. “I’m pretty sure a sentient lifeform is growing in the fridge at this point, but I’m completely wiped today.”

He sent Adrien an apologetic look. “I kind of drank myself stupid last night, and I’m still feeling it a little. Let’s just get you some snacks to tide you over until I can go grocery shopping tomorrow morning. We can get takeaway tonight for dinner, if that’s okay.”

“I’m good,” Adrien assured. “I really don’t need anything. If you recall, I didn’t exactly get snacks much growing up either.”

“Well, take a look around and see if anything looks good,” Luka urged. “At the very least, we can pick up some mint tea and prepackaged salads.”

Adrien’s eyes grew large and misty. “You remembered.”

Luka burst out laughing, and he reached out to tussle Adrien’s hair. “Perfect Fifth, you have the most bizarre comfort foods ever. Of course I remember them. Come on.”

He motioned for Adrien to follow him to the corresponding sections of the store.

On the way, he watched Adrien closely, taking note of the things that seemed to catch his eye.

“We should have sushi sometime,” he remarked as he noticed Adrien eying the sushi bar longingly. “Would you like that?”

“I would love that,” Adrien sighed wistfully, his mouth already watering. “I haven’t had sushi in forever.”

“Maybe tomorrow for lunch before rehearsal,” Luka suggested. “We can pick some up while we’re here for groceries.”

“I’d like that,” Adrien repeated softly. “Thank you for being so considerate.”

Luka responded with a grin and playfully bumped Adrien’s shoulder with his own. “Sure thing.”

The next thing that grabbed Adrien’s attention was the cheese monger’s counter.

He looked at it sadly, his eyes growing damp once more.

“Oh my gosh,” Luka exclaimed as realization hit him. “We need to pick up some Camembert for Plagg, don’t we?”

Adrien’s hand flew out to grab Luka’s arm and stop him as he made to go over to the cheese section.

Luka frowned as the tears started to spill down Adrien’s cheeks.

“Adrien? What’s wrong?” Luka cooed.

Adrien shook his head and held up his ringless right hand.

Luka gasped. “What happened?”

Adrien kept shaking his head as he ruefully bit out the words with some difficulty. “I didn’t feel like I deserved him after everything that happened…so I gave him back to her before I left.”

Luka’s already pale skin lost its remaining colour as his stomach turned sour.

He cursed under his breath.

“And here, this whole time, I was making myself feel better by telling myself that at least you had Plagg to look after you, but…” Luka cursed again, shaking his head and getting his thoughts in order. “Do you want me to call her? I’ll call her and drive over there right now and get him back for you.”

Adrien looked up at Luka in surprise. “You…she told you?”

Luka averted his eyes and shrugged. “I figured it out. Do you want me to go get Plagg for you?”

Adrien bit his lip, looking like he was just about to say yes, but then his eyes darkened, and he shook his head. “I don’t think I can face him just yet either, but when you text Marinette later that I’m alive, could you please tell her to tell Plagg that I’m sorry and I miss him?”

“I can do that,” Luka promised, already knowing that he was going to go see Marinette the next day and get Plagg from her so that he’d be on hand the second Adrien was ready to be reunited with him.

Luka realized that the fact that he was so ready to face her again on Adrien’s behalf was rather telling.

He’d never exactly stopped loving Adrien, and he feared his feelings were just waiting in the wings to flare up at any moment.

They returned to the apartment and spent the rest of the day getting Adrien settled in. By the time Luka pushed the rubbish off of the couch so that they could sit down and eat their dinner that evening, they were both exhausted.

“After I eat, I’m going to my room and collapsing,” Luka informed, tucking into his carton of kung pao chicken.

“Sorry to have worn you out,” Adrien apologized sheepishly as he started on his vegetable lo mein. “I really appreciate everything you did for me today.”

“No worries,” Luka assured with a half-full mouth. “I wore myself out before you were even in the picture…and, honestly, today is the best day I’ve had in a long time.”

Adrien tipped his head in surprise. “Wait. Really?”

Luka nodded. “Even before The Breakup, I was getting pretty down…. She’s in love with someone else. She’s always been in love with someone else, but I’ve never held it against her. I thought it was okay because it wasn’t like she was actually cheating on me or anything. She couldn’t be with him, so she settled for me, and I thought that was okay because that was still her picking me, but…it’s been years, and she’s still pining after the ghost of him.”

He looked up at Adrien with a smile that had been beaten down but still gotten back up on its feet. “I thought it was okay, but it wasn’t, and it had really started to wear down on me. So, today was actually really good. Concentrating on you is helping me get my mind out of the dark place it’s been living for a while now.”

“I’m really glad I could help in some small way,” Adrien replied with a tentative smile. “I hope you have more good days going forward.”

Luka nodded, going back to his dinner. “I’m sure I will. There are still going to be days where I drink myself into a coma and can’t get out of bed, but there will be days when I’m a functioning human being too. Maybe having you around will give me the kick in the pants I need to shower regularly and keep the apartment clean and eat all the meals I’m supposed to. I always do better when I’m focused on someone else.”

“I’ve seen you focus on other people too much and completely neglect yourself,” Adrien hummed softly. “…But I’m going to be around for a while, so I guess if I see you doing that, I can nag you about it.”

“Please feel free to do so,” Luka snorted in laughter. “Goodness knows I need it.”

He scooted over on the couch, cautiously invading Adrien’s space.

Adrien surreptitiously inched closer.

Luka closed the gap until they were shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. “Do you mind snuggling?” he asked even though Adrien was already leaning into Luka, resting his head against Luka’s shoulder.

“Snuggling is my favourite thing,” Adrien laughed. “You know that. How many times have I used you as a body pillow?”

“Things change. You never know,” Luka replied with a shrug. “I don’t ever want to do something that makes you uncomfortable. I know you’ve historically had a hard time telling people no and where your boundaries are.”

“Thanks,” Adrien whispered, voice full of gratitude. “But I think maybe you and I can just pick up where we left off, if that’s okay. You still feel like you, and you make me feel like a person I haven’t been in a long time.”

Luka tipped his head to the side, resting it against Adrien’s. “Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah,” Adrien hummed. “I think it is. I’ve grown a lot these past few years, but there are parts of myself that I feel like I’ve lost that I miss. There are a lot of things I want to lose and a lot of things I want to get back, so I think this is good.”

“Good,” Luka sighed, a small smile curling up the corners of his lips. “I’m feeling kind of needy lately. Snuggling sounds really good.”

“I’ve got you covered,” Adrien assured.

They ate their dinner in happy, warm silence and lingered for a while after they were through, just enjoying the company.

Finally, Luka persuaded himself to get up and take the empty containers over to the nearly overflowing rubbish bin in the kitchen.

He winced as embarrassment reared its head again. “I promise I’m going to clean all of this up tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Adrien chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s seriously fine, Luka.”

“It’s really not,” Luka grumbled. “I am not my mother. I do not go on drinking sprees and let trash pile up around me. I am a functional, responsible adult.”

Adrien got up and went over to Luka, resting a supportive hand on his arm. “You are a functional, responsible adult…and you need to cut yourself some slack. Be nice. You’re going through some stuff. That’s what you used to tell me, right?”

Adrien shot him a bolstering smile, and Luka’s lips twitched just a little in response.

“Thank you, Adrien. It’s just…this,” He waved his arms to encapsulate the entire mess of an apartment. “is not me.”

“I know,” Adrien replied matter-of-factly. “And you can fix it when you feel better. Now, off to bed with you.”

Luka pulled Adrien into a quick side-hug. “You’re the best.”

Adrien cracked up. “Please tell me that often. My self-esteem could use the boost.”

“Noted,” Luka assured, turning to head to his room.

He paused when he suddenly remembered and reached for his wallet.

“Before I forget: apartment key, credit card, cash,” he announced as he fished each item out of his wallet and set it down on one of the only clean spots on the kitchen island.

Adrien gawked. “What’s all this?”

Luka nodded to the apartment key. “I’ll have a duplicate made for you tomorrow, but if you need to go out before then, you’ll need the key. If you discover that you don’t have something you need, there’s money. I mean, I’m sure we forgot something. If you need me, just knock on my door, and if I don’t respond, come in and shake me because I’m probably stone cold passed out,” Luka concluded with a shrug.

Adrien kept staring, looking back and forth between Luka and the money in disbelief. “Aren’t you afraid of me just taking off with that?”

Luka burst out laughing. “Why would you do that?”

Adrien shrugged. “I don’t know. I told you earlier that I stole money from my aunt. You’d think you’d be a little more cautious.”

Luka rolled his eyes. “Have you ever stolen something you didn’t need? Have you ever stolen from someone who couldn’t take the loss?”

Slowly, Adrien began to shake his head.

“Okay then,” Luka declared as if that settled it. “Besides, is it stealing if I gave this stuff to you?”

Adrien pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “…No?”

“No,” Luka agreed, reaching out to pat Adrien on the head. “You’re free to go whenever you want, Adrien. I would never keep you here against your will, but I think you do want to be here, and I want you here too, so I hope you’ll stay.”

Confusion slowly overtook Adrien’s expression and he found himself asking the question that had been in the back of his mind all day: “Is all of this for real?”

Luka’s eyebrow arched questioningly. “What do you mean?”

Adrien swallowed and motioned around them. “All of this. Is this really…free? No strings attached? You really don’t want anything from me? You’re not expecting me to do anything to pay you back?”

Luka shook his head, giving Adrien what he hoped was a calming smile. “Completely free,” he assured. “No strings.”

Adrien frowned harder. “Sorry. I just…I know you’re telling the truth. I know I can trust you. I do trust you. I just haven’t been able to trust anyone in a long time, so this is really hard for me to just accept all of your kindness.”

Luka nodded, trying to imagine what it must have been like for Adrien, not even able to trust his own family. “It’s okay. I’m not offended or anything. You’ve been through a lot, and even though I have no way of really understanding that, I respect it.”

Adrien swallowed, hesitating before confessing, “People have tricked me before. People have pretended to be nice, but they weren’t actually nice. I know you’re not like that, but…people who have been nice to me have always expected things I’m not interested in giving, so I’m just kind of anxious because people get mean when you tell them no after they’ve been nice to you.”

Luka’s jaw dropped, and fear surged up into his chest. “Adrien,” he gasped. “Are you okay? Did someone…?”

Adrien shook his head rapidly. “No. No. I mean…not successfully. I’m fine. Just…you know. Close calls. It’s made me painfully aware of how vulnerable I am, though.”

He winced. “It made me realize how dangerous it can be for someone whom no one cares about. If something happened to me, no one would come looking or ask questions. It’s scary once you realize no one’s looking out for you. It makes you hesitant to trust people.”

Luka stepped forward, pulling Adrien into a hug. “Well, it’s not like that anymore, so you don’t have to be scared. You have friends here. Old ones you just need to reconnect with and new ones like Josie and Jacob and Marc. You’re safe, Adrien.”

Luka pulled back to look Adrien in the eye to make sure he was hearing what Luka was saying. “And this is your home now, not just mine. That room is your room. I’m not going to barge in uninvited or mess with your things. That’s your space, and you have door-locking privileges. Same goes for the bathroom. I want you to feel safe here.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Adrien assured, smiling peacefully as he rested his head on Luka’s shoulder and gave him a grateful squeeze. “Sorry I’m kind of busted up. The world is sort of mean.”

“I know. Don’t worry. Everyone is a little busted up in some way or another. It’s not just you,” Luka informed.

“Thanks,” Adrien sighed as he pulled away. “Now go get some rest. You look like you got hit by a truck.”

A peal of laughter took Luka by surprise. “That is exactly what I’ve always wanted you to say to me.”

“I’ll bet.” Adrien smirked. “Go sleep.”

“What are you going to do?” Luka had to wonder.

“Monopolize your bathtub for at least an hour and then watch anime on my phone,” Adrien answered without batting an eye.

“You like baths?” Luka snickered. “Why am I just now finding this out about you?”

Adrien shrugged, his smirk growing wider. “My bathtub was one of the few things I loved about my previous domicile, and I’ve been deprived of baths for nearly five years at this point. Please take this as notice that I’m annexing your bathtub.”

“Fair enough,” Luka conceded without a fight, amused at the simple things that could bring Adrien pleasure.

“Also, I take long, hot showers, so prepare for your water bill to skyrocket,” Adrien warned.

“Noted.” Luka relaxed as Adrien seemed to become more and more comfortable making himself at home by the minute.

“And I’m going to need your Netflix password,” Adrien added to the list of demands.

Luka winced. “I don’t have Netflix.”

Adrien stared, blinked, and then cocked his head to the side. “…What?”

Luka rolled his eyes and pointed to the credit card on the counter.

Adrien looked at the card and then back to Luka. “Really?”

“Go crazy,” Luka assured. “Anything else?”

Adrien thought for a moment. “Not at present.”

“Okay. Night, night, Perfect Fifth.” He gave Adrien’s hair a tussle for good measure and turned to go.

“Good night, Orpheus,” Adrien called after him, resurrecting his own old nickname for Luka. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Luka echoed, savoring those words.

#Lukadrien #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Adrien Agreste #Luka Couffaine #Fluff #Hurt/Comfort #Friendship #Friends to Lovers #Slow Burn #Pining #Mutual Pining #Roommates #Mikau's Writings #Zebras Can't Change Their Stripes

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 3 years

Note

How’ve you never been a Draco anti? Just cause he was a teenager doesn’t mean he had the right to make disgusting racist comments and do other ignorant shit. Age is just a number. I don’t mean that in a creepy sexualising way or anything but there’s never an age where it’s okay or acceptable to be racist and just be a terrible person overall. Sorry I’m all for respecting opinions and whatever but I really can’t comprehend how you apparently didn’t go anti for him. You called him insufferable in the Malfoy TLSQ but that wasn’t even him at his worst 😒

(Going under the cut, this became a #LongPost)

Did I say that? I don't doubt it but I have no memory of this and I don't really think I'd agree with that description anyway. Because he really wasn't insufferable during that quest, you're right. He was pretty spoiled for sure, and if anything I was pleased to see that side of him which the films could occasionally downplay. Like, don't get me wrong, Jason Isaacs is amazing, but he has specifically talked about his motivation during interviews, how he wanted to build sympathy for Draco by being such a cruel father. Which is just...not the kind of dynamic Lucius and Draco had, and I've talked about this before, but Lucius abusing Draco is just very out-of-character if you ask me. It's also the secret backstory of every cheesy Draco redemption fanfic ever and by no means is that limited to his character, but he's a prominent example of the trope. Ben Solo is another.

As far as the books go, Draco is another character like Snape where he gets downplayed. In the early books, he was such a pain in the ass, but I never took him seriously as a threat even as a child. I knew enough about bullying to recognize how small he felt on the inside. In no way does this make it okay for him to behave the way he does in books 1-5, I'm just saying that he was scarcely a character that I would even argue earned the title of "villain." He was Harry's school rival. The worst thing he did, by far, was the entire framing of Buckbeak. Painting this narrative of him being the innocent victim of a savage monster, with Hagrid as the negligent fool who let it happen. Draco felt humiliated and wanted revenge, and he saw an opportunity to try and get Hagrid fired. And amazingly, despite an entire classroom of witnesses who can verify that Hagrid did everything by the books and that Draco's own arrogance got him just a minor scratch....he is still, even next year, telling people like Rita Skeeter about the Hippopriff attack. How is he getting away with that? Well, I say this, and then I remember that the man behind the "Anti Vaccine" study had his license revoked after it was debunked and yet he continued to give lectures about the dangers of vaccines...

Boy, I'm getting off topic. Draco's character just doesn't bother me that much because I don't take him seriously. The Buckbeak Incident was his worst moment by far, but he remains a stagnant character for the first five books. And god damn, how can I not empathize with him starting in Half Blood Prince? Voldemort selects him for a mission that he fully expects to result in his death, all to punish Lucius. It is made very clear to Draco that he must murder his school Headmaster, Albus freaking Dumbledore. I have already on many occasions, documented how much this world reveres him as an all powerful, omniscient force of nature. I doubt I need to reiterate just how daunting and impossible this task would and did start to feel for Draco. But the consequences for failure were plainly stated. Either Dumbledore had to die, or Draco and his parents would die. He was all of sixteen years old, and he was cornered by Voldemort, when his family was already deeply involved with the Death Eaters.

I hold nothing against Draco for any choice he made in HBP. What was he supposed to do? He was trapped. He had no reason to trust Snape or Dumbledore, and they were probably his only lifelines. Even if he had managed to escape Voldemort, his parents would still have been in danger. Dumbledore offers them protection up in the Astronomy Tower, but how does Draco know he's telling the truth? How does he know that to be a promise that Dumbledore can keep? In the end, he couldn't do it. He didn't have it in him to take Dumbledore's life. Despite all that pressure on him. I think that means something. The stress of trying to carry out the mission was making him physically ill. Oh, and this was the year that Harry hit him with Secumsempra. Probably the stupidest thing Harry ever did, and I'd say it leaves them even for Ron and the poisoned mead, however indirectly. After Snape kills Dumbledore, Draco just tries to keep his head down. All he can do is nod or shake his head whenever Voldemort addresses him at Death Eater meetings.

When The Golden Trio is captured and taken to Malfoy Manor...Draco's fear, and his growing moral conflict, show themselves again. He cannot commit to identifying Harry, even though we're meant to assume he knew damn well that it was Harry. Now, sure. You can argue that he wanted to wait and be absolutely sure before they went as far as summoning Voldemort. Or you can argue that he just didn't want Voldemort to show up because he was frightened of him. I think that's more likely. Because Harry under a stinging hex is one thing, but Hermione? When asked if Hermione was who they thought she was, he once again gives an evasive "Yeah, it could be." Like it's not clear as day. Draco flip-flops a lot during Deathly Hallows. He does try to capture Harry during the Battle of Hogwarts...and a childhood best friend dies before his very eyes. Ultimately, Harry's choice to save Draco winds up being a positive inversion of his choice to save Wormtail. Saving Wormtail guaranteed Voldemort's return. Saving Draco, on the other hand, ensured Narcissa's cooperation, and thus, it bought enough time for Neville to kill Nagini, and doom Voldemort once and for all. Harry saving Draco made all the difference.

In canon, Draco is little more than a sleazy coward. His story echoes that of Regulus, and sometimes I like to imagine what it would be like if he had taken on a more heroic role toward the end and had a more complete redemption. That said, I don't strictly speaking, mind that he didn't. I love the image of the Malfoys just huddled together after the battle, unsure if they're welcome or not, but no one is actually sparing them a thought. I also like final shot of them in the film, where they just up and leave. That works for them. There was apparently a cut scene where Draco was supposed to throw Harry his wand and properly defect...and while that would have been pretty cool, again: He didn't need a full redemption necessarily. The books kind of ran out of time, especially since there was no eighth year. Draco was not emotionally ready to do the right thing. But he had learned enough about himself and the world to know that he was uncomfortable doing the wrong thing. It's easy to parrot the slurs you're taught from the cradle, but as you get older and are expected to start participating in hate crimes and things of the like...you might begin to realize just how fucked up it all is. Even if the realization is slow. Even if you're not brave enough to take a stand.

TL;DR: Early books Draco is annoying, but no more so than a fly. I just kind of brush him off. Late books Draco is actually a very compelling character and he has my sympathy.

#Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Harry Potter Analysis #Lucius Malfoy #Narcissa Malfoy #Lord Voldemort #Harry Potter Books #Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince #Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

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paradife-loft · 3 years

Text

In the blood orange sky

Well. Does anybody remember a couple months ago when I made this post? Because apparently I’ve been thinking about it a fair bit.

And also thinking about... maybe doing a thing? A thing that involves writing various vignettes as I’m moved to, very low pressure, but all in the same continuity, about sequences of various events that are related to one another and a central premise...? So kind of maybe like a “multi-chapter fic” as they call them, but y’know. No particular goals for “finishing” something, or requiring they be in chronological order or any other strict structure binding them together. Just exploring things for fun, and I’ll see where it goes!

But yes, so, I have written a bit this week that I think does what I would like for a first portion of something like this, and... here it is!

1.4k words, Xiyao, post-canon, dark-ish mystery/intrigue/character and relationship exploration I guess?; warnings for injury and general unpleasant body stuff, and also unpleasant mental health stuff, and also discussed off-screen (mass) murder.

When he comes to this time, he is sitting - propped up in the gentle rays of early sun against something he can vaguely identify as soft, with enough give to cradle his shoulders. That alone is a departure from each time previous… and Jin Guangyao supposes he ought to be thankful he continues to wake up at all; that his condition upon doing so this one time at least is no longer face-down, body practically smeared into the dirt.

An unpleasant prickling in one of his legs prompts him to open his eyes again, lift his head from where it’d fallen back against a pillow. His neck throbs with the motion. He sees a pair of hands - familiar enough that the distortions between his sight now and his memories cannot help but unsettle him - moving steadily with needle and thread through a deep rent in his left calf.

Ah. That would explain that particular discomfort, then.

Viewing the sight on top of feeling the muted, distant sensation it evokes, gives him the perverse and contrarian instinct to kick out and abort the effort of cleaning him up as it’s only partway done - but he recognises well enough that it would be a waste, and even now he isn’t so far gone as that. And he doesn’t want his leg to remain ruined. And to repair it himself now would be… possible, but far more difficult.

All arguments he has to pull out in front of his mind’s eye, like a text one might recite, to convince himself not to protest this time; but he does hold himself still, does remain for the time being a silent, compliant patient.

(Not entirely still, he must admit: his eyes follow the tiny shifts in those hands, trying to reconcile the absence of both manicured care, and the unique pattern of callused ridges he had memorised once upon a time. And yet more important, more incorrect when compared to the state he is familiar with: Lan Xichen has never known how to sew.)

(And yet. And yet.)

He presses his lips together as Xichen approaches the completion of the task, drawing the words he resents needing to speak up like pitchers of water from a drying well. They crowd his tongue, sour the inside of his mouth.

"I take it you found me quickly this time, after your target was done with me?"

Lan Xichen starts when he hears his voice, head jumping up and eyes round. Jin Guangyao had not taken him to be so absorbed that he hadn't even noticed him waking, but -

(He should have, perhaps.)

Xichen's expression hardens into something resigned after that, the dam holding back a great dredged mass of displeasure. Pain and anger in a hundred or more shades, silt and loam and sand.

"You tore apart the gravesites of three prominent clans, scattering the bones, and then did the same with the bodies of their living families when they came to drive out the robbers who defiled their ancestors' remains. The entire village has been terrified since last night. The news was not difficult to follow."

Jin Guangyao resists the urge to close his eyes, staring down the spray of blood to his face with the same dispassion he once used to with regularity. He is out of practise, however: he can't stop the reflexive flinch in his mouth, or his one remaining hand. It curls stiffly in the blankets pushed to one side of the bed pallet.

It’s not that he hadn't expected something along these lines, from the moment he’d woken up and taken in his surroundings. He hadn’t particularly relished the anticipation of hearing it, and so allowed himself a few moments watching Lan Xichen work in silence before disturbing him, it’s true - but he regrets the pain and exhaustion on Xichen's face and in the set of his shoulders and limbs more than he cares to spend his sympathy on another (inevitable) group of dead strangers.

He glances down at the long column of stitches holding the greying flesh of his leg together around the bone, and wonders which hapless, doomed villager from this new feat of resentful destruction had managed to inflict the injury.

"So it didn't require all that much searching, then. Nobody was angry with you, stealing away with the corpse that had killed all those people instead of burning it?"

"Not enough to express it to me. I imagine it helped that I spent several hours in the interim helping right the disturbed graves, and set wards around several of the neighboring houses," Xichen replies. Stress still lines his eyes, flickering more prominent like a candle flame as he speaks. Reconstructing the sequence of events implied, Jin Guangyao feels a twinge of - something - surprise, or hurt? he can't quite say - that Xichen had apparently seen fit this time to seal him away and then leave him, presumably alone, for some significant time afterward, while he tended to the village. Even though it was presumably an effective distraction, not to mention well-deserved.

"I was intending on returning this afternoon, to add more wards to some of the other houses, and suppress any other spirits roused in the process,” Xichen adds. Half an afterthought, half an explanation.

The emotion, whatever it is, crystallizes into a spike of irritation. "Temporary wards aren't going to be enough to turn away a determined corpse-raiser of this strength if he has unfinished vendettas against anybody left there," replies Jin Guangyao, snappish.

Lan Xichen’s lips thin. "I would still prefer to comfort some of their fears, however unrealistically, in the time before the problem has been solved, than leave them with no help or explanation at all after such a loss."

Jin Guangyao knows this. Agrees with it, even; it had been one of many principles they shared in the nighthunts they used to investigate. If Lan Xichen is frustrated at having to reiterate such a thing to him specifically, rather than in general, it doesn't show amidst everything else on his face.

He does stand though, turning away from the bed, tucking the medical supplies he’d been using back into their pouch and going to check on an iron kettle perched over a fire.

“Where are we?” Jin Guangyao asks, preferring the abrupt change of subject to a continuation of the prior topic. Xichen glances back at him - not for long.

“The abandoned house of one of the walking corpses I suppressed a few months ago,” he replies. He pours hot water into a skin, tying it off, and then another steaming portion into a tea pot - drab by Gusu Lan standards, but still likely worth more than the entire roof they’re under. “Don’t get up on that leg yet; you’ll split it open.”

Silence clouds between them, as Jin Guangyao stops shifting his way toward the edge of the bed pallet and lets the leg stretch out in front of him, holding back his weight against his arm. His fingers itch.

He’s asked Lan Xichen before, how long he’s been living like this, although not in those terms; and Lan Xichen has responded only with obvious deflections, despite giving perfectly cogent answers to less savory questions, such as how he’s managed to take a room at an inn with a resentment-spilling corpse in tow. There are many people in need with no one else to turn to throughout the countryside. A simple glamour works well enough when neither the inkeep nor other patrons are cultivators. Spending nights at the house left abandoned after a prior nighthunt certainly sidesteps the minor inconveniences of the latter, but leaves him even less sanguine about the former.

Would you rather neither of you were here at all, and in all likelihood even more people were dead? his own mind poses snidely, while he sits and watches Lan Xichen putting the hot compress over his lower leg, manually drawing up the blood in his body toward the region. He sips the cup of medicinal brew pressed into his hands, despite strong doubt in its capacity to do anything now for him in particular.

When he can acutely feel the spiritual energy circulating through his through him - pushed by Xichen’s intent and core, urging tissue to repair itself in the same way it would in a living body - Jin Guangyao finally admits the need to push on the issue of what they both have surely understood by now.

“I need to come with when you leave,” he says. He doesn’t make it a suggestion.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, and Jin Guangyao’s still heart seems to squeeze like a vise. Go back to Gusu! he wants to yell; fuck the villagers, and fuck whatever further bloody deaths he won’t be conscious enough to care about causing.

Lan Xichen only nods, like it pains him. “Yes. I suppose you do.”

#oh my LORD I am GOING to have a fucking fit over trying to post/format this :))))))#the post editor kept refreshing when I resized the window to check things AND WOULDN'T LET ME PROPERLY COPYPASTE EVERYTHING #I just wanted to look into the html bc it was giving me weird formatting stuff but noooooo ?new post editor? didn't want to let me do that??#anyway I have. written up the intro part to this post like 3 times now and I am. SO DONE :''''')#*kicks website* ANywAY......#that time James wrote fic #no good things for the poor sad cultivators #Jin Guangyao #Lan Xichen #xiyao #....I never know whether to call something 'angst' if there's not... on-screen angsting but the characters are definitely Going Through It #(apparently my solution is to just call it dark? I guess? is that the correct solution? IDK!! :D)#......ao3 will happen later probably when there's more than 1 part to this

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works-of-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Keep Me Company [Steve Rogers x Reader]

Summary: The reader is convinced to go on a double blind date by her co-worker. Throughout the evening, it becomes clear that someone other than her date, has peaked her interest.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Some swearing.

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: I haven’t written in over a year so this isn’t the best! This idea kinda sucks and turned out to be a lot longer than I wanted it to be, but I hope someone likes it regardless 🖤

———————-

[Reader’s POV]

“I’ve told you before, I’m really not interested in dating anyone right now,” I reiterated, shaking my head at my coworker, Ivy. She’d somehow managed to get herself roped into a blind date, and she’d spent the past week desperately asking every female at work to go with her.

“Please, Y/N! My cousin organised this and my date is bringing a friend. I can’t show up alone, it’ll be so awkward,” She’d now invited herself to sit at my desk, and I sighed out of annoyance as I closed my laptop and looked over at her, “Please? You’ll be my lifesaver.” She batted her eyelashes at me like a child begging their parents for an expensive toy. I mulled over it for a moment, and not a single scenario in my mind resulted in a good outcome. Has anything good ever come out of a blind date? To me they just seem super uncomfortable for everyone involved, with at least one party praying for the clock to move faster and for the ordeal to end. I didn’t really want to go, but the image of Ivy arriving alone to be faced by two strangers gave me a major wave of secondhand embarrassment. I knew I wouldn’t want to go through that, so I couldn’t let her walk into that either.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go with you, but you owe me one! Big time,” I gave in. She rose from the chair and grinned at me, heading towards the door.

“I’ll go and forward the reservation details to you. My date is called Steve, and you’ll be meeting his friend, Sam. Oh, I’m so excited!” She clasped her hands together and did a little dance on her tiptoes before disappearing out of my office. I groaned, catching my head in my hands. What have I gotten myself into?

—————-

As instructed by an extremely antsy Ivy, I arrived at the restaurant at 7.30pm on the dot. She was waiting outside for me when my taxi pulled up, and I could instantly see how nervous she was as she leaned against the restaurant window, bouncing her knee. “Y/N! You’re here! I thought you might bail on me,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. Ivy was always filled with so much energy, but with the added nerves she was even more jumpy than usual and couldn’t keep still for a second.

“So, do you have any idea what these guys look like?” I asked, hugging myself to try my best to stay warm. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t just wait inside, but Ivy insisted we greet them properly as soon as they arrived.

“I have an idea of what Steve looks like, but my cousin really wouldn’t let me see his picture for longer than five seconds,” she replied, her teeth chattering a little from the cold breeze hitting us both. A black car soon pulled up outside and Ivy straightened, brushing herself down, “This must be them. How do I look?”

“You look great. Just relax,” I offered her a small smile as we watched the car doors open. I looked away for a moment and rolled my eyes at the whole ordeal. There was Ivy, standing there like an excited schoolgirl and playing with her hair like her hands were glued to her head. Then there was me, lazily dressed at best and already feeling the urge to check the time. Again, why did I agree to this?

“You must be Ivy, and Y/N,” a voice said. I snapped back and turned to face them properly. I could literally hear the breath getting caught in Ivy’s throat as a quiet squeak came out of her mouth. But I couldn’t blame her, as I blinked heavily to try and make sense of the two men standing before us. I knew the names Steve and Sam sounded familiar, but I didn’t realise we were literally going for dinner with two of the Avengers. Immediately, my ‘couldn’t care less’ attitude towards the evening shifted, and the pressure was on. I’d agreed to a blind date, a blind double date, and I was paired with Sam Wilson, Falcon himself. No matter how the evening went, I knew I had to at least make a good impression. I couldn’t embarrass myself in front of an Avenger.

“I’m Y/N,” I stated, mostly aiming my smile at Sam, but feeling the stare of both men on me. I waited for Ivy to introduce herself after me, but she stayed silent. I gave her a little nudge and she still didn’t say anything, so I put my arm around her shoulder for encouragement, “and this is Ivy, who I think needs a drink! Should we go inside, Ives?” I patted her back in a final attempt to get her to speak.

She cleared her throat, eventually opening her mouth to answer, “of course,” she turned to Steve and held out her hand to shake his, “sorry I uh - dry mouth,” she lied as he shook her hand awkwardly. I didn’t know whether to cringe or burst into laughter, so instead I just led everybody into the restaurant and got us seated at our table.

I didn’t know what to expect of the night ahead. Ivy was already a nervous wreck and she’d barely introduced herself to our company for the evening. I kind of felt sorry for her. I mean, her cousin could’ve pre-warned her that her date was someone as high-profile as Captain America! I think any girl would faint at the sight of him sitting across from them at a restaurant. Even I couldn’t take my eyes off of him and he wasn’t even my date to gawk at.

We quickly ordered drinks and read our food menus in silence. I could feel Ivy’s foot dancing under the table, so I reached over and placed my hand on her knee to calm her down. She looked at me and mouthed an apology. I couldn’t believe how nervous she was, she looked pale white like she was going to throw up any second. “How about we get a sharing appetiser to start? They sound really good,” Sam suggested, lifting his menu and pointing at one of the pictures. Thank God for him breaking the silence, because I felt like I could scream out of sheer awkwardness.

“Dough balls, chicken wings, tempura shrimp, mozzarella sticks... it doesn’t take much more convincing for me!” I enthused, reading the rest of the selection. I glanced up to see Steve looking at me, a wide smile on his face that reached his eyes. I felt my cheeks heat up, and I could’ve quite literally slapped myself for getting so excited over Captain America smiling at me. I didn’t want to turn into a giddy, fidgety teenager. We already had one of those at the table.

“What do you think, Ivy?” Steve asked her. She nodded in agreement, and everything in me wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Why was she being so weird?

“Um, would you mind ordering the appetiser for us? I’m just going to go wash my hands. Ivy, come with me,” I stood up and grabbed her arm, almost dragging her out of her chair and towards the bathroom. Once inside, she stood in the mirror, vigorously scrubbing her hands and glaring at her own reflection.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Y/N! I just can’t speak, the words won’t come out!” She panicked, pretty much splashing water everywhere. I leaned against the counter with my arms folded, trying to think of what I could say to her to improve this situation.

“I know this is not exactly ideal -“

“Ideal?! This is a nightmare! I thought my cousin was just going to set me up with some loser she knew from work. I didn’t know it would be Steve fucking Rogers! I’ve made myself look like such an idiot,” she frantically dried her hands with a paper towel, her pale face growing redder by the second. I grabbed her wrists and took the paper towel from her, tossing it in the bin beside me.

“Listen,” I started, keeping my grip on her wrists and making her look me in the eyes, “You’re not the only one who is nervous, and I too thought it was just going to be a couple of loser guys wanting some company. Neither of us expected bloody Captain America and Falcon to show up, but here we are. Just don’t take it so seriously. Try and have fun, be yourself!” I internally cringed at how cliché I sounded, but if I wanted this night to be painless, I had to snap Ivy out of her weird mood in any way I could.

“Y - You’re right. You’re right! Just be myself,” Ivy repeated, more to herself than to me. I quickly washed my hands and we went back out there, re-joining the guys at the table where the drinks had now arrived.

I sat down and couldn’t help but notice the extravagant drink that was placed in front of Steve. It was bright orange in colour, with grapefruit slices on the rim and a neon green umbrella wedged in the top of it. I couldn’t help but quietly giggle at the sight of this muscular mountain of a man, drinking something that looked like it belonged on a beach in Hawaii in the hand of a bikini-clad model. “Aren’t we going to address the elephant in the room?” I laughed, putting down my menu.

“Do you mean that literal elephant ornament over there, or the tropical vomit that Steve is drinking?” Sam joked, picking up the cocktail, “Have you ever seen a liquid that colour?”

“Hey!” Steve grabbed the glass, cautiously placing it back down, “it just tastes better, okay? I didn’t know it would come with its own accessories,” he gestured to the grapefruit decorating the glass.

“I wouldn’t complain Steve, it’s the best part,” I added. He picked one of the slices from the glass and held it in front of my face.

“For you, m’lady,” he mocked in a posh accent. I glanced at everybody at the table and Sam was flashing his cheeky grin, whilst Ivy’s expression was a little less readable. I couldn’t tell if she was still just riddled with nerves, or if my interaction with Steve was bothering her. Either way, I leaned forward and took a bite out of the grapefruit, holding my hands underneath my chin as the juice dribbled everywhere.

“Oh damn,” I mumbled, still chewing the fruit. I grabbed a napkin and attempted to clean my sticky hands. Steve was chuckling quietly, as he went to take a sip of his no-doubt delicious cocktail, “that was messier than I thought.”

“That was a weird mixture of amusing, erotic, and disgusting,” Sam laughed. It felt as if we were all just staring at Ivy, waiting for her to join in, but all she could offer was a shy smile before she buried her head back into her menu to choose a main course. Sam looked at me from across the table with an inquisitive expression, gesturing towards her with his eyes. I just shrugged, glancing back over at Steve who just so happened to look at me at the same time. As we made eye contact, a light fluttering feeling invaded my stomach, and I didn’t know whether to just allow myself to feel it or to feel bad for wishing I could swap seats with Ivy. Don’t get me wrong, Sam was a great guy, but something about Steve was turning my insides to mush, and I hadn’t even been in his company for more than twenty minutes.

Our appetiser soon arrived, and we each ordered our main courses before we dug in. I kept trying to give Ivy subtle nudges and hints so she’d join in more, but she was still pretty quiet. She was trying her best, but it was clear that Steve was close to giving up on making conversation with her. “So, Ivy, Y/N,” Steve started, wiping the sides of his mouth with a napkin, “what do you both do?” I slowly chewed on a piece of shrimp, with Ivy looking at me as if she was waiting for me to do the talking. I signalled to her that my mouth was full, hopefully giving her a little push to answer the question.

“Y/N is one of the HR executives, and I uh - I work on the same floor in IT,” Ivy shakily explained, her voice quiet but it was better than stone cold silence.

“IT, huh? Well you could teach me how to get along better with technology,” Steve said to Ivy. She just looked down at her plate and mumbled something I couldn’t even hear. Sam shot me another one of his confused looks, and I really wished I knew what to say to get Ivy to speak up a bit more, or at least attempt to create a nice atmosphere for the rest of us.

Regardless of the slightly awkward atmosphere, we continued to eat and make conversation where we could. Steve and Sam asked a lot of questions, which I was too scared to return at first. What do you ask an Avenger? I don’t want to sound like an interviewer asking them everything about their lives and how they’ve quite literally saved the world multiple times. Throughout the conversation I learned that I have a lot more in common with Steve than I would’ve anticipated. I don’t know what that says about my character, given that Steve has lived more of his life in the early half of the 20th Century. Sam poked fun at me for some of my interests, calling me an old woman, but I soon silenced him when I threw a mozzarella stick at him which covered his cheek in breadcrumbs.

I tried to concentrate on Sam, in hopes that it would somehow force Ivy to actually pay attention to her date and make more effort. However, I couldn’t stop my eyes from wandering back over to Steve, where he sat with a warm smile on his face as he tried his best to get Ivy to communicate. He’d been asking us both questions all evening, but he was really only getting answers from me. I was really enjoying their company, and Sam made me laugh until my stomach hurt, but something inside of me wished I was sitting across from Steve. He was being the perfect gentleman, and his occasional compliments made my cheeks feel like they were on fire from all the blushing I must’ve been doing. At one point, Sam even told us to ‘get a room’ and if I wasn’t so busy trying to silently calm myself down, I probably would’ve had a sarcastic reply ready.

—————

We split the bill equally, and the guys quickly went to the bathroom before we left, so Ivy and I waited outside. “Steve’s really nice,” I stated, trying to fill the silence between us. I could understand her shyness in front of Sam and Steve, but she didn’t need to be so strange around me.

“He seems to really like you,” she muttered, folding her arms and sighing. I couldn’t tell how she was feeling, but she was really starting to bug me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, trying my best not to sound irritated. She’d hardly said more than ten words all night, and I was running out of ways to cover for her and make conversation on her behalf. She looked at me with a frown, keeping her arms tightly folded across her chest, “what? You can’t be mad at me for talking to Steve, you didn’t exactly make this night easy for him.”

“You knew I was nervous! You couldn’t just sit and talk to Sam, you had to get all chatty with Steve and make me look stupid.”

“I made you look stupid?! Don’t you realise I spent most of the evening starting conversations for you? I had to bring up topics I knew you liked to get you to speak, and even that didn’t work. You can’t blame me here.”

I leaned against a nearby lamppost, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the stupidity I was being forced to listen to. Ivy continued to rant at me about how I’d ruined her evening by getting along so well with Steve, and how I probably planned to ‘steal her date’ all along. “I did you a favour by agreeing to come to this. It’s not my fault that you sat there in silence most of the time. We all tried our best, you know we did,” I retorted. She stood there glaring at me, probably searching for something else she could say to try and justify her nonsense.

Suddenly, the restaurant doors swung open and out stepped Sam and Steve. “Do you ladies wanna go grab dessert somewhere?” Steve asked, his tone a little hesitant. I couldn’t blame him, I’d be hesitant too after spending almost two hours sitting opposite the human equivalent of a brick wall. I glanced at Ivy who was still stood with her arms folded, scowling like an upset toddler.

“I’m not feeling so good. I’m just going to head home. It was nice to meet you both,” Ivy said to them, without even bothering to make eye contact, “see you at work Y/N,” she murmured, before walking off down the street and disappearing around the corner.

“Do you think I should’ve gone with her?” Steve asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Usually I would say yes, but in this case, I don’t think you’re inclined to do anything,” Sam said honestly, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He pulled the car keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car, walking around to the driver’s side, “enjoy your dessert!” He called over, winking.

“Wait, where are you going?” I asked, a sudden wave of nerves hitting me as I realised what he was implying.

“It doesn’t take a fool to know where he’s not wanted,” he replied, pushing out his bottom lip jokingly.

“Sam! Don’t say that,” I walked around to the driver’s side and he placed a hand on my arm, smiling down at me.

“Now I’ve never seen Steve have a crush, but I’d say you��re pretty close,” he said quietly, probably so Steve couldn’t hear. I glanced over at the Super Soldier pacing the pavement and whistling to himself, and the all-too-familiar fluttery feeling returned to my stomach, “but don’t let him have too much dessert, he’s a superhero remember.”

“Sam, you don’t have to leave.”

“I had a great time tonight, despite the uh - well despite Ivy,” we both laughed and I couldn’t suppress the huge grin that spread across my face, “I’m sure I’ll see you around at the Avengers HQ sometime.”

“Now you’re planning way too far ahead,” I slapped his arm playfully, before thanking him for making the date bearable at least.

“See you later old man!” He shouted over to Steve as I walked back around to join him. Steve just snickered and shook his head, waving off his friend as Sam got into the car and drove away. I stood beside him, my heart pounding as I tried to figure out how I ended up here. As bad as I feel to admit it, I guess I only have Ivy and her weird behaviour to thank for this.

“So, where are you taking me Captain?” I asked, standing opposite him and looking up into his eyes. My knees felt shaky and weak beneath me, and I mentally scolded myself for behaving like such a cheesy rom-com character. Steve maintained eye contact as he brought his right hand up to my face. I shivered a little as his cold fingers brushed my temple, as he moved a piece of hair out of my eyes.

“I was going to suggest ice cream, but perhaps it’s a little too cold for that,” he stepped back and shrugged his jacket off of his shoulders, “here.” He wrapped the jacket around me and I slid my arms into the sleeves. Steve laughed at how oversized it was on me, as he tried to fold the sleeves a little. I caught my reflection in the restaurant window and I smiled to myself. Strangely, the image of myself standing opposite Captain America whilst wearing his jacket, was something that made my heart do somersaults. The gesture was so simple, yet so thoughtful.

“I have an idea, but we’ll have to make a stop along the way,” he smiled, holding out his hand. I placed my hand in his and agreed to let him lead the way. After all, I was way too caught up in the moment to protest and I was excited to see what he’d come up with so last minute.

We walked a few blocks and stopped at a bakery. It was five minutes before closing time, but Steve insisted it was the best place to grab something for dessert. I waited by the door as he spoke to the cashier. They handed him quite a large paper bag, then we were soon back on our way to wherever he was leading us to. We walked for a little while longer before stopping in front of the museum. “I know it seems strange that I’ve brought you here, to a museum literally dedicated to me, but I’ve got a deal with the security guards here and it’s kind of relaxing to be here after closing,” he explained, before lightly knocking on the glass door. A security guard eventually let us in, and I kept ahold of Steve’s hand as we walked through the exhibits.

I read everything on the walls and stopped to look at every single picture. Steve was never far behind, either holding my hand or resting it on my back as I engrossed myself in all the information the museum had to offer. I’d never had the chance to visit before, and I was learning more and more about Steve as the minutes passed. “Do you remember all of this?” I asked, my eyes still fixed on a photo of him surrounded by other soldiers. They all looked happy to be together, to be a team.

“Every single second,” I turned to look at him and he gazed into the glass case, his eyes scanning each picture. A smile crept onto his face and he looked down at me, his smile widening as our eyes met.

“You miss it, don’t you?”

“Things are definitely different now,” he took my hand and we continued to walk on, stopping in front of a group of mannequins wearing uniforms, “it’s a time I’ll always cherish. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy to be here now. There’s so many people I’ve met that I am so grateful to know,” he reached forward and ran his fingers along the fabric of his old uniform, that same reminiscent smile appearing on his face, “including those I’ve met on slightly disastrous double dates.” He turned and winked at me and I just rolled my eyes at his corny remark, whilst failing to ignore the butterflies dancing in my stomach.

Our last stop was a room with a large screen projecting video clips of Steve and those from his past. Instead of sitting on the benches, we went to the front and sat on the floor with our backs against them. Steve reminded me of the treats he’d collected from the bakery, and placed the bag between us. “I always go to this bakery, because not only do they have the best cakes, but at night they throw in a few extras that they couldn’t sell,” he explained excitedly, ripping the bag and laying it out flat. An array of colourful cupcakes and pastries were laid out in a box, and my mouth almost watered at the sight, “by the way, the cinnamon roll is mine.”

“Damn! I was just about to call dibs,” I pretended to sulk and he sighed, opening the box and ripping the pastry in half, handing me the piece that was slightly bigger, “oh I’m flattered.”

“I couldn’t possibly deprive you of it. It’s just heavenly,” we both took a bite at the same time and audibly groaned at how good it tasted. I giggled as I noticed the icing all around his mouth, “what? Is there something on my face?” I couldn’t stop laughing as he looked down as if he was trying to look at his own cheeks. I rolled up the sleeve of his jacket and wiped his face with my thumb.

“Did you get napkins by any chance?” I asked, as I realised my hand was now covered in sticky icing. Steve rummaged through the box and found a stray napkin at the bottom. I wiped off my hand and leaned back, laying my legs down on the ground as I propped the upper half of my body against the benches. “So, what’s this video about?”

“Well that’s me,” he pointed at the screen as the footage showed a group of soldiers walking through some trees, “and those are the soldiers I rescued from one of the Hydra bases. That’s my best friend, Bucky.”

“He’s a Super Soldier too, right?”

“Uh huh, but I can still kick his ass,” he winked, nudging me with his elbow. He shuffled closer to me and rested his arm on the bench behind me. I could feel the warmth from his skin on the back of my neck, and there was nothing I wanted more than to rest my head on his shoulder and snuggle up to him.

“Y/N, do you think it’s weird that I brought you here?” He asked shyly. I looked over at him and his brows were furrowed slightly, which just made me want to grab him in a hug and tell him not to worry.

“Not at all. I love learning about our country’s history, and who better to educate me than Captain America himself?” I smiled, and I saw his chest rise and fall as if he was letting out a breath he’d been holding, “I’ve had a really great time with you, Steve. Part of me wishes we could’ve skipped the first couple hours of the evening,” I joked. I was so comfortable in Steve’s company that I almost forgot about the awkward dinner we’d engaged in earlier.

“Can I confess something?”

“Of course.”

“When you introduced yourself, I was so jealous that you were Sam’s date and not mine. My eyes found you as soon as I stepped out of the car, and I don’t think they’ve left you all evening. I’ve loved getting to know you, chatting to you, laughing with you. I’m really glad you came tonight,” he fidgeted, playing with the hem of his shirt nervously. I tried to think of what to say, but I was speechless. Nobody has ever said anything like that to me before, and I certainly never expected to be overwhelmed in such a way by someone as amazing as Steve.

“I - I just don’t know what to say,” I breathed, my heart thumping so hard that it felt like it could explode at any moment.

“Perhaps we could start with this - Say that you’ll meet me again.” He sat up and faced me directly, a hopeful smile on his face. I sat up and placed my hand on top of his, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Of course I will,” I spoke quietly, nearly whispering. I couldn’t quite believe what was happening. My head felt cloudy and tingles ran down my spine out of sheer excitement. Steve wanted to spend more time... with me! How did I get so lucky?

“I have an idea! How about, we meet right here? I’ll bring takeout, we can perhaps try and get a movie to work on the projector. It can be our spot,” I suggested, desperately hoping that I didn’t sound ridiculous. Steve grinned, squeezing my hand in return.

“I would love that.”

“Then it’s a date.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #fluff #the avengers #marvel #mcu #captain america x reader #captain america #sam wilson #falcon #chris evans x reader #chris evans #anthony mackie #oneshot

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arianaderalte · 3 years

Text

my employee keeps getting deadnamed by a coworker

A reader writes:

I have managed “John,” a transgender man, for about two years. John does not keep his transgender status a secret, but he also doesn’t go out of his way to tell people, so some people know and some don’t. “Lizzy” recently transferred to a department that works closely with ours. She previously did not know that John was trans, but now that she’s interacting with him much more often, she’s found out. At first, she didn’t seem to have an issue with it, but then she discovered some articles he’d published while still going by “Sally,” and now she insists on calling him Sally. She claims that she has no problem with trans people, but that she feels it’s important to call John by the name he was given at birth “out of respect for his mother” (John’s mother does not work for our company, and to the best of my knowledge, she and Lizzy have never met).

John and I have both asked her to stop, but she refuses. On John’s request, I have also gone to her manager, but Lizzy has a very domineering personality and her manager avoids confrontation, so I don’t think he’s said anything to her. Not only is Lizzy’s insistence on deadnaming John offensive, it is confusing, because many people don’t understand who she’s talking about when she mentions Sally. I’ve tried casually correcting her in the moment, as if I thought she was making a mistake, and John has outright refused to answer to the name Sally, but she keeps saying that it’s disrespectful to his mother to use a name she didn’t choose for him. John complained to HR, but they said that because she is not explicitly harassing him for being trans, they can’t do anything. (For the record, our state did not consider being LGBT a protected class, though from what I understand, the Supreme Court ruling should have changed that.)

John has now started exclusively calling Lizzy “Elizabeth”; there is another Elizabeth in the office, and if there’s any confusion over which Elizabeth he’s talking about, John uses Lizzy’s maiden name, rather than her married name. Lizzy HATES this and has complained to him, me, and half the office, but he says that it’s out of respect for her mother. Honestly, I think this is hilarious (and kind of want to start doing it too), but I feel that as a manager, I shouldn’t encourage John to deliberately antagonize Lizzy, even though she started it (and definitely shouldn’t join in). However, it does seem extremely unfair to tell John that not only does he have to put up with Lizzy using his deadname, he has to use her preferred name. Do I have to tell John to knock it off? Is there anything more I should do about Lizzy?

Lizzy is horrible, and your HR sucks too.

It’s ludicrous for your HR department to say that Lizzy isn’t harassing John for being trans, when clearly she is. Anyone who has even a passing familiarity with the ways in which trans people get harassed knows exactly what this is.

You’re right about the recent Supreme Court ruling that discrimination based on gender identity is illegal. (But even aside from that, what’s up with your company refusing to intervene when an employee is refusing to call another employee by his proper name? It sounds like there’s an agenda there.)

How high up have you gone in HR? If you can go higher, do — because it’s possible someone will overrule whoever there told you that. Point out the recent court ruling, and point out that the company is opening itself to legal liability by refusing to protect John from Lizzy’s harassment.

You should also go back to Lizzy’s manager and push the issue again. You said he prefers to avoid confrontation, and often the best approach with people like that is to make not acting the more unpleasant option for them. So be pushy, be loud, and keep following up — “Have you talked to Lizzy yet?” … “This is still a problem, when will you be talking to Lizzy?” … “What Lizzy is doing is unacceptable. Can you call her in right now and we’ll both speak to her?” … etc. Keep up the pressure until he does his job. You owe that to John.

You also said you’ve been casually correcting Lizzy when you hear her deadnaming John, as if she’s just making an innocent mistake. Stop giving her that cover. Call it out more honestly: “Lizzy, you’ve been told repeatedly to stop calling John that. Why are you continuing to do it?” If she trots out her ridiculous line about respecting John’s mother, then say, “John’s name is not up to you. You are being disrespectful and embarrassing yourself, and you need to stop.”

As for John calling Lizzy “Elizabeth” and using her maiden name (out of respect for her mother!) … well, it’s pretty brilliant. If your company says it’s okay with what Lizzy is doing, then surely this is the logical conclusion. It would be tremendously unfair for you to tell John he has to stop, while Lizzy gets to continue harassing him. Let Lizzy experience some very deserved consequences of her actions.

But that’s not enough, amusing as John’s handling of it is. You need to keep pushing — with HR, with Lizzy’s manager, with anyone else with appropriate authority here — because you can’t let an employee be repeatedly harassed on your watch.

The update, a month later:

Hearing from Alison and all of the commenters made me realize that I needed to talk to John about what he wanted to do. I apologized to him for not being proactive enough with this problem and for underestimating just how offensive Lizzy’s actions were, reiterated that I was on his side, told him that I was setting up a meeting with Lizzy and her manager for later that day, and asked what he wanted to do and what he wanted me to do. He admitted that although he was joking about it, he was actually really upset by Lizzy constantly dead naming him, so in addition to needing her to stop, he would rather not work with her anymore, or at least work with her as little as possible. I also told him that I was willing to make a big stink about both Lizzy’s actions and HR’s inaction to my boss (Lizzy’s grandboss) and the higher ups in HR, but that I wanted to make sure he was comfortable with being explicitly identified as being transgender and experiencing transphobic harassment. He said he was worried about escalating the issue himself, because he didn’t want to come off as pushy or overly sensitive, but that he did want me to do it.

I took Alison’s advice with Lizzy’s boss and just checked his and Lizzy’s Outlook calendars to find a time when they were both free and set up a meeting, figuring that his dislike of confrontation meant that he would go along with it. I said that Lizzy’s offensive behavior towards John had gone on way too long and that she needed to immediately stop calling him any name other than John. She tried to say that she had no problem with transgender people (I had not mentioned anything about him being trans, only that she had to call him by his name) and that it was a matter of respect for his mother, but I interrupted her and said that John’s mother and her feelings were irrelevant and that she was being deeply disrespectful to John, who is actually her coworker and thus actually needed her respect. I also said that it didn’t matter how she felt about trans people or if she didn’t intend to be transphobic, purposely calling John by his dead name was a transphobic action and it needed to stop, and that until I could trust her to treat him with respect, she was not to attend any of our team meetings and any workflow that would normally pass between her and John would go through me first and I would pass on the information. Her boss spoke for the first time then and said that that sounded like it might make us miss deadlines on some of our tighter turnarounds, which I agreed was true, but that given that Lizzy refused to use John’s name, I felt I had an ethical duty to prevent her from speaking to him at all, not to mention that allowing her to continue harassing him would open us up to litigation. I tried to say this all as matter-of-factly as possible, so it would be clear that I didn’t care how Lizzy actually felt about mothers or trans people, and that I wasn’t asking for suggestions on what should be done.

After that meeting, I emailed my team and explained that due to Lizzy’s outrageous and offensive behavior, I was changing our procedures so that she and John would no longer have direct contact, and that they should expect some delays in communication between her and our team. I also apologized for having allowed her to behave in such a blatantly transphobic fashion for close to a month, which should never have been tolerated at all, and explained that I had told her that she had to stop immediately, so if she referred to John as Sally again, they should let me know, either by forwarding me an email if it was in writing or by documenting the incident if it were over the phone or video chat, and should also feel free to tell her that she was being offensive and needed to stop.

This is when things get satisfying! My boss was included on the email to my team, and he called me about half an hour later asking about it. I hadn’t told him much about the Lizzy situation, because he has very little patience for people complaining about their interpersonal conflicts to their boss, and while this is a lot more significant than an interpersonal conflict, I thought he wouldn’t want to hear about it anyway, especially since he doesn’t have much contact with my team in normal times and has had even less while we’ve been virtual. Once I explained what had been happening, he said that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard and set up a meeting for the two of us with the head of HR for the next day (I asked John if he wanted to come and he said he’d rather not and he trusted me to take care of it). The head of HR agreed that this was outrageous and that HR should never have tolerated it. A week later, Lizzy got fired. Then the HR rep who had said this wasn’t explicitly transphobic got fired about about a week and a half later, Lizzy’s boss had to go through some pretty extensive management training and there’s talk that he may transfer into a position without any direct reports, the entire HR department did training on LGBT issues and what is now required of them because of Bostock v Clayton County, the entire company got an anonymous survey asking if we had ever been harassed or felt that we were the victim of discrimination in the workplace, and the head of HR personally apologized to John for the first HR rep’s mishandling of the case and encouraged him to come to her if he ever felt harassed based on his gender identity.

I also sent John the link to my original letter, and he told me to thank everyone for all your supportive comments. And of course I want to thank you all as well, for giving me the confidence to escalate this situation the way I should have from the beginning. It’s seeming more and more like Lizzy, her boss, and the first HR rep were problems, but that the company as a whole really is the good place to work that I’d always thought it was.

Link

#this was so satisfying to read that I had to share it #ask a manager #deadnaming #trans rights

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loveforpreserumsteve · 3 years

Text

About Last Night (Pre-Serum Omega!Steve and Alpha!Bucky Modern Mpreg AU)

Thirty-Two:

"...I didn't even want to go at first. I just wanted to sit at home and eat candy, but somehow your Auntie Nattie convinced me to go." Lowering his voice, Bucky added, "She's good at that."

Laying between Steve's thighs, with his mouth pressed to the bump, Bucky retold the night they met, causing vibrations to tickle Steve's skin, and causing Squirt to move around. Ever since Steve casually informed him that the baby could hear them now at twenty-two weeks, Bucky had been talking to Squirt ever since. Reading him old Sci-Fi novels, reiterating omrom plots, or just telling the fetus about some crazy dream he had. And while Steve joked that he'd prefer Bucky doing other things while in this position, he couldn't help but love how excited Bucky was in regard to their baby.

"Turns out it was the best thing to ever happen to me," Bucky kissed Steve's abdomen.

Moving the Expectant Omega's Guide, so he could look over the book and down at the smug alpha, Steve quirked his brow. Bucky shrugged and double-downed on his confession, "What? It is."

Shaking his head, Steve returned to his reading. Finding out that, not only could Squirt hear them now, he could differentiate light and dark. The book even suggested holding a flashlight to his bump. Squirt could also grab things, or at least, could try to. Which terrified Steve to some extent. After all, what if Squirt managed to wrap the umbilical cord around his neck?

"...and papa claimed that he couldn't dance, but that sure didn't stop him," Bucky continued talking to Squirt. "And I knew – I knew! – that I had to go home with him because he was gorgeous. Especially when he smiled."

Despite his best efforts, Steve smiled, but hid it behind the boo–

"Oh!" Bucky pushed back, so he was sitting on his feet. With wide eyes and jittery with excitement, Bucky looked expectantly at Steve, "Did you feel that?"

Steve set the book on the bedside table and deadpanned, "He must know you're full of shit too."

Too excited to sass, Bucky simply placed his hand to where he had felt the intense flutter before and started babbling, "He kicked. I can't believe it. I mean, I know that he's been moving because you feel him. But I – I can't believe it. It was so strong too! It didn't hurt, did it?"

"No, it didn't hurt," Steve assured while Bucky kept trying to feel another kick. Moving his hand around in that spot and applying the lightest of pressure, just hoping to feel it again.

When nothing new could be felt, Bucky slumped, "That's it? That's all he's gonna let me feel?"

Softly chuckling, Steve teased, "Maybe he just wanted to call you out on your bullshit. Tellin' ya to stop being such a sap."

"Maybe he just needs some prompting," Bucky bent over, pressing his mouth where Squirt had kicked and resumed talking, "Is that it? You wanna make sure I'm here?"

As another popping came from inside his womb, Steve took Bucky's hand and placed it on the new area Squirt was currently kicking. For a moment, Bucky just looked down at the bump in awe. Considering it was the first time the kicks were significant enough to be felt from the outside, Steve decided to keep his mocking to himself. After all, he got emotional when he realized it wasn't butterflies fluttering around inside of him.

"This is incredible," Bucky breathlessly stated, stroking his thumb over the spot. Ducking down, he pressed a kiss to Steve's abdomen and told Squirt, "We love you! Your papa and daddy love you! So much! And we can't wait to meet you!"

Steve simply shook his head while Bucky pressed another kiss to his abdomen. With one hand holding Bucky's to his bump, Steve lifted the other one to run his fingers through Bucky's soft hair. Bucky just beamed up at him like Steve personally hung the moon and all the stars.

"Isaac?" Bucky suggested, keeping his mouth close to Steve's bump to rouse Squirt.

Steve thought about it and repeated, "Isaac," just to test it. Shaking his head, he declined and offered, "Wes?"

"West?" Bucky scoffed; brows furrowed.

"No," Steve chuckled, and Squirt fluttered. As Bucky stroked over the spot where Squirt's tiny foot could be felt, Steve corrected, "Wes. As in Wesley."

"Oh," Bucky chuckled, then turned it down.

Letting his hand drop from his bump and Bucky's hair, Steve closed his eyes and yawned. Bucky climbed off him and the bed to turn the lights off. When Bucky returned, he curled his arm around Steve, pulling him close. Only, that was when Steve's bladder interrupted them.

Quickly, Steve moved himself out of Bucky's grasp and off the bed. As he relieved his bladder, Bucky asked, "What about, 'Ezra?'"

"Wasn't he the teacher that dated his student in Pretty Little Liars?" Steve questioned as he washed his hands.

"Oh, shoot, I think you're right," Bucky commented.

Returning from the bathroom, Steve found Bucky watching the doorway for him. Steve's heart stuttered and Squirt fluttered as he crossed the room to climb back into bed. After removing his glasses and hearing aids, Steve pulled the comforter over him while Bucky scooted closer.

Just like every other night, Bucky placed his hand on Squirt, stroking that sliver of skin that showed between Steve's t-shirt and boxers. As Steve settled further, he laced his fingers with Bucky's, bringing the alpha's hand further up in his silent, "good night." Bucky pressed a kiss to the back of Steve's neck in a mute, "sleep tight."

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag

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fandom-collective-writers · 4 years

Text

The Woes of Winning (Gavin x MC)

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Gavin x MC

Word Count: 1,521

Warning: NSFW Smut

Requested by: Anonymous

Written by: @voltage-vixen

“Boss, everything turned out great!” Willow praised, filling up the coolers with another round of drinks.

“Thanks to everyone pitching in,” MC responded, before sending the younger woman on her way to assist Anna.

The small production company was celebrating the success of their most recent commercial and were partaking in festivities at one of the nearby beaches. Invitations had been extended to friends and family of the staff, and everyone was immersed in the lively atmosphere of the jovial gathering. MC was helping serve the guests their food, and Gavin being the kind soul he was offered to man the grill.

“Please don’t hesitate to inform me if you need anything else,” MC reminded the crowd, as she cleared away the tables.

Pausing to wipe away the sweat trickling from her brow, MC stole a glance to admire the way the sweltering heat left Gavin illuminating in perspiration. The fabric of his damp shirt clung to his form, accentuating the cuts of his muscular upper body. Gavin noticed her staring and granted her a small wave while giving the grill a final wipe down. He placed the tongs down, and casually acknowledged MC’s coworkers as he made his way over to join MC.

“Hi,” MC greeted Gavin, blushing as he threw his arm around her shoulder.

“Hi yourself,” Gavin responded, tucking the producer’s slicked bangs behind her ear. “Man, it’s pretty hot out here today.”

“It is hot out here!” Minor suddenly interjected, stumbling over to the couple. “I propose we finally put those water balloons to good use and have ourselves a good old-fashioned smack down!”

Perhaps it was a combination of the scorching humidity and the strength of the alcohol consumed, but Minor reiterated his desire by holding up the large bucket stocked with the loaded balloons and breaking into an obnoxious fit of giggles. Sighing in dejection, MC massaged her temples preparing to lecture her former classmate.

“Minor, those water balloons are for the chil-GAVIN!”

Taking advantage of MC’s occupied state of mind, Gavin had snatched one of the balloons and purposely dropped it down onto her foot without any warning. Soon the noise from the commotion drew others in, and joyful laughs could be heard around the beach’s vicinity. MC reached for one of the balloons to counterattack against Gavin, but her efforts fell in vain when he took off running.

“You’re not getting away this time, Gavin!”

MC launched a water balloon into the air, her pupils widened in a hopeful anticipation that for once she would finally gain the upper hand on the adept police captain. Her moment of joy was short lived however when Gavin effortlessly dodged the attack at the last second.

“Nice one, bro! You’re going to have to do better than that if you even think you have a shot of hitting Gavin, MC!” Minor cheered, before Kiki pelted a balloon of her own that struck him square in the face.

“Admit defeat, and I promise to not embarrass you anymore in front of the group,” Gavin warned, his lips curling up into a playful smile, ignoring the groaning Minor rolling around on the sand.

“Fine, you win,” MC pouted. At least that’s what she wanted Gavin to believe, as she leisurely shuffled over to her boyfriend with a water balloon hidden behind her back. “Truce?”

Attempting to distract Gavin by sticking her pinky out, MC yelped when he swiftly grasped onto her wrist.

“Pretty sly of you to try and pull a fast one on me,” Gavin confronted, the slits of his eyes narrowing. “As an officer of the law, I have an obligation to punish you.”

SPLASH

The balloon that MC had been holding in her hand fell out of her hand and to the ground, standing in shock as she fell victim to Gavin’s own water balloon invasion he inflicted upon his unsuspecting partner. Drenched from the water, MC’s clothing hugged the curves of her chest. Glancing down, MC gasped and covered herself when she realized the outline of her bra was visible under the anew translucent blouse.

“Don’t move.”

Paralyzed by Gavin’s authoritative command, MC adhered his order and obliged as he hoisted her up into his arms. Cradling her protectively against his chest, Gavin stormed down the beach into the direction of the changing stalls. The chill of the onset evening breeze brushed against her misty skin snapped her mind back into reality where she glimpsed around the beach at the party still ongoing.

“Gavin, please wait! I need to make sure that-.”

“No, you don’t.”

MC’s head snapped in the direction of the voice that interrupted her, and discovered Anna was standing nearby smirking meaningfully. Anna’s eyebrows creased and her arms were crossed, while Willow did her best to stifle giggles.

“We can handle everything from here, MC,” Anna called out in assurance. “Take good care of our girl, Gavin!”

Gavin’s cheeks flushed with a tint of pink, but nonetheless persisted until they arrived at the changing unit. Surveying the area to ensure they were alone, Gavin threw back the curtain of the nearest changing stall, and quickly forced his way inside with MC.

“Gavin, what the-….”

MC’s breath was instantly taken away as Gavin’s lips passionately claimed her own. His one hand fumbled around with the buttons on the front of her soaked blouse, while the other entangled in the fine layers of her curly hair. Her knees buckled against Gavin when his teeth nibbled down the side of her neck, and a sensuous purr escaped when he finally ripped the shirt from her body.

“I’m sorry I can’t help myself. I wanted to win, but the thought of others witnessing you in this state was too much for me to bear,” Gavin huffed, his fingers reaching down into MC’s skirt to caress her bud before slipping a finger past her velvety folds into her core. “Looks like your shirt isn’t the only thing that’s wet today.”

“Gavin, don’t stop,” MC whimpered, bucking her hips downwards to better ride his finger. “No more teasing. You won the showdown fair and square, meaning it’s time for you claim your prize already!”

Gavin didn’t need to be told twice to help MC shimmy out of the remainder of her clothing. The garments slid to the floor and pooled around her ankles. Her tongue ran along the curve of her lips in a blissful admiration of Gavin stroking the length of his member, before pushing her back up against the wall of the stall they were in.

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” the officer ordered, and grunted when she willingly obliged, giving his hair on the back of his head a flirtatious tug for good measure.

“Your body is about to pay for that,” Gavin murmured in retortion, flashing her a devious warning smile.

He slipped his arm under MC’s thigh to support her, pressed his erection deep into her opening, and relished in the beautiful sounds of her gratifying hissing when her walls spanned to accommodate him. Gavin slapped the mound of her ass, and then tightened his grip around her waist, bracing to intensify the rhyme of his thrusting.

“So wet and tight for me. God, how good you feel should be illegal.”

Gavin slammed his hips eliciting a carnal cry from MC as she feverishly clawed his back, grinding against him out of a desperation to relieve the pressure in her lower belly. Her eyes pleaded with Gavin, but she whimpered when his thumb instead pressed against the bend of her lips.

“Shh! Keep your voice down. I would hate to have to issue you a noise complaint, miss naughty,” he instructed. “And I don’t want anyone else hearing these adorable sounds you’re making for me.”

“Gavin,” she moaned as he leaned over to place soft kisses on her breasts, sucking hard when his tongue found her nipple.

“Come for me now, MC.”

MC squirmed when his fingers rubbed against her swollen clit and triumphantly arched her head back when her walls began to quiver. Gavin’s hand was madly fondling her nub, giving MC the final push to achieve her rewarding sensation.

“Gavin,” she panted, eyes glazed over and body pulsating waves of ecstasy of their secret tryst on the beach. “I-I love you.”

Still fully encompassed within MC, Gavin lovingly nuzzled his forehead against her own.

“I love you too,” Gavin whispered.

MC’s long eyelashes batted serene butterfly kisses down Gavin’s face, and she brushed her nose against his. Gavin leaned in for a kiss that shortly intensified into a lavish make out session. The couple groaned in unison when Gavin’s erection expanded and grew harder inside of MC. Both exchanged a knowing glance and braced themselves for what was about to become a wild second round of lovemaking.

“Remind me to thank Minor later,” Gavin chuckled, before rousing his hips to shift upwards again.

Falling back into sync with their previous rhythm, Gavin and MC tuned out the rest of the busy world and spent the remainder of the hot summer evening heating things up even further.

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