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artzee-bee · 3 years ago

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You love me? | Lucifer Morningstar x reader

Fandom: Lucifer (Netflix)

Request: “ I was wondering if I could make a request where the reader is Lucifers best friend and can always cheer him up. One day (maybe after something with his brother happens) he is really upset and no one can communicate with him so the reader comes over worried sick. I thought that maybe they could have a moment after but that’s entirely up to you if you would like to write this! If you are uncomfortable or you just don’t want to write this let me know! “

Genre: a good chuck on angst but fluffy ending

Warings: nothing besides some arguing

A/N: This turned out very differently than what I was initially going for but I hope it’s somewhat good

~~~

You were more than aware of how everyone saw Lucifer: eccentric, sarcastic, over the top, at times an insufferable ass. You couldn't exactly disagree with any of those, but somehow you and the handsome gentleman got to be an inseparable duo.

You met him at Lux while out with your friends. His good looks caught the eye of mostly everyone inside the club, you included. He was attractive but you were stubborn. You weren't going to go out of your way just to talk to him, no way! Plus, you weren't exactly looking for a relationship or anything like that, so what was the point? You were only there for the drinks and the dancing, except you ended up being quite disappointed in the drinks department. The barman was slow and alcohol was a lot more expensive than you were anticipating.

You were waiting for your drink when he approached you. He was trying to get away from a girl that was freaking him out. He made a comment about being “so irresistible” and you replied with a joke about the crappy alcohol. One thing led to another and before you knew it, you had been chatting with him for hours!! Your friends had gotten sick of waiting around for you to be done with your new pal, and left early, not that you minded much. You knew they were probably under the impression that you were trying to get in bed with him and they were mostly excited about how well it was going for you, so they weren’t mad and you were enjoying yourself.

After that night, you and Lucifer became more or less inseparable. Almost every night was now spent either at Lux or in his penthouse, chatting and drinking liquor. Lucifer would visit you at work every now and then, when a case he was working on would get on his nerves. He would sometimes drag you to the station to “keep him company”. You were, in other words, his moral support.

This position came with a lot of wild adventures and incredible stories, but also with a lot of difficulties. Lucifer wasn’t the easiest to talk to when his emotions got the best of him. He had a tendency to shut down and avoid real life at all costs. You’ve been with him through that many times before and you were convinced that there was nothing he could do to shock you anymore.

Late in the evening, you got a call from Mazikeen. She was fuming and screaming over the phone about how Lucifer was in a mood and he went off on her for no reason and that you better get to him and figure it out because she was over it. You’ve received many phone calls like this, so you weren’t alarmed but as soon as you entered the penthouse and saw the mess that was covering every square inch of the place, you began to question your judgement.

“Lucifer?” you asked but he didn’t reply. You called out to him a couple more times, until you finally found him tightly tucked in bed.

“Luci?”

“Yeah…” his voice was muffled by the blanket and his eyes were shut

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing at all darling, I was just going to sleep”

“It’s 8 pm”

“Yeah, well, tough day at the station today. Not easy solving crime, you know?” “Oh really?” you questioned, to which Lucifer nodded slightly “Funny thing, I talked to Decker not too long ago actually. She hasn’t seen you all day.” Lucifer’s eyes stayed shut

“Don’t lie to me Lucifer” finally, you got his attention. He stood up with an exhausted sigh and rested against the bed frame

“What happened?”

“It’s just...Amenadiel…”

“What about him?”

“Always so curious, aren’t we Y/N?” he got up from the bed and headed towards the bar in the main area with you following close behind

“I’m trying to help you” “I don’t recall ever asking for it” his tone was harsh, but you’ve heard worse from him

“That never stopped me before”

“It never does any good either and yet here you are”

“Yes it does, you always tell me I’m a huge help” Lucifer frowned at your words, knowing full well you were right. He poured himself a drink, choosing to stay silent “I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s bothering you”

“It’s a fight between brothers, just like many others we’ve had before and we’ll keep on having for the rest of eternity probably”

“You’re really bothered by it”

“I am not!” his tone was firm. For just a second his eyes flashed red.

“It’s ok to feel upset”

“I am not upset!” he screamed, his face all of a sudden red and hot. His devil face. Blood red eyes piercing your soul, a threatening smile displayed his sharp, yellow teeth . You’ve seen this side of him before. You could say you were even somewhat accustomed to it, except you've never seen him do this. Use it as a weapon against you. To threaten you, to push you away. That, more than anything, was what scared you. You’ve seen him so angry at times and yet not once did he change out of rage. You stepped back, almost tripping and falling back in the bed but Lucifer reached out and caught your hand. He held it softly, as if you were made of sand. As if you would slip from his grip any second

“Y/N?” when you looked back up to him, his face was back to normal “Y/N, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I mean, I didn’t realise I-”

“I’m just trying to be a good friend Lucifer”

“I know you are”

“I didn’t deserve that Lucifer” his eyes were full of sorrow and regret. You could see tears threatening to spill and you almost felt this man crumble in the palm of your hand. You pulled him into a tight hug and as soon as your arms went around his waist, Lucifer nuzzled his face in your hair and began to sob

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I didn’t mean to do that…”

“It’s ok Luci”

“You didn’t deserve that”

“Yes but you’ve apologised, I forgive you. Everything is ok” Lucifer pulled away slightly, just enough so he could look into your eyes without leaving your embrace. His face was red and stained with tears.

“How do you do that? How can you always forgive so easily?” he asked as you wiped away some of the tears with the sleeve of your shirt

“Well, with you it’s quite easy. I care too much about you to stay mad.” Lucifer rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t believe you “Plus, I know you. You are kind and caring and would never do anything to hurt me. You have a hard time managing your anger sometimes, sure, but you are working to improve.” You cupped his face with your left hand and Lucifer immediately leaned into your touch

“I’m doing my best.” he said

“And I’ll be here for you. No matter how much you dislike it sometimes!” you giggled, but than Lucifer whispered something in your palm

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Luci.”

“No, I love you Y/N” he took a step back as he said that, the closeness between you two suddenly too much to bear. You looked at him with glossy eyes, scanning his features as if you weren’t sure you heard him right and each look made Lucifer want to crawl back into the pits of hell because he was not worthy of you and he knew that.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t the right moment, I should have just-”

“Lucifer” your voice was warm and welcoming which only made the devil feel worse. You were trying to reject him nicely, he just knew it!

“Yes?”

“You love me?” when he didn’t reply, you took a step closer, asking him again “Are you in love with me Lucifer?”

“Yes” he was crumbling once again under you. He was the devil and he’s known no weakness but somehow, someway, you managed to bring him to his knees with a single glance and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Did I get the devil to fall in love with me?”

“Perhaps..” you looked him in the eyes. You were once again standing close to him and Lucifer felt weak

“Good” you said, before grabbing onto the collar of his shirt and placing your lips on his, kissing him hard. Lucifer didn’t realise at first what you did, boldness wasn’t exactly your thing, but then, almost naturally, his arms went around your waist, pulling you into him. He felt his worries and tears fade away with every second that he felt your lips on his. He swore in that moment that no matter what, he would never ever push you away again. You were way too important!

#lucifer netflix #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer morningstar angst #lucifer morningstar fluff

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acciopietro · 3 years ago

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a loss of confidence - p.m.

pairing: pietro maximoff x fem! reader

summary: the only one who can bring forth the light within the darkness is a perfect stranger.

word count: 1756

tw: mentions of death and violence but this is mcu it’s expected, alcohol, angst but kind of fluffy idk it’s up to interpretation

a/n: pls this is my first time posting any of my writing on tumblr. feeling scared. pls go easy on m i also do not know how tumblr works :)

ALTHOUGH HE NEVER SAID ANYTHING, it seemed those around Pietro Maximoff always knew that something had shifted within him after Sokovia fell. He was slipping away, every inch of him, whether it be his silver-tongue or the lively glint within his steel blue eyes — and no one even knew why. What had happened. What he had felt.

Well, maybe that wasn’t the whole truth. Someone did know. Maybe pre-Avengers Pietro could’ve confronted her, asked her questions, maybe even flirted with her a bit. But that confidence had slipped away, too. And so all he could do was stare.

No, he wasn’t being a creep. You try living in the same building as a girl who someway, somehow, brought you back from the dead. Not simply healed you — but when you had been on the edge of falling, groping, gasping, choking for just a chance, a hand to grab and pull you up. A hand to engulf you entirely, flood you with warmth and be the sole reason your eyes could even meet the cerulean sky again. That seemed like quite a lot of pressure to Pietro.

She had to have known what it was like, for she had dived into the depths of the in-between to save him from drowning with the endless dark. But if she had felt it too, why could she breathe so easily? The water was still flooding his lungs. He wanted to breathe like her — with her, even, because it seemed she was the only one who could help him do it.

Maybe she was an angel. That had been his first thought, of course, but why would an angel be shouting at Tony Stark? Bickering with Sam Wilson? Having staring contests with Bucky Barnes? Sitting right across from Pietro at the breakfast table and somehow never meeting his desperate eyes—?

A sharp, almost piercing nudge at his side forced him to blink, and his iris’ shot left, front, left, right, front, down. Away from his sister Wanda, who’s gentle face asking him silent, sympathetic questions. Away from Vision, who seemed to always know something he didn’t. Away from the angel, who didn’t even glance at him. Who was staring bullets into her white platter.

“Te simți bine?” came Wanda’s voice, under her breath and just loud enough for it to reach only his ears. His gaze shifted left again to look his sister in the eye for a moment, wanting her to believe his words were the undeniable truth.

“Sunt bine.” He told her absentmindedly. What was the use of lying, he thought. She could read his mind, anyway. When he spotted his sister’s eyebrow twitch up in disbelief, he felt her pushing her way into his thoughts and he wondered whether she’d feel pain at what she’d see. But, fortunately, before she could dive too deep—

“Y/N, Tony wants you in the other room...”

Perhaps Wanda had said something, perhaps she had not, but Pietro wasn’t listening either way. The girl across from him glanced up from her white plate at Steve Rogers, who had called her name, before she got to her feet. She bid goodbye to those at the table, deep, endless eyes of e/c making his chest clench when they drifted across him. How could she be so... so... composed? Didn’t she know what she was doing to him?

“Stop it,” Wanda whisper-hissed from beside him, her elbow coming in harsh contact with his side again. Pietro, furrowing his brows, let his eyes drift away from Y/N to give his sister a bewildered look. “Staring at her like that... stop being creepy and just say something.”

“I am not staring,” He said, internally admitting that maybe his sister could be right. “Just... just...”

He never finished his sentence. What was he doing, if not staring — ogling, even? It was all he could do without actually approaching her and saying more then two words to her. And god knew he couldn’t do that on his own — not when his heart would do weird backflips within his chest, or when his cheeks would burn red or when each word that slipped from his lips would turn out jostled and mushed.

Any of that charm and charisma he once prided himself on was long gone. He was just... existing, now. Just a living yet lifeless boy with increased metabolism and improved thermal homeostasis. God, maybe she shouldn’t have brought him back at all. He wished the world hadn’t gotten so fucked up. He wished he could’ve met her before he got so fucked up. He wished he could get drunk, at the very least. How many bottles of alcohol did he have to down before he felt fucking something —!

“Pietro?”

Well. Maybe he had gotten drunk after all. Was he hearing things?

“What’s wrong...? Oh, put that down, that’s not good for you,” She said, and he felt her hands — warm, soft, full of life — just barely graze against his as she pulled the bottle from his grasp. He watched her carefully as she turned to dump the bottles down the drain before tossing them in the recycling bin before she met his eyes again.

He hadn’t seen her so up close since she saved him. She was so pretty it hurt.

“Sit down,” She told him, and he obeyed, resting in one of the chairs about the breakfast table. He could barely stand her looking at him so closely; he must have looked a wreck. Perhaps his eyes were bloodshot and watery, and his cheeks were probably flushed, his silver hair all ruffled and untamed. “Are you okay? You shouldn’t drink so much, you could get alcohol poisoning or something like that...”

He licked his lips, wishing he could think of a witty reply. Something charming. Something that’d make her blush and roll her eyes and maybe even shuffle her chair closer.

“I can’t get drunk,” His voice sounded more like a croak than anything else. She blinked. “The whole... increased metabolism thing...”

“It’s still not good for your body,” She said gently, her brows curving upwards and her head tilting to the side just enough for him to feel his face burn red again. “Is everything okay?”

He opened his mouth to reply, his words halting at the back of his throat and not daring to move past his tongue. She blinked at him again before lifting the back of her hand up to press his forehead, as though checking for a fever. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he couldn’t have a fever.

She was overflowing with life. He could feel it. She had enough of it for the both of them, it seemed, because then his chest felt lighter and he suddenly felt so good that his eyes could’ve rolled into the back of his head.

“What did you...?” He started blearily when her hand dropped. Her lips curved into a soft, borderline smug, smile.

“I know what you saw,” She told him. Pietro blinked. “I had never done that before, y’know. Well, I’ve healed wounds and taken people out of comas and whatever but... but never...”

She paused, staring at him as though he were celestial, like he was an impossible discovery right before her eyes. He could get used to her looking at him as such.

“Your first time, then?” He quipped. As soon as the words slipped from his mouth, he blinked in hidden confusion. Where did that come from? He watched her blood rush to her cheeks as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” She said, shaking her head in playful disappointment before her eyes shifted back to meet his in an almost coy fashion. He felt lighter. He didn’t know how or why, but he didn’t want to question it.

“I never thanked you,” He began. “For... saving me. So. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” She told him. “I shouldn’t’ve had to. It wasn’t your time.”

“And how d’you know?” Pietro inquired, tilting his head to the side and ignoring the tuft of silvery hair that drifted to hover over his forehead. “What if it was, and now I’m just—”

“A human without a soul?” She finished, and he could only nod. Perhaps those were not the exact words he was going to say, but it encapsulated his feelings well enough. “You might feel that way, but it doesn’t mean you are. Not everything your head tells you is true. The mind and soul are separate, y’know.”

“Oh,” he said stupidly. She had shuffled her chair closer.

“I’m sorry you feel like this. It’ll get better.”

“Can you...” He trailed off, staring at the hand of hers that rested on the table. The mind and soul are separate, he recalled. Maybe he felt lousy and empty within his mind, but perhaps in his soul he was still him. Still alive.

And so, before he could second-guess or stop himself, he brought his calloused hand off of his knee and upwards until it hovered right over hers. His blue eyes shifted up at hers for a split second. She was still smiling as she flipped her hand over so her palm was facing the sky.

“You don’t need me to give you life, y’know,” She said, encasing their hands together either way. He felt warm. “You’ve got enough within you.”

“Still want your help,” He muttered, staring at their conjoined hands before flickering his eyes up at her. Her cheeks were pink. “You’re good at it.”

“You flatter me,” She chuckled softly. Pietro felt a smile of his own unfurl on his lips. He couldn’t even help it. Looking slightly timid, she said, “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

He laughed. Genuinely. “Yeah, me too.”

His heart leapt when he felt her squeeze his hand twice, before she unclasped their fingers and got to her feet, telling him, “You should get to bed, okay?”

“Only if you come with me,” he heard himself say. Blushing brilliantly, she laughed.

“Flush the alcohol outta your system, then we’ll talk,” She quipped, pushing her chair in and crossing the room. “Goodnight, Pietro.”

“Yeah, noapte bună,” He said. She glanced behind her before exiting, her lips pressed together in a suppressed smile before vanishing from sight. He ran his top row of teeth over his bottom lip, suddenly able to breathe better than he ever had. Still got it, he thought to himself. He supposed he just needed someone to remind him.

✾✾✾

translations:

“Te simți bine?” - Are you ok?

“Sunt bine.” - I’m fine.

“Noapte bună.” - Goodnight.

authors note: i hope this made sense. this is literal word vomit like i just wrote and didn’t stop until i was like okay this is decent. -essie

#pietro maximoff #mcu blurb #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #aaron taylor johnson #age of ultron #angst #pietro x reader #pietro x y/n #vision

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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Things We Know By Heart (Spencer Reid Fluff)

Summary: Reader teaches Spencer how to slow dance in preparation for his wedding. The only problem? Reader’s in love with Spencer, and she isn’t the bride.

A/N: S/O to Kyla who bullied me throughout all of elementary school. Ik you’ve probably changed since then, but you literally traumatized and tormented me for more than six years of my life. So I felt like including you in this story as, “Kayla,” Spencer’s fiancé. Tehe, I’m petty like that. Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Fluff Word Count: 6.5k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I think we’d all like to believe that somewhere out there is our person. And somehow, someway, they’ll get to where they need to go, right where they belong.

With us.

That’s what I’d like to believe.

I’d like to think that no matter what happens along our journeys to each other, we’ll arrive at the same destination regardless.

But that isn’t necessarily true, is it?

Because maybe, my soulmate got lost along the way. They met somebody great, someone they think is their person, and they married that person. They had kids and eventually, grandkids with that person, even though, deep down - they knew it wasn’t right. They stayed with them anyway because their fear of being alone superseded their fear of being with the wrong person for life.

And what am I to do when that happens? When my person finds a different person.

Am I supposed to believe that the universe will be so kind as to give my soulmate the courage to leave their relationship behind and forge a new one with me?

Am I supposed to expect that the world will supply me with another person, the person I’m supposed to marry?

Or do I simply wait for my person to come to the conclusion that they’re meant to be with me after all and my naive entitlement to a soulmate is validated?

Is life really that magical?

This is the story of what happens when your person loves a different person.

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

With his hand at the nape of my neck to support my head and his other hand flat against the small of my back, he dipped me backward, leaning with me as I arched my back and bent the leg closest to the crowd, pointing my foot to elongate my leg artistically. This was our ending position so I remained in it until the song ended. The two of us bowed to thank the audience and to conclude our performance. Roses fell at our feet while the sound of applause echoed in the room. I was never a fan of being the center of attention, but there was something about this overwhelming praise that was particularly blissful. It was intoxicating.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance like that.” I gushed to my partner; my cheeks growing pink from the heat and the head rush I got.

He positioned his mouth right beside my ear so I could hear his words clearly over the rowdy cheering. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Princess.” said Morgan.

A gauntlet formed to clap for us both when we walked off the dance floor. Hand-in-hand, Morgan led me back to the table through the double file line of people. The team howled with excitement when they saw me and Morgan approaching.

“So this is what you two were keeping a secret from us? That you’re dance partners?” JJ had to ask.

“Yep. All those late nights and secret rendezvous.” Morgan said, shimmying his shoulders be suggestive of a sexual innuendo, which I was not a fan of. Out of mock offense, I chucked a small towel at him with a grouchy command to “Shut up!”

He took the towel to the face like a champ, laughing it off and dabbing his sweat away.

“I don’t know who was sexier up there - Princess or my Hubba Hubba!” Garcia squealed pretending to claw at Derek, reeling him over towards her.

“You looked like a natural up there, Y/N. Were you a dancer before?” Prentiss questioned while handing me a glass of water that I desperately gulped down.

“My mom sent me to dance classes as soon as I could walk.” I jokingly explained after gathering my hair into a makeshift ponytail and lifting it off of my neck, cocking my head to the side and fanning the back of my neck to cool down.

“Maybe you should teach Reid how to dance before the wedding. He’s got two left feet and I don’t think he wants Morgan to teach him how to waltz.” JJ quipped, making Derek throw his head back in laughter. The thought of Morgan and Reid slow dancing would truly be something - something hilarious. I laughed, too, until Reid’s voice interrupted me.

“Yeah, that’s actually a really good idea. Would you mind, Y/N? Kayla would be so happy.”

I thought he was joking, but his humorless expression told me otherwise.

“You want me to teach you how to dance?”

He pursed his lips and nodded, not understanding why I was so confused.

“Um . . . yeah. I can do that. Sure.” My tone wasn’t very convincing, but Reid’s optimism made him oblivious to my reluctance. He smiled and hugged me with one arm around my shoulder.

“I have to call Kay and tell her the good news.” Reid dashed away from the table, pulling out his phone to dial his fiancé.

I darted toward JJ with fury and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her into the bathroom for privacy.

“What the hell was that? ‘Oh, Y/N, you should teach him how to dance.’ You know how I feel about Reid!”

Rather than giving me hostility back, she broke into a smile. “Exactly! If you spend more time alone with him, maybe he’ll finally admit to himself that he shouldn’t be marrying Kayla,”

I rolled my eyes and turned my back away from her.

“We all know Spence would be happier with you.”

As JJ spoke, I trudged to the nearest sink, holding onto the sides for stability as the ground below me swayed. She followed me, rubbing up and down my back comfortingly.

“You know how he is. He keeps things to himself, until eventually they’re forced to come out. If you dance with him, maybe he’ll finally tell you he loves you without actually having to say it. Do this for him . . . and for you.” JJ gave me one last pat on the back before exiting the bathroom to leave me to my devices.

Normally, teaching a friend how to slow dance in preparation for his wedding would be sweet. It’d be a selfless gesture and an act of service for him that would show how much love there was in our friendship. In this case though, it was anything but.

For the six months that Spencer and Kayla had been engaged, the team was relentless in trying to end it. I tried to stay out of it in case all hell broke loose, but I couldn’t escape it. No - I was at the very center of it.

Before Reid even knew Kayla existed, he was head-over-heels in love with me. He’d ask me on coffee dates, wait by my desk for me, and he would always try to sit beside me at the round table or on the jet. It was sweet, really, but it could never go anywhere.

I was in a committed relationship with my high school sweetheart Patrick. (Maybe Spencer had a thing for unavailable girls).

I moved in with Patrick after graduating from college, and after years of working in the BAU (and years of Spencer loving me) Pat proposed. At first, being engaged brought me so much joy, but halfway into our engagement, something changed.

I was in Wisconsin, consoling a grieving widow. She was hysterical after I delivered the treacherous news of her husband’s gruesome murder. She eventually calmed down and proceeded to ask me about my engagement when she noticed my ring. I gave her the bare minimum, fabricated a couple things here and there, but then she asked me the million dollar question.

“Are you in love?” Her eyes glimmered with hope.

My immediate answer was a habitual “Yes, of course.” But after seeing how deeply this widow loved her late husband, I couldn’t say in good conscience that that answer was actually true.

That night I went to the hotel and lied on the bed, praying for clarity.

Perhaps I wasn’t actually in love with Patrick. Maybe we’d been together for so long that it just felt safe and comfortable and familiar. Maybe it was the fear of disrupting the arrangement of my life that stopped me from ending things sooner.

The fact of the matter was that I’d only ever known a life loving him, but that didn’t mean I was in love with him. Maybe I was settling for something with Pat, because I wasn’t sure if I could have a better relationship with anyone else. With all these doubts, I needed a sign.

A knock on the door interrupted my inner dialogue.

When I opened it, who else was standing there, but none other than Rossi.

“We need to talk.” He ordered.

He followed me back into the room and sat at the foot of the bed. He said he noticed something was off about me, and I admitted that there was. So that night, I took advice I probably shouldn’t have from the man with multiple failed marriages, but it was a sign - and it was good enough.

When we returned to Quantico, I asked Hotch for some personal time, which he was happy to permit. That same night I went home and broke off the engagement with Patrick.

I felt despicably cold when I watched him tear up and ask me, “Why are you doing this?”

There was truly no concrete moment in our relationship that incited my decision, but it was merely the realization that being with him wasn’t right, because how could I stand there watching him beg for a change of heart but still feel nothing?

Maybe I was much less than not in love. Maybe I didn’t feel a thing for him at all. Not hate. Not empathy. Not love. Just . . . nothing.

Completely indifferent.

Within the week of personal time I took, I spent most of it moving into Rossi’s guest house. After I came back from work, it took all of two hours before someone brought up the absence of the ring that I used to never take off, and I’d assumed they’d already noticed it the moment I walked in - they were just too afraid to ask.

“I ended things with Patrick.” I casually stated, not even looking up from my portfolio to give it the attention it probably deserved.

While the rest of the team’s jaws dropped on the floor, Rossi was fighting a smirk considering this wasn’t news to him and having seen everyone else’s reactions was a priceless moment for him.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence on the jet as the team processed my information, until finally Hotch cleared his throat and started debriefing again. In the seat next to me, Spencer was very poorly hiding his enthusiasm. Hearing I broke off the engagement was like a green light to make his move. And honestly, it was.

So I waited.

And I waited.

Then I waited some more for him to jump at the opportunity.

But he didn’t.

He never did.

Instead, he introduced Kayla into our lives, and eventually, they’d get engaged, too.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t developed feelings for Spencer while I expected him to act upon his palpable affection for me. And because of my newfangled feelings, I could never tell another soul that I sincerely believed Spencer got engaged just to spite me - to show me just how painful unrequited love was.

The strangest part of it all, though, was that there was never a moment following the ending of my engagement and the birth of his own that showed me that his feelings went away. He never treated me differently or stopped talking to me. Even in the early stages of his relationship with Kayla, he continued to act like I was the only girl in his life. He was so consistent with his actions that it confused me.

Did he love me or not? And was I in love with him or not?

Evidently, the team seemed to have my answer.

“He loves you and you love him. It’s as simple as that.” Prentiss explained curtly.

Agreeing nods came from JJ, Morgan, and Garcia, who’d abducted me as soon as I exited the elevator that morning and snuck me into Garcia’s Bat Cave for an intervention.

“We need to stop this wedding.” Garcia demanded.

And since that glorious intervention, the team (minus Rossi and Hotch because Rossi seemed genuinely happy for Reid, and Hotch would definitely tell us it wasn’t our place) began trying to put a wedge in the relationship. I, however, made the smart choice not to be involved.

If I was trying to get him to love me, why would I do something that would surely make him hate me like breaking up his engagement? Plus, the blind optimist in me believed that if I was actually meant to be with Spencer, it would happen regardless of Kayla.

So anytime Morgan, JJ, Prentiss, and Garcia suggested something, I refused to participate. I was able to steer clear of any wedding crasher shenanigans up until JJ’s “slow-dance” suggestion.

If Reid knew the true intentions behind these dance classes, he surely wouldn’t be pleased, but clearly - he didn’t. Because when I walked out of the restroom and back to the table, Reid still had a huge grin that took up half of his face, making his eyes look nearly shut.

“Thank you again for doing this.” Reid beamed.

“Of course! What are friends for?”

Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia exchanged satirical glances at my choice of words.

What are friends for if not to purposefully set two people up in hopes of ending one person’s betrothal?

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

Later that weekend . .

“Come in!” I called out, buckling the ankle strap of my heels.

The door opened partially and then all at once to reveal the one and only. I peeked my head out from behind a wall that was obstructing my view of him, immediately noticing a bouquet of lavender wrapped in twine.

“Oh my goodness, what is this?” I asked in pure delight as he handed me the pretty purple flowers.

“It’s a thank-you gift for agreeing to help me.” His lips formed a thin straight line, which was his version of a smile. A smile I appreciated whenever I was lucky enough to have caused it.

“They’re lovely, thank you.” I told him, hugging him briefly before fetching a vase from the kitchen to put them in.

“Oh, good, I’ll tell Kayla you liked them. She’s the one who picked them out.”

The glass vase nearly shattered the moment he said that, but luckily, my reflex skills spared the vessel.

How big of a fool was I for thinking that he gave me flowers out of the kindness of his heart because he knew lavender was my favorite? But then again I probably needed that brutal reminder of why he was here in the first place - for Kayla.

As I put the vase on the kitchen island, I spun around, brandishing a fake smile.

“So we should probably get started. I don’t wanna keep you here for too long.”

“There’s no rush. Kayla won’t be home until late at night.”

I tried not to think of the potential innuendo that lied within his statement, but Spencer wasn’t type to be disloyal, and I wasn’t going to be the woman to make him such a person.

“You look really nice, by the way.” I heard him say from behind me, catching a whiff of his cologne that was intoxicatingly sweet.

I did my best to not take the comment personally and let it get to my head, but I’d be lying if it didn’t elicit any response. I smiled to myself, which thankfully, he couldn’t see since my back was towards him as he followed me into my backyard.

“You smell different.” He added.

“Good different?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Is it a new perfume?”

I furrowed my brows. “No, it’s the same one I’ve been using for years.”

“Interesting,” I could feel him taking in this information, and I could hear the gears in his head turning at an even faster rate to spit out more information. “Did you know that you pick your soulmate by subconsciously reacting to pheromones that transmit their genetic compatibility? Yeah, there’s a relationship between attraction and scent, which dates back to our primal instinct. So if someone smells appealing to you, even if you don’t know it, it could relate to your attraction to them and vice versa.”

“Ah, then maybe I should consider changing my perfume to improve my love life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I love the way you smell.”

In the back of my mind lied the unanswered question I neglected to voice, “But do you love me?”

When we reached the backyard, I heard him gasp in awe.

“It looks beautiful, Y/N. You did great.”

Nestled in my backyard was a dark wooden deck, surrounded by plentiful greenery. Lining the perimeter of the shiny wooden deck were asymmetrical rocks, while above us hung strands of fairy lights that cast a sheer golden glow on the entire scene. The ambiance was not for Spencer specifically, but I was happy that he appreciated it nonetheless.

“You ready?”

He signaled yes by putting his thumb up and so it began.

“Alright, so slow dancing can be broken into four easy steps, but first, you gotta know how to hold your partner correctly.”

Spencer and I took a step towards each other, and I could feel the nervous energy radiating off of him. I tried not to call attention to it, so I simply continued with my process. Outstretching my arms to form a T with my body, I guided him verbally.

“So I’m the follower. And you’re the leader. Got it?”

He nodded.

“Leader puts their right hand under the follower's left armpit and cups their hand around the follower's shoulder blade.”

He understood my instructions, and in the most awkward manner possible, he fumbled his way into the right position, albeit, not perfect.

“Now, hold my right hand as high as my eye level without raising my shoulder.”

Spencer was glaringly anxious, so I gave him a word of encouragement. “Hey, don’t be nervous. It’s just me, okay? And you’re doing great.”

I could see the nerves beginning to settle, translating into the conviction with which he took my hand, raising it at the perfect height.

“Great. Just like that.”

My praise brought out that smile in him that only ever came out on rare occasions. The kind where it’s brief, his teeth showing, a light chuckle escapes him, and he’s looking down as if he’s too shy to look at me.

“Okay, step two is basic footwork. Leader starts with their left foot and takes a step to the left. And then your right foot is going to meet your left foot and tap. The count is one-two.”

I watched as Spencer tried to process what I was saying.

“Do you want me to demonstrate first? And then you follow?”

He nodded rapidly as if saying yes wouldn’t be enough to communicate how much he needed me to lead. We broke apart so that I could turn my back towards him. I felt a cold draft blow under my dress as I spun on the ball of my feet, making my skirt flutter upwards majestically.

I felt him watching.

“Alright, so I’ll start and then you can catch on. It goes one-two.”

Left foot step. Right foot tap.

“Then three-four.”

Left foot step. Right foot tap.

“Then to the right this time. Five-six.”

Right foot step. Left foot tap.

“Seven-eight.”

Right foot step. Left foot tap.

“And back again. One-two. Three-four. Five-six. Seven-eight.”

My eight count continued until the click of my heels on the patio was joining by the sound of Spencer’s feet shuffling behind me. I knew if I turned around to check on him, it would only psych him out and make him more nervous, so I stayed facing forward so he wouldn’t feel that I was scrutinizing his technique.

After a minute or so of following me, I spun back around, catching his lingering stare in the region of my hips. He tried to play it off and pretend he wasn’t, but I felt it.

“You did really well tonight. I’m proud of you. I think that’s a good place to stop for today.”

He thanked me with another hug, the kind where we nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck.

God, I could feel him breathing on my shoulder.

I tried not to not to let myself indulge in it, reasoning that this was just a way for one friend to thank another, but I couldn’t help myself when the hug lasted longer than it should’ve. I tightened my embrace around him, drawing him in closer, and shutting my eyes as if taking my sense of sight away would heighten my sense of touch and magnify this feeling I never wanted to end.

“You take care, okay?” I said, rubbing my hand up and down his back to signal we should pull away, a signal he understood.

I was the first to walk away, merely because of the worry that I might sooner cry if I had to stay under these lights with him a moment longer.

I wasn’t sure I could do this again unless he was mine. Otherwise, I’d just be under the stars, dancing with the love of my life that I couldn’t have - feeling that feeling again, and not being able to act on it.

Is this what happens when your person loves somebody else?

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

I know I said I couldn’t do it, but I did it anyway.

I guess that’s what love is. Doing things you don’t want to do because your care for the other person surpasses the discomfort. True love makes you do things like that, even if they aren’t in your best interest.

When he came over the next night, we danced again. Undoubtedly, he stumbled - even came close to falling - and yet, I fell in love all over again. After that, it got harder to separate dancing from my feelings.

The next day, we had a case. He came to my hotel room and we danced in the dim golden light of the hotel room’s chandelier. God, it was so ambient and romantic, I think I fell even harder for him - if that was even possible.

From then on, every time we were in the same place, he leapt at the opportunity to dance with me.

“Guys, look what I learned last night! Come, Y/N! Come on, come on.”

He waved me over eagerly with his hand, even helping me out of my seat in the round table just to speed up the process. All too excitedly, he assumed the leader’s position, and he danced me around the entire conference room in front of our coworkers. He spun me around the table, he dipped me in the doorway, he held me in his arms by the glass board.

Can you really blame me for falling in love?

“Wow, Y/N! I’m impressed. You really whipped him into shape.” JJ remarked with a clap.

I hid behind a faux smile, but Spencer was too elated to recognize the deceit. He was like that now. Maybe love made him more of a fool, more naive and blissfully unaware, whereas love made me more devoted and cognizant.

It went on like that for weeks. Practicing whenever and wherever we could.

He’d pull me into the hotel lobby at midnight to dance - not even batting an eye at the looming presence of the receptionist.

He’d ask me to come to his apartment and we’d dance in his living room or in the narrow hallway, just for fun.

When we were at Rossi’s, he’d drag me to the kitchen, with Rossi’s gentle music playing in the background, and we’d sway by the fireplace sometimes.

We danced once in the elevator when it got stuck. I never thought he’d be so fearless to do that, but he looked like he was genuinely enjoying himself, almost like he didn’t even notice we were stuck in an elevator.

While we waited for the jet, we’d danced on the tarmac, looking like a moving bundle of clothes, our movements stifled by our thick peacoats, layers of clothes, and scarfs.

After a dinner during cases, when we’d split a cab back to the hotel, he’d get me to dance on the sidewalk, even convincing me not to pay attention to the onlookers on the street, the honking cars, or the confused pedestrians. I was always embarrassed to be in the spotlight, but somehow with him, it was easy. It felt like it was just the two of us, dancing under that streetlight.

I never understood why people wanted to live in a moment forever, but for the first time that night, I did. That was a moment I wanted to freeze in time. I wish I could’ve stayed there forever. There in that moment, it really felt like it was our own little world. It was easy to believe we’d end up together, and we were the ones getting married, and we were in love.

But again, that was in that moment. In that singular, fleeting moment. And then life moved on, whether or not I was ready for it to.

The day of rehearsals inevitably came, and I wasn’t originally supposed to be at the wedding rehearsal since I wasn’t part of the ceremony, but Spencer asked me to be there, deliberately neglecting to tell me that the reason he wanted me to come was so that I could fill in for Kayla, which had I known that, I would’ve certainly declined.

When I walked in, the team was all there, sitting in the pews, with their heads turning to me where I was standing at the entrance of the church. It felt like an eerie nightmare that I was living out where I was Spencer’s bride walking down the aisle, and this was our wedding. I couldn’t tell you what was so nightmarish about it - probably because none of it felt right - but I was sick to my stomach when Spencer gestured for me to meet him at the altar.

“What’s going on?”

“Kayla had a last minute dress alteration in Norfolk and got stuck in traffic. She won’t make it for this rehearsal, but she’ll be there in time for the dinner rehearsal.”

“So why am I here?”

“I wanted to practice my vows on you, if that’s okay.”

I gulped hard, trying to swallow the lump in my throat to open up my suddenly-closing airway.

“Um, I don’t really know if -”

“Please, Y/N. I’m just nervous that I might mess up-”

How could I say no? True love makes you do crazy things, even if they aren’t in your best interest, right?

I reluctantly agreed.

Spencer’s hands were trembling and I could see it by the way his notecards were shaking, even from the fact that he brought notecards alone, and that he didn’t already memorize his vows. I wanted to put my hands around his and hold them to settle his unsteadiness, but I knew that wasn’t my place. I figured my words would do a better job at not crossing a boundary that was already crossed.

“Hey,” I comfortingly whispered. “It’s just me, okay?” Calling back those words from the first time we danced months ago. “You don’t need those notecards. Just speak from the heart.”

And sure enough, his heart spoke.

“When people used to tell me stories about what love felt like and what is what, they always said they fell in love with that person. Like it was sudden and all at once, but with you - I walked into love with you. With my eyes wide open, choosing to take each and every step along the way. I never believed in fate or destiny, but after I met you, I finally believed. I believed that we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway. And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality. I’d find you and I’d choose you.”

My breath hitched as I got lost in his eyes and how they were looking right at me, completely unmindful of the way everyone around us saw how he spoke to me.

I think he even got lost too, because what he said next, didn’t even seem to register in his mind before it came out of his mouth.

“I love you . . . Y/N.”

Gasps rang through the church, ricocheting off the high ceiling, and in that moment I knew, I knew he was going to kiss me.

He lunged forward in the heat of the moment. Clearly not thinking straight, he held my face in his hands, and I swear to God, I could’ve kissed him back.

I would’ve.

“Spencer?”

Every single head in the church turned toward the small voice, too distinct to misplace.

“Kayla, wait!’

And there I stood, alone at the front of the altar, watching him run after her.

∙•○⦾☉☼☉⦾○•∙

I sat by my phone the entire afternoon, waiting for someone - anyone - to update me. No one ever ended up texting or calling, so I figured the dinner rehearsal wasn’t cancelled. At least, in that case, my dress didn’t go to waste.

After spending an ungodly amount of time curling my hair and putting on my makeup, even achieving a smoky eye look, I finally slipped on my navy-blue, satin, floor length dress, donning nude heels and a dainty gold necklace with a single diamond pendant that laid right on my sternum.

It was a shame that this was a moment where I should’ve felt at my prettiest, and yet, I’d never felt so ugly.

I was riddled with the guilt of knowing I would’ve kissed Spencer if Kayla hadn’t walked in. I felt even worse that I was so consumed by his speech that I didn’t even hear her come in.

How long had she been standing there? Long enough to watch what I knew everyone else saw? These questions never left me. Not even when I pulled into the site of the dinner rehearsal.

Clutching the front of my dress to walk without resistance, I came to the entrance, and opened the door to reveal . . . nothing.

Staff was removing chairs and tables.

Waiters were collecting plates and utensils.

And Spencer was standing in the very middle of the empty room, watching it all happen silently, like he was just the shell of a man.

“Spencer!” I called out from the entrance, in no hurry to meet him at the middle of the room. He turned on his heels, with his hands sheepishly shoved into his pockets.

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve called to let you know it got cancelled, but um, Kayla broke my phone.”

“Well, it’s time you got a new phone anyway.” I chuckled, which thankfully earned a chuckle from him, too.

“What happened, Spencer?” My voice was quiet, as if it was any decibel higher it would sound more like a scold than genuine concern.

“She, um, she told me she needed some time to think. And I, I told her to come to the rehearsal dinner if she still wanted to get married and,” He mirthlessly chuckled. “Well, you already know.” His words were chosen carefully to deliberately avoid what he hadn’t yet come to terms with.

She didn’t come.

I wasn’t yet sure whether or not to console him or to berate him for what he almost did, but I chose the former.

“I’m so sorry, Spence.”

He looked up from the ground, still managing to avoid my gaze, by looking up at the ceiling, and pretty much everywhere my face wasn’t.

“I understand if you want to leave right now. I just need to pay the owner and I’ll be out of here.”

I shook my head instantly. “No, I’ll be right here. If you want me to be.”

He bit his lip to stop a sob from escaping. “Yeah,” He nodded, cowering his head. “I’d like that a lot.”

As soon as I saw his cheeks get red, I took it as a cue to approach him and hug him. He was grateful for my compassionate touch, immediately opening up his arms to hug me back. His embrace around me was needy and desperate, and it felt like he was clawing at my dress, acting out of anger that the fabric was stopping us from being that much closer.

With his shoulder digging into the spot right underneath my chin, it was hard to utter the words, “You look really handsome, by the way.” I said, finally acknowledging his light beige suit and white button up shirt.

“Thanks.” I heard him mumble into my shoulder.

“Kayla doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

To my surprise, he didn’t recoil, flinch, or so much as react to her name. Instead, he simply pulled away, wiping the moisture under his nose, and straightening out his suit.

“We should . . . we should probably talk about what happened earlier, right?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Not if you don’t want to. We can save that conversation for another day.”

He looked appreciative of my avoidance, but I knew he wanted to talk about it.

“Hey, excuse me,” He stopped a staff member by clutching their arm gently. “Do you mind, actually? Leaving two seats behind.”

The staff member complied, doing as he said, and leaving two chairs behind, setting one right across from the other. I took my seat, and Spencer took his.

“I probably shouldn’t have spoken from the heart, huh?” He joked, finally seeing the humor in his situation.

“No, it was good that you did.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely. I think Kayla would’ve appreciated it.” All too quickly he responded with, “I wasn’t talking about Kayla.”

I was talking about you, his somber eyes said.

I looked away from his gaze immediately, trying to find a reprieve from the conversation that I was doing my best to avoid.

“It was a really good speech. It sounded so natural. Like something you knew by heart.”

“Something I knew by heart?” He didn’t seem to understand what I meant.

“Yeah, some things we just know by heart. Like the lyrics to our favorite song, or a recipe, how to dance,” We both chuckled at the reference. “Or . . . how to love.”

“Do you think we know who to love by heart or do you think we make that choice ourselves?”

“I think it’s both. I think we can’t control the person we’re meant to love. That, by some miracle, we’re handed this person that complements us better than anyone else. But I also think it’s our choice on whether or not we pick them. Maybe we aren’t willing to stand the test of time and wait for our person, so we don’t pick them and settle for someone else. Or maybe we do pick them and we live out the rest of our lives together. I think that’s what makes love so special. It’s a person choosing you over and over again.”

Isn’t that what we all want? To feel chosen?

“And what if we make the wrong decision? What if we’ve met who we’re supposed to love, but we chose to love another?” His eyes were searching within mine for the words that I wasn’t saying out loud. Out of fear that my eyes might expose me to Spencer, I looked away.

“I think -”

Spencer cut me off. “Look at me.”

My head didn’t move, but I shifted my gaze just as he wanted.

“When two people are meant to be, nothing and no one can end them. They may get lost a time or two on their journey, but true, real love will always conquer. Nothing can compete with them. Others can only attempt to fill a void. And eventually, the two will be reunited. That’s the beauty of true love; you always end up with the right person, at the right time, regardless of any other factor.”

Quiet fell upon us two after I said my piece. My breathing slowed down and the knot in my stomach came undone. The lump in my throat disappeared.

All my bodily barriers broke down. There were no more emotional walls up between the two of us anymore. I was completely vulnerable - nothing to hide me. Not even my eyelids could hide the windows of my soul. Spencer had already seen into them.

He saw my soul, my secrets.

“Dance with me.” He extended his hand in the air between us two. With no hesitation, I accepted his offer and followed his lead. He’d never danced so naturally before. Somehow, his stiffness had withered away. The thick tension that used to loom in the air above us two dissipated. Something new replaced the contents of the atmosphere.

Love.

Unbounded.

Unrestrained.

Unbridled.

Limitless love.

Spencer drew me in closer so my head could lay on his chest. Previously, I was looking at his face, but now the view was of our connected hands. My fingers were intertwined with his, and I didn’t even notice how his thumb was rubbing small circles on the back of my hand until I saw it with my own eyes.

Had he always done that, but I couldn’t feel it until I saw it for myself? If so, what else had he been doing that I couldn’t feel?

“Loving you.”

I removed my head from his shoulder after hearing him answer the question that I pondered silently, wondering if suddenly just acquired the superpower of telepathy.

“What?”

“Loving you. That’s all I know how to do by heart.”

A wave of relief came over me when I realized he hadn’t read my mind, he was just simply adding to our conversation from before.

“That’s not true,” I mirthlessly chuckled. “There’s lots you know how to do. You know thousands of chess permutations, you know how to geographically profile - you know how to dance now.” I countered playfully.

He shook his head. “I know how to do those things, but sometimes, none of it makes sense. I used to lose matches against Gideon, sometimes the comfort zone is inaccurate, and until today, I couldn’t dance very well,” He chortled. “But loving you. That always made sense. It never failed me or disappointed me and it’s so all-consuming that if I try to love anyone else - it just doesn’t make sense.”

Of all the words in my vocabulary, each of them were failing me. I was rendered speechless. Spencer cleared his throat and looked away for a moment, before finding the nerve to say it.

“I choose you.” He proclaimed.

So, I was right.

There are some things we know by heart.

Lyrics to our favorite song.

A recipe.

How to dance . . . how to love.

And who to choose.

“I choose you, too, Spencer.”

. . . So to answer my question from before, is life really that magical? . . .

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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1dmonthlyficroundup · 3 years ago

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1D Monthly Fic Roundup

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for July 2021! Below you’ll find One Direction fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup.

Happy reading!

Game Changer by @neondiamond

[Harry/Louis, 6k, Mature, tumblr post]

“Did the doctor say what was wrong with you?”

“He thought I was pregnant,” Louis scoffs. “Told me to go home and take a test, a pregnancy test, Haz. Can you imagine the nerve it takes for him to even think that?”

Harry looks lost in his thoughts for a few seconds. “Did you? Take a test, I mean?”

“Of course I didn’t.”

OR: A couple months before playing in his first long-awaited World Cup, Louis finds out he’s pregnant. Harry’s there for the ride.

(I Was Broke) You Healed Me by @fallinglikethis

[Harry/Niall, 12k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Niall Horan is an unmated pregnant omega living on his own after his alpha boyfriend leaves him. Far from his family and friends in Ireland, Niall is stuck living in a complex for Alpha/Omega bondmates, terrified every day of being found out by his landlord.As if that isn't enough, he's suffering from touch deprivation. Luckily, Niall's doctor can at least help him with that part: she prescribes Niall some cuddle sessions. It's only a little weird that the person she's prescribing him is her brother. Or maybe that's actually a little bit perfect.

The Only Pain in Pleasure is the Pleasure of the Pain by Layne Faire / @laynefaire

[Liam/Zayn, 10k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Liam had followed InZaynity, an artist's Instagram, for ages. Not only was the artist incredibly talented, his voice poured over Liam like warm honey on a winter's night, and his hands were the stuff Liam's wank dreams were made of. However, having Zayn unexpectedly arrive as the newest artist at his best friend's tattoo shop brought Liam's fantasies and reality a little too close for comfort.

Zayn Malik met his boss' friend on his first day at Fine Line Tattoos, and felt an instant attraction. Unfortunately, given Liam's unwillingness to even hold a conversation with him, Zayn was certain the feelings weren't reciprocal. Or were they?

When Liam's new tattoo design falls outside the scope of Tommo's talent, and he recommends Zayn do it, Liam reluctantly agrees. Surely he could manage to spend hours in Zayn's company without revealing his biggest secret, right? Right?

Blow Me Away by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

[Louis/Liam, 6k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Louis likes giving blow jobs.

He doesn't exactly get off on it – he's been with people who properly loved it, and he's not quite that into it – but he doesn't mind the feel or the taste and he really, really likes watching his partner lose it, so getting down on his knees regularly is a no brainer.

Which is why it's a bit frustrating that every time he does, Liam hauls him back up again.

Why Didn't We Make Out the Night We Met? by @berzerkshires

[Louis/Harry, 52k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Louis and Harry meet in an alley outside the hotel Louis is staying for the weekend. Harry introduces himself as Ed, and Louis is completely clueless. They have a relationship through text messages, phone calls, shared pictures and Facetime calls. Is a cell phone being the only source of communication enough? Will Louis ever learn that he's really talking to an international popstar? And what happens when the world is shutdown due to a wide spread virus?

I Love This Feeling (But I Hate This Part) by @lululawrence

[Harry/Louis, 7k, Not rated, tumblr post]

“Stand up.”

Harry stood up from the couch, not a moment’s delay.

“Oh my god, is that what that’s like?” Harry turned to Louis, surprise on his face. “I really thought they were somehow exaggerating, but it really is an automatic response with absolutely no thought from me behind it whatsoever.”

Louis sighed again. “You really wanna keep doing this? Have me use my alpha voice on you so you can work on resisting it?”

“Yup,” Harry said, clapping his hands and smiling. “How else am I going to be able to have any chance at reducing the power an alpha voice has on me?”

I Said It Wrong, But I Meant It Right by @lululawrence

[Liam/Nick Grimshaw, 4k, Not rated, tumblr post]

Nick was a bit of a disaster, but she was used to it.

Or so she thought. She had never known how much she could struggle just to function until the new fire lady goddess angel person winked at her.

Oh, Those Summer Nights by cherrylarry / @beelou

[Louis/Harry, 1k, General, tumblr post]

“Are you okay?” He kneels down to inspect where Harry still has his hand pressed against his head.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m fine.”

“My name’s Louis. Can I buy you dinner or something to make up for hitting you in the head?”

Harry crinkles his eyebrows. “Me?”

Louis chuckles. “Yes, you. If you’d like?”

“Yeah. That would be nice.” Harry smiles so that his dimples show. “I’m Harry.”

“Harry, it's a date, then." Louis grins.

An extended scene of the beginning of the movie Grease as a larry au

people fall in love in mysterious ways (maybe just the touch of a hand) by @vintageumbroshirt / 28sunflowers, @justalarryblog / Bekita, @bluecolouredlou , @beelou / cherrylarry, @thedevilinmybrain / devilinmybrain, @hershelsue / docklands, @foreverfanficaddict,@idolizingthelight / idolizingthelightt, @inlockets / loveroflou, @perfectdagger, @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Louis/Harry, 13k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Set in a world where meeting your soulmate causes a literal spark, Louis Tomlinson has no time for fate. He knows all too well the heartbreak that having a soulmate can bring and he'd rather avoid the whole affair. But, when a chance meeting with up-and-coming popstar, Harry Styles, causes the biggest electrical surge the world has ever seen, Louis must confront the truth that sometimes destiny knocks when you least expect it.

Somehow, Someway by @zanniscaramouche

[Louis/Harry, 16k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Louis Tomlinson has everything all figured out for a smooth post-graduation sailing into the perfect career in the music industry. A canceled class, a high school play, and a disarming set of dimples were not part of the plan. (Especially when they belong to a boy wearing someone else’s jacket.)

Featuring: A punk with the worst timed crush in history, that moody art kid that never shares cigarettes, the cutest pastel-pink wearing boy on the planet, and his unfortunately nice bottle-blond jock of a boyfriend.

Forts & Fortunes by @neondiamond

[Louis/Harry, 2k, General, tumblr post]

It’s finals week at uni and Harry is struggling to find a healthy balance between studying and tending to his needs. Lucky for him, Louis is there to help him out with that.

One way to reduce tension by @neondiamond

[Harry/Louis, 1k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Harry knows of a few ways to help Louis get rid of some pent up stress…

We Got a Call by @greenblueish / bluegreenish

[Louis/Harry, 24k, Mature, tumblr post]

“Fisher from St Peter hospital, hello. Is this Mr Tomlinson?”

Louis’ eyebrows furrow in concern. Why is the hospital calling him? Has someone he knows been in an accident? “Uh, yes?”

“Great. Your results are in. Congratulations, you’re pregnant!”

“Pregnant?” he chokes, the word almost getting caught in his throat.

“Yes, without doubt,” the woman from the hospital confirms, her voice neutral but somehow chirpy. “I recommend promptly booking an appointment with your ob/gyn to discuss how to proceed.”

"I...Yeah, I’ll talk to my … partner.”

or, the one where Louis and Harry Tomlinson are married and Louis accepts a phone call that was definitely meant for his husband.

How Long Will We Fall (Before We Can Climb) by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 860 words, General, tumblr post]

Louis' faith in Harry is unbreakable. When they get caught kissing and he is thrown out of his home forever, he has to learn to have faith in himself.

Rope, Leather and Lipstick by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 552 words, Mature, tumblr post]

Something about ropes around wrists, and tinting skin the colour of strawberry ice cream, tender and kissed by dark lips. Smudging sticky red lipstick across the slight blue shadow of veins, and assuring hands tightening knots.

Lies & Liability by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

[Louis/Harry, 34k, Mature, tumblr post]

Harry Styles has only three wishes when he leaves River Dane Manor to go to Town for his first season: that his sister has rented a townhouse that will provide him as many of the comforts of the country life he has grown accustomed to as possible, that he will not trip and fall when he is presented to Her Majesty the Queen, and that he will enter matrimony out of true love, no matter how favourable the match with any which alpha may be.

Sugar at Night by @brightgolden

[Harry/Louis, 33k, Explicit, tumblr post]

With a year left before he completes his degree, a wonderful fiancé, and a baby coming soon, life is going exceptionally well for Harry Styles.

But, the truth always has a way to unravel itself, doesn’t it?

So, what do you do when the person you fell in love with is not the person you thought they were?

I got myself in a mess (and without you I'm in more) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Zayn/Liam, 9k, Mature, tumblr post]

It’s not desire that has his synapses firing. It’s not the urge to jump him that makes him feel jittery.

It’s the fact that everything about this man - a nice, unassuming guy on Tinder, who studied IT and who seemed like a safe choice - screams danger. It’s the fact that Zayn has been absently touching his necklace for what feels like half the night now.

The necklace. Thank God for Lou, honestly. He’d laughed a bit, at first, when Louis had given it to him, when he’d explained all about the app that it was connected to, the emergency contacts that would be notified and sent his exact location “if you just double tap the back of the charm, see” because Louis was that friend, the mom friend, but right now? Right now Zayn will gladly take the gentle ribbing from Louis if it means he won’t have to spend another moment with this guy.

I don't care if the world knows by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Louis/Harry, 6k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Harry is fourteen when she buys her first binder. She’s been doing cosplay videos on Tiktok for a while at that point, and it seems like the logical choice. Not that there’s anything wrong with cosplaying characters of the opposite gender and not wanting to fully look like them, she’s seen plenty of wonderful creators put their own spin on characters in a way that transcends the source material, but when it comes to her own cosplays -

She just likes it to be accurate.

She likes her chest to be flat, not soft and curvy, when she’s wearing her Crowley cosplay, or when she’s transformed herself into Loki.

It’s all about the aesthetics.

∞

Over the course of a few years, Harry explores and comes to terms with gender identity.

It’s Probably Because I’ve Got a Big Lesbian Crush on You by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

[Louis/Harry, 6k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Harry's never really concerned herself with being part of the popular crowd. But as the new girl in school the second semester of her junior year, she finds herself unwittingly competing for Queen Bee status against high school royalty Louis Tomlinson. Maybe there's more to their rivalry than it seems.

A not-quite-Mean Girls AU

Going Green (so fucking green) by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

[Louis/Harry, 5k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Harry just really loves being used, and Louis really loves Harry. Who is he to deny him?

Or: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle but make it BDSM

the next bit was spanners to my plan by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

[Louis/Nick Grimshaw, 6k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

The first time was an accident. The second time was an accident too.

Or: Louis and Nick end up shagging on the sly, everyone sends far too many emojis and far too few words, and eventually they're going to have to sort themselves out.

Trust Me Tonight by @vintageumbroshirt / 28sunflowers

[Louis/Harry, 10k, Explicit, tumblr post]

After Harry’s eighteenth birthday, his father calls him into a meeting to say that he is to be married to Prince Louis of France in just over a week.

Harry is excited, of course. The arrangement is better than any he could’ve hoped for, with such a young, handsome and kind husband.

There is just one issue: Harry doesn’t know what happens on his nuptials, or how to get pregnant to give Louis the heir that he needs.

Can we make it any more obvious? by LouStylesHTommo / @smolhilariousbeans

[Louis/Harry, 6k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Five times the boys accidentally walked in on Harry & Louis plus one time they did it on purpose.

Aka Niall, Zayn, Liam being supportive of Lou&H sexy shenanigans.

darling just dive right in by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed / we_are_the_same

[Zayn/Louis, 5k, Teen and up, tumblr post]

Louis can’t think of a worse place to be than at the Malik estate, attending his ex boyfriend's wedding.

Shining just for you by ThoseFookin_Avacados / @hlhome28

[Harry/Louis, 1k, General, tumblr post]

For a clumsy person, Harry danced with quite the grace- spinning around Louis, billowy light robes brushing against his firm darker ones. Despite his slightly smaller build, Louis was decivingly strong, his grip on Harry's waist tight as they performed their steps in sync. Like two opposite halves of a whole, like ones reflection in the mirror, like the sun and the moon.

Part 2 of the Prompt Generator series

crown me with your heart (your love is king) by @perfectdagger

[Louis/Harry, 41k, General, tumblr post]

The universe must’ve had a field day when it decided to plan Harry’s life. There was no plausible explanation for anything that happened in his life anymore. Try as he may, he would never be able to control his life nor predict what would happen next. What were the odds that the one person he was sure he had fallen in love with but had completely let him slip out of his life, already resigned to the fact nothing could ever evolve between them due to Harry’s future with Eroda, happened to be the same person who had Harry’s future in his hand?

A The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Wedding au in which Harry is the Crown Prince of the small island of Eroda and Louis’ uncle is trying to take the throne from him, with a slight a/b/o twist and some more.

#trackinghappily #1dsource #tracksintheam #trackinghome #28th appreciation #july 2021 #one direction fan fic

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aphrodite-would-be-proud · 4 years ago

Text

🕯Anon said: hi sweetheart 🕊 can you write about armin having a quiet night with the reader? something like wearing comfy pajamas, fairy lights, cute little candles, incense, soft songs and maybe some reading? and they just cuddling? 🥺 i think about that whenever i go to sleep and do all of the above, but i'm just by myself lmao anyways, thank you so much 🌸 (btw i'm the anon who asked you about the armin x painter!reader 🥺 hello 🥺 i just love how you write can we be friends please) 🕯

Quiet night with Armin

{ Armin x Reader | tw:none | sleep help, comfort, fluff | modern }

{ "Twilight, Valley of the Genesee" 1865 by Samuel Colman 1832 - 1920 }

Shimmering golden hues weaved across pastel blue walls in the form of strings, crossing the bookshelf before making a turn at the plants corner, illuminating the room with a soft warm glow.

Your head rested against the satin pillow, just right above Armin's shoulder, close enough that you can see the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. The ends of his hair ghosting over your cheek whenever he leaned to tell a particular clever line of the book he's been reading to you.

You can't exactly remember the name of it, but you can clearly recall his excited smile this morning when showing it to you.

"It's one of my favourites" he said, "the last time i got to reread it was in high-school, has it really been that long?" And that's all you can remember from the conversation before it got sidetracked by him asking if you had lunch yet.

There's definitely something to be said about rereading a book over and over again, a sense of familiarity, an attachment to the characters, plot and world setting. It's almost magic how quickly your comfort book, show or movie can turn a horrible day into a nice one, making it the silver lining.

Looking at the way Armin would pause for a second after some lines, or chuckle at random scenes, like it's an inside joke between him and his mind, you can tell he's definitely recalling some good memories.

Just like how he's adding to his list of comfort memories by sharing this experience with you, he wants you to be a part of this silly book he once picked up as a child and continued to revisit every few years.

You glance at the remaining pages, just as he flips another one to start anew. You've already finished a third of the book, only a quarter remaining.

It's not that you're getting impatient, but it's more that the soft blanket draped over you, the warmth of Armin's body pressed next to yours and the sound of his voice, are all luring you into a hazy cloudy state where your eyelids feel too heavy and turning your head to check the clock seems too exhausting.

How long has it been? since you curled up against him right after you went to put your empty hot chocolate mugs in the sink.

You don't have the heart to tell him that your brain stopped registering the words he's saying and instead listens to the tone of his soft-spoken voice and reacts accordingly. Stealing another glance at the remaining pages, you notice a few missing, okay good, just a few more. You can hold on right?

Right?

Forcing your eyes open, you suppress a yawn threatening to rise before curling even closer to his shoulder, face against his neck, hand over his chest.

Instead of focusing on his calming heartbeat, you try to focus your attention on different things, like the smell of snowdrops flowers filling the room from the scented incense sitting on the nightstand.

Snowdrops, the milky bell-like flowers who befriended the cold harsh snow herself.

An ancient German tale that Armin told you, on one early spring morning. When the universe was just in bloom, as the earth shaped its form and the plants dressed themselves, when the god in the heavens above just created snow, she was told to go seek her colours from the flowers below.

She came with her request, but the flowers turned their heads, refusing to acknowledge her for she is the reason for the harsh weather, deeming their life spans short, overzealous and jealous, protecting their colours from the merciless lady snow.

She was left all alone, friendliness, colourless with no love or sympathy from a soul.

Except for one, came knocking on her door, head bowed down and humbly offered to share. Snowdrops were the flowers that warmed the snow's heart, and so white was the colour in which snow was known.

Snow made a vow, to always protect her one and only friend, even from her own self. Under her watchful gaze, snowdrops were gifted with warmth that let them be the first flowers to bloom when winter bid her goodbyes as spring was arriving soon.

You've never seen snowdrops the same since, their delicate and shy nature standing out between all the proud flowers, you even suggested planting some to Armin.

"...but sweetheart" you remember him saying with a frown, " snowdrops are poisonous."

…

Yeah, and so getting their scented incense was the second best option available.

You hear the sound of another page being turned, fewer left to go, just hold on a bit longer.

Wondering the room with your eyes, your gaze fell on the straw sunhat hanging from the on the back of a chair. It's Armin's favourite, he'd always wear it when the sun was particularly bright that day.

you remember him saying it was a gift from his grandpa when he was a child.

His grandpa...didn't you visit his farm a few months ago?

...yeah you did, you can recall clearly, how you were:

Squinting your eyes to avoid the bright sun, you wiped the sweat collecting on your forehead before leaning your head back against the wooden wall. The occasional passing cool breeze distracting you from the dryness in your throat, even after moving to sit in the shade your skin still felt too hot.

The grassy fields in front stretched wide before ending in white pained fences, where the crops patches for vegetables started.

The sudden gentle waves of cool air against your skin made you glance to the side, where Armin was fanning you with his hat, while holding a tray with two ice filled lemonades in his other hand.

"Are you sure you don't want to go inside?" He said, sitting next to you before handing you the cold drink, "you've already done a lot, I'll do take care of the rest."

You've been helping Armin with the farm work since sunrise, feeding the animals together and watering the crops, saying you're exhausted from the scorching hot sun was an underestimation.

And yet, somehow Armin seems unaffected. Not a sign of being bothered as he sat there next to you with his rolled up sleeves and cuffed pants, the slight flushing to his face was the only thing he got from the sun.

"Yeah, I need to lay down a bit." You remember saying, after emptying your drink in one go.

"If that's the case then-" setting the tray aside, Armin patted his lap while looking at you, "Come here."

Too tired to protest, you layed your head on his thigh, feeling your back stretching and the cool air from his fanning was already making you feel better.

"You know, there's a story my grandpa used to tell me about the sun."

An Australian folklore, about a time when the earth was merged in absolute Darkness, when even the stars refused to light up the sky.

Eternal darkness was the fate of humanity, as people were spent their lives carrying torches to light up their way.

Gnowee was an alone mother in a forsaken world, left to fend for her little son. Each day while he slept safely, she'd venture into the the fields in search for plants or seeds. Knowing very well that's it's a matter of life and death if she couldn't come back with something edible.

Each day she'd come with whatever she could find, feeding it to her son even if it meant sleeping on an empty stomach.

But with food scarce and the abyss looming at every corner, things were harder each day.

One day after rocking her child to sleep, she quietly left with her torch to dig for yams she saw on her way last time. Retracting her footsteps, it was a long journey but she knew it'd be worth it.

And so she walked and walked till she reached the place, began digging the ground but dirt and mud was all that she could find. But she couldn't just go back to her son empty handed, and so she wandered far.

She wandered so far in fact that she reached the end, not the end of her journey but the end of the earth itself.

Somehow, in someway she managed to pass from under it, her will for her son to live another day far greater that anything, and so she emerged from the other side.

The void.

Where nothingness lived.

Looking at the vast empty space, she didn't know where she was, the line between the ground and walls was so blurred that she thought she's floating.

Panic and dread filled her mind as she raised her torch higher and higher, attempting to clear a path for her to see. For she had to go back to her son, all alone sleeping by himself.

Climbing the sky was her only solution, as she wondered the world, unknowingly lighting up a path with her as she went.

"And so the Sun Goddess wonders the sky above, in search for her son." Armin told you that day, before offering you his own lemonade to drink because he was still worried about you.

...

You can't recall how that day ended, you think you might have fell asleep on his lap right after.

The fairylights on the wall reminded you of the clear stars sky you've seen while on the farm, his grandfather was a really sweet guy too.

With your mind still coulded in drowsiness, your hearing was also delayed apparently, since you just noticed the book in Armin's hold was closed with him staring at you with a smile instead.

Moving so he could set the book on the nightstand, Armin turned towards you before pulling you closer to him, making sure the covers don't slip off of you. He cupped your face, stroking your cheek with love in his eyes.

"I'm sorry baby, did I take too long?" He said, glancing at the clock behind you answered his question.

You shook your head, murmuring a slurred "it's alright."

Posture visibly relaxing, he gave your cheek a small kiss before resting too on the pillow next to you, a yawn escaping him.

With half closed eyes, you saw him cuddling close to your chest, features softening as he bid you goodnight. Your hand moved to stroke his hair just like he always liked, lacing your fingers through the soft strands you closed your eyes too.

Warmth took over you, the feeling of his soft breath near your neck, the comfortable weight of his arms around you, the slow ticking of the clock, it all rocked you to sleep as you happily gave in.

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maemi324 · 4 years ago

Text

Mafia

Hey there friends! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve actually posted something.

Let me just say, Happy Holidays! I hope you are having a wonderful and safe holiday.

This fic was inspired and written for @butterscotchbaku and @in-this-house-we-stan-izuku based on some requests I had written in, as well as just ideas passed back and forth.

I hope you two are having a wonderful day and may that continue into the new year! Thank you for all you’ve written and done!

Pairing: Izuku/Fem.Reader

Warnings: mentioned beatings, mentioned assault but nothing described in detail. all very vague. uhh violence, or hinted at violence. Edited only by me, so i may have missed something.

I think that’s it.

I hope you two enjoy this!

Cigarette smoke hung heavily in the room, walls filled with generic knickknacks and warm colored walls gave the meeting a false sense of pleasantness. To any unsuspecting person, this was any other meeting room, one long table with rounded edges and somewhat padded chairs, the head of the table having the one most plush.

Hell, even the people occupying them would have anyone turning up their nose in disinterest. Nothing but business men and women in dark, smart looking suits.

But you knew better. Sitting at the head was the infamous Izuku Midoriya, known under the name of Deku, direct descendent of the greatest Mafia leader Japan had ever seen; All Might.

And here you sat, comfortably in Izuku’s lap, your temple pressed against his neck as you listened to his voice rumble on towards the other members. You were hardly paying attention to what was being said as you glanced around the room to the others.

Katsuki Bakugou- Dynamite, or TNT if you were feeling particularly cheeky. He was head of interrogation, finding out who knew what and definitely had too many ways of making people talk, and only one sure fire way of keeping them quiet.

Todoroki Shouto- Bakugou’s counter in interrogation. He was mainly there to keep Bakugou from killing every target. He could control his temper, sure, but Todoroki added a sense of cold unease to their targets. He was effective against the folks who didn’t rise to Bakugou’s jabs and threats. He tapped the ashes of his cigarette into the small dish provided.

Kirishima Eijirou- Red Riot-another strong man and a third in the interrogation squad. He kept Bakugou from grousing the entire time, as well as leveling the two tempers in the group. Though he was a strong man, he was also incredibly sweet. You recalled that, while dealing with some unsavory characters that had children- typically rescuing the children at the other parents pleading- Red Riot was a favorite with them, his bright smile and charm keeping them distracted as Bakugou and Todoroki dealt with the problem.

Iida- Ingenium-was the getaway driver, best out of the best. He somehow always managed to get them out as quickly as possible while still following the law. It made losing the police all the easier. Ochaco Uraraka, or Uravity, was the treasurer, in charge of keeping account of all of the mafia’s funds, who owed them money and why. For more problematic clients, she was a stickler down to the very last penny.

There were others, but those were just the ones in the room at the moment. You sighed softly, adjusting in Izuku’s lap. Someone at the end of the table was pleading for something. You could tell by the unimpressed glare on Izuku’s face that it was going south for whoever this was- a blond man with an inferiority complex for certain.

You glanced down at your left hand, engagement ring shimmering brightly despite the warm fluorescent lights. It wasn’t very large, an emerald surrounded by diamonds. He’d only given it to you a few days ago. On a rare day, you were able to go out with him in public-the benefit of a mask and some contacts while on the job- you had decided to flit about a few museums. The ring caught your eye immediately, the prized possession of some rich so and so, dating back who knows how long in their family.

Maybe it was because of how brightly it matched your lovers eyes, but the ring called to you. You didn’t mention a peep to your lover however. You knew he would have taken it right then and there. You rather liked coming to this museum, with added security after a robbery, you would have to frequent it less.

Your lovestruck fool of a man decided to do it anyway. He’d said that the plan went off without a hitch, though the smudges of dirt and a bit of blood- not his own- said otherwise. At the time, you had to question why, sure he’d robbed plenty of other places, gifts for trips that took longer than expected, but a place that you favored going?

“I’m just crazy about you doll, You deserve the best of the best. The way you eyed that ring, I knew there’d be nothing else that would be more perfect for you. But, it’s not just because you fancied it that I got it for you. We’re together, we always will be...but I want to make it more official. I wanna be yours forever, and I want you to be mine. What do you say doll? Marry me?”

You couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A gentle nudge to your shoulder brought you out of your daze. You looked up to the love of your life.

“What do you think dollface? What should we do with Monama?”

You sat up in his lap, watching as the blond shivered in his spot, a smirk on your fiance’s face hidden by his fist as he leaned against it.

“Monama, what is it he did again?”

“Well Doll, he owes us money. He swears he’s good for it, but this is the third time he hasn’t been good for it.What should we do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Monama...ah yes now you remembered him! A little wanna be Mafia leader who went under when he ran out of money. He placed bets with other rival gangs against Deku, proclaiming that not only could he and his group get it done, but get it done better.

There were times when they had, though just barely. It was hardly enough to keep a betting pool aimed against Deku however. Everyone but him seemed to know it. The overconfidence in his group and underestimating Deku lead to his downfall when Deku pulled off an impossible mission without even having to undo his tie.

When these gangs came to collect, he begged Deku to allow him and his group safety, help paying off the debt. Deku agreed, but in return, he had a year to earn the money back, only adding interest when the blond began getting too cocky.

“I just need a little more time! A day, give me a day!” he pleaded, voice shrill and desperate.

You winced, brows scrunched in annoyance.

Honestly, you didn’t care for Monama, and weren’t all too excited for his continued presence in the gang. You looked down at your nails idly.

“Have Dynamite follow him for a day then. If whatever magic he seems to think he can pull off, doesn’t in fact pull off, then he can have fun beating the change out of him. Or, whoever he’s seeing to get the money can pay it” You figured, even though he’d be annoyed at the idea of tailing that worm, Bakugou would have a good time beating it out of him.

Izuku gave Bakugou a look, who only snarled in response. A tilt of his head and Bakugou got up from his chair, footsteps heavy as he grabbed Monama by the arm, “Let’s get this over with you pathetic extra,” rolling his eyes as Moana sagged in slight relief, gratitude spilling from his lips.

Izuku held up a hand, “Let Red Riot escort him out for now. We have some business that you’d like to be here for I’m sure”

Bakugou’s eyes widened a fraction, a grin making its way onto his face as he shoved Monama towards Kirishima.

As Bakugou took his seat and Kirishima exited with Monama in tow, another man entered the room, a small man with purple hair. You recognized him as Mineta’s father. His son’s invention, a sticky substance that rendered anything in its grip as good as stuck, was what kept him in the group. What had him on thin ice however, was his treatment of the women in the group, all things he learned from his father. Izuku left Iida to beat it out of him however he saw fit. All it would take is one more strike.

His father, however, was all out of strikes. The way he leered at you and the other girls had you all walking on eggshells around him. You only came forward to Izuku about it after you and the others had confided in one another. He had groped at you after a party the gang had thrown. It was the first and last time he’d ever made a physical move towards you.

You could feel the man's lecherous eyes on you, making you lean into Izuku, his body blocking the man's gaze.

While you told him your story, Izuku’s face had remained calm, though the cup he had been holding shattered into thousands of pieces. He knew there were rumors about the senior, but to have it be found out as fact, and not just rumors from other gangs... He was furious, you knew that, and you knew somehow, someway, that Minoru senior would pay.

“Doll, why don’t you go talk to YaoMomo about wedding dresses, hm?” You nodded your head, though hesitant to leave the safety and comfort of his lap. You knew you were safe with Izuku by your side, but that didn’t mean you were comfortable passing by this...Disgusting being. His gaze softened and he hooked his arm around yours, escorting you personally towards the door.

Izuku tilted your head into a sweet kiss, his thumb rubbing comforting circles onto your side.

Izuku opened the door for you, but before you left, he kissed you again, deeper, sweeping away the sickly feeling of being watched with his tongue as it danced with yours, one hand cupping your jaw to pull you close.

He pulled away all too soon for your tastes, hand leaving your jaw, “Actually, maybe talk with her about the cake too, this may take a bit...” he turned away from you, eyes turning cold and jaded as the door closed.

“It’s about to get ugly in here”

#my hero academia #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya x reader #uraraka ochaco #bnha iida #todoroki shouto #bnha kirishima #katsuki bakugou #bnha #bnha all might #monoma neito #mha minoru #momo yaoyorozu #Mafia au #bnha mafia au #villain deku #maemiwritesbnha

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sithsecrets · 4 years ago

Text

sacrifice | din djarin x reader

stranded in the tatooine desert, din and his crewmember (lover? girlfriend?) must make the long, impossible journey back to mos espa on foot.

---

4.2k words

mentions: near-death experiences, severe sunburn, sever dehydration, emotional conversations with a loved one, reader and din are not doing well at all, lots of talking about sand and the desert, minor medical procedures (kind of??)

this is part 4 of my valentine’s week special! you can see all the other parts here!

---

The deserts of Tatooine are legendary, the sandy dunes and rocky canyons teeming with tales and myths. The Tuskens are a spectacle all their own, with their banthas and covered bodies, and there’s not one person on this planet that hasn’t had the displeasure of doing business with a Jawa. Countless greats have passed through this planet’s cities, negotiating deals and perpetrating plots that will have an affect on the galaxy for years to come.

To you, though, Tatooine is not some great, propped up location from a fairytale. No, this place is your home, or was your home until you made the decision to leave. You were born here, and now you will die here, sucking in the same hot, dry air you breathed on your first day of life as you take your final breath.

Din had promised that it would be a quick mission, in and out. Mando lets you call him that now, lets you call him by his first name. He whispered it to you just a few days ago, revealing this piece of his identity in the darkness of the Crest’s hull. What you wouldn’t give to be there now, cool and fed and sprawled out naked beside him…

Din had said it would be a quick mission, that’s what he said. Just you and him on a pair of speeders out in the desserts, in and out and easy. He needed you to watch his back, wanted you to do surveillance from up high— that’s why you came in the first place. Peli said she’d keep the baby, she was thrilled to have him for a day or two, and so it wasn’t a problem—

The baby, oh Maker… Who’s going to take care of the baby?

Things didn’t go to plan once you left the city, not at all. One speeder went dead halfway to Din’s coordinates, and so you the two of you were left with one vehicle. You made it alright, though your time was worse with both of you weighing down the machine.

It was hot out there, so hot, but you knew it would be that way. You had water in your pack, and some food, and you’d be fine. It was only supposed to be a day or two, right? And the suns would set eventually, and then you might even be cold...

Din made you perch high up on some rock, and you watched for hours through the binocs looking for the quarries. Two spice smugglers, that’s who Din’d been tasked with finding, and they were supposed to be stupid, too— that’s what Greef had said. “These two clowns are idiots.”

The two smugglers did come, and they were idiots as promised, but their friend was not. The third man found your lookout spot somehow, and he snuck up on you. Din was down in the sand, and before he had time to fly up and stop him, the man had already cut your side. It was meant to be a stab, but you avoided that, thank the stars. Even still, the wound was no minor scrape, and you panicked when you saw just how much blood was coming out of you.

Being who he is, it didn’t take Din long to subdue your attacker and the two quarries. He propped their bodies in a cave and said he’d come back for them with the ship later on, and you thought that was a fine idea at the time.

A bad feeling set in when you saw what had been done to you and Din’s singular speeder. One of the smugglers had disabled it while Din was busy murdering the man that hurt you, and now it lay useless in the sand. The crew of criminals had been riding on some kind of pack animals when the violence broke out, and all the commotion sent the three of them off in all directions. Din’s jetpack seemed like a viable option, but the instant he tried to pick you up, you screamed in pain. There was no way for him to hold you that didn’t hurt you terribly, and it’s not like you could latch onto his back. After that conversation, it took you and Din about five seconds to realize that you were fucked. And then… And then it was time to start walking.

The first day wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t good either. The rationing of water began almost immediately, and you worried every time Din declined his share.

“You need it more,” he had said to you, “you’re hurt.”

And you were hurt. Your side smarted all the time, and the heat of the sun caked your own fluids to your skin. The bleeding did eventually stop, but the pain never subsided, and it wasn’t long before you were trailing behind.

When the suns set, it was time to stop walking and start shivering. Din made a small fire, and you did have an extra shirt, but none of it was enough with the damage you’d sustained earlier in the day. Sleep did come, but it was fitful, and you’re not sure Din so much as closed his eyes that night.

The heat came back with the dawn, and after several hours, it was all you could do to keep moving. Thirst burned your throat, and the dull ache of hunger twisted your insides. Din acted like he was fine, but you saw it. You saw the change in his gait, saw how his head drooped from time to time under the weight of exhaustion.

That second night, you insisted Din sleep while you took watch. It as hard to stay awake, and even harder to focus on looking for threats, but you did it anyway. You’d known many people who got lost in the dunes, heard more stories than you could count of what happens when you perish out in the sand. And as you sat there staring into the distance, you marveled at the idea that you yourself would soon come to experience these things yourself.

This will be your third day of walking, walking and walking and walking… You and Din have been making your way across the desert for hours now, and you’re growing more tired than you’ve ever been in your life. Gone is the ache in your stomach, gone is the burn in your throat— all you want now is rest, rest and reprieve from the sun’s relentless rays. Yesterday, you took to imagining yourself anywhere but here— tropical locations, the icy surface of Hoth, a planet where fresh, drinkable water fills every pond and lake and river— now, though, all you picture is rest. Oh, if you could just rest…

It takes you a long time to realize that you’ve fallen, longer than it should. You’re face down on the ground, sand filling your mouth, your nose… The granules aggravate the sunburn you’ve developed after days and days exposed to the elements, though you hardly even feel the sting as you lie there. It’s so good to stop walking, so good to close your eyes…

“Stay awake, cyar’ika. You can’t go to sleep, not right now.”

Din’s voice rouses you, it makes you pay attention again. He’s picking you up, he’s holding you in his arms—

“I don’t want to walk anymore, Din,” you say, voice cracked and broken. Once again, you think of water, but the thought is fleeting at best.

“You don’t have to,” he says at once. “I’ll carry you. We just have to get back, mesh’la, and then we’ll be okay.”

In some deep recess of your mind, you decide that Din’s saying this to comfort himself as well as you.

“You’ll get back to Mos Espa,” you croak, shaking your head. “This is— I’m not going to make it.”

“Yes, you are, cyar’ika, don’t talk like that.” Din spits the words out as if you’ve insulted him, half offended and half terrified and entirely unlike himself. Some small part of you wants to laugh— you’ve always wanted him to be freer with his emotions, and all it took was being marooned in the desert to get him to do it.

“You have to leave me, Din,” you insist, wriggling in his arms, trying to make him drop you. But Din holds fast, clamping down on your body like you’re all that tethers him to this world. And maybe you are, at this point. “I’m slowing you down. If neither of us gets back, we’ll— The baby, Din, the baby. You have to go back for the baby. You’re all he has, he’ll… he’ll…”

You want to cry, but your body has no tears to offer you. Through the fog in your mind, you picture the Child playing with Peli and her droids, waiting patiently for you and his father to return. The thought of how he’ll feel when the both of you never do is almost too much to bear, and you redouble your efforts, pleading.

“Leave me, Din, leave me here so you can go on. I’ve been slowing you down since the start, and now— The Child needs you. I’m not important, Din, but you’re his father. Just put me down and let me—”

“Stop talking,” Din cuts, exhaustion and frustration warping his broken voice. “Save you energy, mesh’la, we’re almost there.”

Except you aren’t, and you know that. But even still, you do as Din says, too tired to argue with him any further.

There is more walking, and more feeling the sun on your face, and then your eyes are slipping closed. Far off in the distance, Din is telling you to look at him, to stay awake but you just can’t anymore. It’s so hot, and you just want to sleep…

The last thing you see before you fall unconscious is the sun, bright and blinding and all-consuming above you.

---

No one is more surprised than you when you open your eyes again.

Beige is all you see in front of you, beige like the color of the dunes. For one fleeting moment, you think you’ve died, that this is all there is for someone who’s succumb to the desert— the sand has swallowed you whole, and now you’ll lie here under it for all of eternity. But then everything comes into focus, and the fog lifts from your mind. Sand dunes aren’t held up by supports, and they certainly don’t billow in the breeze.

A tent, you say to yourself, dizzy as you try to sit up, I’m in a tent.

Someone’s attended to your wound, bandages and dressings where dirt and blood should be on your side. It still smarts when you try to stand, but you find yourself stronger overall. Somehow, someway, you’ve been revived, and even your sunburn doesn’t seem as bad as you know that it should be when you reach up to touch your face.

Carpets keep the sand off, three or four strewn on the ground in a patchwork. You’ve been laid out to rest on some sort of makeshift bed as well, nothing more than couple of pads and a blanket under your back, and not for the first time do you wonder where you are. Not for the first time do you wonder where Din is…

Heat envelopes you the second you pull back the flaps of the tent, but the temperature isn’t as high as it was when you collapsed. Sure enough, one look at the horizon tells you that it’s sunset, the sky purple-orange-pink as Tatoonie’s twin suns sink down further and further.

All around you are tents just like the one you emerged from, simple, beige structures made of coarse, thick fabric. You begin weaving your way through the complex, too afraid to cry out and ask for help. In any case, you’re not sure it would help, for you feel eerily alone, almost like everything around you is empty. That’s why it’s such a shock when someone jerks on your arm, the action catching you so off-guard that you cry out.

Cold fear is all you feel when you come to face the man that grabbed you, the dark eyes of his mask almost boring into you as he shouts and kicks up a fuss. You wait to be hurt, wait to be struck down and murdered, for you know how the Tuskens feel about outsiders, but the violence never comes. No, the man is actually leading you further into the camp, pulling on your arm, gesturing to more tents and beyond. The sounds he makes mean nothing to you, but if you could understand, you’re sure you’d hear, “Come with me, come on!”

And what else can you do except follow the Raider? What other choice do you have? He leads you past three or four more dwellings, and then the two of you stand before a larger, grander tent, one that makes the others look almost tiny. The Tusken calls out to whoever’s inside before you can so much as catch your breath, and then you’re being jerked through the flaps without a word of warning.

The first thing you see is fire, the smoke from the little blaze escaping out of an opening in the top of a tent. Small lanterns light the space inside, everything bathed in a warm, orange glow. There are carpets on the ground just like in your tent, layers and layers of them keeping the sand off everyone inside. Several Tuskens sit around the fire, but you barely see them after you notice the way the light glints off someone else.

When you told Din to leave you, you meant it. The baby couldn’t be orphaned a second time, and the idea of both of you dying under the sun didn’t bear thinking about. But to know that he didn’t abandon you, that he really was going to carry you back to the city…

All conversation ceases the second Din gets up from the ground, and then it’s like the two of you are the only people in the whole fucking desert. He asks you if you’re alright, one hand on the side of your head as he murmurs through the modulator. You say yes and ask him the same thing, worried something happened after you went out of commission. He’s all armored and covered, face concealed like it has been since the moment you met him, and yet still you worry. You worry he fell down like you did, worry that he’s been sick from not eating and drinking. But if Din did collapse or become incapacitated for a period of time, none of it’s had any lasting effects. He tells you that he’s eaten and drunk plenty since the Tuskens saved both of you, urging you to stop fussing and come sit with him beside the fire.

Only when Din turns around do you remember that you have an audience, and you feel all eyes on you walk around the pit in the center of the room. You feel vulnerable before your hosts, keenly aware of the fact that you stand before them with your face and hair and hands bare. Thankfully, you’re not the only woman present, several veiled Tusken women dotting the circle of people. They’re beautiful in their own way, draped in beads, some of their masks ornately decorated with embroidery and mental embellishments. You know little of Tusken culture, but you think that this is a tent reserved for important members of this clan, for even most of the men have on small bits of finery.

Din keeps you close, uncharacteristically affectionate in front of these strangers. He holds your hand as he leads you to your place in the group, urges you to tuck up against his side by the fire, and you wonder why he’s showing you off so openly. He either trusts these Tuskens, which would be a bold move, or this whole ordeal’s shaken him badly. Either way, you’re not about to complain, relieved to be here with him at all. You really could have died out there in the sand, and the fact that you didn’t is still sort of blowing your mind.

The first thing you do when you get settled is express your gratitude to the Tuskens around you, thanking them sincerely for saving your life and treating your injuries. Din translates for you and the man who speaks next, and then you’re told one of the most incredible stories you’ve ever heard.

For the better part of half an hour, Din and the Tuskens tell you about how they slayed the great krayt dragon, working in tandem with a small group of villagers from the middle of nowhere. Din downplays his role in it all, but you know that he was the one who really took the beast down. That’s why the Tuskens consider him a friend in the first place, and it’s the only reason they saved the both of you— otherwise, they would have let you die, a fact they admit openly.

You reprimand Din for not telling you sooner because seriously, he slayed a krayt dragon and made an alliance with the fucking Tusken Raiders, but all he offers is a humble, almost embarrassed, “It never came up, mesh’la.”

All you can do is huff at that, amazed not for the first time by how casual Din is about everything he does.

After the story’s done, a woman comes into the tent with a tray of thing for you. Because of their customs, the Tuskens won’t eat in front of you, and it’s not like Din’s about to take of his helmet for a meal, but you’re served food regardless. Neither the meat nor the hubba gourds taste very good, but you couldn’t care less— after days without food or water, even the bitter juice tastes like fine wine.

Din and the Tuskens talk as you eat, everything they say completely lost on you as you sit before the fire. Outside, the suns continue to set until it’s dark, and you feel yourself growing tired. You’re not sure if it would be rude to fall asleep in front of the Tuskens, the fear of offending your saviors forcing you to keep your eyes open every time they droop shut. Eventually, though, they take pity on you, and you and Din are given the Tuskens’ blessing to leave.

Back in your own tent, you and Din kneel on the carpets before one another, a single lantern lighting the space above your heads. He looks almost ominous like this, the dim, warm light casting him into shadow while simultaneously glinting off all the angles of his armor. Once again, you find yourself astounded by the fact that the two of you made it, that you’re here in Tusken encampment instead of dead out there in the sand somewhere. More and more often these days so you wish you could see Din’s face, but once again, you just can’t bring yourself to ask for what you want.

“I know you’re tired,” he says, fishing around in your pack until he produces a small jar, “but you have to put more of this on your hands and your face before you go to sleep. That’s what the women told me.”

“Do it for me?” you ask, knowing just how childish you sound without caring one bit about it.

Miracle of miracles, you make the Mandalorian laugh. “You just want me to touch you,” he huffs, but he’s taking his gloves off anyway.

Everything is quiet for those first few minutes, Din bending to his work diligently. The salve in the jar isn’t bacta, but it soothes the burning and the itching almost like magic. And maybe it is some kind of Tusken sorcery. You should be covered in blisters and sores after so much time in but Din says your face is merely peeling when you ask how bad it is. You haven’t actually seen yourself yet, but the backs of your hands don’t lie, and anyway, why would he? The fact that you’re not in debilitating pain alone is enough to convince you that this stuff is a miracle cure, and you’d be content to put it on eight times a day for the next month if it means you won’t be disfigured by your sunburn.

“There,” Din declares softly, putting the lid back on the jar, and then the two of you are lying down on the little pallet bed together.

“Are you going to sleep?” you ask him, knowing how Din feels about resting when he’s not on the Crest.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, reaching out across the padding to hold your hand. “But you definitely should. The Tuskens are going to drop us off near the city tomorrow, and I still have to go back and collect the bodies.”

You’d nearly forgotten about that, about the quarries and how Din left their corpses sitting in the cave.

“We get the baby first, though. We said we’d be back days ago.”

You’re not one to make demands, but after all that’s happened, you need to hold the Child in your arms. You know for a fact that he misses Din, and you worry that he feels abandoned by the both of you after all this time apart.

“We get the baby first,” Din affirms, and only then do you feel like you can close your eyes.

---

Everything is hectic after you and Din finally make it back to Mos Espa. Peli wanted to know what happened, the baby wouldn’t stop clinging to either one of you, and then you still had to fly back out on the Crest and pick up the quarries…

All of that took hours, but now you’re finally back in the safety of hyperspace, your little family whole once again. The Child, after hours of holding fast to you and his father has decided that he’s tired now, dozing in his pram contentedly. You think it would be alright to leave him in the hull for a while, clicking the lid of the little bed shut before you climb up to the cockpit. Din, in his usual Din fashion, has been up here since takeoff, no doubt picking at the inner workings of his vambrace or studying one of those maps he loves so much.

You’re surprised to find Din unusually unoccupied when you make it up there, though, the dark T of his visor staring off in the blue streaks of light before him. For a moment, you think he might be sleeping, but that option’s crossed off the list the minute he turns to look at you.

“Everything alright?” you ask softly, coming around the pilot’s chair to sit beside him.

Din hums. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

A long moment of silence follows your question, everything so definitively quiet around you. It’s always like this in hyperspace, like the physics of sound don’t apply. You always feel like you need to whisper, half-expecting no noise to come out of your mouth whenever you do decide to talk. After all these months of living on the Crest, it’s the only thing you haven’t gotten used to.

“Don’t ever talk to me like that again.”

Din’s words catch you completely off-guard, the sentence striking you across the face as hard as any slap. He’s never spoken to you like that before, never told you not to question him or whatever the fuck he means by that. You don’t—

“I mean—” Din blurts, huffing through the modulator like he’s frustrated. “I mean, just— the way you spoke to me in the desert. The things you said. Don’t ever talk about yourself like that, not in front of me or anybody else.”

Everything clicks, but words fail you. All you can do is sit there before Din and stare at him, trying to find the words over and over again.

“When we were out there,” Din begins, filling the void when you cannot, “when you fell down and I picked you up, you told me to leave you, cyare. You wanted me to abandon you. You told me that you didn’t matter.”

“I wanted you to live,” you clarify. “Someone had to go back for the baby, and you’re his father. He needs you—”

“And he needs you too, mesh’la.” Din pauses, voice breaking when he goes to speak again. “I need you. So don’t ever ask me to do something like that again. You’re very important, more important than you know, and I don’t think I could handle hearing you talk to me like that again. Do you understand?”

You stand up to hug him, suddenly hit with the realization that you’re crying.

“I understand, Din.”

And then you’re holding each other like it’s all you know how to do— holding each other like you’re the only two people in the whole fucking galaxy.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #tw: near-death experience #cw: near-death experience #my writing #valentine's week 2021

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wafflesetc · 4 years ago

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What If (A New Year’s Tale)

A/N: Been a HOT minute since I’ve written much of anything these days. I want to take a special minute and thank @kkruml and @walkinginland for holding my hand and helping me figure out the ropes once more. Alas, without further ado, here’s a small new year’s drabble. (Yes, it’s 9 days late but honestly at this point I am just happy it is done.)

Set within the timeline sometime after Season/Book 3. Mild Spoilers.

I could feel a sense of eagerness and anticipation radiating off of him. He was still, not moving, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest. The sun was just crescent over the tip of the mountain. The early morning light started to flicker through the window in our bedroom leaving rays dancing off the floor.

I found that the older I got, the worse that I slept. It seemed to be the case for both my husband and me. Maybe it was because I had been sharing a bed with another human again, or maybe it was because of something that was greater than both of us. I didn’t really know nor did I really mind... I didn’t have to understand.

His breath was hot on my throat, his stubble coarse against my skin sending goosebumps down my spine. “Cannae sleep, mo chridhe?”

I arched my body into his, an automatic response, like there had never been an arguable twenty year/two hundred year time spans between us.

“I was just thinking about the what ifs of our life.” I answered earnestly.

“The what ifs?” I could sense the sleepiness wearing off his voice. He could feel this was about to be a heavy conversation.

“Yes.” I rolled over in our bed so that I was facing him. I took his face into my hands and studied it for a minute. I took in his prominent Fraser brow, the flaming red hair, and deep blue eyes. It was an anchor to bring me back onto this plane of existence.

I kissed the top of his nose as he reached for my waist, pulling our bodies close together so we were just inches apart..

“I think it’s Hogmanay,” I started, “New Year resolutions I suppose.” I laughed when he raised a brow in confusion at me.

“I think it’s something from our century, but presumably new year's resolutions are just things you wish to change in the new year, things that were to be different from the year before.”

“And ye were thinking about the what ifs, as ye called them?” I could hear a small pique of confusion in his tone.

“Yes… Because there isn’t anything I want to change this year. But….”

I could feel him tense at the use of that particular conjunction.

“But,” I took a breath. “What if Frank hadn’t died... Because around the time that he got into his accident, things were tumultuous between us. He was wanting to move back to England. He had a job offer at Cambridge and wanted to take Brianna with us.”

I stopped for a moment, remembering our last fight right before the accident. It had been a cold, snowy, night in Boston. I had finished my notes from the surgeries of that particular day and headed home. Frank had come in, we’d exchanged our pleasantries, but I knew there was something he was wanting to get off his chest. The new job offer, his girlfriend, Brianna’s new opportunities. We had both said things that night that had hurt the other. We’d been dancing around each other for nearly twenty years, trying not to say or do the wrong thing. By that night, I think we were both at wits end. But it was the final questions he had asked me and my final response that had finally sealed the deal.

“You couldn’t look at Brianna, without seeing him, could you? Would you have forgotten him, with time? Without that constant reminder.”

“That amount of time doesn’t exist.”

I frequently thought back to that particular exchange- how I had so wanted to be with Jamie again and for Brianna to know the truth of who she was. Frank and I, we had done our duty as parents and our story had run its course. If it hadn’t been for that fight…. No I couldn’t let myself think of what particular what if.

“He loved her as if she were his own. He never batted an eye when people said she looked like him, even though it was a lie. And they had a very special relationship… As much as I harbor some resentment towards him for lying to me for years… I also caused him heartache because there was no getting over you.” My voice went soft and I could feel his hands on my waist, pulling us even closer together. We were just a mere inch apart or less. “I could understand where his heart was when he told me about the job offer in England and wanting to take Brianna with him.”

“Take her wi’ him?” His voice was slightly incredulous. It seems Jamie hadn’t liked that idea about as much as I had when I first heard about it.

“She had graduated high school, Jamie. In many respects in our century, Frank and I had done our duty as parents. She was done with grade school and off to college… She was an adult.” I could feel the muscles in my face tensing at the use of the word adult, knowing full well that my husband was not so inclined to agree with that last statement.

“Hmphh.” I could hear his Scottish grunt of disapproval and his breath hot against my lips. “Adult.”

“When he asked to take her, it was the final straw for me. I couldn’t... I wouldn’t let him take her. A small part of me thought she would go with him, Jamie. Bree and me, our relationship was a bit complicated at that point in time. I wasn’t myself at that point in time. She could sense it, though she didn’t yet know why I was always so distant.”

“And Frank…” I started trailing off in a hint of sadness. I could sense that Jamie had questions, but he also knew that I wasn’t quite done yet. So he stayed there, listening.

“They had a special bond, as I said. Like the one you have with her.” I took my hand and traced the contour of his jaw. I could feel the tension from his bite lesson as I lingered back and forth.

“But also different. It was something that was just between the two of them. Bree and I lacked that when she was a young adult… I was upset, angry, and sad, and so many different things because I was raising a Fraser with a temper to match, with a man who wasn’t her father.”

I took a deep breath and let him resonate with the words I was saying.

“A part of me was always missing because I had left it with you.” The single tear that had welled up slipped down my face.

Quickly, my husband’s thumb wiped it from my cheek and began to rub soothing circles.

“So the what ifs ye were thinking of, were if he hadna died.”

“Per say. But, although Frank had known you had not died and he didn’t tell me… If it weren’t for the accident and that one fight…. I do think he would have told me, eventually, in his own time. Maybe I am being naive, but Brianna was an adult. Our promise to each other was all but finished, and he was tired of living a lie, as was I.”

“So ye were wondering what would have been then, aye?”

“Yes, but alas, no. I do not wish to dwell upon the what ifs of what could have been, because of what has been. Frank and I hurt each other, that is no secret, but I think in either version of the timeline, somehow, someway, I would have found my way back to you.”

I kissed him then, slow, sweet, and steady. A physical being between my two hands. I’d never have to wonder what more about the what ifs of my life.

#Outlander #Jamie x Claire #Outlander Fanfic #Outlander Fanfiction #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #OL: Missing Moment #Claire Fraser #Myfic!#IDFK how to do any of this anymore

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rmg91 · 3 years ago

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Zoe Week; Day 3-Music

So I didn’t think I’d get this done, my first idea didn’t want to go very far, but then I got an idea and just ran with it. Some hints about my personal Zoe backstory appear and I still somehow made this (sort of) Zouxie. But who’s complain right?

Featuring Zoe hating an instrument and catching feelings for a certain moppet.

AO3

~*~*~*~*~

Once upon a time Zoe absolutely hated the lute. It reminded her too much of the family she left behind and their attempts to marry her off. One of the suitors they insisted she spend time with had always had a bard nearby and he was always strumming the damned instrument. She was told he was 'settling the atmosphere' for their outings but all it really did was make her despise the thing. Even after she finally ran away, she couldn't escape the music, many a lute were played everywhere she went. And every time she heard one, she would ignore it to the best of her ability or outright sneer at it before leaving the area. She would confuse many swooning woman as to why she disliked the bard playing such 'wondrous' music.

Even once in Camelot it wasn't easy to just escape the lilting instrument, especially after she met an up and coming wizard who absolutely loved the thing. And yes, she had resented and disliked Douxie at first, partially because he hadn't been forced to bind his magic to a wand like she had, stifling any real potential with the arcane arts, but also because his so called 'hobby' was to play the stringed instrument. And of course, of course, is was always out of tune and his singing wasn't much better. And yet, despite all that, she could never really find it in her to be mean to him. Somehow, the dork was just too sweet and kind and-and shiny to do more than grumble at. She still made her dislike of the lute known though. She would never stop hating the thing.

Camelot fell, she and Douxie traveled the world, together and apart, time moved on and music changed. Zoe was happy when lute music began to fall out of favor for something else, although she would run into once in a while still. And every time it would just take her back to those less than pleasant times and remind her just why she hated the sound of that one instrument.

Douxie would also, every few years, find a lute and play 'for old times sake', she usually shocked him with a small pulse before doing her best to ignore him and his cheeky smirk.

However, somehow, someway, her feelings toward the stupid thing...changed.

She didn't know when, she certainly didn't know how, but the next time she had caught him with a lute, about a ninety or so years after the last, she didn't...immediately tell him to stop. She had simply stood in the shadow of a tree, a few feet from their meeting spot, watching him as he strummed. And Zoe just...couldn't figure out why. She'd always hated that thing but now, suddenly, she was okay to just watch her best friend as he sat in the grass, wind lightly ruffling his hair as he played softly. Was it because the thing was tuned correctly? Was it because, by some miracle, Douxie's singing voice had gotten better over time? Or was it...was it because of these new, stupid feelings she'd been trying to deny for a while? Zoe wasn't sure, all she knew now was that she wasn't annoyed by the sound the guitar-adjacent instrument made, actually sounding....amazing in the hands of the usually fumbling wizard.

Still in disbelief, the hedge-witch wandered over, taking a seat beside him and encouraging him softly to keep going when he began to stop. She knew he was looking at her weird, she wanted him to keep playing the lute? But she kept her gaze firmly on the thing and his hands and eventually he began to play again. And as he began to shyly, softly, sing an old tune from Camelot, Zoe laid her head on his shoulder and decided that maybe....maybe the lute wasn't so bad.

~*~*~*~*~

I really donno, I just thought about Zoe hating an instrument and then deciding it’s not terrible cause Douxie plays it. Also let’s hear it for our boi for (hopefully) learning to sing in those 900 years post-Camelot XD Hope you enjoyed!

#ZoeAppreciationWeek #Zoe Week #ToA #Tales of Arcadia #Tales of Arcadia Wizards #Wizads #Zoe #Douxie #Zouxie #Zouxe-ish #Fanfiction #No beta we die like Merln

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lokislittlesigyn · 4 years ago

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OG616 : Thor 1 - Pt.6 [The Mourning]

[My masterlist, where all parts of this and my other fics can be found]

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: Angst, some.. Hopelessness? And mild flirting.

Author’s Note: Very long one here. Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @high-functioning-lokipath

To be added to the taglist, just ask me here or send a message! <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A very distinct, sharp pain washed over Sigyn as she pondered Odin's words. Like a knife plunging into her gut, twisting, pulling - but never leaving. Only hurting worse and worse, the very air in her lungs seizing up.

Loki is dead.

Her throat burned.

Loki is dead.

Tears streamed down her face.

My Loki is dead.

She broke. Her entire body shook with a sob as she collapsed onto the couch she was seated on, weeping. "He can't, he- He's not, he's not.."

"Sister.." Thor wrapped her in a hug, his jaw set firm. Frigga placed a hand on her back.

Odin’s grip tightened around Gungnir. "He's gone."

"No he's not."

"Sigyn-"

"He's NOT!" She screamed, struggling in Thor's grip, who clenched his jaw as he held her. "He's not- He can't be, he.. Loki.." Her body gave way, unable to cope.

Thor helped her stand, letting her sob against him.

"I wish it were true," Odin resumed, forgiving the interruption, "That he could still be with us. But he made his choice."

Sigyn glared at him.

"You made your choice when you lied to him! When you lied to all of us for countless years. We built our life around that lie!" She choked back another sob. "Now our lives are ruined because of it."

Odin didn't respond.

"Sigyn, have care how you speak." Frigga stepped between them, finally composed, though her eyes still glistened. "We need time to grieve, all of us. But perhaps, you most of all." She cupped Sigyn's cheek, wiping a tear away. "Go rest. Arguing will breed nothing but more pain."

Frigga was right. Arguing now would only make things worse - Odin wasn’t exactly known for a cool temper. But her head was still spinning. Loki couldn't be gone. There had to be some other way. Straightening up, Sigyn wrung her hands together. Swallowed. "I-I am sorry, Allfather.. I spoke out of line.."

Odin waved his hand, still looking away.

"Thor," Frigga managed a gentle smile at her son, "Please take Sigyn back to her chambers before you visit the healers."

Thor nodded, and without another word, he and Sigyn left.

~~~~

Sigyn stayed in her chambers for days on end. She ignored the time. Refused to eat. Refused to sleep in her bed - no, their bed - it still smelled like him. She spoke to no one. Retreated into the solace of being completely and entirely alone. Once the dust had settled, the wounded healed, and the palace put back in order, a feast was held for those who defended Asgard and helped Thor return home.

Sigyn was required to attend.

I can't exactly refuse... She reasoned, pulling on an emerald green gown. Putting on her favorite necklace, she gazed in the mirror.

She was pale. Paler than usual. Sickly and thin, with dark circles under her eyes. Hardly the shining goddess she would be expected to appear as. She looked down at the necklace. She’d had it for a long time. A rectangular medallion on a thin, metal chain - the medallion bearing two serpents, intertwined with each other, each biting their own tail. A symbol of Loki’s adaptability and cunning.

"If you should like to...” Loki had murmured, obviously nervous has he offered it to her, “I would be honored to see you wear it.”

It had been a perfect gift, marrying her colors with his symbol. She barely took it off, except of course when she was expected to wear coordinating clothes. Then it lived in a small wooden box on the dresser, safe from dust.

This will be my first meal without you. She ran her thumb over the symbol. I love you. I miss you.

Composing herself, she left her room.

~~~~

Servants and guests alike stared at Sigyn when she arrived. She was late. She adjusted the necklace, ignored their whispering. Ignored the stares, the side glances...

Maybe I should’ve stayed alone.

"Sigyn.." Sif walked up to her. "I am so sorry for your loss.."

Sigyn merely watched the warrior as she spoke. She felt like something inside her had died along with Loki. Something was lost. She wasn’t sure if it would ever return.

Sif swallowed. "Truly, I am."

With great effort, Sigyn spoke, her voice dry from lack of use. "Thank you, Sif." She forced as much of a smile as she could, then took her seat.

Conversation picked back up. Stories were told. Laughter spread.

Sigyn stayed there. Motionless. Expressionless. Staring at her untouched goblet. This wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth it. Nothing had meaning anymore.

She turned to look at all the guests. They were eating together happily, drinks sloshing over their food as they raised toasts and struggled to contain their laughter at Volstagg’s stories.

Their spouses hadn't been taken from them. They hadn't lost someone.

This is life now, isn't it. Sigyn turned back to her empty plate. This is the lot I was cast.

Her vision grew blurry with tears.

The curse worked. Loki is dead. I'll never be loved agai-

No.

She clenched her jaw.

Don't you dare start thinking like that. Don't you give up now. Keep going. Keep fighting. If not for yourself, for him. Do it for him.

She looked back at all the familiar faces around her.

Be strong. Be strong for him.

A tear ran down her cheek.

Make him proud.

"A toast, to Asgard! For the glory of our realm!" Roared Volstagg, raising his glass.

Be strong for Loki.

Sigyn stood and raised her glass with a smile.

"To Asgard. Our home."

~~~~

Time passed. The grief-stricken goddess still wept for her lost husband, still dreamed about him every night. But as the months went on, she wept less. She slowly began healing from the wound deep within her heart. Accepted that for now, Loki was gone.

For now.

She had thrown herself into old books and tomes, determined to improve, to make her husband proud. In the shadows of familiar bookcases within the palace library, she found writings on the Norns. The sisters Wyrd, Veranthi, and Skuld - three powerful beings controlling the past, present, and future. And there in the crumpled pages, she found a familiar symbol: the web of Wyrd.

Three sets of overlapping lines, the it symbolized the inherent interconnections of all actions - and all realities. How the past influenced the present, the present the future, and the future, perhaps the next life.

Our next life... Once the Asgardian twilight comes, and I embrace a final sleep, I will wake up and see him again.

We won’t be alone.

She would remind herself, with each new day, she was another step closer to seeing him again someway, somehow. Alive or dead, they would be reunited. The thought of it inspired a little spark of hope within her. With each passing day, she spent hours pouring over old spellbooks. Studying ancient runes, practicing spells. Mastering them.

She filled books with ideas, charts, musings.

And most of all, she remembered Loki.

She mapped out his entire life, beginning to end. Considered everything that had happened. Asking Thor, Odin, and Frigga exactly what he'd said to them - and exactly how they'd responded. Recorded what they said in books of her own. It helped her grieve.

But it also served her in other ways.

Rumors spread quickly throughout Asgard. Rumors of the prince who was hungry for power. Who stole the throne, and tried to kill his own brother to keep it. Who abandoned his wife in her time of need. Who betrayed his family and his realm.

The liesmith.

Trickster.

Murderer.

Sigyn considered it her duty to dispel false assumptions about him. And as she traded for a new book at the marketplace, she heard one such assumption. A group of ladies stood nearby, gossiping over their goods.

"There she is - that's her, the princess."

"Oh my,"

"Lokiwife, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that's her," A pretty brunette leaned in closer to the others, "I heard she and Loki had quite the time before he.. Well," she frowned, earning murmurs from her group.

Sigyn glanced their way, eavesdropping on their conversation, tucking the book into her satchel.

A blonde nodded in agreement. "Anyone would have a rough time if their husband abandoned them like he did."

"Abandoned?"

"Oh yes," The blonde shook her head, "It was just awful. The Warriors Three said he was always envious of Thor, always wanted the throne. And when he got the chance to steal the throne, he took it."

"If only Thor had been crowned in time. None of this would have happened.” The youngest piped up. The brunette shrugged an agreement.

“Such a waste - we waited hours for that coronation.”

“We had such a nice view, too.."

"A nice view of Prince Thor, certainly." The brunette nodded, her cheeks turning a slight pink.

The blonde smirked. "I'd even say Loki was glad Allfather Odin fell into the Odinsleep.. After all, that gave him access to the throne."

"Finally got him what he wanted," Mused the brunette.

The blonde huffed, "Though a lot of good it did him. Abandoned his wife and his honor, and what did he gain? He's likely in Helheim now.." The group murmured again in agreement.

Sigyn couldn’t take it anymore. "Excuse me - beg your pardon, ladies," She smiled, walking over to them. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."

The women's eyes went wide. They bowed, paying their respects. Sigyn nodded her own greeting.

The brunette was the first to speak. "Yes, Princess, we were discussing your husband.."

"And his life's motivations. I heard." Sigyn glanced at the blonde, who gulped.

"We meant no offense to you, Princess.."

"Tell me, did any of you know Loki?"

They shook their heads.

Sigyn sighed. "You must understand: he was not evil. The Loki I knew had not a single malicious bone in his body."

"But he was jealous, Princess. Lady Sif said so, I heard her discussing it over a goblet of mead.." The blonde fidgeted.

"And she's right."

The ladies blinked.

Sigyn straightened up. "Sif is correct. Loki was jealous. And do you know why? He spent his life feeling less than Thor. How do you think Loki felt, then, when he found out his life was a lie? That his greatest fear was true because he was different, he was lesser?”

The women were quiet. Sigyn paused, then continued.

“Loki didn't want the throne. He wanted to be like Thor. To be equal, not less. So when Queen Frigga gave him the throne - he took it. She told him to make his father proud, and he tried to do just that. He tried to prove to Odin he loved him, he was his son, and - and yes, he tried to have Thor killed." Sigyn swallowed.

"I won't deny that. He likely did it to prevent Thor returning and squelching his efforts. But consider why he did it. Loki was... Mislead. He made the wrong choices. He tried to prove himself by vanquishing the Frost Giants, Laufey among them. And what did he have to go off of?" She laughed a single, sad laugh, "We're all raised to fear Jotuns! Slay them like the stupid beasts they are! Hunt them down, bludgeon them! What else would you expect him to do?"

By now a small crowd had gathered. Curious passersby all stared at the princess.

They probably think I'm mad, Sigyn mused, But I don't care. This isn't about me. It's about Loki.

"So he tried it. He tried massacring the Jotuns - and was foiled. Again. By Thor. Again! He was trying to prove himself! Desperately grasping at the final threads of hope! And on the Bifrost," Her breath caught in her throat, "On the Bifrost, that night, he begged Odin for approval. And how did Odin respond? He said no to his son, to the boy who only wanted to be as loved by his parents as his brother was." A tear streaked down her cheek.

"And he fell. He gave up. My husband died because his hope ran out. He could bear the pain no longer." Sigyn stepped toward the blonde, "So the next time you talk about Loki, I ask you to remember that. I hope you remember how my husband, the most wonderful, beautiful man I knew, lost hope that night. And now he's gone."

Without another word, Sigyn turned. Pushed past the crowd, ignoring their stares and whispers.

"Come, Villeildr," She mounted her horse, squeezing his sides with her legs, "It's time we take our leave."

~~~~

Later that night, Sigyn was in the library when a familiar voice called her.

"I thought you'd be here." Fandral stepped in, smirking, his cape sweeping behind him.

"Here I am." Sigyn's focus remained on the book.

"I heard you had a run-in with some acquaintances of mine today."

Sigyn stopped reading.

Fandral continued. "Gave them quite the talking to. Did you rehearse it, or did it simply come to you?"

She shut the book, peering up at him. "They were lying about Loki."

"You seem to forget he lied too.."

"Of course he did. We all do; that doesn't make it right. They were lying about him, Fandral, disrespecting the dead - spreading false rumors about how he 'always wanted the throne.'"

"Well, he was always jealous of Thor.."

She huffed, "I know."

They sat a moment in silence. Fandral moved closer. "I was hoping you would join me for a drink tonight. You’ve barely left the palace in.. Well, far too long."

"I don't drink."

He looked hurt. "You used to."

"There are many things I used to do." She returned to her book, hoping he’d get the hint.

"And I could help you with more than one, if you so wished..."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Remember that bit about respecting the dead?"

"Yes?"

"You're doing a horrid job."

He chuckled.

"Now, even I can't be the best at everything, dearest Sigyn."

"Oh, I believe it." She smirked.

His brow furrowed. "You were meant to be the goddess of compassion, you know."

"Compassion is like sympathy; I can sympathize with you and still point out the fact you're inappropriate."

"You sympathize with me?" He smirked.

"Fandral, do not twist my words.."

"Even if it makes you smile?" He tilted his head slightly. She couldn't resist a small huff of a laugh.

With a slight sigh, he took her hand and kissed it. "Ah, I may never be anything more than your friend, Sigyn," He lowered her hand, smiling at her. "But even if that's the case, I am honored to be your friend."

She smirked, nodding at him once. "Thank you. You're a good friend, Fandral.. Even if you are rude."

With another chuckle, he sprung to his feet. "Until we meet again, fair Sigyn," He bowed, "I take my leave." Turning on his heel, he headed for the door.

"Fandral?"

He stopped.

"Don't get too drunk. Lady Sif is tired of cleaning up after you."

He shot her a grin, then disappeared around the corner.

He's going to get absolutely ruined. Sigyn thought to herself, shaking her head.

#loki x sigyn #loki fanfic #logyn #OG616 #Thor1

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starrynite7114 · 4 years ago

Text

New Rules

A/N: Good afternoon everyone! Hope you guys are enjoying your week thus far! Here I am, back with a request this time! I’m posting a Daddy Angel one after this then the fifth part of Misconstrued!

Requests are still open in case any of you want to make a request!

I don’t know if u have listen to this song called New Rules by Dua lipa for angel?? But I was wondering if I can request something that has to do with that song for angel @briannab1234

Hope you all enjoy this one! I’m kind of nervous this didn’t really match the song, but I still hope you all like it!

Masterlist

Tagged: @iambabyharry : @justahopelessssromantic : @briannab1234 : @marvelmaree : @carlaangel86 : @everyhowlmarksthedead : @trulysuccubus : @claytoncardenasbabymama : @ifoundmyhappythought : @chibsytelford : @whyisgmora : @jadert15 : @gemini0410 : @woahitslucyylu

If you would like to be added to the ‘Everything’ tagged list, let me know!

Have you ever watched the person you love be fooled over and over again, by a person who obviously was never worth their time? Have you ever watched the person you love reason with themselves over and over again why this jackass was worth it?

No? Well Angel has and it was one of the most painful things he had to go through.

Women fell to his feet, enticing women to go on a date with him or even be around him was not a struggle. His charms were his go to, but the bad boy aura surrounding him definitely helped his cause.

Angel met you a few years back after Coco brought him to the tattoo shop you were working at to get a tattoo done. When Angel met you, he was immediately infatuated. He couldn’t stop flirting with you and while you flirted back, you made it clear to him that you didn’t date your clients. Angel wasn’t deterred and he kept trying, but you always let him down so nicely. Eventually, Angel realized his advances weren’t working, but that didn’t mean he gave up. He took the risk to befriend you, and like Coco warned, he was friend zoned.

Imagine, being Angel Reyes, a well known pussy magnet be friend zoned by the one fucking girl he wanted? It was pathetic. To top it off, you confided in him about this guy you’ve been hung up on for a year and a half. He’s known you for three years and this was the first time he ever heard you so broken up over a guy.

He would be worried if the guy wasn’t a grade A douchebag.

“Mi Dulce, I don’t know why you waste your time on him.” Angel frowned as he watched you down the fourth shot of Vodka in the last forty-five minutes.

“Good question, I don’t either.” He thought you looked so fucking cute with that tint of pink on your cheeks due to the alcohol in your body. You shrugged, giggling as you drank some of the beer Angel brought for you.

It was a routine at this point.

You were seeing this guy, Leo, for about six months before he broke it off. But instead of letting you go, he kept you on the side so when he needed his ego rubbed, he ran to you. It was usually in the middle of the night, he was intoxicated, and lonely.

And Angel fucking hated that you ran to him every single time.

“You know his routine.” Angel took the Vodka bottle, placing it out of your sight.

“I know, I know.” You frowned, leaning back against your couch. Resting your head on Angel’s shoulder, you sighed. “You’re my strength, you know that. Best fucking friend ever.”

Best fucking friend ever.

It was such a hurtful thing to hear.

At times Angel wanted to laugh whenever you referred to him as such. No mistaking, you were his best friend, but he was also in love with you, watching you be played by some asshole was the worst thing.

“If I’m your best friend, can you finally fucking listen to my advice?” It would be easy for Angel to kill the motherfucker, to make him disappear for hurting you, but he knew that would upset you.

“I’m trying!” You defended. “I’m not in love with the fucking guy.”

What a sigh of relief for Angel.

“So why do you keep coming back?”

“I don’t know, he has good dick?” You laughed, Angel tried so hard to laugh, but he only mustered a cackle. You didn’t even mean that since this guy was less than stellar. “I don’t know, he was a good guy. Then I let him in and then boom. I couldn’t even resist him. Whenever he calls, I come, knowing that I’m a dumbass for even answering.”

“If you're not in love with him, why stick around?” He knew you were lying, you were in love with the guy. But you were trying to convince yourself that you weren’t.

“Okay, maybe I am, but I’m trying hard to get over him. I need to put myself out there.” You loved being around Angel. Whenever you needed him, he came to your rescue, even when you didn’t, he was there. You came to realize then that Angel was your constant companion. “Thank you for always being here for me.”

“I would do anything for you.”

Your phone began to vibrate on the table, Leo’s name popping up.

Angel looked at you, ready to grab your hand if you even reached for your phone.

“Fuck you Leo,” you flipped off your phone.

Angel chuckled. “This is new.”

“You know that song New Rules?”

“May have heard it, why?”

“I’m making new rules for myself, whenever he fucking calls me, not even going to give it a second glance. When he tries to come and see me, I’m just going to turn him away because he can go get that other bitch to tattoo him. I’m not going to be his friend because you know what, he’s never treated me like his friend.” You were determined to follow these rules.

Dua Lipa was going to give you strength.

Fuck this guy.

Angel wanted to believe that this was it for you, but he was certain it wasn’t. You always get the strength to ignore this guy, but somehow, someway, he weasels his way back in.

==============

Two weeks, Angel watched for two weeks as you pulled yourself away from Leo and it was working.

And it was all thanks to Angel.

You settled on Angel’s lap, his arm wrapped around your middle as you leaned on him. You’re not sure if it was the alcohol, the night, the weather or what, but Angel was looking good tonight. He was wearing that navy blue short sleeve button up, his cologne was fucking on point tonight. Holding a beer bottle in one hand, you both listened to Gilly as he told you about his latest escapades with this girl he was dating.

“You know he’s lying.” Angel whispered in your ear, making the hair at the back of your neck rise. He was circling a finger on your thigh, laughing as Gilly made a joke.

You couldn’t even laugh, you were focused on Angel’s finger on your thigh.

“You okay Querida?”

Nodding your head, you tried to focus on Gilly. You can’t be attracted to Angel. Well, you were, you weren’t fucking blind, Angel was a good looking guy, but you broke your rule of not dating clients with Leo, you’re definitely not going to break the rule of not dating friends with Angel.

But fuck did he smell good tonight.

Your phone vibrated on your lap. You flipped it over and you both saw Leo’s name on the screen. Angel looked as you flipped it back over and paid attention to Gilly again. He placed a kiss on your cheek, causing you to turn to him.

“What was that for?”

“I’m proud of you, you’re really trying to get rid of this asshole.”

“I told you I was.” You slightly moved and you could feel Angel’s hardened member on your thigh. You didn’t say anything, but Angel looked at you, pained by your sudden movement. You were certain he’s been trying to hide it. You couldn’t help, but wonder how it would be to be with Angel.

He always took such good care of you, and you weren’t even his girl.

But Angel had his pick of women. He wouldn’t go after you after seeing all the bullshit you went through with Leo.

But you could definitely daydream about it.

==============

You were gathering your things, finishing an eight hour session was gratifying and also tolling. You had offered to break it up into two four hour appointments, but the girl insisted to have it all done today, which you didn’t mind. You heard Angel’s motorcycle roar as it came down the street. He could never really surprise you since his bike was a giveaway of his arrival.

It’s been three weeks since you started ignoring Leo and the calls were becoming more frequent, along with the text messages. So you weren’t surprised when you heard the shop door open and he walked in.

“Close for the day.” You automatically said without even looking up to see who was there.

“Glad to know you’re alive.”

His voice used to do wonders to you, but now when you heard it, it just made you feel dirty. Not due to what you guys had, it was your choice every time you came to him, but now when it sunk in on how much you were doing for a guy you love and didn’t love you back?

It sucked.

But the more you hung out with Angel, the more frustrated you were that let this asshole blind you.

“Yes, I am, what can I do for you Leo?” You felt the confidence surge within you. No more letting him back in just so you’re left all alone again. You were done with that.

“What’s with the attitude? You’ve been ignoring me for three weeks and I came here to check on you and this is the reception I get?” Leo scoffed. He didn’t mean to be an ass, but he was worried about you.

“Attitude?” You chuckled. “There is no attitude, I’m just done with your shit.”

“My shit?” He laughed. “You always come back, you can just resist me for so long.”

“Well, why would she come back to an asshole with no game when she can be with me?” You heard Angel behind you, wrapping an arm around your middle.

You immediately relaxed with Angel’s presence. You’re not sure what it was, but you’ve been more hyper aware of Angel. You found yourself watching him more often, craving his company and appreciating what a good looking man he was. You noticed just how good he made you feel, when compared to Leo who couldn’t even bother to bring you around his friends cause you weren’t his usual type.

That should have been a red flag, but you were blinded by lust.

You thought you love this guy, but you definitely didn’t.

Not after realizing how terribly he treated you.

You were the dark secret he had and you were done with that.

You had new rules and you were counting them.

No more late night calls.

No more letting him back in.

And you definitely were not his friend.

“Always knew you would become a biker bitch.” Leo immediately regretted his words, especially when he saw how Angel’s gaze darkened. “Y/N, I’m.”

“Save it for someone who cares. Rather be a biker bitch than be associated with your micro penis.”

Angel laughed loudly behind you as Leo’s mouth gaped at her comment. He attempted to have a retort to you, but nothing came out.

“Fuck you,” was the only response he could come up with.

“No thanks, I’m good.” You replied as he walked out.

Angel kissed your cheek, the temperature in your body always increased whenever his lips connected to any part of your skin, and you definitely can't ignore the butterflies in your stomach either.

“Proud of you mi Dulce.”

“You make this so hard.” Your growing attraction to Angel was not something you were used to. You always found him attractive, but it was different now.

You just made new rules for Leo. The last thing you wanted was to do the same to Angel.

But Angel wouldn’t treat you like Leo.

Yet, you just couldn’t risk your friendship.

“Make what hard?” Angel’s eyebrows furrowed at your statement, confused by exactly what you meant.

“You’re just so,” you groaned. “I don’t know, perfect? You make it so difficult to adhere to my rules.”

“What?” Angel was confused at what you were implying.

“You, just being.” What were you even trying to say? He was so perfect for you? That he was so good looking and that you were upset you even wasted your time on Leo? It didn’t escape you that Angel was interested in you at the beginning and you always rejected his advances since you always had a rule of not dating your clients and then he became your friend, you also didn’t date your friends.

But rules were made to be broken and you broke it for Leo, why not break it for Angel.

After all, you have new rules now.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Angel felt his heart rate quickening, unsure of what to make of the situation. He was proud you told the douche off, but now, he was unsure of what was going on between you two.

The dynamics changed ever since you decided you were cutting Leo off. Angel noticed you were flirtier, more affectionate and just gave him so much more attention. For a fleeting moment, he thought maybe, just maybe you returned his affection, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.

“Why do you have to be so good looking? So sweet? So nice? So perfect!” You exclaimed. “Don’t get big headed.” You warned him.

But it was too late.

The smile that spread across his face looked like victory.

“You think I’m perfect mama?” Angel crossed his arms across his chest, that stupid smirk on his face.

“I said don’t get big headed.” you playfully pushed him, the smirk grew bigger.

“It’s okay baby girl, you know I think you’re perfect.” Angel took one of your hands, pulling you against him, burying his head at the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. He placed a soft kiss on your neck before standing up straight, his eyes trained on yours. “You’ve had me going crazy for years baby, why not give me a chance how a real man should treat his woman.”

“I don’t know Angel, what if we break up?”

“What if we don’t? Gotta take a risk sometimes baby, fuck your rules.”

He knew you. You lived by your rules, you deviated when you gave Leo the time of day.

But he was going to make new rules for you and he promised you would never regret it.

“You’re such a troublemaker.”

Angel cupped your face. “Isn’t that what you like about me?” He leaned down, capturing your lips for the first time. You groaned at the contact, your body lighting up as he deepened the kiss.

Oh boy.

Angel Reyes was trouble.

You did live by your rules.

But for Angel, you’d break your rules and make new ones, as long as you can always have his lips against yours.

#angel reyes #angelreyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fic #angel reyes fanfic #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic

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anotherashley · 5 years ago

Photo

Give Me Thunder // 1988

Summary: When you’re part of rival fraternities the last thing you’re supposed to do is fall for the enemy, but then, Patrick’s never known anyone like Jonathan Toews before.

In retrospect, Patrick really should’ve known better.

Homecoming is a huge night for most fraternities, including his own, the Delta Chi house. They’re known for going absolutely balls to wall with the planning, preparation, and execution of their parties. It’s an event. An evening to remember if you will. And where’s Patrick? Wedged in some hallway at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon mansion drinking shitty overpriced beer from a keg, sweating his nuts off, and listening to fucking Chumbawamba playing from their high-priced stereo system.

This disgrace of a party deserves no attendees, and yet, the house is packed, every little inch and every single corner filled with Sigma Alpha brothers, their dates, and friends. A house of garbage monkeys. A house of ill repute.

"It's not that bad," Dayna says, exasperated.

Dayna, the reason he’s in this shithole in the first place.

Patrick narrows his eyes, watching her and the room suspiciously. "Oh, but it is, my friend. It is."

“You’re overreacting,” she says and grins.

Patrick frowns. He’s not usually one to get overheated, but it’s like a sauna in this joint. He pulls at his tie to loosen it, listening to some Billie Eilish song come on next. "I can't believe you made me come here."

"And I can't believe you wore a hot pink tie when I told you specifically I was wearing a royal blue dress, so I guess we're even."

Patrick surveys the slinky strapless number she’s sporting and his own shimmering tie. It’s not...awful. "I think it looks good together,” he shrugs.

She snorts. “You would.”

“I'm taking that as a compliment.”

“It's not one,” she fires back.

“Hurtful.”

Dayna’s fun and gorgeous, wicked smart. They met last spring in Linear Algebra and became fast friends, partly out of necessity because the math department was full of dull assholes, and partly because they got along so easily. There’s this pressure to find dates for every Greek event, someone to hook up with or to show off, and Patrick just wanted - wants - to relax, hang out, have a good time and not be plagued the entire night with what might happen at the end or if his date will be disappointed. It’s why he asked Dayna in the first place - there are no strings.

He hadn’t really counted on her betraying him in this obscene of a manner, however. Sigma Alpha? Really?!

“I'm sorry,” she says, rubbing his shoulder, but she seems distracted. She’s been looking off into the crowd as if she’s trying to find someone, ever since they arrived.

Patrick tickles at her arm to get her attention and when she turns, smiling, he says. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“Will you forgive me for ditching you? Because I'm about to do that too.”

Patrick blinks. “What?”

She scrunches her nose, just a little, and takes his wrist as if in apology. “It's not you, it's me.”

Patrick barks out a laugh. “You're not serious. Here? Now?!”

“I know,” she says, and begins patting his hand like she’s his goddamn grandmother or something. “I'm the worst, but it's really not you.”

“It must be a little me.”

“It's mostly Brent.”

Patrick gasps. As far as reactions go, it might be slightly overdone, but still. “Brent Seabrook? A fucking Sigma Alpha. Dayna!”

Dayna manages to at least look contrite. Sort of. She drops his hand gently. “I can see you're mad. Understandable. I'm gonna go...over there. And hopefully, when I see you Monday you'll be less mad. Bye Pat!”

“Bye Traitor!” he yells. He hopes the whole party hears it over the awful music playing in this awful house on this awful night.

Patrick watches her walk over to a table with a group of guys centered around Seabrook. They took up camp there shortly after Patrick and Dayna arrived. And more and more people have gathered around since. People always seem to gravitate to Seabrook, so Patrick really shouldn't be surprised that Dayna is too. The guy is huge in that cuddly bear sort of way, but with perfect hair, and the kind of laid back attitude that most people never really achieve.

Too bad he's a fucking Sigma Alpha.

God.

Patrick hates Sigma Alphas.

He's not joking when he tells this to everyone, and he means everyone: from the freshman rushes to his TA, Marian, from his Tuesday-Thursday biochem lab, to Lee, his favorite delivery guy, to generally anyone who passes him on the street. Sigma Alphas are self-obsessed, shitstain, egomaniacs, that ruin everything and have no concept of fun. They’re the absolute worst.

So, of course, it only makes sense on this wreck of a night that Patrick runs into the very worst one of them all after Dayna abandons him.

“Amazing,” a smug voice says from behind him.

It’s truly unfortunate Patrick recognizes that voice so well seeing how he can’t stand Jonathan Toews. One of life’s evil jokes, apparently, because Toews is the very embodiment of gum under his shoe, or a flat tire on a rainy day, or some other horrible Alanis Morissette analogy.

The point is...he’s terrible.

Patrick turns slowly, already annoyed when he sees the amusement written all over Jonny’s stupid, grinning face.

“It's not you, it's me,” he mocks. “I didn't know that was a thing people actually still said.”

“Well, that’s what happens when no one will go out with you, Toews,” Patrick fires back with a wink. “No one talks to you.”

Jonny’s smile fades. “Says the guy who just got dumped.”

They’re not exactly standing near each other, but the music is loud and to keep from shouting Patrick takes a step closer, having to tilt his head back just a bit when Jonny moves in too.

“At least I had a date.”

“A date that dumped you for one of my friends.”

Patrick clenches his fist at the smug expression on Toews’ stupid face. “What, you think you can do better?”

“I don't think, I know I can do better.”

“Oh really,” Patrick scoffs.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I could get any girl’s number in here before you.”

It’s a ridiculous statement. Inane. Besides the fact that Jonny has a clear advantage since this is his house and he probably knows half of these girls, it’s a dumb bet to make to prove he’s somehow, someway, better at not getting dumped. Which was the original argument? Maybe? Fuck, Patrick isn't even sure any more he’s too pissed off.

But he takes one look at Jonny’s smirking face and knows he’s going to rise to the challenge. He hates himself a little for not being able to just walk away.

“Go ahead then,” Patrick says, sealing his fate. “Show me your moves.”

Jonny eyes him, nonchalant. “You couldn't handle it.”

“Couldn’t handle what? You haven’t even declared a wager yet. That confident in your moves?”

Jonny straightens his back, stands tall, and pauses for a moment like he’s gathering himself, then he looks down at Patrick, down into his goddamn soul and smirks, calm, confident, cocky. “Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Uh,” Patrick says, confused.

Jonny moves in closer, the corners of his mouth curving up and up as he leans in. “I’m here now. What are your other two wishes?”

Did he just…?

Patrick laughs, can’t help himself. “Good god that’s an awful pick-up line. F minus. You’re supposed to be impressing me - I mean her, dude. That just makes you look like a stuck up jackass.”

Jonny’s brow furrows, displeased. “Okay, what about: Does your left eye hurt? Because you've been looking right all day.”

Less awful, but Patrick can do better. “Are you a 90-degree angle? 'Cause you are looking right!”

“Was that a math joke?”

Patrick glares. “Maybe.”

Jonny snorts.

“Don't shit talk math.”

He waits for Jonny to say something else, now that Patrick’s exposed a weakness, but instead he taps a finger against his chin, as if in thought again.

“I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?” he tries.

Patrick shakes his head. “Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend material.”

This time Jonny laughs, vivid and real, and it brightens his whole face in a way Patrick’s never seen before, not this close up. His eyes are almost black in this dimmed corner of the house and they sparkle when the light hits them. He takes another step in, closer, so they’re just a foot away from each other. When he catches Patrick’s gaze he says low, voice softer, “I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I wouldn't forget a pretty face like that.”

Patrick swallows and pulls at his collar. It’s really fucking hot in this house. It probably shouldn’t be this hot in September.

“That’s um,” he coughs. “That’s not terrible.”

“It’s the one,” Jonny says, lips curving.

He’s more pleased with himself than he has any right to be, the arrogant dickbag. He thinks he’s already won this thing and they haven’t even ironed out all of the details yet.

Patrick purses his lips. “Anyway, what do I win if I get a number first?”

“You have to win first.”

Patrick steps forward, determined, until they’re only inches apart and whispers, “Watch me.”

Jonny doesn’t cede any ground, tall and looming, too casual. He makes Patrick’s skin itch in the worst way. If he could just get Jonny to break, just a little, it’d be worth all this shitty night has wrought upon him.

He shoulders past Jonny roughly, using his upper body strength to edge Jonny a step back as he passes. It’s a small victory, but he relishes it as he looks around the room for a willing participant. Almost everyone is already clustered in groups or pairs so the pickings are slim. He’s about to turn into the next room when he sees two girls tucked away against a bay window, one texting on her phone and talking, the other, curvy, cute and brunette, looking bored beside her.

She’s wearing one of those side strap dresses that are incredibly sparkly, and her feet are shoeless. When Patrick steps up to her, smiling, she’s still almost as tall as him.

“Hey,” he says, cool, calm.

He’s got this. No problem.

“No,” she says, bored expression unchanging.

“I just-”

“No,” she repeats. She’s not even looking at him, which is a little rude.

Patrick drops the chill guy act and goes for something more sincere, genuine, as he bites his lip.

“Look, you want to maybe-”

“No,” she says again, this time sharper. “No, go away.”

“Well, alrighty then. You have a nice night,” Patrick salutes her, spins on his heel and walks away.

That was a dumpster fire.

He can already see Jonny laughing from across the room. Goddamnit fucking bullshit fuck. A weak-ass effort, and of all the times.

He trudges back to their original spot expecting the gloating of a lifetime, but Jonny has his chin tilted up and is already passing Patrick by, headed for somewhere and someone in particular.

Patrick’s eyes trail him, riveted to the way Jonny moves through the crowd like he owns it, as if the room bends to his will.

There’s a petite strawberry blonde with black gauges in her ears and dark red lipstick painted on her mouth, chatting with some skinny kid that's clearly trying too hard. She turns to Jonny when he steps up, her smile curious, but her arms crossed. Patrick can't look away, watching them talk back and forth, the way her expression shifts from curious to suspicious to amused. He barely says more than a handful of words to her before she’s writing her number on his palm.

And where did he even get a pen? Did he just have the pen on him? Who carries pens on a night like this?!

“How the fuck…,” Patrick murmurs to himself, and receives a weird look from one the Sigma rushes, as they walk by.

Before Patrick can blink Jonny’s returned, standing straight and smug in front of him as he holds his hand up.

“Here ya go, slick.”

Slick? This guy is so lame.

Patrick sighs. “Double or nothing?

“No way,” Jonny says. “Don’t filch on the bet now, Kane.”

It was worth a shot.

“Fine,” he shrugs, mentally preparing himself for whatever humiliation is about to come his way. “What do you want?”

Jonny hums. “Loser gives winner a blowjob?”

Patrick tries to replay the words Jonny just said, again, like it’s a recorded message and if he can listen to it closely enough he’ll understand. They’ll make more sense if he can hear them one more time.

There might be a 404 ERROR message currently running through Patrick’s brain.

He needs a rewind button.

He can’t...

He...

Patrick coughs his way into a laugh. “Uh...what?!

It's not that it's a secret either of them are into guys. Patrick's seen Jonny around campus getting friendly with both men and women more than a few times. Still, it's quite the leap to assume Patrick, a Delta Chi, and therefore a superior species is interested in him, a mere peasant.

“Are you serious?” he asks, still laughing. It might be a bit of a hysterical laugh. It’s pretty high pitched.

Jonny doesn't look insulted, the cocky asshole. His expression is more impatient, if anything, as he steps into Patrick's space and says, “Do I look like I’m fucking with you?”

Not yet, Patrick thinks and feels his dick twitch. Jesus. It's too goddamn hot in this house. Sweat gathering at his temples and his tie too tight around his neck. He pulls it looser and tries to shake off his jitters.

“That's a bold assumption you're making, dude.”

“Are you saying you don't want to?” Jonny asks.

The truly gross part is how Patrick only hesitates a second before looking him over, really takes a moment to let his eyes wander up and down the length of Jonny’s long body, his muscular arms, the broad shoulders, the ruddy tint to his cheeks, the sculpted jaw, his pink lips and dark brown eyes. The kind of eyes that are warm and so so intense, and currently trained all on him.

On Patrick.

Patrick’s traitorous dick thickens in his pants, his own body enacting a mutiny upon him.

He swallows roughly. “Uh...no.”

“Let’s go up to my room then,” Jonny says.

Patrick should leave. He should leave.

Instead, he follows.

Walking up the stairs to Jonny's room the only thing Patrick can think about is that he wishes he'd had more to drink. He’s not even buzzed enough to realistically blame this error in judgment on alcohol. But he refuses to blame himself either so it's pretty obviously all Dayna’s fault, and Brent Seabrook’s. Which means it's Sigma Alpha’s fault.

So there, the world makes sense once again.

The upstairs is less crowded than the rest of the house, most of the bedroom doors shut, probably locked to prevent outsiders from fucking on house members beds. Jonny’s room is at the end of the hall, tucked away next to the bathroom. Jonny lets them both in, ushering Patrick inside first and flipping the lock behind them.

It’s a single, which shouldn’t be surprising since Jonny is the Sigma President, but it catches Patrick off guard all the same. He has to take a few beats to gather himself as his gaze travels over the room. It’s every inch what Patrick would’ve expected, from the collection of Apple products scattered over his desk to the trophies and medals pinned to his bookshelf. There’s an econ textbook on his dresser beside his overpriced watch and Armani cologne. Sports gear looks to be thrown in a pile by his closet almost artfully. It’s like his bedroom is a set for a fucking Abercrombie and Fitch ad. Patrick gags a little. Almost.

If that was all there was to Jonny in this room Patrick wouldn’t be surprised one iota. But it’s not.

There’s also framed photos of his family everywhere, pictures of him fishing with his brother, of their family dog, of his grandma knitting him a Christmas sweater. The floor is a mess with socks and crumpled paper, a thousand post-it notes of things he’s written to himself tacked up everywhere. He’s got anatomy posters on his walls and a signed Canadian hockey jersey framed over his bed, the forest green sheets are rumpled and soft to the touch when Patrick takes a seat on his bed. It’s a bit much to take in all at once especially with Jonny’s attention still on him as he removes his tie and unbuttons his shirt at the collar.

“I need a drink,” Patrick says, warm everywhere and restless.

Jonny pulls an unopened Absolut Vodka bottle from his dresser, unscrewing the cap, and handing it over.

“Here,” he says, and begins rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I don’t have any clean cups.”

“Anything to chase it with?” Patrick asks, staring at the veins running along Jonny’s toned forearms, the skin golden and his hands large.

“You need a chaser?” Jonny says like it’s a dare.

“Oh fuck off,” he mumbles, shrugging out of his own jacket. He fists the bottle by the neck, using his free hand to wipe at his sweaty brow, averting his attention. He takes a breath, in and out, feels the way his stomach flutters. “Bottoms up!”

Jonny snorts as Patrick takes a long pull. It tastes horribly bitter and burns all the way down his throat. He takes another drink, and then two more, and then again one last time for good measure.

When he hands the bottle over to Jonny he licks his lips, catching a stray drop of vodka at the corner of his mouth and utterly staggered by the way Jonny’s staring at him, eyelids heavy and pupils blown wide.

The overhead light is turned off, just a small desk lamp left to softly illuminate the room, everything a soft yellow glow.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Patrick mutters, even if the idea of it all seems less crazy now with a glass of vodka in his system and Jonny’s bare forearms in view.

“Or you can’t believe you lost?” Jonny volleys back, taking a few swigs of his own.

“Do I have to choose?”

Patrick reaches for the bottle again, wiggling his fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture. Jonny holds out the bottle for a moment, offering, but the instant Patrick actually touches it Jonny snatches it back, teasing, baiting.

“No,” Jonny says, low. “But you could come closer.” He tilts his chin up, gesturing Patrick to him, movements like dripping honey.

There’s this tension in the air, something that’s always been between them, but it’s different now. No less heavier, but still challenging, still stuck deep underneath his ribcage and tight. It’s sizzling through his skin now, making goosebumps pop up all across his overheated skin. He waits, just long enough to see Jonny shift on his feet before he stands - until they’re both standing. It’s a little victory, but he enjoys it, even more for the way Jonny meets him in the middle, stepping into Patrick’s space again and slotting a leg between both of his.

Jonny’s legs are long, full of thick corded muscle and his thigh hot to the touch. When it presses up against Patrick’s dick he can’t help the way a small gasp escapes his lips.

“This is so stupid,” he says, even as he pushes closer.

“Is it?” Jonny murmurs, rocking forward until they’re chest to chest, faces only a breath away.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate you,” Patrick says, huffing out a laugh at the absurdity of the question, of this entire night.

“Well,” Jonny, says, nose barely grazing the edge of Patrick’s jaw and the sensitive spot behind his ear. “I hate you more.”

Patrick shivers. “Impossible.”

“You wanna bet?” he chuckles.

He’s so goddamn annoying Patrick wants to shove him away and storm out. He wants it so bad he can taste it, the tips of his fingers practically tingling. So it makes absolutely zero sense that he fists his hands in Jonny’s dress shirt, yanks him close, and spins them both around to tumble back onto the bed.

“Just,” he groans. “Just shut up and let’s get this over with.”

Jonny stretches his arms wide, crosses them under the back of his head as he spreads his legs. “Pretend all you want, Kane, but I know.”

“Know what?” Patrick asks, settling between Jonny’s tree trunk thighs and unable to keep his eyes off the considerable bulge in Jonny’s pants.

“You’re hard too. You want this too.”

His voice is a deep timber and it slides over Patrick like a silky wave. Almost calming despite Jonny’s provocative words. He wishes he could deny them, flip the script on Jonny and show him he’s not as hot as he clearly believes he is. The truth is he can’t. His own dick is a hard line inside his boxer briefs, the need to rub himself over the bedding becoming a problem he won’t be able to avoid for very long. Especially not with the way Jonny’s stupidly perfect body is right within reach of taking.

“Stop talking,” Patrick snaps, fitting his hands over Jonny’s hips and moving them up. He can feel the buzzed flush at the tips of his ears spreading down his neck. Jonny’s own throat is covered in a glossy sheen of sweat and smooth enough to lick. Fuck.

Patrick frowns.

Jonny mimes zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key. It’s disgustingly endearing and Patrick gives up any pretense right then, gives all the way in.

He reaches for Jonny’s pants, opening them up and then peeling Jonny’s silver-gray boxer briefs over his hips and the plush curve of his ass, his cock slapping back against his stomach. There’s foreskin, which is new. Not much, just enough to cover part of the rosy-colored crown. Patrick's never been with an uncut guy before. That's not what causes him to pause. Jonny’s cock is long too and so so thick, fat enough it’s difficult for Patrick to get his fingers around. The tip is slippery wet and perfectly shaped. It’s an unfairly gorgeous dick, as far as dicks go. Patrick wonders if he can hate a guy for being so well endowed while still wanting to see exactly how far he can deep throat him. It’s not a question he thought he’d be asking himself on Homecoming night.

When he takes Jonny in hand he’s pleasantly surprised to see the way his hips arch up off the bed, just a tiny sign of need. Patrick runs his hand up and down the smooth length of him, dragging up the foreskin and pulling it down as he goes, then thumbs over the slick slit. Jonny hisses, moaning in the back of his throat and Patrick grins to himself evilly.

He could do this all night, he thinks, as he works Jonny up with the twist of his hand and the tongue that’s swiping out over his lips. Leaning down to lick a stripe up the length of him from root to tip he relishes the way Jonny keens, reaching out and then digging at the sheets instead. Patrick does this a few more times, just to see the way he silently begs for more.

All of it has his own dick leaking inside his pants, balls tight and snug. He presses into the mattress for relief as he mouths at the head, breathing over it hotly, but not taking it inside.

“C’mon!” Jonny growls, impatient.

Patrick hums wickedly and doesn’t move. “Ask nicely.”

“Fuck you,” he spits, propping himself up on his elbows.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Patrick sings, biting at his lip. He tries not to imagine another time, another deal, where it could happen, where Jonny could be the one pressing Patrick down into his mattress right now and filling him up.

Jonny whimpers a little, hand coming up like he wants to yank Patrick down on his cock, before falling to his side again. “Will you just...please?”

He says it almost sweetly, his expression shifting into something soft, earnest. It could all be a play to make Patrick do what he wants. It’s embarrassing how well it works.

Sucking Jonny down is overwhelming. He tastes salty and hot and he’s heavy on Patrick’s tongue. He can only take so much inside, working by half inches as he bobs up and down in a continuous rhythm. When he can feel Jonny at the back of his throat he’s still got one hand inelegantly stroking the base where two could fit. He can’t take much more, even with his truly enviable skills.

It doesn’t seem to matter anyway as the movements he’s making are enough to have Jonny arching off the bed and groaning deeply as he comes. There was a half-assed warning in the flapping of Jonny’s hand, but Patrick doesn’t let up, sucking him down until he’s jerking weakly. He's not really sure why he swallows, he certainly doesn't owe it to Jonny after all. That was never part of the bet. But it might be the way his own dick aches when that first splash of come hits his tongue, filthy and tangy, so clearly all of Jonny. Or it might be the way Jonny's eyes roll back in his head when he sees Patrick suck harder on the crown, instead of pulling back, shuddering all over and letting out a breathy punched out ‘fuck’. He’s not sure why and he’s not going to question it further. Instead, he eases back lazily, wiping at the edges of his mouth and watching Jonny stretch out across his bed, murmuring happily.

“You're welcome,” Patrick says, heart pounding and skin prickly.

“Oh yeah, thank you,” Jonny smiles, eyes closed. “That was great.”

“I know.”

“Mmm. Made me all sleepy.”

Patrick watches him settle back into his pillow, body slack, relaxed even with his shirt askew and his pants still unzipped. “Are...are you actually falling asleep?”

“I could.”

“Right now?”

“Why?” Jonny asks, breezily. “Did you want something?”

Was this guy for fucking real?

“Nah, man. I'm good. See ya later,” Patrick bites out, twisting to move off the bed. He doesn’t make it far.

“Shut up and c’mere,” Jonny laughs, looping his arms around Patrick's middle and pulling him back down. Then he kisses Patrick long and bruising, stealing all the air from his lungs and licking the taste of himself off of Patrick’s tongue. “Your breath smells like dick.”

“Your dick.”

“Mmm yeah, it's good,” Jonny says, and sucks on Patrick’s bottom lip for another few long beats.

“You're a weird one, Toews, but you're hot as fuck.” It shouldn’t be said, but Patrick can’t not say it. His buzz is really starting to kick in now.

“Thank you?” Jonny asks like he's unsure if Patrick's insulting him or not.

Patrick nods, dizzy drunk and skin tingling. “You’re welcome.”

A large hand settles hot over his cloth covered dick, rubbing in circles that make Patrick whine with the need for skin on skin. Luckily Jonny doesn’t make him wait, flicking open his pants and shoving his hand inside until he can grasp Patrick good and tight. He’s a sticky, wet mess, precome slick all over his boxers. Jonny uses it to ease the way, grip firm and surprisingly deft. He leans close to bite at Patrick’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth again as Patrick shudders out his release. It’s better than it has any right to be.

When Jonny pulls his hand free he licks some of the come from his palm, lapping at it slowly, making a show. Patrick's so mesmerized he doesn't realize Jonny's wiped the rest of the jizz on his thigh until he feels it start to seep through the material.

“You're fucking rude,” he spits. Or tries to with the way he’s attempting to catch his breath.

“You liked it,” Jonny grins, still smug as ever.

“That second rate handjob? I've done better with a bottle of Jergens on my own, pal.”

Jonny flips over onto his front, throwing an arm over Patrick’s middle as he pushes his face half against his pillow, lips just inches from Patrick’s temple. “You know how I know you’re lying?”

“Mmm?” Patrick mumbles, limbs heavy and the room a little spinny. Maybe he needs a quick nap before he hikes it the fuck out of here. Just a quick catnap.

“Every time I touch you...you tremble,” Jonny whispers.

Patrick doesn’t shiver.

He doesn’t.

Because if he did that would be embarrassing and this night has already ruined him.

He’s wrecked and he can’t think about it.

Patrick lets his eyes flutter shut, let’s himself float into the hazy warmth of it all and doesn’t think, only murmurs, “You wish.” And then he’s blessedly asleep.

Patrick wakes the next morning to a buzzing in his pocket and a dull headache. Jonny’s knocked out beside him, breathing deep and pressed heavily along Patrick’s side. His face is soft in sleep, all of his edges rounded out, gentle. There’s no conceivable reason why Patrick should spend any time looking at Jonny or even be in Jonny’s bed. He shouldn't have landed himself here in the first place, and yet here he is, still, easing himself out of the enemy’s bed, and his room, and making the walk of shame home stained in disgrace.

It’s lucky Sharpy called him when he did, early enough that Patrick can escape the Sigma house without being detected. He’s not even sure what he’d say if he was caught or what they’d do to him, especially if Backes or Kesler were the ones to cross his path.

There’s other people out walking at this hour too, if only just a few. Patrick passes a couple of them on his way down the block. They look as unkempt as he feels, hair ruffled and clothes out of place. The sun is too cheerful bright the sky too blue for his dehydrated mind to process and he realizes he’s still got a come stain on the side of his pants, chalky and stiff to the touch. Awesome.

The Delta Chi house, when he walks through the lawn to the front door, looks a bit worse for the wear after last night. There are streamers and Solo cups strewn across the yard and trailing inside. Patrick kicks past some glittery confetti shit, pulling his phone from his pocket as it buzzes. It’s Sharpy again. His tenth text since last night and three missed calls. Yikes. Who’s about to get a lecture? Two thumbs for this guy.

Patrick considers trying to evade him for a few hours, maybe take a nap first. Unfortunately, he only makes it to the staircase before he’s caught.

“Where the fuck were you last night?” Sharpy says, face pinched and a mostly empty bag of trash in his hand. “You were supposed to help me with the pledges or did you forget?”

“Oh shit,” Patrick sighs. “Sorry, man. I...yeah. I totally forgot. Dayna dragged me to a Sigma Alpha party and well....”

Sharpy’s eyes go comically wide. “Sigma Alpha?!”

“Yep. And then she sorta bailed”

“The hell?” Sharpy says, stepping up to him.

The house has brothers scattered all over it in various levels of passed out, most of them too drunk to know better because if they did they’d be up safe in their rooms and not out in the open where anyone could mess with them. Shawzy’s plastered on the leather couch in front of the flat screen, some cartoon on that he’s probably seen twenty times before, Chaunette’s head pillowed on his lap. Phil’s smoking a cig by the window, even though he knows he’s likely to incur the wrath of their house mother for it. Buff is spread eagle on the floor, underneath the fancy shag rug that Soupy left them before he graduated last fall, a girl on each side of him. What a pimp. And on the green couch is G-Money, drooling from the corner of his mouth, and a dick in the shape of a J, for his first name, scrawled across his cheek.

Patrick’s going to have to wake him up in a minute. Hopefully, he doesn’t puke everywhere.

“Yeah,” he shrugs in Sharpy’s direction. Then he sighs.

Sharpy chucks him on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. But wait. Why didn't you just come back here then? Did you...you got laid, didn't you? Aww Kaner, good job, buddy.”

His smile is so weirdly proud that Patrick has to shove him away with an eye roll. “Stop acting so surprised, shithead.”

“Was she hot?” Sharpy waggles his eyebrows.

“He was...very,” Patrick admits, even if he’s not sure why.

“Nice. Name?”

“Uhhh.”

The thing is Patrick could tell Sharpy, probably. That it was a Sigma, that it was Jonny. He’d catch no small amount of hell for it, but Sharpy wouldn’t actively judge him like the rest of the brothers would, at least not in any real way that would have consequences. The downside of telling Sharpy would come when he inevitably opened his fat mouth and told everyone Patrick’s business, probably by accident, but that would be moot once it slipped out.

So Patrick knows he can tell Sharpy, but he won’t. Instead, he shrugs, mind still too fuzzy sleep worn and foggy from the alcohol.

“Did you at least suit up?” Sharpy asks, like he’s Patrick’s father.

“Umm,” Patrick says, fidgeting under Sharpy’s scrutinizing stare. How's he supposed to tell Sharpy no, they had not, in fact, used a condom, because Patrick didn't want latex between his tongue and that gorgeous cock? But he’s pretty sure if anyone is squeaky clean on this campus it’s definitely Toews' lame ass.

Sharpy frowns and digs in his pocket, pulling out at least five foil packets. He shoves them into Patrick’s hand. “Hey! No glove no love, okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Won't happen again.”

They break off after that to begin cleaning, Patrick shuffles to the kitchen to grab a few black garbage bags and collects empty Solo cups and balled up napkins off the floor. Other brothers slowly join in, if a bit reluctantly, grumbly and moaning about headaches and begging to know where the Tylenol is located. Once the majority of the mess is under control Patrick leaves the rest of the pledges to it and escapes upstairs for a long needed nap. On his way he passes a framed picture of the unofficial house rules.

RULES TO NEVER BREAK (EVER!) (unless you’re shawzy and don’t give a fuck)

don’t sleep on the green couch. you’ll wake up with a dick drawn on your face.

never let a Sigma in the house

don’t leave your shoes by the door, they’ll be thrown out.

laundry days are on friday. wash your fucking clothes you, filthy animal!

the strawberry yogurt is kaner’s. don’t touch or he’ll glue your ass to the toilet seat. right, shawzy?

sharpy gets the TV every thursday from 7pm-9pm for The Bachelorette. no, you can’t watch your shitty Cardinals game. DON’T ASK.

I repeat, never let a Sigma Alpha in this, our home and refuge

if reggie is around feed reggie.

stop putting forks in the microwave, you morons.

david backes is satan. never look him directly in the eyes.

312-664-7440 Dominos Pizza - ask for Malynn NOT Bree for the 25% discount

DON’T ASK ABOUT THE GRASS

don’t give carbomb grey goose after midnight. or you’re cleaning the second story bathtub.

Seriously. Under pain of death DO NOT let a Sig into this house or you will forthwith be banished from the kingdom.

He taps his finger against the glass of the frame as he passes it by, a reminder to himself where his priorities lie.

In his room he face plants on his bed and dreams weird dreams of being kicked out of Delta Chi, then college, then his parents' house to live a lonely, shameful life on the streets of Chicago all because he let Jonathan Toews put his dick in his mouth. When he wakes, more clear-headed and less hungover he makes a vow to forget last night and never think of it again, like it never happened.

It’s for the better. It has to be.

#a little bday fic in honor of the bday boy #jonathan toews #patrick kane #1988 #my fic #1988quarathon #mine #mygraphics

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somedayonbroadway · 4 years ago

Text

This is a Hug

Boy Meets World Masterlist

Nothing felt right. It was like the world had frozen and turned on it’s side.

Race couldn’t move. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t know what to do.

Because there was Jack, the strongest person Race had ever known, laying on a hospital bed, looking smaller and more fragile than the boy had ever seen him. There was so much gauze wrapped around his head. There was a brace around his neck and tubes running up his nose. His left arm was completely clad up in a cast, much like his right leg. His face was burned and bruised, carefully cleaned up, but the man was still hardly recognizable.

All the child could do was stare at him.

JoJo ran her finger oh so gently over Jack’s cheek, blinking back her tears as her comatose teacher didn’t even twitch at her air-like touch.

Albert was standing by the door, reminding himself how to breathe as he listened carefully to the beeping heart monitor set up at Kelly’s bed side.

And Race stood in between them, ragged breaths filling his lungs as his hands shook in front of him. “I… I can’t do this…” he breathed, shaking his head, just about to make a dash for the door. His best friend stepped easily into his path. “Al, I need Mr. Weisel,” he whimpered, not knowing how he was supposed to handle these feelings rushing around inside of him.

“No! He can’t help you with this, Race!” JoJo cried. She couldn’t move from her place beside Kelly. “This is Mr. Kelly, we’re talkin’ about! He’s hurt n’ it’s scary! For all of us! And you’d rather be with some stranger?!” She couldn’t understand. She knew she couldn’t. But she had to try. “What is wrong with you?!”

“I don’t know!” Race sobbed out, tears beginning to fall. “I don’t know… I just can’t see him like this,” he admitted, so unsure and scared all of the sudden. Because he knew he had people who cared about him. His parents were taking some time, but they still loved him. He knew that. The DaSilvas loved him. He knew that. But none of them had been anything near what Jack had been for him.

Jack had been there. Always. Ever since he’d met the man, he’d been right there at his side, ready to help him through whatever came at him.

No one else had ever done that for him.

Maybe Mr. Weisel would know how to calm him down. Maybe Mr. Weisel would make him understand this better. He didn’t know.

What he did know was the only person he wanted to talk to right now was the person he could hardly stand to look at because he just looked so different. Jack just looked so small. He looked so vulnerable. And Race didn’t like it.

He rushed to get to the door, opening it only an inch before Albert slammed it shut again. “No,” was all he said before Race began to panic.

The walls were closing in on him. “Albie, please! Just let me go—“

Without warning, Albert forcefully pulled his best friend to him, only holding on tighter when Race writhed in his grasp. “Tony, this is a hug!” he yelled at the boy who refused to give into the embrace. “This is when you hug somebody! When you care about them n’ you need them ta know that!”

Knowing he was too emotional to win a fight at the moment, Race stopped struggling. Instead he sobbed, so unsure of what to do.

When Albert let go, it was clear in his eyes that he wasn’t done. “You can’t leave here, Antonio,” he stated, the tears in his own eyes not quite falling, but even further on the verge when he saw the ones streaming down Race’s cheeks. “Kelly took care of you. He took you in when your own father abandoned you. He loves you! And you love him! Is that real?” he demanded, gesturing to the man they all loved so much who was laying there helplessly on that bed. “Or are Mr. Weisel and The Refuge real?”

The young, confused boy looked back at the bed. He felt nauseous at the sight. Again, he tried to back away, fearing he’d somehow make it all worse until someone pushed him forward again.

“No! You don’t get ta leave!” Albert cried. Race turned to look back at him, completely and totally devastated, practically begging his best friend to just let him out of that room. But he didn’t. “We can leave,” the redhead decided, extending his hand out for his girl.

JoJo gave Race one more teary eyed glance before she accepted her boyfriend’s hand and followed him out the door.

And Race was left alone with a man he could hardly even begin to describe.

He was afraid to turn around and face the man. Guilt built up more and more by the second in his chest, weighing him down as he felt himself breaking. But he forced himself to take a shaken breath and slowly face the man who wouldn’t even open his eyes.

“J-Jack…” he whimpered, not knowing what to do. “H-how could you be here?” he asked, shaking his head, not moving from the door, still afraid to get too close. He was afraid if he touched the man, he’d break him. “How could you screw up on your bike? I-I’ve never seen you screw up on anything…” Jack didn’t answer him. Jack couldn’t answer him. Jack was unconscious. Jack was hurt. Jack could be dying and the last thing Race had told him was to leave him alone. This is not what he’d meant. He took a few steps closer to the bed, collapsing in the chair beside the man when his knees began to feel weak. “I-I’m the screw up, remember?” He was pleading for an answer with just his tone of voice. “You gotta remember, Jackie… I’m the one who sets of cherry bombs in mailboxes n’ steals your bike n’ tries ta graffiti the school… You ain’t supposed ta be in here…”

Race could see Jack’s tattoo. Though there was a long bruise beside it, it looked untouched. He remembered the first time he’d seen the man, strolling through school, excited for his first day of work, winking at them and joking with them. He remembered how he’d seen that tattoo and thought maybe this guy would be different. Maybe this guy would be fun and interesting and cool. He hadn’t even grazed the surface.

“Pl-please don’t do this ta me, Jackie… please… I… I know I said…” He took a breath as another sob escaped him. “I know I said I didn’t need you, but I was lyin’, alright?!” All it had been was a bluff. A stupid bluff. “I know I went back ta live with my pa, n’ I know I said I wan’ed it ta work… but I need you! You protect me n’ you love me n’ if you ain’t here, I don’t know what I’m gonna do…” He hadn’t admitted it. Not even to himself. Not really. “So don’t blow me off, Jack…”

It was painful. Jack always had something to say to him. The fact that the young man was so unresponsive hurt somewhere deep inside the boy. He studied his teacher's face. It was bloodied, scratched by pavement. But it was still Jack. Jack, who had run after him every time he’d tried to run away. Jack, who loved to cook for him and show him odd, but good recipes from over the years. Jack, who had given him a roof and a bed and a support system that he’d never had before.

Crying didn’t feel like enough to express the pain that the kid felt at the thought of losing him. He stared at his protector and shook his head. “God… please don’t take him away from me…” he begged, not knowing if anything up there was even real, much less listening. “Jack… I know you’re in there…” Jack had to be in there. He had to be. “You’re not talkin’... but you’re in there, so if you can hear me… I just need you to know that you’re right… about everythin’...” The child’s voice was getting weaker and weaker as he had no idea how to process this. “You’re always right… n’ you can’t be done yellin’ at me yet… you can’t be…”

He felt alone. He felt weak. He felt empty. He felt tired.

He felt broken.

But somehow, every time he got to smile with Jack, it was like none of it mattered.

“Jackie, I love you…” Race admitted out loud for the first time.

He didn’t know if Jack could hear him.

“I love you so much…”

He looked down at Jack’s hand. There were tubes and wires running along his arms and down and across his fingers. But Race couldn’t stop himself.

He gently and slowly reached to wrap his fingers around the man’s palm as he watched the man’s chest rise and fall painfully.

But when he felt Jack’s fingers curl around his own, his heart skipped a beat.

He looked down, just to be sure he hadn’t imagined it.

He could only barely smile when he found it to be real.

He couldn’t stop crying. But something felt a little lighter in his chest.

—

It was an hour later when Race emerged from the room, looking tired. His face soaked and his hands trembling slightly.

Everyone in the room stood.

Race looked around at all of them, only wondering for a moment when Katherine and David had arrived. He bowed his head shyly as he swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before he spoke. “You know him…” he accused quietly, confusing everyone in the room. That is, everyone besides Mr. Weisel, who only stepped forward and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Race shrugged out of the grasp. “Is that why… Is that why you sent Mickie afta’ me? Because… because he almost shut you down?”

Jack may avoid truly talking about his past, but Race was very good at filling in the blanks. Somehow, someway, this man knew Jack. Knowing Jack, it wasn’t impossible to figure out why.

“Tony, it’s been a very stressful day for you… I think it’s time to get you back to The Refuge—“

“I think it is too,” Race agreed, looking up at the man.

“Race, you’ve gotta be kidding—“ Albert tried, but Race cut him off.

“It’s time for me to pick up my things,” the boy said, glaring at the guy who had clearly made some kind of a mark on the man behind that door. “But thanks for the empty words, Weasel… it’s been real,” he spat. He silently dared the man to say something about it, moving to walk over to Katherine who had shining tears running down her face. He embraced her and she held him back tightly. “He’s gonna be okay,” the boy promised.

David ran a hand over his hair. “Is that what the doctor said?”

Race shook his head against Jack’s girlfriend’s shoulder. “No… I just… know…” he responded, hearing David take a shuddering breath behind him.

He looked around the room from over Katherine’s shoulder to see Kloppman glaring at Weisel as the man left the room. He saw the DaSilvas watching him relieved and he saw JoJo hugging Albert around the waist, pride in their eyes.

He wasn’t alone here.

He knew he wasn’t alone here.

Jack would be okay. Race believed in him. Jack was strong and brave and good and safe and he’d make it through.

He believed in that.

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