#this wasn’t gonna be romantic but i can’t help myself apparently

[frudoo]

A Moth Into Flame — Simon “Ghost” Riley

Y’all… this one is sloppy and kinda lazy??? Idk I had a plan but then it kinda crumbled. If there are plot holes or it just doesn’t make sense… it is what it is LMAO. 🫶

Warnings: SMUT, fem!reader, unprotected PIV, creampie, Simon giving poor reader whiplash but she’s fine with it I guess

MDNI

You can smell his cologne even over the pungent aroma of your whiskey, and you suddenly wish that you had just stayed home. Your body tenses at the sound of those all-too-familiar combat boots hitting the floor. He doesn’t allow himself to be heard unless he wants to make his presence known—he always has been deliberate. You feel the unmistakable coarseness of his hands resting themselves on your shoulders before gently grazing their way down your bare arms. You try to hide the shudder that runs through your body, but he sees. He always sees.

“Save a seat f’you,” he whispers, his voice a soft breath against the shell of your ear.

He trails his hand down the curve of your spine to give your ass a firm squeeze, and as quickly as he had approached, he’s gone. You choke down the rest of your whiskey quickly, ignoring the searing burn it leaves in your esophagus. Your eyes scan the bar for the large, imposing figure you’ve grown to know far too well before finding him in the round booth near the back. He’s with his mates, of course, the ones he never lets you say hello to before he’s pulling you out of the bar and taking you back to his apartment.

Those deep molasses eyes beckon you over without having to say a word. Yeah, you should’ve stayed home, because you know exactly how this night is going to end.

Silently you approach, grimacing at the feeling of the cracked red leather of the booth scratching the backs of your thighs as you slid in beside Simon. He wasn’t having that. A strong tattooed arm wraps itself around your waist and pulls you onto his lap. His mitts unashamedly squeeze your supple tits before ultimately resting on your waist. You jab him in the gut with your elbow, but he only gives you an amused grunt in response.

“Finally lettin’ us meet yer lass, LT?” The mohawked man raises an eyebrow, sucking his teeth as he looks you over. “She’s bonnie.”

Simon shrugs, tilting his head to press a kiss to the side of your face through his mask. Despite the fact that the guy had been looking at you like a piece of meat, there was something charming about him, blue eyes holding a boyish innocence, but the smirk he wears gives away his true nature. There’s something captivating about all of the roguish men, but none quite as… alluring as the enigma whose lap you sit on.

The other two men say nothing about your presence and instead shift the conversation back to something you can’t understand. Not that you’d be able to focus, anyway, with the way Simon’s grasping your hips to move you over slightly when he wants to take a drink or add something to the discussion. His hands are so warm that you can feel it through the thin fabric of your dress, and it excites you more than you’d like to admit. You know what those hands can do.

He’s distracted, taken a break from tormenting you with those gentle touches, but it doesn’t help the white-hot desire that’s been building up in your belly, fogging up your head. To go from too much attention to too little won’t do at all. You can beat him at his own game.

You pretend to listen to whatever the bearded man with the weird hat is saying, not looking to draw any attention to yourself—at least, not from anyone other than Simon. You reach forward to grab a pretzel from the bowl on the table, pushing your ass back to deliberately rub against his crotch. He grunts and gives your hip a squeeze, a warning. Bingo. You feign ignorance and lean forward again, this time rolling your hips to add some more friction.

Simon grabs your throat to tip your head back, a threatening undertone in his murmur.

“Playin’ a dangerous game there, bird.”

You snicker, giving another grind of your ass against his growing erection—pouring gasoline onto the fire. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips almost painfully, and his bark is a little sharper now, more akin to a bite.

“Fuckin’ quit it.”

A moth into flame.

“Make me.”

That’s all it takes before you’re forced out of the booth, his large hand splayed across your lower back as he ushers you through the crowd, toward the bathroom. You turn to look at his mates over your shoulder, and the one in the ball cap gives you a cheeky wink right before the door slams shut and the only thing in your view is Simon with his balaclava pulled up just above his nose. Without warning, he slams your back against the wall and kisses you with a fervor you’ve only felt in more private areas with him. You moan against his lips, moving to wrap your arms around his neck, but he’s quicker, pinning your wrists above your head to keep you in place.

“Gonna teach y’some bloody manners,” he grumbles against your skin, nipping his way down your jawline and neck. “I like my pets domesticated.”

You gasp as he delivers a particularly harsh bite right to the middle of your throat, spit-slick tongue scalding against the wound. It’ll leave a nasty bruise but you couldn’t care less, clenching your thighs together in an attempt to get some much-needed friction. Simon tuts, briefly nibbling on your lobe before muttering into your ear.

“Spread ‘em.”

A simple command, but you scramble to obey, a soft whine escaping your parted lips. He’s quick to move his free hand down your stomach and between your thighs, cupping your mound roughly. You buck your hips, clothed clit rubbing right up against the heel of his palm. He groans, releasing your wrists to cusp your jaw instead.

“Knickers are fuckin’ soaked, lovie. All f’me?” His dark eyes bore into your own, fingernails leaving creases in the flesh of your cheek.

“All for you,” you reply breathlessly, grabbing onto his biceps to brace yourself for what comes next.

Simon pushes your panties aside and swipes the tip of his middle finger through your slit to collect the sticky dew of your arousal. He circles your clit a few times before teasing your entrance. He swirls his fingertip before pushing inside, all the way to the knuckle. He huffs amusedly at the mewl you let out.

“Mm, she’s droolin’ f’me, baby,” he whispers, his other hand cupping the back of your head and pulling you in for another kiss.

Without warning, he slips another finger inside, curling them to hit that sweet spot perfectly. You let out a keen moan and tilt your head back, too absorbed in pleasure to acknowledge the dull pain that comes when you hit the wall. Simon smiles, licking the tip of your nose teasingly.

“Tha’s the spot,” Simon coos, mouth falling open in the same fashion as yours.

His eyes never leave your face, transfixed on every twitch of your eyebrows and quiver of your lips. He’d argue that he’s more drunk on you than the whiskey he’d been enjoying just a few minutes ago. He pumps his fingers quicker, harder, attacking your neck with more soft kisses and nips. He chuckles when he feels your gummy walls clamping onto his fingers, your nails digging into the flesh of his biceps and leaving half-moons as a result. Simon doesn’t mind.

“Y’close, baby?” He hums, pulling away from your neck to press his forehead against yours.

“Y-yeah,” you pant, opening your eyes to stare into his, deep, dark with desire and burning with passion.

“Cum f’me,” he whispers, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth and massaging your g-spot in mind-numbing thrusts of those thick fingers. “There y’go, lovie, squeeze m’fingers jus’ like tha’.”

Simon moans alongside you as you reach your peak, lips curling into a pleased smirk. The second he feels your walls ease up he pulls his fingers out, causing a whine to slip out of your throat. He clicks his tongue, fingertips wrapping around your throat and squeezing gently.

“On your knees.”

You do as he says, glazed eyes just barely making out the sight of his veiny hands unbuckling his belt. Simon pulls his cock free of its confines, hissing at the sensation of cold air hitting the sensitive skin. His tip is an angry fuschia, dripping rich pearls of precum, and fuck—he must have been just as desperate as you. You’re still in a daze from the blinding ecstasy he put you through, staring at his pretty dick with your hands resting in your lap. He cocks an eyebrow beneath his mask, snapping his fingers at you.

“Well? Y’wanted this fuckin’ cock so bad, so suck it,” he spits, pushing on the back of your head and guiding you towards his throbbing erection.

Pulled out of your hazy state, you stick out your tongue the way you know he loves, grabbing the base of his dick and pulling down the thin layer of foreskin to reveal the thick crown beneath. You smack the tip against the middle of your tongue, moaning in unison with its owner as you stare up at him through fluttering lashes. Simon looks so fucking good like this—one hand rested on your head, the other bracing himself on the cool wall behind you. Unable to resist any longer, you wrap your lips around the tip and suckle softly, swiping your tongue through the slit to collect all of that delicious, salty precum.

“Oh, 'ell yeah,” Simon grunts, chin falling to rest right above his clavicle, drooping eyes focusing on your own. “Always take me so well.”

You smile the best you can with your mouth full, resting your hands on his muscular thighs before taking him deeper. You’re always surprised by his girth no matter how many times you hook up—such a fat cock that your lips have to stretch almost painfully to accommodate. He grunts as you flatten your tongue on the bottom of his dick, massaging the bulging vein and hollowing your cheeks for better suction. One of your hands moves up to cup his balls in your palm, gently squeezing. He shudders and you feel his cock twitch in your mouth; he’s already so close.

“Enough,” Simon pants, tightening his grip on your skull and carefully pulling your mouth off of his cock with a wet pop. “Fuck. What the ‘ell are you doin’ t’me, woman?”

You smile as he cups your cheeks in his hands, pulling you in for a feverish kiss. His tongue prods your mouth, running across your teeth and tongue and everywhere he can reach. Then, he stops, giving your ass a sharp smack.

“Turn around and bend over tha’ sink,” he instructs breathlessly, before deciding that would take too long, instead grabbing your hips and manhandling you into position.

You barely get any warning before he’s shoving your dress up to your waist and tearing off your panties. You gasp and turn to glare at him over your shoulder, but he’s already pocketing the ruined fabric.

“M’sorry, lovie. I’ll buy a new pair f’you… ‘ell, I’ll buy anythin’ y’want. Jus’ let me… ah fuck!” Simon throws his head back as he slides to the hilt inside of you in one blissful, searing stroke.

“Fuck!” You whimper, the painful stretch of your cunt struggling to suck him in causing you to hold onto the cold porcelain for dear life.

Simon wastes no time before starting to pump in and out slowly, giving you just a pinch of time to adjust. Then he takes hold of your hips and ruts into you with reckless abandon, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood trying to stifle his moans. You’re not so careful about your volume, squealing and babbling with every thrust he deals. He grunts, moving one hand to cover your mouth, pulling you back into his chest.

“Tha’ whore mouth o’yours is gonna get us in trouble,” he grumbles through gritted teeth though makes no effort to let up on his devastating thrusts.

“Drive me bloody fuckin’ insane, y’know tha’? Perfect, pretty baby, no fuckin’ good f’me.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as the fat tip of his cock kisses your sweet spot with perfect precision. Every stroke, every whisper, every smack of his hips against your ass has you seeing stars. You can feel the mascara and sweat dripping down your face, and you get the feeling that the rest of you looks just as fucked. You turn your head to look at yourself in the mirror, wiping away the fog to watch as Simon fucks you absolutely stupid. You meet his gaze in the reflection and he snickers, pulling the straps of your dress down so that your tits spill out from the fabric.

“Yeah, y’know you’re fuckin’ sexy,” he mutters, alternating between roughly palming at your breasts and tweaking your pert nipples. “Such a hot mess f’me.”

You’re dangerously close, teetering on the edge of that earth-shattering euphoria, and you know that Simon knows—that’s why you let out a defeated sob when he pulls out of you completely, leaving your pussy to clench around the newfound emptiness.

“W-why did you-?”

“Haven’t learned your lesson yet, bird,” he sniffs, tugging your head backwards so that his lips meet your ear. “Apologize for teasin’ me in front o’my mates like tha’.”

“Simon, please,” you beg, hot tears streaming down your puffy cheeks.

Simon tuts, giving your ass a couple of sharp smacks. You yelp, body jolting forward with each painful contact.

“Apologize.”

“I’m sorry!” You whine, fingertips prying at the sink as he glides the head of his cock through your glistening folds.

“For wha’?” He kisses his way down your neck, giving both nipples a rough pinch.

“For teasing you in- in front of your friends,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes tightly shut as his tip catches on the hood of your puffy clit.

“There’s m’good girl,” he purrs, running his hands down to your waist and giving it a soft squeeze. “Next time y’act up like tha’, you’re not gettin’ off this easy.”

“Please make me cum,” your bottom lip quivers as your eyes meet in the mirror once again, desperate for him to tame the fire he’s ignited in your belly and heart.

“Turn back around,” Simon whispers, stepping back to give you room to obey. “Wanna see tha’ pretty face when y’do.”

You turn to face him and wrap your arms around his neck, gasping softly as he cups your bottom in his hands, hoisting you up. He presses your back to the wall with your legs around his waist and kisses you again, but it’s much more tender than the previous ones. He gasps into your mouth as he pushes inside of you again, hands still firmly on your ass to keep you secure as he builds up a pace once more.

“Fuckin’ love you, y’know tha’?” He murmurs against your lips between kisses, his groans turning into softer moans as he gets closer to his climax. “Never jus’ a bloody hookup t’me.”

“S-Simon-” you furrow your eyebrows, pulling back to look at him, shocked by his confession.

“M’sick of actin’—shit—like this is jus’ a good fuck. We both know it’s no’,” he heaves, lewd wet sounds bouncing off the walls as he quickens his pace. “No more fuckin’ lyin’. You’re mine.”

The back of your head falls against the hard wall as you feel the coil in your tummy about to snap, walls contracting around his cock so tightly, like they’re trying to force him out.

“There y’go, pretty baby. Cum f’me, yeah? Fuck, please cum f’me. Cum on my cock, lovie, y’can do it.”

That’s all it takes before you’re crying out his name, your entire body feeling weightless and whole all at the same time. You think that Simon’s moans might be louder than your own, whimpering into your ear and you swear that you heard a sob right before he came. He holds himself deep inside of you as ropes of hot, thick semen fill your womb, refusing to move until the air finally settles between the two of you. He presses his forehead against yours once again, honeyed brown eyes staring into your glossy ones.

“I meant tha’. Every bloody word,” he admits, nuzzling his nose against your sweaty cheek. “You’re m’girl.”

Simon carefully pulls out of you with a gross squelch, helping you back onto your feet. He repositions your straps so that your breasts are in place and covered once again, as you tuck his softening cock back into his pants and buckle his belt. He cups your face in his hands and grins softly, wiping away the black-stained tears on your face with his thumbs.

“Come home with me tonight?” You ask gently, leaning into his touch.

“Always.”

[whatohitsonfirewelp]

"the fact that dickbabs is toxic" One, not an objective fact. Two, no it isn't. Three, no, really, it isn't.

That’s honestly just two things instead of three babe. Also yeah, dickbabs IS toxic overall. Is every comic, tv, or movie representation of them toxic? No. But are many? Yes. Especially with how the fandom will portray them as well.

Babs most of the time is older than Dick by a lot.

The problem with this is that she did basically see him grow up. She was there when he was Robin to when he became nightwing. She would be able to legally drink and vote when he couldn’t even have a license half the time. We’ve seen her get aged down just for the relationship. That could be argued to be a good thing but it could also be argued to be bad because why should she have to be aged down for a male character, right?

Also her being deaged takes away so much from her character. It completely changes her story. And listen, don’t know about you anon but anyone having to change themselves or be changed for a love interest ain’t gonna be a healthy relationship.

Also when they first get together it wasn’t good. Dick cheated. And then gives Babs an invitation to his future wedding, with Kori, right after doing the you know what.

That is a start to something not healthy at all. And that’s full on blame for Dick. (Also just bad writing because god was this unneeded)

(Nightwing Annual #2 (2007))

Also, this relationship have some racist undertones one could say. Twice Dick ends up in a romantic relationship with a black women but oh no gotta make room for the white woman. Since apparently for Dick and Nightwing to be at his best he’s gotta be with white woman Barbara Gordon.

Which is once again going with the whole idea that to be their best selves they need to be with each other. News flash people you don’t need to be with someone to be your best self. Why can’t Dick stay with a woman he fell in love with? Why is it that in order to be considered his best he has to be with Babs?

(Woman are Helena Bertinelli and Bea Bennet)

Also the plain out disrespect that writers and fans have for Kori because of this ship. Why must one love interest have her relationship with the guy completely reduced and ignored? Why must she be made as lesser for the other love interest to succeed? Dickbabs is a toxic ship that affects other characters as well.

And Barbara is a jealous person. This if all fine and good, many people are, many hero’s are, I myself am a self proclaimed jealous person. But this time she let it get in the way of hero work, of building a powerful team. She chose to not include Kori in the group/team, Birds Of Prey because of Kori’s past relationship with Dick. The fact that Babs is letting her jealousy affect her work now is not good, especially considering what they all do. Kori is powerful, she would have been incredibly helpful. Babs letting her jealousy get the better of her with something this important isn’t good and only leaves the question of how many times will something like this keep happening as long as dickbabs is still present. (Also putting two very smart and talented woman against each other isn’t cool DC)

Now boundaries, a key point in all relationships. Something Babs has trouble with. Including her relationship with Dick.

Ever heard of the Grayson cam? It’s what Babs uses in Chuck Dixon's Nightwing and Birds of Prey of her spying on him. Without his permission. Dick Grayson has a past with being sexualized, especially by women. Babs is just one of the many, and is sadly his girlfriend in many things. This is a huge red flag and not okay at all. Anon, how would you feel if you had a SO who was spying on you? In your home where you should feel safest? With you completely unaware? I would feel violated that’s for fucking sure.

And it’s not just that, oh no, the boundary crossing doesn’t end there. She is constantly over riding his decision. Out of the capes and in them. Now Dick is a leader, he’s been a hero since before he was 13. He knows what he’s doing, been doing it longer than her. At the very least she could listen to him but she doesn’t. That’s not a healthy relationship.

Now let’s get into Babs and her being disabled being something that is taken away in order for these two to be together. You read that correctly, our beloved girl behind the screen who didn’t stop being a hero just because she’s now disabled is something that was completely erased in order for these two be in a relationship.

In Nightwing (1996) #86 these two broke up because Babs was having a hard time with Dick talking about the past, when he was Robin and she was Batgirl, when she wasn’t in a wheelchair. Now Tom fucking Taylor puts them together again and suddenly they’re back together! Bravo! Good as new! Except oh, whats this? Babs is no longer disabled! Oh well, who cares? As long as dickbabs are together. How many shows and movies and yes comics still have them together and Babs is still kicking it as batgirl? Why does her having a disability have to be changed in order for these two to be together? Does it make her less perfect? Once again not very healthy and terrible fucked up writing.

Now let’s talk about big changes to Dick’s character. Say goodbye to the OG Titans, his best friends, since when Babs is in the picture that doesn’t exist anymore and neither does his love interest where in an alternative universe/future they do get married and have kid. (Aka Kori). This relationship always has to be number one. Can neither have other friends or relationships? Must it always be just each other? Must their entire world revolve around the other so much that they might as well have no connections outside of Gotham?

Now I don’t have a problem with people shipping them. I’m just saying y’all can’t ignore the fact that this indeed is a toxic relationship. Of course I do have my personal opinions that cause me to have a stronger dislike for the ship itself but that’s just me.

I’m not saying it’s bad to ship them or don’t ship them, just be aware of exactly what you are shipping. I hope these at the very least teaches some people about this ship. It’s okay to get more or new information and to change opinions about stuff. It’s okay to grow.

[storiesforallfandoms]

hard day ~ pete davidson

word count: 2057

request?: yes!

“Hey can I request a Pete Davidson imagine where the reader has had a long hard day at set and dealing with papparazzi and Pete pampers her. Maybe ending in smut to make her feel special?”

description: after a hard day of filming, followed by an overwhelming run in with paparazzi, he decides to help her relax

pairing: pete davidson x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut

masterlist (one, two)

The sound of the door slamming alerted Pete that his girlfriend was finally arriving home. She had texted him a few hours earlier to say she was being kept late on set, but neither one of them thought that she meant she’d be this late.

Pete craned his neck to peak around the doorway of the living room as he watched (Y/N) stomp up the stairs towards their shared room. He cringed as he heard that door slam shut as well. He knew this meant that (Y/N) wanted to be left alone, but he hated to leave her alone while she was so angry. So, he paused his show and got up to make his way to their room.

Instead of barging in, Pete stood outside their shared bedroom door and knocked. When there was no answer, he tried again.

“Fuck off,” came a groan.

“Hard day baby?” Pete asked her.

“Fuck off for a bit, Pete. I don’t wanna snap at you.”

Pete sighed and decided to leave her be. He knew it was best to let her blow off steam however she felt she had to, but it was hard when all he wanted was to take her in his arms and hold her until the bad went away.

An idea popped into his head. He moved from their bedroom to the bathroom down the hall. He began to run the bath and put some of (Y/N)’s favorite bubble bath in. He watched as the bubble rose so high that she would definitely disappear into them. While waiting for the hot water to cool down just enough that she could get in comfortably, Pete went down to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Once his de-stressing scene was all set up, he went back to their bedroom. Instead of knocking, Pete just walked in. He found his girlfriend laying face down on the bed. She was still completely dressed in her clothes from the day, which made him feel a slight twinge of sadness for her.

(Y/N) lifted her head just enough to look at Pete before letting it drop back down to the bed. “Go away.”

“I have a bath ready for you.”

(Y/N) rolled over onto her back and looked over at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I think I did, actually. You seem very upset, and we both know how much you love a good bath to help calm down.”

(Y/N) looked at him for a moment longer. She had to admit he was right on that front. She loved to take a nice hot bath after a long, stressful day in order to calm down. But tonight she just felt extra stressed and frustrated to a point where it felt like even a bath wasn’t going to help her.

She couldn’t hold back her giggles as Pete lifted her into his arms and started carrying her towards the bathroom. He played her on the counter and began to strip her of her clothes.

“I think I know how to get undressed, Pete,” she joked.

“But it’s my favorite thing to do!” Pete responded, a goofy smile on her face as he pulled her pants and panties down her legs at the same time, leaving her completely naked in front of him.

“You do light up like a child on Christmas when I take my bra off,” she teased him, noticing his eyes lingering on her chest.

“Your tits are my favorite gifts,” he agreed, tweaking her nipple just once to satisfy the urge inside of him. (Y/N)’s legs tightened a little at the gesture. Pete noticed, but decided not to say anything just yet.

He helped her into the tub and poured her a glass of the wine.

“Aren’t you joining me?” she asked as she took the glass from him.

“I’ll join you in a nice glass of this expensive wine we have,” he said. “But this is your de-stressing bath. I’ll just sit here and watch and drink for a while.”

“That’s romantic,” she said, sarcastically. “I take a nice hot bubble bath all by myself, while my boyfriend sits on the toilet.”

“Hey, could be worse. I could also be naked while I’m sitting here. Imagine how weird that would be.”

(Y/N) crinkled her nose before she started to giggle. Pete smiled as well, feeling a sense of pride in making her laugh.

They both sat together for a while, just sipping their wine. (Y/N) felt her body relaxing in the hot water as she laid her head back against the wall behind her. This really was what she needed after such a long day, whether her more frustrated self wanted to admit it or not.

“What had you so worked up in the first place, babe?” Pete asked as he filled her wine glass.

(Y/N) groaned. “You’re ruining the mood, Pete.”

He chuckled. “Okay, sorry. Just asking is all.”

(Y/N) sighed and lifted her head again to look at him. “Remember how I texted you to tell you I was asked to stay a bit later in order to finish a scene? Well, that ‘a bit later’ turned into three hours later because the director kept making me film the scene over and over and over until he finally decided it was okay. Not perfect, not even great! Just okay. He put us through hours of reshooting just to decide he was going to go with the okay take! Fucking bastard!”

“What was his problem?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Beats me! Apparently nothing was good enough for him. Wasted three fucking hours filming just to get an okay scene. Then, when I left, I was tired but I wanted to spend at least an hour with you, so I decided to go get coffee. The minute I stepped out of my vehicle I was swarmed by paparazzi. I don’t know how they figured out where I went, but they would not leave me alone. I ended up not even going into the coffee place cause I could not get around at all.”

Pete reached out and took hold of one of (Y/N) bubbly, wet hands. “I’m so sorry, babe. I do get how much the paparazzi shit sucks, but on top of an already bad day? That fucking sucks so much?”

(Y/N) sighed and ran her thumb over Pete’s knuckles. “It does suck. I have to go back to set tomorrow morning and I’m dreading it so much. How am I supposed to go back there after spending so long filming that last scene today? I’ll kill the director the moment I see him.”

“You wouldn’t even hurt a fly baby, let’s not pretend here.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “You’re right, I can’t.”

The silence washed over them again. (Y/N)’s eyes trailed to Pete’s hand. She looked at it for a while, just lost in her own world as she absentmindedly ran her thumb over his knuckles. Then, she started thinking about his long fingers inside of her, curling just right to hit that spot inside of her that drove her over the edge every time. She felt a heat growing between her legs, and if she wasn’t in the bath already she was certain she’d be soaked.

“What are you thinking?” Pete asked, breaking her out of her trance. She looked up at him suddenly, eyes wide with the shock of being caught.

“Uh...” she said, trying to think of something to say. She didn’t want to tell Pete she had been having sexual daydreams, but then she realized what was the harm of telling him? They had been together for quite some time, it’s not like she’d scare him off by telling him anything. “I was thinking about your fingers inside of me.”

Pete’s pants grew a bit tighter at this. “Really? Pretty specific thing to be thinking about.”

“Well, I’m here holding your hand. I’m thinking about things that relax me. Your fingers definitely cause me to relax a lot when they’re down there.”

Pete placed his wine glass on the counter next to him and pulled his shirt over his head. (Y/N) watched in slight confusion, before realization washed over her when Pete’s hand disappeared under the water. He nudged her legs open and slowly ran two fingers up and down her slit, teasingly.

“You feel so wet already baby,” he joked, a smile on his face.

(Y/N) couldn’t contain her own smile and giggles. “You’re such a fucking do - ”

Her playful insult was silenced as Pete pushed two fingers deep inside of her. (Y/N) gasped, her head falling back against the wall behind her again. Pete started pumping in and out of her very slowly, making sure he wasn’t hurting her with what he was doing.

“Is this what you were thinking about baby?” he asked her.

“Fuck Pete,” she breathed. “Fuck yes this feels so good.”

Pete curled his fingers in a way that made it easier for him to hit the right spots. (Y/N) let out a moan and tried to buck her hips against his fingers, but he used his other hand to ease her back down.

“Just sit back and let me take care of you baby,” he said. “I’ll take all your stress away.”

Pete’s erection was becoming nearly unbearable as he watched (Y/N) coming undone in front of him, and felt her warmth wrapped around his fingers. He wanted nothing more than to take her right there, to really fuck any stress left out of her. But at the same time, he didn’t want that. He just wanted to make her feel good, to wipe the memories of he day away.

(Y/N)’s free hand wrapped around Pete’s bicep. Her nails dug so deep into his arm that Pete knew there would be marks there once she pulled away, maybe even full on scratches or blood, but he’d wear the marks with pride. He usually did whenever she left them on him.

He began to speed up his pumping. He felt (Y/N)’s thighs clenching around his hand, as if she were trying to hold him there. Breathy moans were escaping from her lips as he body began to tremble.

“Fuck Pete,” she breathed. “Fuck, I’m starting to feel close.”

“Yeah?” Pete asked. “Are you gonna cum all over my fingers baby?”

In response, (Y/N) moaned again. Pete picked up his pace a little more, causing her moans to become screams of pleasure. He could feel the tension building up in her as he body prepared to let go.

Pete leaned forward to kiss (Y/N) gently on her lips. “Cum for me, princess. Let me feel you.”

With those words, (Y/N) came completely undone. She screamed Pete’s name so loud he was sure the neighbors would hear her. He felt her clenching around his fingers and he wished he could actually feel her wetness and not just that of the water in the tub.

(Y/N) was breathing heavily when Pete was finally able to pull away from her. He stood and grabbed a nearby hand towel to begin drying his hands. (Y/N) watched him, a cloud of lustful fog still blocking her as she tried to recover from her high. Her eyes shifted down to Pete’s crotch area, where she noticed the evergrowing buldge.

“Do you want me to return the favor?” she asked, a lazy smile on her face.

Pete smiled back at her and leaned down to kiss her again. “That’s okay babe. You enjoy your bath until it gets cold.”

(Y/N)’s brows furrowed together. “You don’t want me to do anything for you?”

“Well I didn’t say that,” Pete said. “But for now I just want you to unwind. We can fuck later on. I’ll make you forget your entire day then, maybe even your own name if you’re lucky.”

(Y/N) giggled. “I hope I’ll be lucky then.”

She smiled as she watched Pete leave the room to change his clothes. Despite her teasing words, she felt like she was already the luckiest girl in the world to have such an amazing man by her side.

[quaranmine]

The Babysitting Game

They say it takes a village to raise a child. Well, Grian doesn't have a child but he does have an egg and a village. That’s basically the same thing, right?

Grian acquires an egg. His friends help him.

No romantic relationships or content warnings. Mainly fluff! Hermits: Grian, Mumbo, Pearl, and Scar. My first publish fanfic since 2016 and my first hermitcraft fanfic :D ao3 link and some inspirations to be linked in a reblog

Words: 2862

•·················•·················•

"What if I touched it really quick?" Scar asked.

"No, don’t-don’t touch the egg," Grian said seriously. "Look, I even made a sign! It specifically says ‘Do not touch.’" He gestured to the sign in question, but Scar ignored him.

"Can I rub it?" he said. The man leaned over it, studying the object carefully. Grian hadn’t known where to place the egg when he got it, and it was just sitting on an anvil for the time being. He didn’t even have a starter house yet, but clearly he was going to need something soon if he was going to protect the egg from some of the more . . . mischievous residents of their Boatem village.

“No, don’t touch the egg! Scar-” Grian walked closer, hands outstretched, just in time to see Scar reach out with his hand and pat the egg.

Vworp!

The egg disappeared into thin air.

Dragon eggs had a tendency to do that. It was a survival tactic--Grian didn't really know how it worked, but just as endermen could teleport away from danger, so could the egg if it were touched. Now whether or not Scar was dangerous remained up for debate…

Scar giggled. "Oh, where did you go?" he sang, hunting around the area.

Well, he COULD be pretty scary sometimes.

"Scarrrr," Grian whined, helping him look. "I told you not to touch it!"

"It's over here!" Scar shouted, finding the egg at the bottom of a small slope nearby. "Just one more time…." He reached out again.

"No!" Grian said, slapping his hand away. "Look, you've got to pick it up the right way." He demonstrated, carefully lifting the egg and placing it in a pouch slung over his back. He had hurriedly stitched it together not too long ago, worried that transporting the egg normally might break it. “If you do it roughly, you’ll scare it and it’ll teleport away again.”

"I see!" said Scar.

"Now, please, don't touch the egg.”

"Oh," Scar said. He straightened. "You're really serious about this."

Grian glared. "I am."

"I'm sorry, I just thought it was funny!"

Grian sighed. "It's okay, Scar. It's just--this thing is a baby, it needs to be handled gently! You can't just go around scaring it! What if it falls into a hole or something?" he hissed.

"Oh my god," Scar laughed, "you're its mother now!"

"No, no, I'm not!"

"You are!" Scar cried. He suddenly stopped. "Oh no, didn't you kill its mother?"

"Well it doesn't know that!" Grian snapped. "Truthfully I didn't realize there would be an egg! And I couldn't just leave it, you know! Here, look at this." Grian gently withdrew the egg from its pack, and Scar moved closer. He held it up to the sun. "Look at that."

The sun shined dark red through the deep purple shell of the egg, making it glow within. In the middle, the silhouette of a curled up creature was illuminated. Blood vessels radiated outward, and at the bottom there was a blank space that Grian assumed was air. The egg’s shell was too thick for any detail to be made out, but the processes happening within were clear. Grian was enchanted with it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

"Wow," Scar breathed. "There's actually a dragon in there! What're you gonna do with it after it hatches?"

"Well, I haven't exactly thought that far--I just want to worry about keeping it safe first. I mean, what do you even do with this thing?" Grian put the egg back in its satchel, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I suppose you keep it warm and safe but, like, I don't know what else-"

"I could help!" Scar said.

"You were just playing with it!"

"Hey," Scar said defensively, "that was before I knew more about it!"

Grian rolled his eyes.

“What are you guys doing over here?” said Mumbo, wandering over. Grian just knew he’d been up to something, and sure enough, there was a new tree next to his little collection of chests. Grian wasn’t very bothered by it, because he already had a plan to get Mumbo back for it.

“Grian is just showing me his new baby!” Scar teased. “He’s a mom now.”

“I am NOT its mother,” replied Grian tiredly, but he smiled at the sight of the other man.

“A baby?” Mumbo asked, choosing to ignore the rest of Scar’s statement.

“A dragon egg,” Grian answered. “I found it in the End.” He paused for a moment, feeling almost bad. “After I killed the dragon.”

“Grian! You’ve orphaned it!” Mumbo sounded scandalized.

“Why do you all keep bringing that up!?” he defended, glancing between Mumbo and Scar, who both gave him disapproving, albeit playful, looks. “I know you’re Mr. Peace, Love and Plants this time, but we’ve always killed the dragon in every new world!”

“Well, I guess that’s true, but it is a little sad isn’t it? You’re taking care of it but only because you killed its mum.”

“Yeah,” was all Grian said. The dragon always needed to be taken care of in each new world they visited, and while it was always a bit of a shame, he’d never really contemplated it that much. After all, he normally wasn’t the one who fought it--that last time in Evo aside. He didn’t really know what he had gotten into but he felt deeply like he needed to protect this egg. It was like a tug in his chest, drawing him into the egg and telling him not to let go.

“Show him the egg!” Scar said.

“You just want to see it again,” Grian replied, but pulled the egg out of the satchel again anyway for Mumbo to see. The surface of the egg wasn’t smooth, like a chicken’s egg, but bumpy. The purple spots almost seemed to glow, and occasionally little violet particles drifted off of it. Grian felt like he could stare at it in awe all day, and apparently his friends felt the same.

“How’re you going to keep it warm?” asked Mumbo after a moment of admiring it. “That satchel isn’t going to be enough, and to be frank, I don’t see you spending any time sitting on it, even if the mental image is pretty funny.”

Grian rolled his eyes at the comment, but thought about it. How would he incubate it? He may have had wings, but he didn’t know anything about eggs, other than that it was a safe bet to assume it needed to be kept warm. “I'm not sure, actually.”

“Hey, let me design something for you!” Mumbo said excitedly. “I could probably use some redstone and make an incubator of some sort for you.”

Grian smiled. “I’d really appreciate that.”

Asking Mumbo to create a contraption for him--what could go wrong?

•·················•·················•

“I’m not wearing this thing, you know.” Grian said, holding the contraption while Mumbo wheezed with laughter in the background. The design that Mumbo had come up with was essentially a backpack with heating elements strung through it, except for one thing . . .

“You-you wear it in the front,” Mumbo choked out, wiping a tear from his eyes.

“Yes, I see that,” Grian replied, unamused.

“Like a swaddle!”

“Yes, I see that.”

Mumbo laughed harder. Grian had to begrudgingly admit that it was well designed, however. It would fit the egg perfectly, keep it warm, and most important it was mobile to ensure that he could take the egg with him. It was thoughtful, especially since Mumbo knew Grian was quite protective of it.

“I’m not wearing this thing,” Grian repeated. “I’m not going to let you all laugh at me while I walk around the server with an egg swaddled to me!”

“I thought you’d say that,” Mumbo chuckled. “Here, you can switch the straps around and turn it into a backpack.” He unclipped the straps and moved them into the new configuration.

“Thank you, Mumbo,” he said gratefully. “This will certainly do the trick.”

“Glad to hear it mate,” Mumbo replied. “Now, while you’re here, may I ask why there is an incredibly tall tree on top of my camper?”

“Sorry, got to go!” blurted Grian, snatching the backpack from Mumbo’s arms and flying off in a burst of feathers.

“That’s unfair, I don’t even have an elytra yet to go chase him down with,” muttered the man as he watched Grian disappear.

•·················•·················•

Grian sat in the grass in front of his starter home and rubbed his eyes wearily. He was exhausted. Is this how all parents feel? he wondered. Was he just uniquely unqualified to be one? After all, this was only an egg! It hadn’t even hatched yet and he was already tired of keeping up with it.

Carrying it in the backpack was heavy, and Grian tired out quickly. It was hot on his back, and Grian found himself having to take breaks to avoid overheating. It was also cumbersome, and he found it difficult to build with as it shifted his weight. He almost fell off the roof once while building it! Of course, having wings meant that Grian could catch himself easily, but it had still given him quite the scare. Dragon eggs were pretty sturdy, and would teleport themselves out of danger if possible, but he was still so paranoid about breaking it. And now there was the Boatem Hole to worry about--what if it teleported itself into the void? These things kept Grian awake at night.

But if he left it...well, just like Grian had a tendency to lose items in his chest monsters, he also had a tendency to forget where he placed things. He had been forced to go back and rescue the egg from some place he’d left it more than once, which he wasn’t exactly proud of. What sort of parent forgot their child?

. . . He was definitely not admitting to being its parent.

Oh God, what did I get myself into?

“Hey Grian, what’re you up to?” came a voice, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up and saw Pearl standing over him. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her hands were in her hoodie pockets. She took a seat on the ground next to him, and followed his gaze overlooking the Boatem village. “What’s on your mind?”

“This--this egg,” said Grian. It sat next to him in its backpack, still radiating heat. “I don’t know what to do with it. I’m just so tired of carrying it around!”

“I have to admit,” Pearl said, “I didn’t expect you to immediately adopt a baby dragon the very next time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well, it was an accident.” Grian groaned. “I don’t know what to do with it now, let alone when it hatches!”

Pearl thought for a moment. “You know, the rest of us are all here for you. The other hermits would be happy to help out, I’m sure.”

The other hermits . . . well of course they would. If it was one thing they were all good at, it was supporting each other. Scar had already taken a particular interest in the egg, although Grian was still a little suspicious of him scaring it again. Mumbo had specially designed an incubator for it. Pearl was visiting him to check up on him and offer help.

All Grian had to do was convince himself to let it go. To let them help.

“I know that but . . .”

“But what? Have you had any reason to believe they wouldn’t?” Pearl asked.

“Well, no.” He thought for a while. He thought of how his friends would lend materials when needed, or how they’d help replace someone’s armor and items if they were lost. He thought about the days where they all teamed up and chose one hermit to help out, and he thought about all the things they did for the good of the entire community without even being asked.

His desire to protect the egg was strong, and putting it into the hands of another person almost felt like simultaneously a betrayal of the egg itself and the biggest leap of faith he could take. But the hermits were good at leaps of faith, because someone was always there to catch you.

“You think it’d be okay?”

“I know it’ll be okay,” Pearl replied. “I haven’t been here very long but from what I’ve seen, I know they’d all help. They wouldn’t hurt it. They might be a little mischievous sometimes,” she said, glancing at Scar’s house, “but they know how important it is and would be happy to help. They helped you before, didn’t they?”

Pearl was right, of course. Nobody on the server had any desire to hurt the egg. He trusted that. If there was anyone that he could trust, it was them.

But how would he get them all to essentially sign up for babysitting?

An idea struck him, and Grian scrambled to his feet. “Pearl, you’re brilliant. Thank you!”

She blinked, a little startled. “Always happy to help.”

•·················•·················•

Grian stood back, admiring his work. A near perfect duplicate of the egg that was currently sitting in the backpack slung around his shoulder, but at a much larger scale. It was built out of obsidian blocks and crying obsidian for the spots, and if Grian was pretty proud of how it looked.

If Grian knew anything, it was that his friends loved minigames. And Grian was not above gently exploiting that fact to get a little help--just like barge game from the last world, where he managed to get his friends to help mine out the stone from next to his mansion. Just slap the title of “game” on something and you could get a hermit to sign up for anything.

“Now . . . I just have to write the signs on the inside.”

The game Grian had come up with was officially called Tegg--he needed to stay on brand with his tag games in every world--but he’d mentally been calling it “The Babysitting Game” for a while now. Because that’s what it really was--each hermit who signed up would also sign up to watch the egg and keep it safe. He set to work outlining the rules.

RULE ONE: Protect the egg and keep it safe.

RULE TWO: Keep the egg incubated or it’ll die.

RULE THREE: Keep a close eye on the egg.

RULE FOUR: Call Grian if it starts to hatch.

Satisfied, he wrote out the rest of the instructions. Because it was a game, he wanted to make it fun for the hermits too, so he’d decided to make it like a scavenger hunt. People were allowed to take the egg, provided they adhered to the rules, and were encouraged to hide it and keep it safe. Otherwise, someone else who wanted to have it could get it. The safer the egg was, the less likely for someone else to find it. The winner was whoever had the egg the longest when it finally hatched. Grian didn’t know how long that would take, but he didn’t want to miss it either, hence rule four.

Yep, totally outsourcing his babysitting onto his friends.

Grian squinted at his wall of signs, before placing one final sign at the bottom: Grian will track the game and has final say on points and rules!

“That should do it,” he mumbled. He still wanted to keep an eye on the egg, to make sure that he knew who had it and how many people’s hands it had gone through. After all, he was the one ultimately responsible for it.

Grian pulled the egg out of the backpack and carefully placed it on the ground. He’d somehow made a habit of just speaking to it every now and then--he had no idea if the little dragon could hear anything in there, but he liked to think that it could. “Hey there,” he whispered, and stroked the top of the egg. “Some new people are going to start taking you pretty soon, but it’s okay. They’re going to give me some help and make sure you’re safe.”

He paused, taking in the little room he’d made and the wall of signs he’d written with meticulous instructions for the egg’s care. It may have been the first thing he’d built for this egg, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be his last. A baby dragon was a commitment and for the first time Grian really let himself think about what that meant, beyond just an egg that he had to carry around. Would he house it? Train it? Let it stay by his side? Would he love it?

I think I already do, he thought.

He thought of the hermits--their mischievousness, their pranks, their hard work, their friendship, and their goodness at heart. They were his family, now. What was one more addition?

“It’s okay,” he whispered to the egg. “I trust them all with my life, but more importantly, I trust them with yours.”

[thestarrynightslover]

How to Say I Love You

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Word count: 2,582

Warnings: Smut implied.

Summary:  One day, Jay takes it upon himself to be an extra-cute boyfriend. The reason? It takes (y/n) a while to find out.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: Posting super late because the day was hard. So, just some more Jay fluff to brighten our days. Hope you like it!

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

| masterlist |

As soon as you woke up, you felt light kisses being pressed to all of your very exposed skin, and an inevitable smile came to your lips.

“Good morning, princess.” Jay whispered in your ear with a husky voice.

“Good morning for you too, baby.” You answered him while bringing his face closer to yours. On that movement, before you could kiss him, you caught a glance of your bedside clock. “Oh my God, Jay! Look at the time! I thought we’d agreed to get as much sleep as we could after last night!” You quickly reprehended him. “Or have you forgotten that both of us still have to go to work today?” You asked, trying to sound annoyed at him when the most you managed to do was breathe out was a moan, as he nibbed your earlobe.

“Oh, I know how much you like sleeping, babygirl. But I know that there are a few things you’d give up your sleep for.” He stated in a very sexy tone.

“And what exactly makes you think that you’re one of those things?” You teased your boyfriend, hoping he’d respond to it like you thought he would.

“Ah, just a little something,” he teased back while slowly putting his hand between your legs, not even bothering to lift the hem of the shirt you were wearing, “like this.”

“Oh, Jay…” And, just like that, you were completely fine with waking up early.

                                                          ---

Throughout the day, you just couldn’t keep the smile off your face, as your boyfriend took it upon himself to be the cutest person in the world. Why? You had no idea. All you knew was that he'd gotten the day off but, since you couldn't the same, he'd decided to go to work nonetheless.

His romantics for no apparent reason started with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a note that read:

“Will you be my lunch date today? *blinking face*

P.S.: 12:00 - 13:00 is all I have. Sorry, doll :(

Meet me at our spot?

⎼ Your bae.”

He used bae. If he wasn’t so cute, and if you didn’t love him so much, you would have cringed at the choice, and he knew it. Ah, that man...

A few hours after that, you went to meet Jay for lunch at your spot ⎼ which was one of the benches along the Riverwalk, where you’d first met ⎼, absolutely decided on calling him out for being so mushy. But, as you walked closer towards him, you could see that your boyfriend was holding a picnic basket in one hand, and a bottle of champagne in the other, and, as corny as that was, you couldn’t help but grin. 

“Drinking on duty now, detective?” You asked, raising your eyebrow at him.

“Nope. This one’s without alcohol. And, trust me, you’ll like it.” He told you, a sweet smile on his lips.

“Hum, maybe... But I wouldn’t really mind if it was bad either.” You half-whispered at Jay.

“Oh no?” He asked you with a smirk this time.

“No. The company makes up for anything else.” You said while moving to kiss him.

“Geez, babe, you're such a dork!" He said, making fun of you after the kiss was over.

"Really? That's what you're going with?" You, the dork? Big joke.

"What else can I say if it's the truth?" Jay asked you through his lashes, an innocent expression in-face.

"Look who's talking!" You said while rolling your eyes.

Not long after that, he put an end to your little banter. Saying that he didn't wanna spend another second of the few moments the two of you had until the evening arguing was an understatement. You agreed, even though you knew that both of you secretly enjoyed the bickerings as well as you did everything else.

Later, on that same day, when you were about to leave work, you decided to call your boyfriend.

"Hey, babe." He answered, on the fourth ring, voice letting on some tiredness.

"Hey there, handsome! I'm already leaving work, think I’mma go swim a little. Unless… There's a chance you're getting off a little earlier yourself?" You tried your luck, thinking about making him relax a little before you two left for dinner.

"Uh… Sorry, babe, I don't think I'll be able to." A deep sigh. Something was wrong.

"Jay. Is everything okay?" Another sigh. Shit.

"It's nothing for you to worry about, baby. Just a pain-in-the-ass case we can't seem to solve. When all I wanted to do was be home with you." He confessed.

"Huh. Now, tell me, who's the dork?" You heard his muffled laugh over the phone.

"I am. You know it. I know it. Everyone who knows us knows it." At that, you were the one who giggled. "And, believe me, I bear the title with pride." More laughing, from both of you this time.

"Okay, then… So, um, is there anything I can do? Maybe we cancel that dinner reservation?"

"No! No, not at all! You just… Go do your swimming and don't worry about me, okay?" Jay sounded a bit weird this time, but you brushed it off, thinking that it was just the stress of the day.

"Okay…" You replied, still unconvinced. 

"Alright, I gotta go now. Love you."

"Okay, bye. Love you too. Be safe!"

"Always, baby." With that, he hung up quickly, which he never did ⎼ always dragging the conversations for as long as he could. But, once again, you decided to do what your boyfriend told you to and not worry about it.

It was already a bit into the evening and you were stretching your body to leave the swimming pool, when you saw him. Jay. So you got out and walked over to him.

"Fancy meeting you here, miss (y/l/n)." He greeted innocently.

"Well, this is a surprise. Yet another one. On the same day." You said, just to let him know that his weird behaviors weren't going by unnoticed.

"Ah, you know what they say… Gotta keep the relationship interesting!" Ha, ha. He was up to something. So you just gave him a suspicious look. To which he answered with a huge smile, saying: "What?"

"Nothing. Nothing besides the fact that you're up to something. What is it?"

"Oh. My. God." Jay said emphatically, faking offense. "I'm offended. You think that poorly of me?"

"What do you mean?" You asked him, a bit confused this time.

"You really think that I can't just try and brighten my princess's day?" He said, walking closer to you this time.

"Well, I guess that I wouldn't object to that, but what I'm saying is tha-" Before you could finish your sentence, he was pulling you towards him, pressing your bodies on a tight embrace and kissing you passionately. 

"Oh no, Jay, you should let me go! I'm all wet!" You squeal out as Jay keeps holding you up in the air against his firm abdomen.

"I don't mind." He told you with a shrug of shoulders. "I'm used to having you like this." He, then, whispers in your ear and you can feel his smirk, as he kisses your neck.

"Jay!" You hissed in fake disapproval. "We're in public! You can't be saying these things to me in public!"

"Sorry, baby. But you know that I just can't help myself around you." He tells you, deliberately taking his time. At that, you just throw back your head in laughter. "Besides, it doesn't seem to me like you're feeling all that bothered with my actions…"

"But I am!" You said assertively. But then you remembered your conversation from earlier and asked him, in a softer tone: "Hey, um, how did the case go? Are you still feeling up for the dinner thing?" As soon as the words left your mouth, you watched Jay shift his entire demeanor.

"Yeah! We're definitely still going! And, as I told you before, the case was just a pain in the ass, nothing more." He sounded nervous. Weird. Like he was hiding something.

"Jay…"

"Let's just go, okay? Cause we still need to get ready for dinner. I already put your stuff in the duffel bag. My car's right outside." Jay told you quickly, like he didn't wanna give you time to make any conclusions.

"Okay, then…"

                                                           ---

“C’mon, (y/n/n)! We’re running late!” You heard your boyfriend shouting for you to come out of your shared bedroom.

“Hey! Don’t you dare to rush me! Not when you’re the reason I’m running late in the first place!” You sharply answered, stepping out into the living room whilst putting your earring on. “Besides, that place we’re going is just too fancy. I need to look perfect.” You added more calmly, only now realizing how Jay was staring at you. “What? Is something wrong?”

“Wha- wrong? No! No!” He quickly assured you and closed the distance between the two of you. “You already look perfect. Every single day.”

“What? Jay, I’m serious!” You pouted, giving him an annoyed glare.

“I am too! You look gorgeous, baby.” He told you with that glorious smile of his. “And, really, there’s just no place on the planet that could make you look any less gorgeous.”

“Okay, now you’re just trying to get me to hurry up!” You accused, hitting him with considerable strength in the chest.

“Ouch! That hurt! And, yes, I am trying to hurry you up! Because we have a reservation!” He yelled at you in response. If it was any other time, you would’ve argued with him, of course. But even you had to admit he was right, you were on the clock.

“Okay, okay! I’m just gonna grab my purse and we’ll go!” You shouted back, already from the bedroom.

After that, the two of you managed to leave your apartment and get to the restaurant on time, due to Jay promising the cab driver a doubled pay if he went faster.

As soon as you arrived, though, you saw it was worth it. You still had no clue of what got in your boyfriend’s head to take you out on this kind of date for no apparent reason like that, especially after everything else he’d already done, but you obviously weren’t about to complain either.

 The maître walked both of you two to a table on the upper floor of the establishment, it had an amazing view of the city and it was a pretty reserved space. So, right after you'd placed your orders and been left alone, you half-squealed at Jay:

"Oh. My. God." Your smile was wide and your eyes were shining. "This place is incredible, babe!" He looked at you with devotion, clearly amused by your reaction.

"I know right? I'm really glad we got to come here." He stated, his whole behavior letting you know that he was just as impressed.

And, like that, the evening flew by and you caught yourself stifling yawn after yawn.

"Baby, you’re not too desperate to go home, are you? Because there's still one thing I wanna show you." Your boyfriend said, pulling you by your hand to get up. Then, he guided you to that part where you'd been able to view most Chicago, earlier in the night.

"Wow," you said, leaning against the balcony to see the details, "this really is great, babe." When you’d walked past this part you wondered about why they hadn't put any tables there, only a small couch, but now you knew. They didn't want to make that space ⎼ that landscape ⎼ prisoner of one couple, or one family, that would most likely stay there the entire night.

"It is." He agreed with you.

"You know, I hadn't brought it up yet, because I thought that you'd eventually tell me on your own, but you've been acting a little weird the whole day. This morning in bed, the flowers, then the picnic lunch, picking me up at swimming, and now this… You didn't sound too good on that call either, and I gotta admit that when you said we were going out for a fancy dinner, I didn't think it'd be here, where it's practically impossible to get a reservation. So, just… Talk to me, Jay."

"(y/n/n)... Would you even believe me if I told you that that's what I've been preparing to do the whole day?" He asked you with a shy smile.

"Will you be mad at me if I say no?" You asked, a bit apprehensively. He just laughed.

"Nah, not really." He told you jokingly. "But I have." He said, more serious this time. “Baby, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” He started telling you.

“Jay-” You whispered nervously, sort of anticipating what was about to happen.

“No, just- just please let me finish. I need you to understand how important you are to me, princess. Hell, I know that words aren’t really my strongest suit, but you deserve to know that you’re my light, my lifeline, my happiness… You’re my everything, (y/n/n). My entire world. And, because of you, now I think that it is actually okay to dream, to hope for a better future, for a future. That’s why I wanna ask you, tonight, to be my future, just like you already are my present.” At that moment you couldn’t keep the tears off of your face anymore, and you would’ve jumped him right then if he hadn’t gotten down on one knee. “Will you marry me, (y/n) (y/l/n)?” He asked you with a timid smile and teary eyes of his own. As you took in the man you loved, kneeled before you, holding an open box with the diamond ring you’d recognized as being his mother’s, you just stood there crying, not managing to say anything. “B- baby? Please say something.” Jay spoke again, letting out a nervous choked laugh. So you forced yourself to answer him.

“Oh m- my God, yes!!” You squealed out.

“Yes?!?” He repeated what you said, still on the ground.

“Of course, yes!!!” You confirmed, pulling him up to kiss you. While at it, your boyfriend, now fiancé, almost dropped the small velvet box he was holding.

“Okay,” he started, chuckling, after the two of you parted a little, “let me put this thing on your finger before you back down!”

“Ha, ha. As if I was going to! You’re only in a hurry because you’re scared you’ll drop your mom’s ring.” You bickered a little, letting him know that you recognized the jewelry, to which he responded with a bright smile, saying:

“It’s your ring now, princess. And, trust me, she’d love you almost as much as I do if she were still here.” He told you, shining eyes meeting yours, as he slipped the stunning piece in your finger.

“Jay.” You breathed out as the tears resurfaced in your eyes. “It is so beautiful…” You told him looking down at the ring you had in-hand. “And… You really mean that?”

“100%, princess. If I’m being honest, there are a lot of times when you actually remind me of her…” He said, tearing up a little.

“Awww, babe...” You said throwing your arms around him again.

And that’s how you two stayed. Just holding each other, under a very starry night in Chicago. More than ready to start walking down that new road together.

[softholand]

pot valiant - t.h

pairing: bartender!tom x reader

summary: pot-valiant, definition; bold or courageous under the influence of alcoholic drink

warnings: drinking, swearing, smut, dom!tom

words: 4.3k

a/n: i did it!!! bartender!tom was always present in my mind and after that picture (thanks paddy!!) i couldn’t help myself ;))) i hope you guys like this and please let me know what you think <3 enjoy!!

Two weeks, three days, 5 hours, and 22 seconds. That was the time your best friend Briana gave you to mourn your last failed relationship. Once that time had passed, she broke into your house, made you take a much necessary shower, forcing you to shave and wash your hair, while she took care of the mess that was your house. Plastic food containers and cans of beer and Coca-Cola littered both the kitchen and the living room floor, making the house smell like a garbage can.

“Glad to see you’re still alive!” Briana cheered after you got out of the shower, wearing your fluffy robe. “I am but barely. Wow, what did you do to my house?” You asked, being met with a completely different scenario from the one you left.

“I just put out the trash, y/n! Something you should have done before.” Briana scolded you, making you roll your eyes. “Should have waited and put me out too, since I feel like trash!” You groaned, flopping down on your sofa.

“Hey, no, no, no! Get up, y/n! We’re going out!” Your best friend announced, before trying to make you stand. “Noooo, please, Bri! I’ll do anything you want, but that!” You pleaded, but it was of no use. “I don’t wanna hear it, y/n! I didn’t come here to clean your house, I came to take you out of here and that’s what I’m gonna do.” Briana stated, taking your hands.

“Bri, I love you, but please let me stay just a little longer, I’m not ready for the outside world yet.” You groaned, trying your best to convince your best friend. “y/n, I love you too, that’s why I’m here! I can’t stand seeing you like this anymore! Yeah, what Tyler did to you was fucked up, but that doesn’t mean you have to stop living your life because of it.” Briana exclaimed.

“I know, Bri! I know! It’s just… hard for me to wrap my head around the fact he ditched me after all this time and that I’m single now.” You sighed, starting to feel emotional. At that, Briana pulled you closer and wrapped her arms around you, engulfing you in one of her best hugs. “I’m sorry, y/n! I didn’t mean to make you cry again.” Bri apologized, making you chuckle through your tears. “It’s okay, Bri! It’s not your fault, really. I’m just… a mess!” You laughed, drying your face with the robe sleeves.

“One drink. We get one drink and if you still don’t wanna stay after that, we leave. I promise!” Your friend offered, with hopeful eyes. “Fine! One drink!” You sighed, to which she squealed. “Yes! Thank you, y/n! You’re not gonna regret it! I’ve found this new club, it opened just a couple of weeks ago. You’re gonna love it!” She grinned. “Now, go put on your best outfit, we’re going out!” Briana squealed, making you laugh at her excitement.

About an hour later and after a whole lot of makeup and trying on clothes, Briana finally decided you were done with what she called: a Cinderella transformation. Of course, you laughed at her choice of words, and to irritate your friend, even more, you asked if you also should be back at midnight. She gave you the middle finger, before giving up and joining you in laughter.

After a quick cab ride, that could be done by feet, not with the heels you two were wearing though, you and Briana were at the new club she talked about. Once inside, you had to admit your best friend was right. The place looked like a mix of everything you enjoyed, the walls were coated in a beautiful shade of red, while the lounge area was filled with dark green sofas. Different from the other places you had been to, the bar on this one was positioned right in the middle, with bar stools in that same dark green velvet texture, rounding the space. The dim light that filled the space gave a mysterious/sensual vibe, something you were also a fan of.

Briana immediately dragged you to the bar, waiting patiently for one of the many bartenders. While she made her request, you took the time to scan the place, noting some artsy bits that complemented the space. “What can I get you?” A smooth masculine voice took you out of your daze, making you avert your attention to him. Right in front of you, a gorgeous boy with hazel eyes and chocolatey brown curls grinned at you, waiting for your answer. What was even the question?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” You apologized, making his smile grow even more. “I asked what can I get you tonight, darling?” He asked, making you smile with the nickname. “Oh, uh… a daiquiri, please!” You finally said, not being able to avert his gaze. “Good choice! I’ll be right back, girls!” He smirked, before going to the enormous wall of beverages behind him.

Once he was out of earshot, Briana lightly kicked your bare leg, getting your attention. “Isn’t he hot?” She mouthed, making you roll your eyes. “Really, Bri? Already?” Shaking your head, you went back to looking at your surroundings. “Oh, c’mon y/n! A woman has to eat!” Briana joked, making you both burst out laughing.

Seconds later, hot guy was back, this time with two cocktail shakers in his hands. Like every bartender in the world, he made his presentation while pouring the ingredients into the containers, making sure to really flex his arms while shaking it. Not that you noticed.

With two glasses in front of you, he poured the drinks in, doing the finishing touches before serving them to you. “Two pretty drinks for two pretty ladies, enjoy!” He smirked, before going back to his business. “Oh God, he only gets better!” Briana jokingly fanned herself, making you laugh. “He’s just doing his job, Bri! How many times do you think he used that one?” You asked your friend, who rolled her eyes at you. “You’re no fun!” She groaned, putting her tongue out.

Briana was only halfway through her Cosmopolitan when one of her favorite songs started to play. She made everything in her power to make you go with her but you denied her offer, stating you were fine watching her from the bar. With her drink in her hands, she made her way into the dance floor, purposely shaking her booty at you, which made you laugh and almost choke on your barely touched drink.

“Not into dancing?” The same voice from minutes ago asked, startling you. “Oh, no! Not today, at least!” You shrugged, offering him a smile. “So, what brought you and your friend here? I’m Tom, by the way!” He asked, cleaning the surface in front of him, making the watch he wore catch the fluorescent lights of the club. “y/n! And to be honest, she dragged me here.” You told him, giving into their usual small talks. “Wanna talk about it? I’m a pretty damn good listener!” He offered you with a smile.

You took a deep breath, asking yourself if it was really a good idea to share a part of your life with a stranger, and since you weren’t going to step foot on the dance floor, you thought this was the next most reasonable thing to do. Right? “Well, I was into a two-year relationship that ended a couple of weeks ago, and apparently staying inside your house, eating takeout food, and crying over stupid romantic movies is not a very healthy thing to do, so today she went to my house and here I am.” You smiled, taking a sip of your drink.

Once you looked at Tom, he gave you a pitiful look, to which you shrugged. “That’s not even the worst part though.” You said, the alcohol in your system already making the choices for you. “Instead of calling me or sending me a text asking to talk, you know, like a normal person, he invited me to his parents’ tenth-anniversary party and broke up with me in front of his whole family, claiming I wasn’t what he wanted in a relationship anymore.” With a raise of your glass, you finished your sad story, downing the rest of your daiquiri.

“Damn, what a dick!” Tom breathed after a couple of seconds, making you chuckle. “Oh, well! Cheers to single life, I guess…” You said, raising your now empty glass. “Need a refill?” He asked, pointing to the glass on your hands. “Please!” You huffed, before thanking him. “What will it be now?” Tom smirked, seeing your thinky face. “I don’t know, something strong.” He nodded, giving you two thumbs-ups, before going back to the wall to collect the ingredients.

Once the song ended, Briana came back to you and you two chatted until Tom came back with your drink, waiting for your approval. “It’s good! I like it! Thanks, Tom!” You smiled, locking eyes with him. “Do you want a refill too, darling?” He asked Briana, to which she said a beer would be fine. Once he was off, you felt your best friend's eyes burning a hole in your skull. “What?” You asked, impatiently. “We’re already on a name basis then?” Briana smirked, making you roll your eyes at her. “Yeah, I mean, he introduced himself, what did you want me to do?” You snapped and that was enough to her smirk double in size. “Okay, girl! You sure you don’t want to go home then?” She asked you for what felt like the fifth time. “Yes, Bri! I’m good! I promise!” You assured your best friend before she once again was off to the dance floor.

You quietly took sips of your new strawberry drink, watching from afar as your friend seemed to get her eyes on a specific guy for the night. She gave you a wink, making you roll your eyes at her antics. “She seems to be enjoying herself.” You heard Tom’s voice, turning the barstool to find him looking at you. “Yeah, she always does!” You agreed, taking another sip of your drink. “So, you’re from here?” He asked, sounding interested. “Yeah, I’m a local! You?” You said, raising your brows. “Same!” He smiled, going right to the next question.

The conversation kept going for most of the night, Tom attended some clients, while you took sips of your drinks, and once he was free, he was right back at you with another round of questions. Seeing as Briana wasn’t by your side anymore, you welcomed his company, glad at least this way you wouldn’t be left alone. “Museologist? I’ve never heard that before!” He grinned, making you chuckle. “Yeah, it’s not very common. Basically what I do is investigate and preserve material cultural stuff, like paintings, sculptures or constructions and immaterial, such as traditions and folklore.” You answered and Tom couldn’t help but find adorable the way your eyes lit up while you talked.

Briana came back after a couple more songs, sitting by your side and asking Tom another beer. “So, found your prey?” You joked, making her laugh. “Actually, I did! See that blonde? With the samurai bun?” She pointed and you nodded once your eyes landed on him. “Nice, Bri!” You complemented, giving her a playful high five. “Right? And he’s so sweet and smart and funny! He even asked me if I wanted to go to his house.” She blurted, seemingly disappointed. “And?” You asked, not getting why she reacted that way. “Oh, no! I’m not leaving you. I dragged you here so I’m taking you home.” Briana exclaimed, to which you rolled your eyes. “Bri, I’m totally able to call a cab and go home by myself. I’m fine, I promise! You can go with Mr. Samurai bun if you want.” You assured her, seeing her eyes widen. “No, y/n/n! I promised you!” She protested, making you groan. “I’m fine, Bri! Go with him!” Once again, you insisted. “Are you sure?” She asked and you had to laugh at her. “I’m not a child, Bri! Now go, he’s not going to wait all night!” You teased, getting a hug and a kiss on the cheek from your friend before she was off.

“Lost your friend?” Tom asked once he was back from his bartender duties. “Yeah, it's just me now and I think I’ll actually call it a night and go home.” You told him, making him frown. “Hey, not to sound creepy or anything but are you going by yourself? Because that’s not very safe and my shift ends in like ten minutes. If you want, I can accompany you.” With hopeful eyes, the boy in front of you smiled, making your heart flutter just a tiny bit. You thought about leaving a stranger accompanied you home, you really did, but something in your gut told you it was fine, Tom was a good guy and would never do anything to harm you. So, you went with it. “Yeah, that would be great, actually.” You smiled and ten minutes later, you were both leaving the club, at 3:30 in the morning.

Tom offered to call a cab but seeing as your house was only a few minutes away, you asked if it was okay for him that you guys walked. He agreed and with the moon illuminating your steps, the pair of you made your way into the almost silent streets. You guys kept talking and occasionally your hands would brush on one another, which caused little butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Once in front of your apartment building, you stopped, having no idea what to do next, since you were in a relationship for the last two years.

“It was nice meeting and talking to you, Tom!” You said, opting for the easiest way out. “Yeah, the feeling is mutual, y/n!” He answered, stuffing both of his hands in his pockets. “Thank you for… listening.” You mumbled, making him chuckle. “Of course! Whenever you need!” He smiled, not moving a muscle. “I’ll see you around, then. Bye!” With a little wave of your hand, you made your way to the door, while Tom watched you from his place. “Sure! Bye, y/n!” He exclaimed, making you smile, finally entering the building.

That’s how you found yourself going back to that same club every Friday, getting a couple of drinks while talking to Tom, then being escorted home by him. You had been doing this for almost a month now and Briana was starting to get suspicious. It was Friday again and she had just called you while you finished getting ready. “So, any plans for tonight?” She asked, already predicting your answer. “Not really, just gonna get some drinks and head home.” You said while clasping your black sandals. “Tom’s gonna bring you home again?” You sighed, already knowing where this conversation was heading. “I don’t know, Bri! If he wants to.” You looked in the mirror for the last time, before taking your bag and heading out. Once Briana finally hung up, you threw your phone into your purse, getting into the cab.

The routine was the same, you got in, spotted Tom, sat in one of the many barstools, and waited for him to approach you. “What can I get this beautiful lady today?” He joked, a smile wide on his face. Today he was wearing a simple black shirt, tight around his muscles, the watch still sat proudly on his wrist, and his curls were a little bit messier than most days. “You know you don’t have to waste your pickup lines with me, Tom.” You smiled, watching his reaction. “Okay then, what can I get this grumpy old lady today?” He smirked, making you chuckle. “A Sex On The Beach, please?!” You grinned and after a quick wink, he was off.

The rest of the night passed like magic, you didn’t even see the time pass and once you took a look at your phone, you saw that it was almost time for Tom’s shift to end, which meant it was time to head home. The chilly London air hit as soon as you stepped out of the club, making you shiver, seeing as you were only in a dress. Like the gentleman he was, Tom took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders, and although you protested, saying he was going to catch a cold, he assured you he was fine with his shirt.

You didn’t know what you were thinking when the words “Do you wanna come inside?” came out of your mouth but now was definitely too late to take them back. “Oh, yeah! Sure!” Tom agreed, making you smile. The short lift ride was awkward and once you walked into your apartment, the feeling only grew. Tom stayed pretty close to the door, with both of his hands in his pockets, while you put your purse away and turned on the lights. “Welcome and sorry for the mess.” You said, going back to the living room. Tom just smiled, before saying, “You call this messy? You should see my house!” You both laughed and the tension was back in the air. “Do you want anything? Water, wine, beer?” You offered, taking off your shoes and his jacket, putting the both away. “Water would be good.” He said and you quickly made your way to the kitchen, shaking your head to try and get rid of some very intrusive thoughts.

“Thanks!” He smiled, taking the glass from your hands, while your eyes kept focused on his arm and the prominent veins and the way his shirt was almost being ripped by his bicep. “y/n? You here?” Tom’s voice brought you back, making your face grow hot with the knowledge you got caught. “Yes, sorry!” You apologized, watching as his smirk grew in size. He placed the cup on the small table by your door, before taking a couple of steps closer. Slowly, as if testing the waters, he put his hands on your hips, leaning the smallest bit in, not taking that stupid smirk off of his face.

His smell was intoxicating, the mixture of alcohol and mint was definitely making your mind clouded. “Tom…” You whispered once he was only centimeters away from you. “What is it, y/n?” He asked, looking between your eyes and your lips. “Kiss me!” You almost pleaded, his smirk the last thing you saw before his lips were crashing into yours. The feeling was new, you hadn’t kissed anyone since your ex-boyfriend and you couldn’t help but compare them. Tom’s was so much better though, his lips could be thin but they held so much power on them, his mouth worked like magic against yours, and before you knew he was pulling away, completely breathless. The pause didn’t last long though, he looked so good with his lips plumped, the tiniest of the smirks still proudly on them, you just couldn’t help yourself and launched yourself at him.

You backed him against the wall, moaning when you felt his tongue entering your mouth. Tom placed both of his hands on your ass, squeezing it before asking, “Bedroom?” Without breaking the kiss, you pointed in the direction of your room and before you knew it, he was carrying you in his arms. You squealed, wrapping your legs around his torso, before going back to his lips. He placed you on the bed, making a trail of kisses from your neck, all the way to your stomach. Once he positioned himself between your tights, he looked at you with his bright brown eyes, asking if he could take your dress off. You nodded and after a little bit of a struggle, he took the thin material out of your body, leaving you in just a pair of white underwear. “You’re so beautiful!” He whispered, going back to your lips and attacking them with kisses. “Tom, please…” You moaned, growing even more eager to feel him. “What do you want, darling?” He smirked, loving seeing you like that. “You, I want you!” With a shake on your voice, you pleaded and he finally took the clue and went to work.

After another confirmation from you, he discarded your panties, tracing his fingers through your now soaked folds. “You look amazing, y/n!” Tom breathed before going straight to your core. You let out a moan as soon as his lips touched you, making your whole body shake with pleasure. “And tastes amazing too!” He purred, focusing on his task. Your moans only grew louder when he pushed two of his slender fingers on your heat. “Fuck, Tom! Feels so good!” You blurted, not being able to control yourself. “That’s it, baby! I can feel your walls clenching around my fingers. Tell me how much do you wanna cum.” Tom whispered, making you clench even more, only by his words. “Wanna cum, Tom! Please…” You were never this talkative in bed and not once has a guy been this dominant with you but you couldn’t say you weren’t enjoying it. “Cum for me, baby! Wanna hear you scream my name!” He mumbled and finally lost control. Your whole body shook with pleasure and you had to contain yourself from closing your thighs around Tom’s head.

Once you came back from your high, you opened your eyes to find Tom already looking at you, with some of your wetness still glistening on his chin. “You alright?” He asked, concern coating his words. “Yeah!” You smiled, before going back to his lips. With a quick move, you straddled him, helping him take off his shirt, letting his chest perfectly exposed for you. You lowered yourself, leaving a trail of kisses on his jaw, neck, collarbones, chest, each one of his abs, and finally, his perfectly sculpted v line. “Are you sure? You don’t have to, I’ll be perfectly fine by just giving...” You interrupted his mumbling by attaching your lips to his, hoping it would be his answer.

With the rest of his clothes discarded, you couldn’t help but admire his body. He was perfect. Sculpted by the gods, even. After wetting your hands, you took his cock, pumping a few times before attaching your lips to it. You twirled your tongue, tasting his precum, feeling him grow harder and harder on your hands. “Holy shit, you feel so good, y/n!” His words of encouragement were enough for you to start moving your head up and down, taking his member into your mouth inch by inch, until he was bucking his hips. “Fuck! You’re bloody amazing, darling!” He praised, while making direct eye contact with you, “But if you want more, you better stop before I coat your throat with my cum.” You had to admit, his dirty talk was doing something to you.

Releasing his cock with a loud pop, you climbed on top of him, kissing his lips. “Do you have a condom?” He asked between kisses. “Bedside table, first draw.” You answered and after a loud smack on your ass, you got off of him, both of you wearing playful smiles on your faces. Tom opened the foil package and rolled the material into his member, positioning himself at your entrance. “You sure you wanna do this?” He asked, making sure you wanted this as much as he did. “Yes, Tom! I want you to fuck me!” You said, kissing his lips.

With both of his hands on your hips and a huge smirk on his face, he pushed himself into you, making you moan. It took you a few seconds to get used to him and once you nodded, Tom started to move, bringing another level of pleasure to your body. “Fuck! You’re so tight around me, y/n!” He whispered, biting your earlobe. “Tom, fuck me harder!” You pleaded, wanting nothing more than to be railed by him. That seemed to take Tom by surprise but he was quick to obey your wish, thrusting harder and harder into your soaking wet core. “You look so beautiful like that, all sweaty, begging me for more!” He kept praising you, feeling how much you liked when he did.

With both of his arms by your head, he caged you, tattooing your face with kisses. “Feel so good, Tom! Please, make me cum!” You mumbled, by now barely able to form sentences. Tom was quick to obey and once his fingers found your clit, rubbing small circles in it, you were gone. Toes curling, you arched your back, getting a handful of the mattress in one hand while the other scratched Tom’s back. “Fuck, y/n!” With a final thrust of his hips, Tom reached his high, moaning your name like it was the most beautiful prayer.

He collapsed on top of you, leaving a long kiss on your lips, before getting up and tossing the condom on the trash. You went to the bathroom to clean yourself up, seeing as you were too tired to take a shower, and asked him if he wanted that too. He agreed and once you were decent enough, you put on clean panties and his discarded shirt, asking him to join you on the bed. Of course, he accepted, he wasn’t planning to go anywhere either so, after putting his boxers back on, he climbed on the bed with you.

You quickly doze off but right before you did, you admitted to yourself that, like most of the time, Briana was right, and going to that new club wasn’t a bad idea after all.

tagging: @stuckonspidey @bi-writes @duskholland @screamholland @missnxthingg @tomhollandthing @wazzupmrstark @peeterparkr @veryholland @spideyspeaches-deactivated20221 @lauras-collection @tommybaholland @rebekkah4766 @hopelessromm @pensivepeter @geminiparkers @mrs-hollandstan @hollandcreep @uglypastels

[winterscaptain]

spoiled.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: happy valentine’s day! 

words: 2.1k warnings: language, over-the-top valentine’s day shenanigans

summary: “the best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds.” - nicholas sparks. au!february 2012

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

Aaron leaves rather early in the morning, leaving you in bed complaining with only a kiss for your trouble. 

When you eventually get up, on track to be about fifteen minutes late to the federal building, you find a pair of post-its on the fridge. 

Always the romantic. 

+++

The evening rolls around and finds you on the couch with Jess and Jack. 

“You gonna start getting ready?” Jess asks. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.” 

You look over at her. “Wait. He told you what we’re doing?”

She nods. “Yeah. You have no idea. He hasn’t done a big Valentine’s Day thing since he surprised Haley in her senior year of college. He’s been looking for an excuse.” 

That’s terrifying. 

“Guess I better get ready then.” 

Jack’s got a funny little smile on his face, but you ignore it. You’re sure the Hotchner boys are in cahoots, but it’s not really worth it to try and wiggle anything out of him. 

You head to the master bedroom to get dressed, throwing off your slouchy day-off clothes in favor of something that can take you to a fancy dinner and whatever else Aaron has planned for your evening.

+++

You walk out of the apartment, hearing Jess lock the door behind you. When you reach the front of the apartment complex, Aaron closes the car door as he hops out, meeting you halfway to the sidewalk. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

He’s wearing a black button-up, black slacks, and his favorite pair of black oxfords. It’s a sharp look and one he knows you love. 

“You’re looking quite dapper yourself, sir.” 

The boyish grin on his face melts your heart and you take the arm he offers. Like a real gentleman, he opens the door for you and makes sure you’re inside before closing you in.

+++

The drive is quiet. You ask about the office once or twice, but it’s clear there’s nothing significant to report. 

“So...what are we doing tonight?” 

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Dinner. And a few other things.” 

+++

When he says ‘dinner,’ he’s not joking. The restaurant is a high-end, no-prices-on-the-menu type of place. The lighting is low, the environment cozy and quiet. 

He must have planned this months ago. Reservations are like gold on Valentine’s Day. 

Aaron’s squinting at the menu across from you. It makes you laugh. 

“Need a flashlight and your reading glasses?”

“Shut up.” It comes with his own laugh, but he’s still squinting. 

You finally decide on something and order, trusting Aaron’s taste in wine. When the waiter leaves, Aaron reaches across the table for your hand. 

“Okay,” he says. You recognize his tone - it’s professional, like he’s starting a press conference. “No work, no kids, no serial killers.” 

You smile, waiting for him to give you a little more context. 

“How are you?” 

What a question. 

How often does the answer to that question not include work, kids, or serial killers? 

Not very. 

“I’m good.” You mean it. “I’m really good.” 

There’s a small smile on his face. “Why?”

Are you profiling me now, Hotch? 

Deciding to give him shit, you ask, “Why am I good, or is that a more general existential question?” 

He rolls his eyes and you relent. 

“Alright. Well…” You take a breath. “There are a lot of things to be happy about. You, for one thing.” 

“Me?” He asks. He looks genuinely surprised. 

Fool. 

“Yes, you.” You squeeze his hand. “You are my best friend and somehow - somehow - I’ve landed you as my partner. I am living out everything I dreamed of at twenty-five.” 

That pulls another smile from him. “Really?” Again, he looks genuinely surprised. 

Can’t believe I’ve never told this to him. 

Ridiculous

“Oh yeah. I can’t believe you never noticed. I had a huge crush on you - instantly. Derek gave me nothing but hell once he figured it out.” You pause. “Do you remember that time on the plane, really early on, when I woke up and everyone thought I had a nightmare?” 

Looking a little confused by your change in direction, and you don’t blame him. 

“I think so? I remember we all felt so bad.” He shrugs. “We all get them, of course - still do - but we were worried about you.”

“Right. So -” 

Aaron’s head tilts to the left as he interrupts you. “Did you say ‘everyone thought’ it was a nightmare?” 

Your face gets hot and you suddenly regret bringing this up at all. “Yeah. I’m getting to that.” 

With an embarrassed huff, you continue. “So, it wasn’t a nightmare.” 

“No?” The question comes accompanied by a frown. 

“No. It was a sex dream. About you.” 

You can tell he’s doing his best to hide his smile for your benefit, but there’s a threatening dimple that gives him away and you’ve simply known him too long for him to get away with anything. 

“Really?” His tone is neutral, polite, but you can hear the humor behind the apparently bland interest. 

“Yep.” 

“What - if I may ask - was it about? Specifically?” 

You take a breath and adopt the same kind of ironic professionalism as Aaron. “Well, now it doesn’t seem so notable, because i’m more than familiar with your, um, technique.” 

And it’s true. Though you hardly remember the details of the dream anymore - it's been years - you know that real life doesn’t even come close. 

Aaron pulls his hand from yours and steeples his fingers under his chin. He’s the picture of interest, so you continue. 

“The key points are as follows -” 

He holds up a finger, and you stop. “On second thought,” he says. “I think this recollection would be better served by a demonstration.”

You nod. “You’re probably right.” 

“I’ll pencil it in.” 

You grin at each other for a moment, the back-and-forth of it so deeply on brand you can’t help but steep in it for a second. 

“So,” he says, “as you were saying before…?” 

“Right.” 

Back to business. 

“I had a huge crush on you and could swear you were the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” 

Never one to forgo an opportunity to compliment him when he’s not actively swatting at you, you continue. 

“In the lecture you gave with Gideon and Derek, I knew you were in charge before you said anything. Even though Gideon had the years and experience on you, it was clear that everything came through you.” You attempt to explain the inarticulable. “There’s a kind of steadiness - one you still have - that radiates off of you.” 

The two of you sit in that for a moment. 

You continue. “And then, of course, when we met again I had to really focus on not making an ass of myself in front of Strauss.” 

He laughs. His laughter makes you laugh, of course. It’s so much higher than his speaking register, so delightful in its unexpectedness. 

“Okay, okay.” You stop, covering your face with your hands. “Okay this is cheesy. Promise not to laugh.” 

His eyebrows rise and he forces his mouth into something that only threatens a dimple once more. 

“When you shook my hand in Radner’s office, there was this crazy jolt of energy or something that just flew up my arm. It was wild. I’ve never been able to forget it, almost like a flashbulb memory.”

As promised, he doesn’t laugh. There is, however, a kind of wonder in his eyes when he replies, “You felt that, too?”

+++

After dinner (and dessert), Aaron takes your hand and ushers you into the car when you leave the lod. He doesn’t turn the way you expect. 

“Where are we going?” 

The dashboard casts a glow on his face. You can still spot a dimple in the dark. “You’ll see.” 

+++

Your disbelief only grows when you go deeper into the city and pull up to the Hay-Adams. The valet opens the door for you, while Aaron hands over the keys to his SUV. Once all the details are covered, you take his arm again and let him guide you into the lobby. 

It’s expansive. The Hay-Adams is, of course, one of the most historic buildings in the district and considered one of the best hotels on the East Coast by people who know of these things. 

Aaron confirms the reservation and gets the room cards before promptly finding the elevator and swiping in for the seventh floor. You look down, remembering your attire at the last minute. 

“Aaron, I don’t have my go bag.” 

He shakes his head, still looking forward. “Don’t need it.” 

You scoff. 

He doubles down. “Do you trust me?”

Stupid question. 

“Of course.” 

“Go with it. I’m trying to spoil you.” He turns and presses his lips to yours, taking your face in his hand. Against your mouth, he says, “Let me.” 

+++

The room is gorgeous - a one bedroom suite with a living room, balcony, and kitchenette, a huge couch dominates the center of the open living area, opposite an impressive television. Through the open door, you catch a glimpse of a king-sized bed. 

This must have cost a small fortune. 

As if reading your mind, Aaron takes your hand and tugs you forward. You land against his chest and he smiles at you. “Don’t think too hard. Come with me.” 

You follow him out to the balcony and the view takes your breath away. The White House, well-lit in the D.C. nighttime, sits right across the street. From here, you can see Lafayette Square - beyond it, almost the whole city. 

When you come back to yourself, you realize there’s an outdoor loveseat and a small table, holding champagne (on ice) and chocolate-covered fruit. 

Champagne, chocolate, fancy dinner… The whole nine. 

Spoiled indeed. 

Aaron sits, pulling you down beside him. He pours two glasses of champagne - mostly for show, and moves the bucket to the ground. The fruit goes off to the side table and his feet go up on the small table, crossing at the ankles. You curl up against him, tucking under his arm. 

“Do you like it? Too much?” 

You can hear the genuine insecurity behind his cheeky question. You press a kiss to the back of his hand. “I love it. It is too much, but it’s very thoughtful. You twist to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Thank you.” 

With that, the two of you settle in, quietly enjoying the company and the quiet. It’s cold, but with the outdoor heater, it’s comfortable enough that you don’t need your coat. 

“Okay.” 

Aaron sits up. “Yes?” 

“You asked, so it’s only fair. No work, no kids, no serial killers. How are you?” 

He pulls you over so you’re sitting across his lap. You rest your head on his shoulder, your hand smoothing over the soft fabric of his button-up before placing it over his heart. 

“I’m good,” he says. “I’m really good.” 

“Why?” You feel a little like a parrot, but you’re sure that’s what he’s going for. 

“I can’t...quite articulate how lucky I feel.” 

That’s relatable. 

“I’m happy to be here with you.” He shakes his head - a pensive gesture. “I never thought I could make it here again.” 

“Where?” You ask. 

“In love, happy, facing a future that doesn’t scare me. My son is happy, safe...I wasn’t sure I'd ever have any of that again after losing Haley.” 

He pauses and you can feel a little sardonic smile. You don’t have to see it to know it’s there. His next admission, though, surprises you. 

“I accepted that I would be a bystander in your life a long time ago. I accepted that I would likely remain a widower, a single father. I knew you’d be around and that I would be your friend, but I made peace with the idea that I’d never have you right here.” He squeezes you twice, in time with his words. It makes you smile. 

He shakes his head and lets out a little laugh. “I’m not sure it’ll ever sink in.” 

You feel much the same, but it's kind of at once alarming and amusing to hear him so beautifully articulate feelings that so closely resemble your own. 

You lean back to look at him. “I’m glad you were wrong.”

He places a gentle finger under your chin and kisses you, long and languid. It’s a promise. After a little while, he leans back, brushing the back of his fingers over your cheek. 

“Me too.”

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @prentisswrites @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @luciilferss @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @s-unflowxr @imlottiie @stummdummrumstehen @hqtchner @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @the-falling-in-the-danger @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @vagabond-ing     @itsmytimetoodream @rebel-flying  @nuvoleincielo @rqgnarok @ssa-volturi @reidyoulikeabook @schlooper @itsmytimetoodream @bau-baby @ssagube @oreogutz @lexieshuntingsstuff @saintsmotels @hotchestie @marvelousmissmaggie @mosiacbrokenhearstf

[griavian]

the 36 questions that lead to love

x <- read on ao3

dream finds a list of questions that can supposedly lead to two people falling in love, so him and george try it out on stream. turns out, they don't really need all 36.

“Come on, George. It’s just a couple of questions.” Dream pleaded into the call, making George roll his eyes. He’s been trying to end stream for the past 15 minutes, but Dream always convinces him to go “just a little longer!”.

“36 questions is not just a couple of questions, Dream.” George glances at his second monitor to make sure his green screen was still black and to check a few discord messages. He had no intention to fall into Dream’s trap for another hour of streaming.

“But it says it’ll lead to love!” Dream says, exasperated. He googled ‘questions to ask your friend’ earlier and found a list of them that apparently lead to falling in love. To George, it was bullshit.

“That’s such bullshit.” He expresses.

“You’re no fun.” Dream’s voice lowered, and George can feel the pout Dream has plastered on his face. He can already predict what the next 12 hours would be like with Dream: silent treatment and being a general dickhead. George was used to it when they lived an ocean apart, and even found it amusing, but it was a totally different experience living with him. Dream would mope around, go into George’s room randomly just to not talk to him, and go as far as to blast sad music from his own room across the hall while George was trying to finish up some editing. Sure, it was all light-hearted jokes, and Dream would stop his act in a heartbeat if George was truly annoyed by it, but George still dreaded it.

“Fine.”

Dream immediately cheers up and starts typing on his keyboard while George watches his chat fly by, seeing a lot of emotes and positive messages.

“Okay, um- first question. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom,” Dream mocks the formality, “would you want as a dinner guest?”

George’s nose crinkles. “How is that gonna make me fall in love with you?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I don’t know! The queen?”

“That’s a stupid answer.”

“What!” George screeches and Dream barks out a laugh. “You’re so dumb.”

“You gotta give me a better answer than that, or else we won’t fall in love with each other.”

George rolls his eyes, but decides to think about his answer. Truthfully, he wouldn’t want anyone special as a dinner guest. “Um. My mum.”

George eyes his chat as it’s filled with “aw”s. He almost scoffs.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” George wants to punt Dream into another universe.

“Alright, who would you want as a guest?”

“Tom Brady.”

“That’s the stupidest answer ever!” George yells, his eyes wide, perhaps offended that Dream picked Tom Brady out of anyone else in the world.

“Question two!” Dream ignores, “This one is kinda dumb, but would you like to be famous and if you do, what for?”

George hums. “Probably don’t want to be famous-famous. Maybe being well-known for being the first person to invent IRL-VR. I want my body to be submerged in the Minecraft universe.”

“That’s sick. I dunno what I’d want-”

“You’re already famous.”

“Shut up. I don’t even- I don’t even want to be famous, really. I just want to make whoever knows me smile.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet, Dream.” George teases and he knows Dream waved him off. George has his habits practically memorized.

“Whatever. How about you ask some questions?” Dream sends a link on discord and George reads through them.

“There’s no way these can make people fall in love. What even is this question? Before making a telephone call, do you rehearse what you’re going to say and why?”

“Trust the process. I mean, I do that. I don’t want my brain all jumbled up, I guess. Words are hard.” Dream answers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I wing it.”

“That’s very you. Next question.” Something about Dream saying that made George smile the tiniest bit, made the serotonin flow through his brain.

“What’s a ‘perfect day’ for you?” George reads. It’s quiet for a moment.

“Hanging out with you,” his voice is sincere, “You and Sapnap. Recording, streaming, anything like that. What about you?”

“Hm. Me too.”

George isn’t one to show his feelings often. He remembers being asked if he did, and he answered with “not ones that matter”. It still rings true to this day. His walls are still built up and that’s okay to George. Mushy feelings aren’t important, but he’d be damned if he didn’t say his heartstrings were playing a beautiful melody during this moment.

The questions and answers fall easily after that. George knows it’s around 1 am, and he should go to sleep, but answering the questions was kind of addicting.

“Do you have a hunch on how you’ll die?” Dream reads the question with a chuckle. “That’s such a weird question to ask someone you wanna fall in love with.”

George tries not to read in between the lines.

“Heart failure. For both of us.”

“You know how I’ll die?”

“We’re Minecraft streamers, Dream. We’ll probably die at 40.” They share jokes and giggles of scenarios where they die and what they’d do, and something about it feels a bit too honest.

“I’ll die the day you die, George. Emotionally and physically.” Dream says, dramatic as ever. George only huffs, and they leave it there.

“Name three things you and your partner have in common. Dream, do you have a secret girlfriend?” They start to bicker back and forth, because of course they do.

“It doesn’t mean romantic partner, you dumbass. Like- it’s like a science partner,” Dream sighs, “Well, we do have a lot in common. We have the same job, we care about the same things, and we love each other! Easy.” Dream answers.

“Who said I loved you?”

“You literally did last night.” George had closed chat a while ago, already prepared for what was to come. He can only imagine what they’re saying.

“They’ll never believe you.” George says with a sadistic grin.

“Ugh. Okay, what are you grateful for in life? You have to answer this.” George can hear Dream get a little closer to his mic, almost anticipating George’s answer. Dream knows how much he doesn’t like to express any feelings, and probably expects him to skip the question overall. George prevails.

“You. Obviously,” and before Dream can get out an aww, George says, “You made my career, dummy, and I’m grateful for that. And my friends, family, all the normal things. Chat! I’m even grateful for chat.”

“Well, I’m incredibly grateful for you especially.” Dream’s voice is soft, almost loving. George rolls his eyes. He could’ve guessed Dream’s answer, but it weirdly hurts him when it was spoken aloud. He doesn’t know whether it hurts because it might be a fun little joke or if it’s because someone might care about him that much. George decides to stop thinking.

They answer more questions, from taking four minutes to tell each other their life stories (“There was no reason to add that detail; you’re so gross, Dream.”) to what significant quality they would want to wake up and suddenly have (“You’re already good at code shit, George. That’s the saddest answer ever.”). They move onto section two of the list, which are deeper questions.

“Is there something you’ve dreamed of doing but haven’t yet, and why haven’t you?” George asks. He knows about Dream’s unfinished projects. There’s probably a million answers to the question, and George would listen to every single one.

“Uh, well. You know I was writing a book, yeah? I was halfway done with it, and I can’t make myself finish it. It’s probably writer’s block, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.” George frowned.

“You can’t finish it with that attitude, silly. You’re annoyingly amazing at everything.” George says with a snort, “I don’t have an answer to this. What did you say that one time? Your future is my future? Well, your dreams are my dreams, then.”

George cringes a little at what he said. He doesn’t know his viewer count, but knows that at least a million people will watch that clip out of context. Dream doesn’t say anything back and moves on to the next question.

“What is your most treasured memory?” Dream asks, and George immediately laughs.

“I definitely know your’s.”

“Do tell, George.”

“Our first Christmas together. Sapnap insisted on getting a real Christmas tree, and when we started decorating the stupid thing, Sapnap sees a spider and screeches. Then, our neighbors come knocking on the front door and you had to explain to them that nobody was being murdered, it was just your roommate being a big baby. And as if it could get any worse, I got tree-sap all on my fingers and clothes and you couldn’t help me because you were laughing too hard.”

“Pretty sure I almost choked on my own spit.” Dream adds, and George scoffs. “But no, that’s not my treasured memory.”

George sputters. “What? You’re telling me I told that to thousands of people for nothing?”

“To be fair, you were all soft on Christmas morning, so our first Christmas might be your treasured memory. Anyways, remember the first time you helped me with a code?” George stays silent, giving Dream the answer. “Well, that was the first time we had a real conversation. I made you laugh, then I started to laugh because you laughed, and we didn’t get the code done. It sounds dumb, but I always smile whenever I think about it.”

George’s face falters a bit. God, he just wants to hug Dream; he wants to make a beeline for his room and attack him with affection and make sure he knows that George loves him, platonically or romantically, George wants him to know.

He just can’t express it with words.

“That… sweet.” George’s eyes travel down the following questions and panics, seeing how personal the questions are. He fakes a yawn. “As mushy and stupid this thing is, I’m really tired.”

Dream doesn’t say anything. It almost scares George, but he deafens on Discord and bids farewell to his viewers, who were completely freaking out. George doesn’t blame them. He’s abruptly leaving after a sweet moment? That’s a recipe for disaster, and George knows better. Yet, he clicks the end stream button.

The door to his office swings open instantly and startles George. It was Sapnap, someone he didn’t particularly want to see.

“What the fuck was that?” His roommate whisper-yells.

George groans and slides deeper into his chair, covering his face. “I don’t know,” he muffles.

“Are you even trying to hide your feelings at this point?” He can hear Sapnap close the door and flop on his office’s couch. “You might as well buy a billboard that says ‘I’m in love with my best friend! His name is Clay!’ with a big ass picture of your dumb face beside it.”

“I know,” George whines. “Do you think he knows?”

“He’s not the one I’m worried about knowing. I’ve told you a million goddamn times that he’s too whipped to notice. I’m worried about the fans. They’re gonna go fucking bonkers because of this stream. Clips are gonna be shared. People are gonna speculate.”

George uncovers his face and narrows his eyes at his friend. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he deadpans.

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “I’m being serious, dude. I know you’re very deeply in love with him in the gayest of ways, but you gotta be careful in front of the fans.”

“Oh my God. I know, Sapnap! I know. I forgot we were even streaming. It felt like it was just the two of us, and I got too comfortable. And it was so nice. I can’t even do anything about it now, so it doesn’t even matter.”

Sapnap sighs and pulls himself from the couch. “You need to talk to him before this gets out of hand. You know I love ya, and that I’m here for you.” George cringes out of habit, but nods. It reads as ‘I love you too, I guess’.

Sapnap leaves without another word, and George is left alone with his thoughts. It’s not long before he sluggishly makes his way back to his bedroom. He opens the closed door, enters, and shuts it. He turns around, only to be greeted by a familiar person in his bed, and yelps.

Dream laughs. He’s wearing blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His hair looks messed with, and his cheeks seem to have more color to them. George can’t help but stare.

“Well? Aren’t we gonna finish it?”

George cocks an eyebrow.

“Finish what?”

“The questions, dummy. You don’t… you don’t have to. I mean, it’s kinda stupid that I want to do it in the first place, but…” Dream trails off. George hops on his bed and grins lightly.

“Go for it.”

They answer questions they skipped, like what is your most terrible memory (“My, uh, grandma. She died when I was about 14. It was… hard on me.” “Oh, George…”).

The overhead light was off at this point, the only light coming from a lamp on his desk and the stars shining through the window. The two are on their sides, Dream on the right of the bed and George on the left, facing each other, occasionally looking at their phones to ask the questions.

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” Dream asks, his voice softer than ever. George can almost not answer. He doesn’t know.

“I’ve never been a super affectionate person, so I don’t know. I’ll give you guys quick hugs of course, but with really close relationships, I don’t know what to do.”

Dream looks as if he’s searching for something in George’s face, and George can’t tell what he’s looking for. His movements are hesitant, George sees.

“Do- um. You wanna maybe,” Dream pauses, closes his eyes,and scrunches up his face. “Try?”

“Try what?”

“Affection.” Dream lets out a breath and opens his eyes. “Affection is my strong suit, afterall.” His mouth forms into a teasing smirk despite his eyes showing nervousness.

“Um. Take the lead.”

It’s slow. So, very slow. Dream’s hand raises up and lands itself on the dip of George’s waist. He’s whispering instructions, and George listens. His hands are hung around Dream’s neck, and their legs are starting to tangle together. They laugh when they realize how far apart they are, and Dream pulls him closer. George can feel his heart beating out of his chest as he lays his head where Dream’s right shoulder meets his neck.

“Do you want me to ask the rest of the questions, sweetheart?” It sounded like a coo, and George is surprised at how effortless the pet name comes out of Dream’s mouth.

“Was that okay?” Dream whispers after a moment of George going still. He perks up.

“Yeah! Yeah.”

“Okay.” Dream pulls George closer and rests his left hand on his back. He starts rubbing up and down in slow motions.

George simply melts.

The questions and answers go by slower, and their voices become gentler. Dream announces that they’re on section three now, and to state three true “we” statements. Dream goes first.

“We… are cuddling?”

“Obviously, idiot.” George chuckles. “We are really tired?” Dream hums.

“We meant everything we’ve said tonight.”

“We are going to mean everything we say tonight.”

“You can’t just steal my answer.”

“Just do your third one.”

“We will be ‘Dream and George’ forever.”

Forever is a long, long time. And yet, Dream’s statement is still true.

“We don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Very vague.”

“Next question, Dream.”

“Alright, alright. Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone whom I could share…’”

Without a second thought, George replies, “My emotions with. Your turn.”

George swears he felt Dream squeeze him.

“My everything with. Every single little thing. Physical, metaphorical, emotional.”

“Even Patches?”

A laugh.

“Yes. Even Patches.”

“Next question.”

“Tell your partner what you like about them and be very honest.”

“Your voice. It’s like… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Does it get you going, George?”

“Shut up. I definitely don’t like your smart-assery.” George can feel Dream lean down into George’s shoulder and smile. “I like how you act around people. It’s always different depending on the person. Different with me.”

“I like how you act around people too. You’re almost always bubbly, even though you like to say you aren’t. And, God, your laugh. It’s so overwhelming, but in the best way possible. You have no idea how many times I’ve said the stupidest shit just to hear your little laugh.” George digs his head deeper into Dream’s shoulder. “I also… really like it when you say my name. My real name.”

George raises slightly, gaining the tiniest bit of confidence. “Clay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that.”

“Clay,” George whispers.

“George.” Dream sounds weak. So, very weak. George gets closer to his ear.

“Clay.”

George can’t tell if he’s joking.

“You’re gonna kill me, George.”

George’s lips brush against the outer of Dream’s ear, and his friend shivers. He decides this isn’t a joke anymore. He thinks the invisible line they had drawn in the sand many years ago has been kicked and stomped on to the point where neither of them remembers the line being there. George goes further.

“Clay, Clay, Clay,” George is still whispering, slowly brushing his lips across Dream’s jaw, and the hands around his waist get the littlest bit tighter.

George finally raises his head to meet Dream, who was a mess. His cheeks are glowing and his eyes are almost bloodshot. His breath is labored and his hands are shaky.

“Calm down, love.” George whispers and raises his right hand to meet Dream’s cheek, who leans into the touch.

“Kiss me.” Dream begs quietly, as if saying anything louder would shatter the moment in little pieces.

An adrenaline rush fills George’s veins. “Anything you want,” he says, and closes the gap.

The kiss is soft. Dream is maneuvering their bodies to be more comfortable, meaning George is pulled on top of Dream. Their lips didn’t part once.

They move together in harmony, both in the kiss and their bodies, putting everything they got into it. It was unsaid feelings and years and years of thoughts, and George felt every single one of them. George is straddling Dream’s middle and Dream is leaning up to meet George’s touch. His hands are rubbing up and down and squeezing George’s hips and George’s hands find their way into Dream’s hair. It’s perfect and imperfect and everything George has been waiting for, yearning for.

They part, and Dream pushes their foreheads together. George assumes they look dumb, but how could he care in this moment?

“Beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Dream says, his breath tickling George’s mouth. He lets out a breath and breaks out into a smile. His hands start brushing through Dream’s hair and George backs away to get a good look. Dream is staring back.

George lunges forward and wraps his arms around Dream’s neck, sending him flat on the bed with an “oof”.

“Jesus Christ, George. A warning would be nice.”

“I love you. I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-” George couldn’t get enough of saying it. George’s dam cracked when Dream held him and fucking exploded when they kissed. He doesn’t have to hold back anymore, so he doesn’t.

“Slow down, baby.” Dream says through a chuckle. He makes George lean up with tans hands on pale cheeks and a lot of eye contact. “I love you, too.”

George’s breathing slows down to a normal, less-adrenaline-filled pace, and Dream kisses him again. George forces his head back up.

“What does this mean for us?”

“Isn’t it a little obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Boyfriends, George. We’re dating now.”

“How do you know I wanted to even be your boyfriend.” George narrows his eyebrows in faux-suspicion.

Dream’s stare is blank. “I mean. You’re- well- you know, um-”

George dismisses this shortly and confirms, “I want to be your boyfriend.”

Dream sighs in relief. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” George slides off Dream’s waist and lays facing him. Dream turns as well. “Was that question the last question?”

“No, actually. There were a few left.” Dream blinks, then muses, “Guess we didn’t need 36 questions after all.”

“That was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said and I hate you for it.”

“You wound me, George. You wound me.”

George makes up for it by letting himself be engulfed in Dream’s embrace, and feels tiny kisses on the top of his head. George nuzzles closer.

Yeah, everything was going to be fine.

[kozumekenza]

on my mind :: three

:: suna rintarou x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: open :: wc: 2.0k ::

After a drunken one-night stand with your ex, you thought you could get him out of your life for good. Unfortunately, the two of you can’t seem to keep away from each other. Why can’t you leave each other alone? And more importantly, why is he still on your mind?

tw: alcohol, profanity, talk of sex, gets a little bit nsfw at the end (heavy kissing)

author’s note: I officially have an update schedule and final chapter count for this! It will update on tues/thurs at 6pm pdt, with a final chapter count of eight. I’m also planning on writing a few bonus chapters that are nsfw to add a bit to the story, but they won’t be a “necessary” read and will also be able to be read as one-shots. Thank you everyone for reading and for all of the support so far! 

After the disaster that was your phone call with Osamu (the audacity of Miya Atsumu), the rest of your day went smoothly. You met the rest of the players (you were thrilled to see Aran) and went home at the end of the day, feeling pretty good about your new job. If everything between you and Suna stayed a secret, then everything would be fine. 

Unfortunately, you forgot to account for the fact that you were surrounded by a bunch of men (boys, in your opinion) in their twenties, who thought more with a certain appendage on their lower halves than they did with their brains. This convenient fact was made apparent on Wednesday afternoon, during a routine stretching break. 

You were hovering around Atsumu, Aran, and Suna, working on Aran’s shoulder with one earbud in, humming along to some pop song with the other ear not-so-subtly listening in to the boys’ conversation. 

Suna sat his water bottle down and turned towards Aran. “Dude, I had the best and worst fucking night on Saturday. I told ‘Tsumu already, but d’ya wanna hear?”

You kept your head down, focusing on your task while praying that Aran would say no. Apparently, Atsumu had kept his promise and didn’t tell anyone but his twin brother, because Aran nodded his head. You internally cringed, sneaking a glance at Atsumu out of the corner of your eye. The smug bastard had a grin on his face and even had the nerve to look at you and fucking wink. He was lucky that you were already willing to keep this a secret at all costs, or else you would’ve slapped that look off of his face. 

“Alright, so I went out Saturday night to get drunk before practices started, and I met this sexy chick at the bar. I don’t remember much, ‘cause I was fucking wasted, but I took her back to my place.”

Aran held his fist up for a fist bump. “Score, dude!”

Suna rolled his eyes, “Yeah, that’s what I thought at first too. Except I woke up the next morning, and she was gone. Left her bra and skirt at my place, but get this, she stole my fucking National Team jersey!”

Atsumu was uncharacteristically quiet, but Aran filled the silence with a “Damn, bro.” You winced at Suna’s storytelling, yet internally thanked the universe that he didn’t remember that it was you.

“Yeah, the managers are gonna kill me when I ask for a new one. It’s all good though, ‘cause I’m pretty sure the sex was fucking amazing.”

You couldn’t help the choking sound that left your throat and the coughing that followed. Suna handed you his water bottle as you sat down, a concerned look on his face. Meanwhile, Atsumu was fucking laughing. You greedily drank from the bottle, shooting Atsumu a glare. 

After thanking Suna and handing the bottle back, you walked over to the bench to prepare for the second half of afternoon practice. You did not want to stick around them for any longer and listen to any more of Suna’s narrative. 

A large arm slung itself across your shoulders, and you threw an elbow back without looking. Atsumu clutched his ribs and winced as you turned around, seething.

“I can’t fucking believe you, Miya Atsumu. First you wink, then you laugh?”

He stood back up, grinning. “It’s not my fault that it’s so funny.”

“Miya Atsumu! My failure of a love life is not funny.”

“So you admit that he’s a part of your love life?”

“Shut the fuck up, Miya.”

---

Luckily, there was no repeat of the events that occurred Wednesday, at least that you heard. You steadily avoided Suna, not wanting to hear him talk about the “hot chick that stole his jersey” again. Your avoidance plan worked fine, until he began seeking you out. He started stopping by your office when you weren’t there. Iwaizumi always relayed the message to you when you passed him, mentioning the “tall middle blocker that keeps looking for you”. It wasn’t until Friday, when Suna somehow injured his ankle, that you had a moment alone with him. As you worked on wrapping his ankle up, he surveyed your office.

“I’m surprised you still have any photos with me.”

His words made you pause your work, following his eyes to the framed photo on your desk. It was a photo of you, Suna, Aran, and the twins, taken just a week before you left with no warning. “Why?”

“Well I know we didn’t end things on the best of terms. I thought you would’ve destroyed anything to do with me by now.”

You hummed thoughtfully and resumed your work. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He looked at you quizzically. “What do you mean by that?”

“I’m an athletic trainer for a volleyball team because of you, Suna.” You watched his knitted brows. “When I fell in love with you, I also fell in love with volleyball. It was the only piece of our relationship I allowed myself to keep when I left.”

He looked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time. “I never realized.”

“That was my intention.”

He sat back once again and allowed you to finish the wrap. “All done. You know the treatment plan; be careful, ice it, rest often. Let me know if it keeps bothering you.”

Suna stood up, testing the wrap. “Thank you, y/n. It feels better already.”

You gave him a small smile.  “You’re welcome, Suna.”

He walked towards the door, but stopped before opening it. “You know, I was serious about my offer the other day,” he turned to face you, “If you’re free tonight, we should grab drinks.”

You carefully considered his offer. You did miss having Suna around, and it couldn’t hurt to reconnect. There didn’t have to be anything romantic about it, you could just get a friend back. On the other hand, the last time you drank with Suna, you ended up in his bed. However, if you exercised a little self-control, you were sure it would be fine.

“I’m free tonight.”

He smiled. “Great. Send me your address, I’ll pick you up at eight.”

You watched the door shut behind him as he left. This was either going to be the best or worst decision you ever made. 

---

It was the worst decision. It was 7:30, and you still hadn’t figured out what to wear. What were you supposed to wear when you went to a bar with your ex-boyfriend turned (maybe?) friend, who you accidentally slept with last week? You texted Yachi, but you knew Friday nights were her date nights with her girlfriend, Kiyoko. Still, you prayed that she would answer and prayed even more that Kiyoko was with her. Kiyoko always knew what to wear. 

Your prayers were answered when you received a text approving an outfit you had sent only a few minutes ago. Thank God for Yachi and her friendship. You quickly redressed and finished your makeup before the doorbell rang. You threw on a pair of heels and opened the door to find Suna on the other side, a shy smile on his face. 

“Hey, y/n. You look really nice.”

You grinned at him as you shut your door and locked it. “You do too.” It wasn’t a lie; Suna looked amazing. You had forgotten how well he dressed, as you were always seeing him in practice clothes. He wore slim-fit gray jeans with a loose black button-up. You could see a gold chain peeking out from where the top was unbuttoned, and if you weren’t so dedicated to not sleeping with him again, you would have jumped him right there in the hallway. 

You walked side by side to the same bar you had met in last week (although you didn’t mention this), catching up with each other. He talked about his experience on his pro team and how he felt when he received the letter from the National Team, while you told him about your college experience and moving to Tokyo by yourself. It felt nice, normal even, to be able to simply talk with Suna. It was something neither of you were very good at when you were together, and it was refreshing to know that the two of you could simply chat with one another now. 

The two of you sat at the bar near the dance floor when you arrived. You sipped on a martini and listened to Suna talk about everything that you had missed in the eight years you had been apart. You had expected your conversations to be awkward, but they flowed naturally and never stopped. Before you knew it, you were on your fourth drink and all of your self-control had been thrown out the window.

“C’mon, Suna, I wanna dance.” You grabbed his wrist in an effort to pull him off of his barstool and onto the dance floor with you.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, y/n? You’ve had quite a bit to drink.”

“Of course I’m sure!”

Suna began to stand. “Okay, I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

You turned to look back up at him. “How could I regret any of this?”

He looked shocked at your words, but before he could formulate a response, you were pulling him to the center of the dance floor and reaching for a shot from one of the waitresses. 

“Drink with me, Sunarin!” You didn’t know what switch had flipped in your brain (yes you did, it was the alcohol), but suddenly, all you wanted was for Suna to get drunk and ignore the rest of the world with you. He obliged you and took a shot, not even grimacing at the taste of straight liquor. 

You began to jump around in time to the pulsing beat, Suna watching you, but not dancing. You allowed him to simply watch with dark eyes until you were both on your third shot, and then you had enough.

“Sunarin, I wanna dance with you.” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes, even sticking your bottom lip out for good measure. Drunk you had no shame, whatsoever. He seemed hesitant, but you grabbed his hands and placed them on your hips, pushing your chest flush with his. You wrapped your hands around the back of his neck and played with the ends of his hair. 

“I missed you.” The words fell unbidden from your lips, and although there was some part of your brain that told you that you were making a big mistake, you ignored it and listened to your heart. “I really missed you, Sunarin.”

You looked up at Suna through your eyelashes and felt his breath catch. “You don’t call me Rintarou anymore.” His eyes were filled with longing and sadness, and you looked away so that you wouldn’t drown in them. 

“Formalities, I guess.” The emotion in his eyes disappeared and he hummed, grabbing both of you another shot. After setting the glasses down, his hands found their way back to your hips. You didn’t want his eyes to look blank like this, but you didn’t like the sadness either. You wanted Suna to be happy, you wanted him to want you. So you threw all caution to the wind.

You pulled his head down towards you until your lips were only centimeters apart and whispered to him.

“I want you, Rintarou.”

He pressed his lips to yours in a scorching kiss while pulling your hips closer. You grinded on him to the beat of the song while trying to keep up with his passionate kisses. It was a mix of tongue and teeth, full of enough longing to make up for the eight years you had been separated. 

He began to kiss down your neck, pausing long enough at your ear to whisper a proposition.

“D’ya wanna go back to my place?”

You considered it for a millisecond. You knew, in the back of your mind, that this was exactly what you were scared was going to happen. You also knew that you wanted this more than anything else. 

You nodded your head, and Suna entwined his hand with yours and pulled you out onto the streets of Tokyo.

taglist: @sunasexual @call-me-lulu @ntimacy @circleglasses​ @porcolie​ @keikotaro

[thisaccisdead]

montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn’t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

[cellard0ors]

Fic: Movement (1/?)

This is dedicated to @peachworthy - my plan is to work on this when I can. I was going to try and write a full long thing (all puns intended) but thought it might be fun to just do sporadic bits instead!

“As you can see, it’s a pretty nice place…” Mr. Super Tall and Super Handsome and Super-Out-of-Link’s-League tells him as he walks him around the place. Link’s only been half listening because he’s been trailing behind this uniquely sexy giraffe of a man for about half an hour now and it’s been hard to not just…eat him up with his eyes.

Link’s lived in LA for about two years now and while he’s seen some attractive people, they all pale in comparison to…

…oh gosh, he’s forgotten his name again! Not a good thing to do when being toured by your potential roommate to be. Although Link’s pretty sure his current tour guide is just being nice.

No way he’s seriously considering letting Link move in. First of all, Link is a late in life college student trying to get a film degree. Second, this guy could have anyone live with him.

Anyone.

The fact he even needs a roommate is staggering. After all, this place is already furnished. It’s clear he’s lived here for a while now – so the need for someone else-? Link doesn’t get it.

But he sure as heck can’t stay on campus anymore. It’s embarrassing. Most of the other students there think he’s a professor as it is; and bunking with kids half his age has been a nightmare.

Not because he can’t identify with them per say, but because he just-? He wants to interact with people on the same wavelength as him.

And no way is this Greek God and he on the same wavelength. No doubt the guy’s an actor. Almost everyone in LA is. And, no doubt, the guy has probably had some gigs. Several, if the house is anything to go by…

Maybe he lost a role recently? Maybe that’s why he needs the extra income? It’s the only thing Link can think of and he’s stupid enough to voice that, “It is a nice place, man, but I don’t see how I’ll be much help. What you’ve got here looks pretty well lived in. Take it you’ve been here solo for some time and I’m not sure how-?”

“I have,” Handsome admits and oh, that southern drawl. It makes Link think of home. How perfect can one man be? “And, frankly, I don’t need a roommate, but I’d like a roommate.”

“For parts? Like the Black Market?” Link can’t help but joke, and the guy throws his head back and laughs and oh, no…

…Yeah, Link can’t live with this man. It hasn’t even been a full day and Link is practically already in love with him. And thinking of the ‘him’ he forces himself to sheepishly ask, “Um, I, ah, forgot your name again...”

“It’s Rhett.”

Of course it is.

Rhett is such a romantic name.

Rhett Butler immediately springs to mind and Link sighs, “Look, Rhett – like I said, it is a nice place, but-!”

“I tell you what I’d expect in rent?” he asks and when he lists the price, Link decides that – besides being insanely attractive – that the guy is just insane in general.

The rent is cheap. Far, far cheaper than Link expected and it must show on his face, because Rhett shrugs, “Look, Link – I can’t say what it is, but I gotta feeling about you. I’ve met with a couple of potential roommates and, honestly, none of them have gone this far. I haven’t let ‘em. But there’s something about you…”

“My natural charm?” Link asks, but he’s sort of giggly and weird when he does and oh, gosh – why is he so awkward? Isn’t he too old for this? Don’t you reach a certain age and awkwardness just…drops off?

But apparently not and, apparently, Rhett isn’t turned off by it, because he gives him a warm grin, “Might be.”

“Rhett…”

“Might be the accent to be honest,” he confesses, seeming almost shy and that should be illegal, because it just highlights how cute he is, “I’m from North Carolina and it just-!”

“Hey!” Link perks up, “Me too!”

“Really?” Rhett gushes and Link nods, “Yeah, Buies Creek.”

“Oh! My family and I almost moved there! Ended up in Charlotte instead!”

“Wow! Crazy! What are the odds!” And Link hates every cliched thing coming out of his mouth right now, but he can’t seem to stop and Rhett just looks so damned pleased.

As if his feeling about Link is right on the money and Link wishes it was, but this can’t possibly work. Can it? And just as Link is about to voice that, Rhett suddenly looks…apprehensive. Fidgety.

And Link’s caught a bit off guard by it, because – up until now – he’s been so cool. Cool and collected. But now Rhett runs a hand through his thick mane of hair and sighs as if a great weight is upon him, “Ah…actually, I, ah, well – I forgot…”

Here it is. Link’s been waiting for this. The big secret. The big reason someone as amazing as Rhett would need someone like him. Maybe it is the Black Market thing. Link has some nice organs. Real juicy. Maybe revealing his background has made the big guy feel bad – like he can’t carve up a fellow North Caroliner.

Rhett rocks on his heels, “I told you, none of the other potential roommates made it this far and…there’s a reason for that. Even the one or two I kinda considered…well, I, um, I told them what I do for a living and that’s when things sort of fell apart…”

…oh shit. He IS a Black Market organ dealer!

Link’s Adam’s apple bobs as he looks around skittishly. The house is big and they’re alone in it. He’s been so distracted by how hot Rhett is that he hasn't even thought about that fact.

Until now.

What if the other potentials didn’t get this far because they got cut up beforehand? Maybe the whole roommate thing is a farce! Maybe it’s a con! A con to draw people in and-!

“I work in the entertainment industry.”

Link blinks. Blinks and feels like the dumbest man on planet earth as he says, “Well, yeah. You and half of LA. Heck, I’m here trying to get into film myself! Do some directing or sound editing or-!”

“No,” Rhett says firmly, smoothly, meeting Link’s eyes head on as he says in a full deep register, “When I say I work in the industry, I mean it. I’ve, um, had a pretty healthy and…and long career…”

“Really?” Link asks, eyes wide behind his glasses, “Have I seen anything you’ve-?”

“Doubt it,” Rhett interrupts with a humorless huff, “You don’t seem the type. But then,” he eyes him thoughtfully, “I’ve been surprised before…”

Link doesn’t know why he’s being so cagey about this, “What’ve you-?”

“My resume is…” Rhett finally looks away, as if he can’t bear to look at Link when he says it, “…of the adult variety.”

“The adult-?” Link starts to repeat and then it clicks. It clicks and it hits him so hard over the head it’s like a physical blow. The house, the handsomeness – the…everything.

Rhett looks back at him, jaw firmly set as he speaks, “Look, it’s not that I’m ashamed of what I do. Far from it. It’s just a job and it’s one I happen to be good at. But it’s also one that people in polite society aren’t too keen on and considering you’re from my home state you might-!”

“Porn?” Link croaks out and he feels a little like he might faint, “You’re a porn star?”

Rhett just kind of shrugs and the reason Link feels lightheaded has nothing to do with his shock at the man’s career and everything to do with the fact that Link has only seen a few porn films and none of them have ever stared someone so breathtakingly beautiful. The idea that Rhett has been in something like that…

Heat suffuses through Link’s system with equal mixes of lust and shame. Lust because, well, look at Rhett and shame because Link doesn’t want to just view the man as a sex object, Granted, that’s kind of his job, but it just seems…rude.

While Link doesn’t know Rhett well, he knows him well enough at this point to say he’s just a regular guy. An extremely gorgeous regular guy, but a regular guy all the same.

Thinking of him in simple black and white just doesn’t do him justice. So he’s a porn star. So what? He’s nice and this place is amazing and the rent suggested is fantastic and-!

“Take it by your silence you’re gonna decline…”

“No!” Link cuts in quickly and Rhett’s eyes shoot to him, wide and amazed, and Link feels a little sense of superiority at that. At catching this giant off guard, “No, uh – your…your profession isn’t a problem.”

“It’s not?”

“Well, I mean,” Link looks around once more, "You don’t-? You don’t film here, do you?”

The laugh that booms out of Rhett at that makes Link’s toes curl with pleasure, “Nah, man. This place is sacred. Like to keep my personal and professional life separate.”

“And…” Link scratches at the back of his head, “And you won’t, like…bring over a-a partner or partners and-!”

“Don’t have one,” Rhett admits and then the sexiest crinkles form around his eyes, “Although I gotta say, that’s about the slickest way anyone’s ever asked me if I was single…”

The heat from before returns full blast, no doubt coloring Link’s cheeks pure red and it comes completely from shyness, an emotion he is much more familiar with than most, “Oh, no! I-I wasn’t-!”

“Think you were asking if I do some weird sex shit here in the house of the personal variety and, again, no. You work in my field you kinda lose a bit of a taste for it.”

“For sex?”

Rhett nods, “And for a lot of things. It’s like I said – I'd like a roommate. Mainly ‘cause I’ve been feeling a little…disconnected of late. Feel like I need someone in my life who isn’t in the business. Someone I can just, y’know…” his shoulders roll and he bobs about a bit, clearly bashful, “…jam with.”

“Someone on your wavelength…” Link whispers and suddenly, Rhett’s idea that Link might be someone worth keeping around feels totally legitimate. Because Link is suddenly reciprocating it and then some. Because Link's starting to have a feeling about him too.

A feeling that this could work.

It really could.

And, this in mind, Link asks, “When can I move in?”

[flyingfish1]

was ‘healing & wholeness through death’ always Dabb’s intention

Content note: discussions of suicide attempts, including quotes from the show on that topic; and the concept of death as the solution to problems

*

Mary should have been the blaring warning siren and I didn’t listen.

Castiel: I'm looking for someone. Dumah: Mary Winchester? If that's why you're here, then you should leave now. Castiel: Why? There may be a way to bring her back. Dumah: Why would you want to do that? … She is at peace. You know, she died painlessly. Instantly. Completely. She's in Heaven, a special Heaven. Mary Winchester is complete. You and the Winchesters may not be. But she is. -14x18 (Robert Berens) -transcript from superwiki

“Completeness” in death. Mary, now dead and in Heaven, is “complete,” says the story. And, in this moment in s14, the Winchesters and Cas are apparently not “complete.”

Mary, who initially didn’t want to be alive:

Mary: I didn’t ask to come back here. Billie: No, you didn’t. And you hate it. The look in your eyes – I’ve seen it before. It’s a dead man’s look. Eyes that say no matter where you go, what you do, it feels like this world doesn’t fit anymore. Like you’re all alone. Dean: Well, she’s not alone. Billie: Tell me I’m wrong. [Mary doesn’t answer] I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to offer you mercy. One way ticket upstairs. Away from all of this. [Mary hesitates] Mary: How would it work? Sam: Mom! Billie: Reapers don’t kill people. Rules. Mary: Well, then -- [She looks at Sam and Dean, then turns to look back at Billie] Then I guess you’re just gonna have to wait. -12x06 (Steve Yockey)

Mary, who struggled so hard with being pulled out of her heavenly paradise and given her life back. Mary, who struggled to get over the loss of her husband, and the loss of her previous life, and the loss of the two little children she had wanted to raise.

Mary, who held a gun to her own head more than once. Mary, who, at one point, sincerely begged Ketch to kill her:

MARY LEANS UP AGAINST MR. KETCH, GRABS HIS GUN AND BACKS AWAY. MR. KETCH: Mary MARY COCKS THE GUN AND PUTS BELOW HER CHIN. MR. KETCH: No. MR. KETCH GRABS FOR THE GUN AND MANAGES TO KNOCK IT AWAY AS IT GOES OFF. MR. KETCH: Ow! Ah! MARY: Then you do it! Kill me. All my life, all I ever had, other than my family, was my will. MARY BEGINS TO CRY. MARY: And it's going away. I'm – I'm putting people in danger. I'm putting my sons in danger. You have to – MARY DROPS TO HER KNEES. MARY: Please. For God's sake, kill me. MR. KETCH: Mary. MARY: Just do it! MR. KETCH: Mary, listen to me. It won't be long now. This will all be over. I promise. MARY: No. MR. KETCH: I promise. MARY: No. KETCH WALKS OUT OF THE ROOM AND LEAVES MARY IN DESPAIR. -12x21 (Buckleming) -transcript from superwiki

Mary later rejected death, although looking back at it now, in retrospect, she rejected it not quite so much on the basis of “living is good, actually,” but more on the basis that Heaven isn’t good enough (… not yet, as it turns out):

[Kevin tears open his shirt revealing a sigil carved into his chest.] … KEVIN: Michael says… that when I get to Heaven-- when he lets me into Heaven-- I'll get to see my mom again. MARY: I've been to Heaven, and what's there… it's just memories. Nothing's real. -13x20 (Glynn) -transcript from superwiki

(I was so happy for her when I first watched this, because I thought it was a sign that she would be turning the corner and getting the opportunity to heal in life, and on a long-term basis. But………….)

Mary then did find strength and purpose in her life and her job – hunting, helping Jack, helping the AU World hunters. She came back to Sam and Dean’s world and forged stronger relationships with them. She started a romantic relationship with AU Bobby, although it seems that she had her troubles with it:

MARY: Bobby's not open like your dad. SAM: Wait. Like my dad? MARY: Okay. At least he's not like your dad was when I knew him. SAM: Right. MARY: Bobby's got walls, big ones. I just don't know if I can do that if I even ever put myself out there again. -14X05 (Glynn)

Her one true love, ultimately, was John. And then, in 14x13, she was hit hard by the loss of John just after getting him back again:

SAM: Uh, the, uh… the lore is pretty clear. We destroy the pearl, and it unwinds all of this. Dad goes back… and so will everything else. MARY: And he won’t remember anything? [SAM shakes his head.] SAM: No. [MARY nods. She shakes her head, crying.] MARY: Sam, I can’t.

*

[JOHN and MARY take each other’s hand.] MARY: I hate this. JOHN: So do I. … My girl. [MARY smiles through tears.] JOHN: I miss you so damn much. MARY: Me too. -14x13 (Dabb and Glynn) -transcript from superwiki

Mary’s next episode, 14x17, is her death.

(In between, we have 14x14, with Cas’ speech to Jack about appreciating the time they have with their short-lived human loved ones, and carrying on when they are gone. At the time I suppose I thought it was foreshadowing for Mary, but in retrospect it’s broader than that, isn’t it.)

So, at the point of Mary’s death, she’s not actively suicidal anymore. But her losses have been recently emphasized, and so has her pain. Her husband is dead.

And then comes 14x18 and her “completeness.” We find out in 14x19 that she and John are sharing a Heaven. She is at peace, we hear, because she is with her husband in the afterlife.

All in all, in retrospect, this concept of “completeness in death” – of having death be your reward and your happy ending – pervaded the Dabb era from the start. We learned as early as 12x19 that Jack would build a “paradise,” and now we know what that paradise is: this remodeled Heaven in which Dean can, apparently, have what wanted but couldn’t have on earth and in life. Dean, who -- though he wasn’t actively suicidal in 15x20 -- has also struggled mightily with wanting to be dead, and who has been suicidal in the past.

It results in this concept that, as long as you’re not actively suicidal (anymore!), dying at the age of 41 (or approx. 32, in Mary’s case) is fine. This concept that it’s good, actually, because then you’ll be whole and at peace.

I find this deeply disturbing. I know that the ‘reunited in Heaven’ concept works for some (and I think I wouldn’t even necessarily have a problem with it if it were explicitly shown to be happening at the end of a long and happy life). But as presented in canon, involving the characters that it does, with their lives being cut short the way they are, I do find it deeply disturbing. Personally, I’m finding myself (emotionally speaking) backing away from the entire Dabb era with my hackles raised.

And I feel stupid for not seeing it. Or, truthfully, for seeing some of it and then convincing myself that it wasn’t there, that I was wrong, that TPTB couldn’t be leading the story in that direction. For, I guess, buying into what I read as the Carver-era ‘retirement’/‘living a long and happy life’ themes so hard that I didn’t let myself focus on anything else. For always being half-afraid that TPTB would re-fridge Mary, so that when they finally did it I just went, “Well, that’s that :(” without examining the themes around it closely enough.

For not taking all the warning bells seriously.

I want to make sure to say this clearly: It is absolutely possible to heal in life. Friends, and loved ones, and old relationships and new relationships, and love, and loyalty, and peace, all exist in life, able to be found and created. Healing exists in life. Contentment. New experiences and excitement and joy and beauty. Nobody’s too traumatized for that. Dean and Mary deserved that. Everybody does.

[hermannsthumb]

I've read fics where Hermann disapproves of PDAs but what about the reverse? As in he's so stunned at winning the most amazing man in the Shatterdome (6 phds, literal rockstar, gorgeous Newt) that he deliberately provokes contact and shows of affection. Just to show off to people and send a clear back off signal. And Newt just dotes on him obliviously.

ok this one is another super old prompt and when I was writing it this week it KINDA got away from me. but I hope everyone enjoyyyys. partially inspired from conversations with @k-sci-janitor 👀 totally sfw, except for one brief reference

anyway, a fic about hermann being all affectionate with newt and also discovering what relaxation is 

——————————————-------------------------------------------

The day after the world doesn’t end, Hermann brings Newt breakfast in bed.

Honestly, it surprises Newt more than the whole world not ending thing. Up until the previous evening, after all, Newt was pretty damn sure the guy absolutely hated him, and that if Hermann was gonna do something as out of character as bringing him breakfast, it surely meant he’d spat in it first. Or maybe poisoned it. If hated isn’t the right word, Newt would say Hermann at the very least barely tolerated. And then the whole sharing the neural load thing happened. And, after that, hugging, not once, but twice, and then falling asleep in bed together. And now Hermann’s perched on the edge of his bed (which they shared while they slept) and handing him a plate.

“You had quite the busy day yesterday,” Hermann says kindly. Hermann has never spoken to Newt kindly before. Atop the plate are two pieces of toast, a soft-boiled egg, and a mug of coffee. The coffee and toast (Newt notices) are exactly the shade he prefers. He wonders if Hermann picked up on it before or after the whole mind-melding thing. Before wouldn’t surprise him—Hermann has always been weird about noticing details like that. The egg, however, is something purely Hermann in taste. “I imagine you could use a nice spot of breakfast,” he adds.

Newt shoves his glasses on and blinks at Hermann groggily. He struggles to sit up, partially tangled in his sheets, and then takes the plate. A little bit of coffee sloshes down onto one of the slices of toast. “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” he says.

Hermann smiles and looks down at the ragged old MIT sweatshirt he’s tossed on. He may have a few inches on Newt, but he’s still one skinny motherfucker, and it hangs almost comically off his frame. “I am,” he says. “I poked around in your closet, I hope you don’t mind. My clothing was in a rather sorry state.”

Sorry state is an understatement for both of them. Newt’s surprised they haven’t been formally ordered to burn the shit they wore to the bone slums yet. Blood, dirt, and kaiju guts aside, Newt’s, at least, reeks to high heaven with sweat. “No worries,” Newt says. He picks up the coffee and blows on it. He wonders where Hermann got coffee that smells this good. It’s been hard to find anything decent and non-instant on the base these days, and (thanks to limited rations) chain shops like Starbucks cost an arm and a leg for even a small. He also wonders what people thought when they saw Hermann strutting around the base with bedhead in a sweatshirt that obviously wasn’t his. Newt almost wants to blush on his behalf. Scandalous.

Before Newt can so much as take a sip of the coffee, Hermann is suddenly unbuckling and shucking off his grey slacks. “Dude!” Newt yelps, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Hermann blinks at him innocently. “What are you doing?”

It’s not so much that Newt is upset as it is that it’s so wildly out of character for Hermann that he feels he owes it to Hermann to act at least moderately scandalized. In all his years of knowing and working alongside Hermann, he’s never so much as seen Hermann’s bare wrist before. Now he’s in Newt’s goddamn bed flashing calves, and thighs, and neatly-pressed little white briefs… Hermann rolls his eyes and tosses the slacks (unfolded!) onto Newt’s desk chair. “Making myself comfortable,” he says. “Would you like me to stop?”

Does Hermann iron his underwear? It would be at odds with the rest of his clothing if he did, which is usually in various stages of frumpy to outright wrinkled, but Newt can’t think of how else it would look like that. He wonders if Hermann’s stitched his name on the inner waistband. It seems like the kind of thing Hermann would do. Newt suddenly realizes he’s been staring at Hermann’s briefs (and, worse still, considering how cute Hermann looks in just them and Newt’s sweatshirt) for an uncomfortably long time, so he quickly shakes his head and drags his eyes to Hermann’s face. One of Hermann’s eyebrows is quirked up. Newt hasn’t been subtle. “No,” he says. He clears his throat. “No, dude, you’re—all good.”

He chokes down a too-hot sip of coffee to have something to do with his mouth.

Hermann smirks.

The bedcovers are drawn back. Hermann slips under them and drapes an arm across Newt’s chest, his hand curling protectively over Newt’s hip. With his other hand he snags Newt’s coffee from his grasp and takes a sip. Newt watches his jaw and throat work as he swallows it, a funny feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. The mug is handed back over, Hermann’s fingers brushing against Newt’s, which make Newt feel even funnier. “Newton,” Hermann declares. “I think we ought to have sex.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Can I finish my breakfast first?”

“Certainly,” Hermann says.

Newt’s heart pounds as he spreads a little packet of margarine across one of the pieces of toast; he can feel Hermann’s eyes on him, never straying once. Hermann’s hand draws little circles on his hip. Newt drops his toast twice to the plate before he can successfully take a bite, and even when he does, he doesn’t taste it. Hermann’s fingers dip under the hem of his t-shirt. Newt swallows his toast. “Why?” he says.

Apparently it’s the right question. Hermann nods, like he’s pleased Newt has asked. Like they’re talking theories or something. “I came to the conclusion while I fetching your coffee,” Hermann says. “It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have gotten up at seven in the morning to get coffee for just anyone. Then, of course, there is the whole drifting business—”

“You realized you wouldn’t have done that for just anyone too, huh?” Newt says with a smile. Hermann’s hand on his hip stills, and his cheeks go pink. Newt’s relieved to have gotten some ground back here. “Hermann, that’s sooo romantic.”

“The world was at stake,” Hermann sniffs.

“It’s okay,” Newt says. “I won’t tell anyone the great Dr. Gottlieb has feelings. So, what, you realized you have a big ole crush on me?”

Hermann takes the unfinished piece of toast from him and sets it down on his plate. He pulls Newt’s glasses off, kisses him soundly, and then puts Newt’s glasses back on. His mouth tastes like toothpaste. “On the contrary, I’ve always suspected it,” he says. “It’s just that now I have the time to confirm it.” He reaches up and strokes at Newt’s hair. “We have the time for lots of things, now, Newton. Whatever we’d like.”

Newt finishes off his coffee quickly, not even caring when he burns his tongue, and then tosses the remainder of his breakfast to the floor. His egg spills onto the massacred skinny corduroys he wore yesterday. Whatever, Newt’s burning them anyway. “God, get overhere already, man,” he says, tugging at Hermann’s borrowed sweatshirt. He needs to help Hermann confirm his crush or whatever, pronto.

--

It’s a few days before Newt and Hermann finally drag themselves out of bed and to the lab to tackle what little work remains for them to do—cataloguing what are apparently the last kaiju samples known to man (Newt), recording and backing up their drift data (Newt’s solo drift, and then their joint data), drawing some random scribbles on the board and pretending they’re important calculations about the possibility of the Breach reopening (Hermann. Okay, whatever, maybe they are important). Unfortunately, the delay isn’t for any sexy reasons, as much as Newt would’ve liked it to have been. The events of the last day of the war caught up with them pretty quickly after that morning in Newt’s bed, and they mostly just slept, ordered out dinner, popped ibuprofen for their various aches, and avoided medical at all costs. (Rumor had it the medical staff on base were looking for him and Hermann so they could do some brain scans. Apparently drifting with a kaiju brain is potentially dangerous, who knew.)

A rancid smell washes over them the second they push the heavy lab doors open, and Newt spots several hunks of kaiju organs rotting away on his workbench. Hermann clamps a hand to his mouth. “Oops,” Newt says, turning to Hermann sheepishly. He can’t help but cower as he does. He and Hermann got along swimmingly the past couple days—it’ll be sad to see all that hard work go down the drain over this. “Guess I forgot to clean up the other day. In my defense—we were kind of busy.”

But Hermann doesn’t snap at Newt, or thump his cane on the ground, or call Newt an idiot, or even look annoyed; he lowers his hand from his mouth and laughs. Albeit a terse laugh, but still. Newt gapes at him. “We were rather busy,” Hermann concedes. “So long as you clean it up in the next ten minutes, I—what, Newton?”

“Nothing,” Newt says, quickly. “I’m gonna—um—deal with it now.”

Hermann disappears from the lab while Newt is digging around in the storage closet for extra heavy-duty trash bags. When he comes back an hour later, he’s holding a cardboard tray of small plastic cups, and Newt has just hefted his last spoiled sample into the lab’s airtight biohazard bin (a bit mournfully, if he’s being honest, since he’s sure there’s still more to learn about the kaiju from them). Newt squints at the cups in the tray while he rips his messy disposable work gloves off. “What’s that?” he says.

“Iced coffee,” Hermann declares.

The gloves slap, wetly, into the biohazard bin, and Newt lets out a low whistle. “Dude. No way. From where?” He’s not sure when he gave off the impression that the way to his heart was good coffee, but maybe it’s true. Then again, Hermann could probably win him over with a cup of lukewarm tap water. Not because Newt is desperate or anything. He just really likes Hermann.

“A little shop a bit away from the base,” Hermann says. “I took the bus.” He draws back his chair and sits down with a soft sigh, setting his cane against his desk. Then he draws out a small brown paper bag from his parka pocket. He tosses it to Newt; Newt catches it with one hand. “They had these funny little cakes on sticks. I thought you might like one.”

“Cake pops?” Newt says.

“I presume,” Hermann says. While Newt inhales the little chocolate-dipped cake pop (which is so good, oh my God, Newt hasn’t had dessert that didn’t come from a vending machine in plastic shrink wrap in years), Hermann adds, “I wasn’t sure what sort of iced coffee you liked, so I made sure to get a variety.”

“Sick,” Newt says, spewing crumbs on his shirt. “Um. But, like, why though?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermann says. “I suppose I wanted to do something kind for you.” He carefully slides a straw out of its paper wrappings and pokes it into the lid of one of the coffees. Once he crumples up the wrapper and tosses It into his train bin, he grips his cane, and uses the handle to nudge Newt’s desk chair towards him. “You worked awfully hard cleaning the laboratory.”

Newt preens a little, even as he privately wonders why Hermann’s acting so weird. Well, nice. But nice is weird for Hermann, so they’re basically the same thing. Is this part of his whole deciding whether or not he digs Newt thing? Newt just assumed the awesome morning they spent together would be proof enough of that. Then again, Hermann’s pretty thorough. “I guess,” Newt says. “It was kind of my mess, though.”

Hermann pats at the empty chair with a smile. Hermann’s smiles are so rare—crooked, and stupid cute—that Newt’s heart gives a painful little twist at the sight of it, and he realizes he doesn’t actually give a shit about why Hermann’s being all weird, actually. “You’ve earned a break,” Hermann says. “Besides, I’d like to spend time with you.”

Newt’s too stunned to argue with that one. When he sits down, Hermann inches their chairs together until their knees are touching.

--

They don’t necessarily fall back into their usual habits by the next week, but the better ones they’ve picked up (being a little kinder to each other, a little more patient, a little more respectful, and also the fact that Hermann can’t seem to stop touching Newt) all but fall into the background as Newt throws himself into his work with renewed determination. Unfortunately, his desire to get it all done as soon as fucking possible speaks less to his awesome work ethic, and more to the fact that he’s just not sure what else to do with himself now, and he likes that work gives him the excuse to not think about it. Hermann said they have all the time to do whatever they like now. Well, Newt likes working. He knows working. Relaxation is a foreign concept to him, and it was a foreign concept to Hermann up until recently. While Newt is toiling away over his decaying kaiju samples in the lab, Hermann is out—

“Where?” Newt says.

Hermann gives Newt the most serene smile Newt’s ever seen cross his face. “I took a bath,” he says. “It was very nice. I bought some nice soaps, and lit some candles, and looked online to see how to do one of those mud masks. It was very relaxing. You ought to try it.”

“Try bathing?” Newt says.

“Yes. Well, no. I mean taking a bath. Is there something you’re not understanding?”

Newt tries to imagine Hermann with a mud mask on his face and cucumbers over his eyes and fails miserably. Hermann hates messes. He would never stand for mud, let alone on his skin. Where’d he even find a bathtub? Did he break into the rangers’ locker room again? Aren't candles banned on base for being a fire hazard, anyway? “Yeah,” Newt says. “Pretty much all of it.”

Hermann shakes his head with a snort, and Newt catches a whiff of something floral and fragrant—his fancy new soap or oil, he guesses. “I’m not surprised. You know, Newton, you are awfully tense.”

Hearing that from Hermann of all people, the king of having-a-massive-stick-up-your-ass, is probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened to Newt. He laughs out loud and plunges a bare hand into his kaiju sample with a gross squelching noise. “Sure, dude.”

He’s almost too engrossed in his sample to feel Hermann sidling up behind him and setting a hand at his waist. He definitely feels Hermann nose a kiss behind his ear, though, and the hot flush that spreads down across his neck from it. Newt’s hand goes sweaty around his scalpel. One thing he definitely wasn’t expecting from a post-no-apocalypse Hermann is how free he is with affection in any and all forms. “Give it a rest, love,” Hermann murmurs. He nudges at the heel of Newt’s boot with the end of his cane. Love? “Why don’t we head back to my quarters and watch a film? You can pick.”

“But.” Newt fidgets. “I have—my sample—”

Another little kiss. The soapy-oil smell is stronger now. Newt thinks it might be lavender. He wonders if the mud mask left Hermann’s skin all soft. “It won’t be going anywhere, Newton.”

Newt sets down his scalpel.

When they they pass by a group of LOCCENT staff in the hallway, Newt makes to drop Hermann’s hand (which Hermann had laced together with his own before they left the lab), but Hermann holds fast, maybe even faster than before, and looks at him with his stupidly sweet set of big eyes. Newt waits until they round the corner to say anything. “Sorry,” he says, lamely. “Um. I thought—you wouldn’t want—” Hermann continues to stare at him. His iris is still ringed red like Newt’s. “I just mean I know you’re weird about stuff like that. Public stuff.” Hermann has been a closed and tightly-bound book for as long as Newt’s known him; he can’t imagine that would suddenly change and he would start broadcasting his emotions far and wide in the course of a week just because he’s a little less stressed.

Or, you know. Maybe Newt’s totally wrong on this. “Ah,” Hermann says. He nods, very seriously. “Yes. I have been considering that as well. I see no reason to hide recent developments in our relationship.” He squeezes Newt’s hand. "In fact, I see no reason to not be quite, er, proud of them. You’re quite the catch.”

Newt remembers the stolen sweatshirt. Maybe Hermann wearing it out to get them breakfast was more calculated than he realized. “So if I made out with you against the wall right now you wouldn’t be mad?” Newt says.

“Well,” Hermann says, inclining his head to his door, "seeing as my quarters are right there, it seems a rather unnecessary inconvenience.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Newt smiles as Hermann leads him in. “Can I really pick the movie?”

“Within reason.”

[aeonghaseyo]

Your Trace, My Treasure

Summary: Marc and Nathaniel write and draw, respectively, on each others' notebooks because it's DEFINITELY a couple thing to do.

Word Count: 2105 AO3 link

Relationship/s: Nathaniel Kurtzberg/Marc Anciel Category: M/M Characters: Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel, Alix Kubdel (mentioned), Marinette Dupain-Cheng (mentioned), Juleka Couffaine (mentioned), Rose Lavillant (mentioned), Alya Cesaire (mentioned) Language used: English Author's Note: The creators of MLB really need to give the side characters screen time. The love square isn't the only romantic set of ships in the show and there are much more cute ships to write about. And so in my first time of writing a Miraculous Ladybug fanfic, it's about a ship that's entirely not part of the love square. This is my final workshop output from a creative writing class I enrolled in during the summer to get units in advance. Special thanks to my professor and two of my classmates for their feedback; I couldn't have made this work even more wonderful without their help. For the non-love-square ship and this being a successful workshop output thus far, I think I'm gonna give myself a pat on the back and more fanfic ideas to write. :)

Compared to the courtyard at Françoise Dupont High School where the lively chattering of students can be heard and the scrambling of footsteps were a staple, the art room was its own entire world of silence.

It was supposed to be a calming silence in that same art room where Marc and Nathaniel were to work on art-related endeavors of their own, but the former found this unwelcoming and rather deafening. It weighed down on his being that the atmosphere was unbearably awkward, much like he was most of the time even before he met Nathaniel and became his partner in creating comic books about Ladybug, Chat Noir, and their akumatized alter-egos who turned good and served as part of the superhero duo’s akuma-fighting team. Despite a remarkable development from being acquaintances, to newfound partners, and now to a bloomed romantic couple, Marc Anciel, as awkward as ever and still testing the waters on this newfound relationship, couldn’t shake this nagging feeling of inadequacy as someone’s significant other.

It just goes to show him that even though his romantic feelings for Nathaniel had been reciprocated at Day 0, it does not remove the remaining unease that Marc currently feels at Day 1. It was his first time in a relationship, and it was with the boy whose drawings he admired so much from the school paper. Simply put, it was too good to be true.

Unfortunately, the awkwardness Marc felt wasn’t masked enough, and Nathaniel immediately noticed from his place by the table beside his raven-haired beau. How could he not? It was very obvious, from the way Marc’s hand shakily distorted his usually refined, elegant script while writing the next chapter of their comic to the way his expression was contorted as if he was constipated. Nathaniel thought to himself that it was still an adorable sight, but clearly, something was up, and it wouldn’t do well to just ignore whatever troubled his beloved partner. Attempting to break the ice, the redhead cleared his throat, then spoke to call Marc’s attention.

“Marc.”

The novelist jolted in surprise at the utterance of his name. “Y-yes, Nathaniel?”

Leaning in for a better view of the page Marc was writing on, Nathaniel replied, “Your handwriting’s different.”

“W-wait, really?” blurted out Marc, quickly covering the page with his gloved hand. “I d-didn’t know you were p-particular with handwriting.”

Nathaniel placed a gentle, caring hand on his boyfriend’s with a smile aimed directly at him as he clarified himself, “It’s not that, Marc. I’ve seen it and it’s great. Right now, it just looks… wobbly. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

Even if Nathaniel was a recluse in his own class, he could very well read into the emotions of people, but he doesn’t show it that often. As endearing as it was as a show of concern towards shy Marc, it was also overwhelming for the raven-haired novelist to have been the subject of such deep perception, even from the boy his heart palpitates for.

It was then that Marc’s fight or flight response reminded him in a split-second that he needed some sort of diversion for Nathaniel not to remind him of his own awkwardness.

“Isn’t it weird that our art teacher didn’t come here?” Marc rapidly questioned as he struggled not to look at the red-haired boy beside him. Despite this attempt to keep Nathaniel’s focus off of his disposition, glancing towards the door and not at Nathaniel did not help stop the blood from rushing to the novelist’s fair cheeks. His partner might be tired of this, of him, already, but that light chuckle of pure amusement coming from Nathaniel disproved that thought.

“Hey, hey, settle down Marc,” chided Nathaniel, “he might be running late. It’s okay for us to use the art room so long as it’s reserved around this time. Good thing that he reserved it at an earlier time than usual.”

With innocent green eyes, the raven-haired boy looked his boyfriend in the eye and asked, “H-he can do that?”

“Of course, he can. Let’s just wait for him, okay?” reassured Nathaniel, his left hand making its way on Marc’s right shoulder discreetly. “I’m sure my other classmates will arrive here shortly too.”

A shy smile emerged from Marc’s face as he replied, “Okay, Nath.”

Suddenly, a ringtone from the phone which was in Nathaniel’s pocket sounded audibly enough to catch both the boys’ attention. The redhead immediately fished out the device from his pocket and unlocked it, revealing three unread text messages from his close friend Alix.

Hey Nath! Something came up and I couldn’t swing by the art room. Love troubles again with Marinette. Juleka and Rose are also helping out with me so they can’t come.

I can’t believe that Marinette got invited personally by Adrien to his photoshoot but she can’t even give him her handmade gift or ask him out. Because she’s such a wuss, I got dragged here in the park by Rose because Mari needs all of her girl friends to push her towards Golden Boy Agreste YET AGAIN.

And apparently Alya alone couldn’t do it. Sorry! You’ll have Marc to keep you company anyway. Have fun! ;)

So much for those girls coming over to the art room. Nathaniel let out a sigh as he muttered, just enough for Marc to hear, “I stand corrected. The others aren’t coming.”

Catching on his partner’s crest-fallen demeanor and gazing at his face with sympathetic green orbs, Marc replied, “Guess it’s just the two of us for now.”

The next minutes were spent in silence again, with Marc continuing to finish a paragraph while Nathaniel sketched a bird’s eye view of the Eiffel tower as the background in one panel of the comic storyboard in his notebook. After several minutes elapsed, however, curiosity got the best of Marc, and so, with the tip of his pen lingering on the period of his last sentence, he kept on glancing at Nathaniel and the storyboarding he was working on. Besides the sheer focus that was evident in Nathaniel’s turquoise orbs, the shy novelist couldn’t help but notice the fine, steady strokes his beau’s hand were making with his fine-pointed mechanical pencil. So neat, so pristine. It’s amazing how he didn’t need an eraser to erase certain portions of his drawings over and over.

Marc had seen artist sketches himself of both people and objects, mostly done by his friend Marinette. As someone aspiring to become a fashion designer, she would be engrossed in sketching designs day by day, passion ignited by the sparks of inspiration she draws from around her. However, since Marinette’s sketches had obvious hints of disorder, as it normally is with crude artist sketches, it clearly contrasted with the otherwise structured sketches Nathaniel makes for his comic books. Marc, fully in awe, couldn’t help but take a break from his writing and stare at the red-haired illustrator’s creative process right next to him.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel, thanks to the strong, overbearing feeling of being watched, was getting overly conscious of his work. Keeping his composure to the best of his ability, he quickly turned to Marc and asked, “Do you need something Marc?”

Snapped out of his trance wide-eyed, Marc inwardly panicked. ‘Oh no, I must be staring at him too long! I hope I didn’t spook him too much.’

Scrambling for a sensible response, the novelist stuttered out, “I-i want to write something in your notebook.”

Setting down his pencil while his turquoise eyes were still on Marc, Nathaniel blinked inquisitively. “Oh, why would you want to do that?”

“B-because,” the shy writer reasoned, “I want to write something to remind you of me. T-that is, if y-you don’t mind.”

The red-haired teen averted his gaze from his partner as he remarked, “You know I don’t let anyone write on my notebook, Marc.”

This response triggered the disappointment that Marc had anticipated from the moment that they started continuing to develop the rest of the comic book they were working on together. It was even more daunting for the timid writer that their art teacher and the rest of Nathaniel’s classmates who were usually in the art room with them did not show up at that moment, or even at all. Marinette would tell Nathaniel that it’s a great idea for his newfound love to leave special traces on his personal notebook while Rose, somehow finding this romantic, would gush at this gesture with Juleka mumbling to herself in response. But what would have been the cherry on top for Marc at the moment is that if Alix was there to egg on Nathaniel, pressuring him to give in and let his boyfriend write something in his notebook. At least the comic relief from Alix’s teasing would help alleviate the collective awkwardness the couple felt at that moment. God, if only it wasn’t just the two of them in the art room at that moment.

But alas, he was alone, helpless and daunted, and he was facing the dragon which was Nathaniel, or whatever Nathaniel thought of him at that moment.

However, all of the fears and doubts that plagued Marc left him when Nathaniel continued with a small, endearing smile on his face, “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

The novelist beamed at his boyfriend, green eyes sparkling with delight. “R-really?”

“In one condition.”

Marc took and held in a quick breath. “Anything, Nath.”

The illustrator picked up his pencil once again and uttered, with an outstretched hand right by Marc’s notebook, “Let me draw in your notebook.”

It was at that moment when Marc could feel his heart flutter, accompanied by the butterflies in his stomach as he opened his own notebook to the very last page and laid it out right by his beau’s workspace.

“It would be my pleasure.”

In a span of 2 minutes while Nathaniel was drawing on the last page of his boyfriend’s notebook, Marc, fidgeting and tapping his pen softly on his chin, racked his brain for a simple yet memorable piece to write on the first page of the illustrator’s notebook, which was left empty out of personal preference by its owner. Hoping to obtain bit by bit of inspiration, he glanced at Nathaniel, then at the empty page, then at Nathaniel, and so on and so forth. This went on, albeit unnoticed by the redhead, until mere seconds after, he scribbled away on the page once he had gotten attuned with his creative writing flow.

After both of them finished leaving their traces on each other’s notebook pages, Nathaniel and Marc gave each other back their notebooks and instantly opened them to where they each left their special mark. Struck with awe, the novelist softly traced the outline of the drawing and his emerald eyes were drawn to Nathaniel’s signature which he left underneath the recently drawn portrait. A tinge of pink formed on Marc’s cheeks as he admired every stroke that constituted this drawing of him done by none other than the boy he once looked up to, now loved, and who loved him back.

“No one’s written me a poem before,” Nathaniel uttered as he perused every line written by Marc on that now extra special page in his notebook, eyes taking in every word written in that distinct elegant script that served as an epitome of beauty that the redhead beheld. One particular line at the end of the writing, however, caught him by surprise: the words ‘Je t’aime’ accompanied by Marc’s signature in that same fancy handwriting the illustrator adored dearly.

Having regained his composure, Marc turned to Nathaniel and asked, “Do you like the poem? I-i thought of it on the spot so it might not exactly be to your liking, but-”

“I love it,” interrupted the red-haired teen breathlessly, wrapping an arm around his significant other and squeezing his shoulder. “Really Marc, you make the most wonderful written pieces.”

An expression as bright as day graced Marc’s features as he replied, albeit with a bit of shyness in his voice, “Y-you really think so?”

Nathaniel threw any single hint of hesitation in his being out the window as he placed a tender, loving kiss on Marc’s forehead. “I do. We’re meant to be partnered together, after all.”

And just like that, the uncomfortable awkwardness that haunted Marc was instantly warded off, and in a flash, he enveloped Nathaniel in a tight, warm, loving embrace and leaned into him in newfound solace. The silence in the art room has never been this comforting as the couple relished in this seemingly endless embrace together.

[eliemo]

Kiss Me (Before I Set the World on Fire)

Summary: Virgil should have told Roman why it bothered him so much. He would have understood. He should have known staying silent would just lead to something far worse.

Taglist: @the-blue-recluse @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess (let me know if you want to be added)

“Oh my god, what now?”

Virgil forced himself not to flinch at the exasperation in Roman’s tone, instead crossing his arms and forcing himself to match the Prince's glare.

“What? I literally didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly!” Roman stood, reaching over to pause the recording. “You’re just sitting here sulking! Come on, Charlie Frown, why are you so against this video?”

Virgil sighed, running a hand over his face, wishing they could just drop the whole thing and disappear under the covers of Roman’s bed, letting everything but the two of them fade away for the rest of the day.

But apparently, Roman had gotten it into his head that he and Virgil needed to film some sort of “couples video” for Thomas’s channel and had spent the last week begging Logan to talk Thomas into it.

It wasn’t that Virgil was completely against the idea. It was hard to be completely against anything when he was doing it with Roman. It was just...they’d only been dating a little over a month, both still fighting to work around their own fears and insecurities to make things work, and Virgil wasn’t sure how he felt about putting their new dynamic out in the open for the whole world to see.

That, and the fact that today was just a bad day. It wasn’t anything unusual- just one of those days where Virgil’s anxiety wouldn’t leave him alone, exhausted brain running on overdrive. Paranoia and racing thoughts had kept him up most of the night, but he’d been careful not to mention anything in an attempt to not ruin Roman’s good mood.

Seemed he’d managed to do that anyway.

“Because I just...don't know how I feel about it,” he said. “I mean, come on. Is anyone actually gonna care that we’re together?”

“Of course they will!”

“But...why can’t we just casually mention it in passing?” Virgil asked. “Why do we have to make a video about it at all? Does it have to be this big of a deal?”

Truthfully, Virgil had to constantly keep himself from telling every single person in the entire world how happy he was, how incredible it was that he and Roman had gotten together. A part of him, the part not ruled by crippling fear, wanted the entire world to see how perfect they were together, wanted to shout it from the rooftops and make an entire series declaring his undying love.

But the reality of the situation was that they weren’t perfect.

Roman was, of course. He was...he was Roman. He was the Prince, he was Thomas’s creativity, elegant and beautiful and kind.

And Virgil was...Virgil. He was anxiety and doubt, dark, gloomy, and scared, and all he did was drag everyone back.

He and Roman weren’t perfect, happy as they were together, simply because Virgil was there. Nothing was perfect when he was involved. He just...he tainted it.

Somehow though, Roman overlooked that. Roman loved him, and they made it work.

But not everyone else was going to see it that way. Not everyone was going to turn away from his flaws. People would see him and Roman together, see how much better Roman deserved, and they wouldn’t be afraid to say something.

And Roman...Roman did deserve better. And if enough people pointed out how awful Virgil was, made convincing enough arguments for why Prince should leave...maybe he’d decide they were right.

“It wasn’t a big deal until you made it one,” Roman shot back, and cold panic began to curl in Virgil’s gut at the bite in his tone. “Jeez, what’s your deal?”

Virgil knew full well that if he told Roman the real reason he was uneasy about the idea, if he’d asked for just a few days to unwind and rest and hopefully avoid the panic attack he could already feel building up, he would back off immediately and offer any help he could.

But Virgil still wasn’t great at asking for help.

“Because it’s a stupid idea!” God, why couldn’t he just control himself? “Sorry I don’t want to sit here for ten minutes listening to you- you- brag and shit!”

Roman barked a laugh, the sound humorless. “Brag? Right, that’s what I’ll do. Brag about my boyfriend who refuses to let anyone do anything fun.”

“Fun? How is this fun? It’s just gonna be you talking about yourself and how much more romantic you are, or whatever. No one cares, Princey. It’s just gonna turn out dumb and awkward.”

Something far too close to real hurt flashed in Roman’s eyes, the argument taking on a dangerous edge, but it was quickly squandered by something darker.  

“I don’t just talk about myself.”

Virgil scoffed, hating himself more and more every minute. “Yeah, sure.”

“Well, what am I supposed to talk about?” Roman demanded, too loud, too close to genuine anger. “You? All you do is sulk and mope around and make me miserable!”

Virgil winced at the harsh words, falling silent and watching warily as Roman paced. He knew Roman could have a temper sometimes, knew his rants were mostly just for the sake of dramatics.

But...well, he did have every right to be truly upset this time.

“I mean seriously!” The prince continued. “Forgive me for actually being excited about an idea! I just wanted to make a video about being in love, but I should have realized you would just ruin it!”

The words were met with heavy silence, Virgil’s throat suddenly too tight to form a reply, Roman’s anger sitting heavy on his chest.

The Prince sighed, running a hand through his hair, but he didn’t look any less unhappy. “I shouldn’t...ignore that. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He wondered if Roman meant Virgil ruining things, or that he was in love with him. He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Roman quickly answered his question. “Yeah, this...this isn’t gonna work, is it?”

The panic building up was suddenly replaced with sickening, ice cold fear.

Roman...Roman didn’t mean…?

“I don’t know why I thought this could be a good idea,” the Prince said. “Not when you can’t stop arguing with me for two seconds.”

Oh, god. Oh god, he was. “Wait, Ro--”

“What?” Roman snapped, turning on him all at once, gaze intense and expectant. “What, Virgil? What is it?”

Virgil flinched, frantically trying to think of a response, for any way to repair the damage he’d done today.

But...but if Roman didn’t think the two of them could work, if he’d realized how much better he deserved...wouldn’t he just get more upset if Virgil selfishly tried to get him to stay?

He wanted them to work. More than anything. For a while, he’d really thought they could.

But if Roman ended it now, if he left Virgil alone (After all, Virgil deserved to be alone, didn’t he?) it would break him. Virgil didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

He opened his mouth to say as much, not sure how to stop himself, wanting to beg and plead Roman to forgive him, to give him one more chance.

But the panic and nausea were making it impossible to force any words out, that dark, awful voice in his head screaming that he didn’t deserve to ask Roman to stay.

And Roman apparently took that as an answer, shoulders dropping as he scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re not even gonna bother.”

“Roman...that’s not…”

“No, it’s fine!” The words were cold and biting. “Seriously, all good! See? You got your way. Again. It’s done. It’s over. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Over. Over, it was...god no, no no Roman was going to leave. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t.

“Roman, I- I didn’t want—“

“Whatever, Virgil.” Roman scooped up the camera before stalking over to the door and holding it open. “If you don’t mind? I’d like to be alone so I can continue bragging about myself. I’m sure you’re ecstatic to get away from all that.”

“Roman...Ro, please, I didn’t mean—“

“Get out, Virgil.”

Virgil felt numb. Slowly, unable to look up and see Roman’s face twisted in hatred, he pushed himself away from the table they’d stationed themselves at, and stepped away, everything achingly silent except for Prince’s heavy breathing.

Virgil didn’t even bother walking to the door, not even sure he could stay upright that long. He just sunk out, and as the floor disappeared under him, he wondered if he would ever be welcomed back in Roman’s room.

His own bedroom was frigid, dark, and empty, and Virgil almost felt like he was being sent to a prison cell with how gloomy it looked.

It suited him, he supposed. Dark and brooding and...and alone.

Had...had he and Roman just…

“This isn’t going to work, isn’t it?”

They hadn’t fought like that in months. It had stopped some time before they’d gotten together, but today it was like all their progress had been undone.

Virgil had done that. Virgil had single handedly ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. All because he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut.

Roman finally realized Virgil had never changed. That Virgil would only bring him down, make him miserable.

And so he’d left him.

“I don’t know why I thought this could be a good idea!”

Virgil couldn’t move from where he stood in the middle of his room, everything far away and cold. He felt himself sink to the floor, felt the first few tears slip down his face before he began to sob.

Everything was falling apart. The world was crashing down around him, his own crying, loud, obnoxious, pathetic wails that bounced across his walls piercing to his own ears, bile rising up in his throat.

Roman was right. Virgil ruined everything. No wonder he made Creativity so miserable.

Virgil decided he’d actually rather leap out a window than join the others for dinner that night. He wasn’t even sure he could if he wanted to.

He hadn’t moved from the floor for what had to be a couple of hours at least, shaking and sobbing and viciously tearing his nails through the carpet.

By the time he’d cried himself out, he’d been far too exhausted to even consider moving, curled up on his side staring blankly at the light from the bottom of the door.

Patton had knocked some time later, cheerfully informing the anxious side that dinner was ready. It was only after a few moments of silence, when Patton’s voice grew worried and his knocking turned almost frantic, that Virgil forced himself to speak and claim he wasn’t hungry.

“You feeling ok?” Patton had asked, gentle and caring as ever. “Do you want me to bring you something? I can send Roman to--”

“No, Patton.” He hadn’t meant to snap, his disgust with himself only growing to an unbearable ache, but even just the Prince’s name threatened to bring a fresh wave of sobs to the surface. “I- I’m fine, Pat.”

Patton had mercifully left him alone after that, not prying after the wobble in his voice but promising to leave a plate in the fridge for whenever he wanted.

Virgil wondered how Roman was doing. If he even missed him at all. It was doubtful, he’d made a decision but...what they’d had was good. It had been. At least while it lasted.

They’d only been together a little over a month, but Virgil honestly wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do without Roman now.

He loved him. He loved him so much. He hadn’t really been able to convince himself he could deserve happiness like this until Roman proved otherwise, literally scooping him off his feet and showing him just how wrong he was.

And he’d let him think that maybe...maybe he was helping Roman too. Maybe slowly, they could both bring out the best in each other.

And Virgil had managed to undo all of that in one day. All because he couldn’t suck it up and keep his stupid mouth shut for one minute.

Eventually, when the sky darkened and the mindscape was quiet, Virgil dragged himself off the floor, changed into sweats, pulled his hood over his head, and crawled into bed.

It felt cold and empty without Roman’s arms around him.

Virgil buried himself in the blankets, hugging his pillow close to his chest, not bothering to try and stop his crying. He deserved to be miserable, didn’t he? He’d certainly put everyone else through enough misery for a lifetime.

He wondered if Roman would even talk to him after tonight, or if the Prince would just shut Virgil’s existence out completely.

Maybe things would go back to how they used to be, the two of them practically enemies, Roman treating Anxiety like the villain he’d always known he was.

In the end, Virgil supposed it didn’t really matter how he was treated now. He’d lose Roman either way.

He’d felt heartbreak through Thomas, of course, more than once. But this...this was so much different. So much worse.

It was heavy, a weight sitting on his chest, restraining him, keeping him pinned down until he couldn’t breathe. And it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he’d ever known.

Coupled with the panic that hadn’t gone away, Virgil was left a crying, trembling mess in his bed.

He stayed like that until what had to be nearly one in the morning, unable to fall asleep, the hours passing by in meaningless blurs, breath catching when he heard the doorknob turn.

Virgil went very still, careful to keep his ragged breathing quiet and shallow, hoping that whoever it was would just hurry up and go away.

He didn’t have the energy to explain to Patton or Logan what had happened. He didn’t think he knew how to say it aloud.

“I know you’re awake, Virgil.”

That was Roman’s voice, the Prince standing in the dark entryway, and Virgil felt blinding panic reach up and seize his heart.

“Come on,” Roman said, and while he didn’t sound as angry as he had that afternoon, he certainly didn’t sound happy. “Are you going to keep pouting or can we talk?”

Virgil didn’t answer, didn’t move from where he lay with his face against the pillow, but he listened as Roman sighed and slowly made his way over to the bed.

What more could Roman possibly have to say?

Virgil kept his eyes shut, refusing to cause Roman any guilt by breaking down in front of him. He felt the mattress dip as the Prince lowered himself on the edge of the bed.

“Look--”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said before Roman could finish. “I...I’m sorry. For ruining it.”

It was followed by a string of heavy silence that stretched on an unbearably long time, and Virgil could practically feel Roman’s eyes on him.

“Don’t be,” Roman said eventually. “And you didn’t. I didn’t mean to...it was gonna end that way eventually, right?”

Virgil froze, remembering the yelling, the awful fight he’d caused that had pushed Roman to his breaking point.

Roman had just...expected that?

“It...it was?”

“I mean, probably,” Roman said, with an air of nonchalance that hurt worse than any amount of shouting could. “And it’s not a big deal that it didn’t work. It was just...a silly idea. Totally impulsive on my part.”

Virgil huffed a laugh, the sound dangerously close to turning into a sob.

“Yeah,”  he said, because that was true at least. He loved Roman more than anything, but he still couldn’t comprehend what could have possessed Roman to show an interest in him. “It...it wasn’t silly to me.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Roman scoffed, and Virgil winced. Prince must have noticed, because he quickly continued. “Look, I’m...I’m sorry I yelled. I think we both got a little worked up.”

It was Virgil’s fault. He’d ruined it. He deserved to be alone.

“Ok.”

“Seriously, Virge. It’s not a big deal. Can’t we just...move on?”

He hated this. He hated this. Acting like they could just go back to being acquaintances, like nothing had ever happened between them, like breaking Virgil’s heart didn’t even matter.

He didn’t answer, digging his nails into his palms in a vain attempt at forcing back rising tears, praying that Roman would hurry up and leave him alone.

There was a hand on his shoulder, the touch achingly familiar, and Virgil jerked away with a panicked gasp.

“Don’t.”

“Virge—”

“Roman, please.” He struggled to sit up, the hurt only worsening at the confused exasperation he’d heard in Roman’s voice. “I can’t do that, I can’t...I don’t know how to just pretend...fuck, Roman I don’t know what to do without you!”

God, he was pathetic. Roman had finally opened his eyes and decided he deserved better, and here Virgil was, useless as always, unable to let go.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he choked out, vision blurred by new tears, the guilt and disgust suffocating. “Please, Ro, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry f- for- for fucking up, I’m sorry just- just please give me another chance I can- I’ll--”

He cut off with a broken sob as Roman’s hands were suddenly on his face, cupping both his cheeks and forcing him to look the Prince in the eyes.

“What are you talking about?” He was frantically searching Virgil’s watering eyes, horrified realization dawning. “Did you think I meant...Virgil have you been laying here all night thinking I broke up with you?”

Virgil’s breathing was quickly turning to ragged gasps as he desperately tried to muffle his crying, face burning in frustrated shame when the tears just continued to fall. There was absolutely no way for him to hold back another sob when Roman began wiping them away with his thumbs, looking strangely pained.

“Y-you s-said...you said i-it wouldn’t- w-wouldn’t work, y-you...you said--”

“Oh, darling no.”

Roman’s arms were suddenly wrapped around him, pulling him close, and Virgil didn’t think twice before falling against his chest, clutching desperately at the Prince’s shirt and wailing.

It all came spilling out again at the feeling of Roman’s arms around him, holding him like he’d protect the anxious side with his life. It was everything Virgil had grown accustomed to these last weeks. Everything he didn’t want to lose.

“It’s alright,” Roman said softly, holding Virgil tight as he cried. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere. I’m so sorry, Virgil, I’m so sorry. It was just an argument, darling, don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

“Y-you- you said you knew,” Virgil sobbed, anguished cries muffled against Roman’s chest. “You knew it w-would end, you- you s-said it was over I-I thought--”

“Oh no, darling I wasn’t talking about us. I was talking about the video, Virgil. I was angry about the stupid video. It was just a fight, V. I’m so sorry for saying those things.”

Roman kept talking, rocking them both gently where they sat on Virgil’s bed, rubbing circles along the anxious side’s back. He would tighten his protective hold each time Virgil’s cries would grow loud again, devastated bawling that wouldn’t stop even with Roman’s reassurances.

But eventually the sobbing faded, leaving Virgil hiccuping and gasping for air, panic and sorrow fading and making way for utter exhaustion and hopeful relief as Roman’s words set in.

“I...I don’t want to be in here,” he said, as soon as he found his voice. “Can we--?”

“Of course.”

Roman was immediately sinking out, Virgil still held carefully in his arms, the two of them reappearing in the middle of Prince’s unmade bed in seconds. It seemed like neither of them had been able to sleep.

Roman guided them both backwards until they were laying down, still chest to chest, one hand reaching back to pull the covers up and over them. Virgil let out one more trembling breath, taking a moment to lay against Prince’s now tear soaked shirt, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing in Roman’s scent, taking in his arms around him, his steady breathing in his ear.  

“So,” Virgil said after a moment, quiet and hesitant. “Just to, um, clarify. You’re not...you aren’t breaking up with me?”

Roman pulled back from where he’d had his nose pressed against Virgil’s hair, just enough so he could crane his neck to get a better look at the other side, eyes wide and filled with his own, unshed tears.

“No,” he insisted, almost desperate. “No, darling never. I never want to leave you, Virgil. I promise. You’re stuck with me.”

Virgil huffed, glancing up to give Roman a timid smile. “I’m not gonna hold you to that promise. I get it. I’m...a lot. Clearly.”

Roman leaned forward to press a kiss into Virgil’s hair. “You’re a lot of things like perfect, and beautiful, and magnificent--!”

“Oh my god.” Virgil’s cheeks were on fire, despite it just being the two of them in the dimly lit room, and he quickly buried his face back into the Prince’s shirt.

“And,” Roman continued, a bit softer. “I’m very sorry for raising my voice at you. I didn’t even realize, I...I overreacted. And I’m sorry.”

“I’m pretty sure I yelled first, Princey,” Virgil said. “I was an ass. And I didn’t mean it, either. The video...wasn't stupid. It was just...I was stressed and I freaked out. Bad day, I guess.”

Roman moved one hand to start running his fingers through Virgil’s hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp, and Virgil’s eyelids fluttered at the blissful feeling. “What’s bothering you, Love?”

Dammit. Roman really knew how to break down his defenses.

“I- I guess the idea of making...us public is...it just stresses me out sometimes. I’ve known you wanted to for a while and I’ve been stupidly anxious about it. I should have told you.”

Roman was silent a moment, never stilling the movement of his fingers, and Virgil could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

“You...you know I’d never force you to do that video, right? Whether you needed more time, or you never wanted to do it at all, I wouldn’t have been upset with you.”

Roman was always unbelievably patient with him. He had a temper sometimes, they both did, but he was more than willing to take things as slow as Virgil needed. Anything to make him comfortable.

With Roman, Virgil had never felt more safe in his life. Feeling pressured hadn’t been the issue at all.

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Can I...ask why it upsets you so much?”

“I just…” And really, what else was there to say but the blatant truth? “I just still can’t believe that I’m with you. That you like me. Out of anyone.”

The hand in his hair slowed, just for a moment, and he could almost picture Princey’s puzzled expression. “I’m...not following.”

“You deserve the world, Roman,” Virgil said. “And I want to give that to you because...because I- I love you. And I just get it into my head that if people find out we’re together...they’ll see how much better you deserve. Because you should have everything and you...you got me. And I know you’re ok with that, but I just worry that if enough people tell you to leave you’ll realize you--”

He was abruptly cut off by Roman’s lips over his own, the Prince suddenly on top of him with one hand still behind Virgil’s head, the other tilting his chin upwards.

Obviously they’d kissed countless times before, but to Virgil each time felt like the first all over again. He didn’t think he would ever get used to this feeling, fiery warmth that spread through his body, the way he practically came undone when Roman brushed his lips, everything perfectly at peace when they fit together.

Roman pulled away, cheeks flushed as he looked down at Virgil’s equally red face, their noses almost touching.

“I love you.”

It was said suddenly, with so much force and desperation, and Virgil blinked, momentarily caught completely off guard. “I- thank you? I love you too, but--”

He stopped when Roman was suddenly pressing a kiss to his forehead, pulling away a few seconds later with another hushed “I love you.”

“Roman--”

Roman kept going like that, pressing meaningful, gentle kisses to almost every inch of Virgil’s face, cradling his jaw like something delicate. With each kiss Prince would whisper another soft, “I love you,” just loud enough for Virgil to hear.

When he was done he didn’t go far, warm hands still delicately framing Virgil’s face, looking down at him with what could only be described as awe.

“God, I love you,” Roman said again, and Virgil was almost positive his face was the color of the Prince's sash by now. “Virgil, I’m happier than I’ve ever been when I’m with you. You know that, right?”

“I...I guess, but--”

Roman pressed another quick kiss to his lips, and he clearly wasn’t expecting a back and forth discussion seeing as Virgil was far too flustered to form coherent answers.

“I’m supposed to be the sappy one, you know,” Roman said when he pulled away with a smirk, the smile quickly dropping into something more serious. “You are my world, darling. I do have everything. Because I have you. I wouldn’t give this up for anything, and a stupid comment from a jealous idiot who has no idea how beautiful you are won’t ever change that. Do you understand?”

For a moment, Virgil couldn’t bring himself to speak, the words getting jumbled and caught up in his tightening throat. Roman’s voice was swirling around his head, forcing the dark anxious thoughts to finally retreat, replaced only with overwhelming love and lighthearted giddiness.

It was a wonder Virgil had any tears left to cry, but suddenly his vision was blurring and Roman’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I just...I- I thought--”

It was Virgil’s turn to cut Roman off with a kiss, this one a bit more sloppy and desperate as he grabbed Roman’s collar and dragged him back down, but he savored the feeling all the same.

When it was over, Roman was watching him with wide eyes, brimming with hope and worry, and Virgil found himself smiling.

“You dork,” he muttered, and Roman instantly relaxed. “I’m not...good at this like you are but...me too. All of that. You...you’re perfect, Roman. I don’t know what I did right to deserve you.”

“You think I don’t wonder how I got lucky enough for you to love me?” Roman asked, smiling when Virgil carefully reached up to wipe away the Prince’s own tears. “I’m not letting go of this, Stormcloud. Unless...unless you ever change your mind.”

Virgil moved to wrap his arms around Roman, guiding him back down until he was laid against his chest, the Prince’s head rested comfortably on his shoulder, the weight warm and grounding.

“Not a chance, Princey,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment just to listen to Roman’s breathing. “We can film the video.”

He felt Roman freeze, just for a second. “I- really?”

“Yeah.” Somehow, the idea wasn’t quite as terrifying as it had been before. “Just...maybe in a few days, if that’s ok.”

“Of course!” Roman exclaimed, and Virgil could hear the excitement in his voice. “We can do it whenever you’re ready.”

“Maybe we could...plan it out a bit more tomorrow. Work on a more concrete script.”

“Good idea,” Roman agreed. Reaching over to take Virgil’s hand. “I suppose I got a little carried away in my excitement. I shouldn’t have dragged you into a video like that...I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“And I’m sorry for being an asshole about it,” Virgil said. “I should have just talked to you. I’m still not...great at telling people when somethings bothering me.”

“Your comfort is my top priority. Always. Never be afraid to tell me these things, Virgil. How else am I supposed to protect you?”

Virgil scoffed, this time light and good natured, and Roman chuckled along with him. “Protecting you is my job, Ro. But...but I will. I promise.”

“I know it’s not easy,” Roman said. “And it’s not your fault, I’m not angry. All I ask is that you try. I’m always going to be here.”

Roman had said that before, of course, he knew where Virgil’s fears and insecurities stemmed from.

But now, the two of them wrapped in each other's arms, it was the first time Virgil had ever been able to believe the words without hesitation, the doubts completely silent.

He listened to Roman’s breaths slow and even out, felt him relax completely against Virgil’s chest, the anxious side still wide awake despite his exhaustion.

“I love you too, by the way,” he whispered when he was fairly certain Roman had fallen asleep. “So, so much. I wish I was better at saying it.”

Roman said nothing, but Virgil felt him squeeze his hand and run his thumb along his knuckles, a silent communication somehow letting Virgil know that it was ok, that they were both learning.

Virgil smiled and closed his eyes, completely at ease in the Prince’s hold. And he realized, just before he succumbed to sleep, that a small part of him was actually looking forward to that video.

Honestly, how could he not if it meant he would see Roman smile at him?

[jadedxrealityw]

-Unsaid- Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

   ♡~🐍~♡

   Kody: I’m fully aware that this song was used for first, but im using it in a romantic way. Also this is hella similar to my other story “First love?” “No, my only love” story, but this song has been in my head and i thought of this so enjoy??

   Song: Charlie Gillespie- Unsaid emily

   Warning: angst, just so much angst. Cursing and whatnot as well.

   House: Slytherin

   Summary: It’s right after the wizarding war and the golden trio wants to reunite Draco with someone he lost.

   ♡~🐍~♡

   A feeling of dread coursed through him as his parents called his name from across the battlefield, he could feel the eyes from other students looking at him, giving him a questioning glance. All wondering what side Draco Malfoy was going to choose, but it didn’t matter the only thing keeping him good was you and you were gone.

   The blond boy took a step forward, instantly receiving disapproving glances from the staff and students, but he didn’t care. He pushes through the crowd and Voldemort gives him a sadistic smile, holding out his arms “Ah, well done Draco” he says and gives the boy a awkward hug, sending shivers down Drac’s spine.

   “Well done” he repeated and let go of him. Draco made his way to his parents, his mother going in to touch me, but he swats her hand away. A hurt look spreading across her face, but she understood. 

   ♡~🐍~♡

   After Neville’s speech he pulled the sword of Gryffindor from the hat shouting “It’s not over” and in that moment Harry Potter pushed from Hagrid’s arms, making Draco’s eyes go wide. He saw he didn’t have a wand and looked down at his, even if you weren’t around to keep him in the light he knew you would have wanted him to do the right thing.

   So he did. Draco ran from the crowd of death-eater “Potter!” he shouted, catching the attention of the Gryffindor. Running past Voldemort, Draco threw his wand at Harry and ran into the crowd of students once more.

   ♡~🐍~♡

   It was over. Voldemort was dead and Draco had no idea where his parents were, probably anywhere at this point to avoid being arrested. He questioned if he would be arrested as well. Standing on the bridge he looked at Hogwarts, a place he used to call home destroyed. All thanks to him. 

   “Malfoy” A voice called and he looked forward to see the three Gryffindors staring at him. He tensed slightly, wondering what they were gonna say and do. They stopped in front of him “Thank you, for giving me your wand. I couldn’t have done it without you” Harry spoke.

   “I never meant for any of this to happen. Hogwarts was my home too, but Voldemort took someone from me, held her over my head. I loved her with everything i had only for my own parents to kill her. Don’t thank me Potter, thank her. She was the light of my life, she made me good” 

   The three looked at him and gave him a sad smile “Could you show us who she was, your memories of her. Even if she wasn’t involved directly. She was indeed a hero?” Harry asked. Draco thought for a moment before giving them a small nod.

   “I’d like that”

   ♡~🐍~♡

   As they walked up the stairs to Dumbledore’s office a feeling of guilt going through him like a punch, but on the way Harry had told them all about Snape and Dumbledore’s plan, which put his mind a bit at ease. 

   “Okay so, just remove your memories and put them in there” Harry explains and points to the small fountain. 

   “i’d don’t think that will fit all of us” Ron questioned, which he was right. It wouldn’t.

   Hermione took out her wand and pointed it at the small fountain “Engorgio” she speaks and it grows in size “Better?” she asked and they all nod.

   Harry hands Draco his wand and holds it against his head, pulling out strings of memories and puts them in the water. “Okay” he says. They all stand on the sides before dunking their heads in.

   ♡~🐍~♡

   They watch a scene from in front of them. A girl with H/L H/C hair was leaning against the wall, she looked sad and angered, they also saw Draco there with the same emotion. “What is this?” Hermione asked and Draco gulped.

   The scene played and it was Draco and you were taking about how distant he was being and him not being able to lie his way out of it “First things first. We start the scene in reverse. All of the lines rehearsed. Disappeared from my mind” Non-memory Draco says as he looks at the both of you. “I practiced everyday on how to lie my way out on me being a death-eater, but i just couldn’t”

   “Y/n say something please” Draco pleaded, looking into your eyes as they gazed at his dark mark. “It wasn’t my choice i swear, but what if they find out about you and hurt you or worse because i said no!” he pleads for her to understand.

   You look at his worried face, he was still the man you loved. No matter what mark he had, but you just couldn’t help the anger “Are you crazy?! Draco they could kill you! Is this why you have been so distant?!” You shout and 

   He shakes his head, his frown turning into a scowl “Im doing this for you! I don’t care what happens to me! So how can you be yelling at me!” he shouts back, making you throw your arms in the air.

   “Exactly Draco, you need to think about yourself! You could be sent to Azkaban for even having that mark! I could lose you! That’s why i’m upset!” You watch as his face softens, knowing he had made a mistake.

   “Y/n i-” He starts, but you push past him and out his dorm room. 

   Draco paused the memory to look at your tear stained face. A frown taking over him. ���Did this happen often?” Hermione asked. 

“When things got loud. One of us running out. I should've turned around, but I had too much pride“ Draco speaks, making a disgusted face at himself, how could he let you leave in such condition. “No time for goodbyes. Didn't get to apologize. Pieces of a clock that lies broken“ he adds before switching to another memory.

   ♡~🐍~♡

   They saw you and him laughing while walking down the hall, holding hands and giving each other lovestruck looks “ If I could take us back, if I could just do that and write in every empty space the words "I love you" in replace. Then maybe time would not erase me” he walked beside you as if he was actually there with you, but when he touched your hand, he went right through it. 

   He watched the both of you walk down the hall “What would you tell her now? if you could i mean” Harry says, causing Hermione to hit his shoulder.

   “If you could only know I'd never let you go and the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave Unsaid Y/n” Draco says, making the trio frown at his vulvernable state. He shakes his head and the memory changes again.

   ♡~🐍~♡

   He watched as everything faded into place and his jaw locked instantly. “Silent days, mysteries and mistakes. Who'd be the first to break?. Guess we're alike that way” Draco said before letting the memory play out.

   You watched as Draco was being held by death-eaters, holding a wand to his neck “Tell us gilrie, are you with Draco Malfoy?!” One sneered. Draco looked at you, shaking his head. He rather die then let them use you against him. The pleading look made you hesitate “I guess you wouldn’t mind if we use the cruciatus curse then huh?” he smirks.

   “No!” You shout and he smirks. Draco struggles against the death-eater as one goes over to you, grabbing your arm. 

   In seconds you were apparated into the Malfoy Manor and you were dragged away down to where the dungeons were. “No! Let her go!” Draco shouted, hia parents walking in to see Draco.

   “Let our son go now!” Narcissa shouts, giving the death-eater a glare. He lets go and Draco immediately tries to go down into the dungeons, but his mother holds him back “Draco stop!”

   “No, no i have to protect her! Let me see her mother, please!” Draco pleads as he tries to push past her, tears forming in the corners of her eyes 

   “Draco, if we keep her there the dark lord will think you don’t care for her and won’t hurt her. I won’t let him hurt her. I promise, i know how much she means to you” Narcissa gives him a small smile and Draco nods slowly, he always trusted his mother.

   Hermione shook her head “How could she say that and just kill her herself? It makes no sense” she thought, turning to face Draco. “Didn’t the dark lord say he was going to hurt her if you didn’t obey him? How was your mother going to protect her?”

   Draco shakes his head, just as confused as she was “He said, she said. Conversations in my head and that's just where they're gonna stay forever” he spoke and shook his head, the memory changing again

      ♡~🐍~♡

   You and Draco were at the yule ball, both having a blast dancing around. He watched with such dismay knowing he’d never see that smile again. “If I could take us back, if I could just do that and write in every empty space the words "I love you" in replace. Then maybe time would not erase me” he starts 

   Watching as you let go of his hand and spin around, pausing the memory to stand in front of you. “If you could only know I'd never let you go and the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave Unsaid Y/n” he chokes out and watch as you fade away. He reaches out to nothing and frowns

   “I know it’s hard, but can you show us how she died?” Harry asked. Draco takes a deep breath and nods before the memory changes again.

   ♡~🐍~♡

   Draco had just walked down the stairs and saw his mother holding you by the arm and his father standing next to her “Mother? Father? What’s going on?” he questioned, rushing down the last few steps and towards you.

   His mother spoke up “Since you have shown no interest in the girl, the dark lord sees no reason to keep her. So he’s going to torture her for information and kill her” she says, making Draco’s eyes go wide.

   “No you can’t let him! You said you’d protect her! You told me to ignore her! I trusted you!” He shouts, a hurt look crossing her. Narcissa shakes her head and hands you over to Lucius.

   “I am sparing her from any hurt, if i let her go he will find out, but if i kill her myself. The dark lord will be pleased and won’t torture her” She speaks. 

   Draco was frozen. His own mother was going to kill the love of his life? “Mother please, i beg you! You can’t do this!” he shouts, but Narcissa just shakes her head.

   “You two, take my son to his room!” Narcissa instructs the death-eaters standing guard and they comply and grab Draco by his arms. He was kicking and screaming as he watched his mother pull out his wand.

   He saw the terrified look on your face as she pointed her wand towards you “No! Y/n! Please don’t do this! Mother!” he shouts, but she shook her head and spoke the fatal words 

   “Avada Kedavra!” she shouts and a flash a green enlightened the room, Draco was being pushed around the corner and only saw a glimpse of your corpse.

   Draco paused the memory as a tear fell from his eye, wiping it quickly he turns to the trio “I know i come off as cold and rude, but she saw the good in me. She made me want to be good. She made me give you that wand Potter and she doesn’t even get to live. It isn’t fair” he speaks.

   “Rewind it” Hermione says making everyone look at her confusingly “Just do it, right before the flash” she speaks a bit harshly.

   Draco complies as watches as his mother chants the killing curse again and stops it. Hermione walks around and looks at your face “That isn’t Y/n” she speaks

   “What?” Draco asked and walked around to see what Hermione was seeing and saw you, but not you. Someone turning back from you to themselves “Polyjuice potion” he whispers and the Gryffindor girl nods.

   “Your mother never betrayed you, she knew if she just hid Y/n away you would have went looking for her” Hermione explains. Draco feels a feeling of hope spread in his chest.

   “So she's still alive somewhere!” Draco finishes and to everyone’s surprise hugged Hermione and swung her around “Thank merlin for your genius mind, Granger!” he shouts and lets go of her.

   ♡~🐍~♡

   They pulled their heads out the water and Draco sighs contently. All this time, he thought he’d never see you again, but you were alive. Somewhere, but you were. “The chat has been lovely, but i have to go find Y/n” he says and goes to rush out the door when Hermione stops him.

   “You and Harry are alike. Thinking you can do these big adventures by yourselves. We’re going to help you Draco Malfoy. Whether you like it or not” She says sternly, crossing her arms.

   “I’d just say yes a mate, you really have no choice when it comes to her” Ron spoke, giving Draco a warm smile.

   “Okay, let’s find Y/n”

   ♡~🐍~♡

   A month later and the golden trio and Draco searched everywhere for his parents, in hopes of them having information on where you were hidden, but they had completely disappeared. Nowhere to be found. Currently Draco was sitting in the manor, eating breakfast when the golden trio apparated in “You know i have a doorbell right?” he asked.

   “We have something” Harry speaks. Draco shot up from his seat and made his way towards them. Harry opens a file that he was holding “Using my new title as hero, i was able to convince the ministry to give me your parents financial records” he starts “And we found out they purchased a house in a small town days before Y/n was ‘killed’ she has to be there” 

   Draco walks over to the door and grabs his coat hanging off the rack and slips it on “What are you doing?” Ron asked him, the three following.

   “What? Do you think im going to wait until lunch to go find my girlfriend. Yeah no, if you don’t want to come give me the file and i’ll go” Draco says, holding his hand out.

   “Calm down, were going. Remember what Hermione said. We’re in this together” Harry says and off they were.

    ♡~🐍~♡

   They enter the small town and look at the file “The house should be down the road here” Harry instructs and they began to walk, well Draco was more like speed walking. As they got closer, Hermione walked over to someone around there age and smiled “Hello ma’am do you know who lives in that house?” 

   The girl with a brown pixie cut looked away from her phone and towards the Gryffindor girl “Um i don’t know her name, but she has H/L H/C hair and E/C, she seems pretty chill but doesn’t leave the house often. The only person to ever visit her was a women with white and black hair” she explains.

   Hermione smiles “Thank you uh-”

   “Kody and no problem. See ya around i have to go write fanfiction on tumblr about some guy with daddy issues for people with daddy issues” She laughs and waves before walking away.

   “What’s tumblr?” Ron asked and they all shrugged there shoulders. 

   “Can we go now?” Draco asked, a bit snappy and they nod before walking towards the house. 

   ♡~🐍~♡

   The three stood near the mailbox as Draco knocked on the door. he nervously waited until he heard the someone unlock the door and opened it. He saw a face he never thought he’d see again. Your eyes widened in shock as your boyfriend stood in front of you. You reached out and touched his face “Your real” you say.

   Draco nods giving you a smile, placing a hand on top of yours leaning into your touch “It’s me love. I found you” he says and scoops you up in his arms. Tears ran down your face as you hugged him back “I was so scared you were dead, until i looked back at my memories and saw it wasn’t you”

   You nod your head “I thought you were dead, i haven’t been able to figure out what’s happening in the wizarding world without Narcissa, but she hasn’t shown up in forever” you spoke and Draco smiles down at you.

   “Voldemort is dead, Harry killed him and they helped me find you” He said and gestured to the golden trio behind him to waved “I couldn’t have found you without them.

   “You teamed up with Gryffindors to find me? I must have really had an affect on you?” You joke and he laughs softly, giving you a nod. He leans down to peck your lips quickly.

   “yes, you really do love and i want you to keep having that effect on me for my whole life. Come back with me” He pleads and you laugh, makin his face twist in confusion 

   “You don’t even need to ask”

   ♡~🐍~♡

   Kody- Da hell did i just write? Also yes i put myself in the story. Dont judge me. Hope you enjoyed at least. Also go listen to unsaid emily its a bop. My requests are open btw. Anyways, peace.