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sunarintoes · 3 years ago

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Pretty Setter Squad Boyfriend Headcanons

part one can be found here II wc: 2.4k II includes: kageyama, suga, kenma, akaashi, semi and oikawa II atsumu and shirabu

rewriting because i cringe at the old hcs 😭

✗ Kagggggsss

✗ The emotionally constipated blueberry <3 oh yeahh 😎

✗ Okay well first off he can barely process his emotions (*cough* evidently *cough*)

✗ When you two first started going out he was quite shy and unsure of what to do so you may have had to guide him a bit, but if youre equally shy then it just would have taken longer to get to where you are now; oh and if that was the case it probably took some random burst of energy/confidence from either one of you to make the first move.

✗ He will buy you milk but uf you hate it (like me 🤢) he will buy you another drink - like juice :D

✗ I dont think he will be the most affectionate, it’s not his love language - and neither are words haHAH. His love language is most likely quality time and gift giving.

✗ He does like to cuddle though 😳

✗ In fact he really likes to :D his favourite is when youre sitting in his lap while he watches a volleyball game (at home - he hates pda).

✗ This brings us to our next, short point. Kageyama absolutely despises pda, he just thinks its something meant for closed doors and he does not believe that he has to display his relationship for the whole world to ogle at. The most he will do is light hand holding - mostly just linking your pinkies though.

✗ When it comes to height he does not care if you're smaller or taller than him ← but bb, please don't tease him about his height if he’s shorter because he will blow a fuse.

✗ He alternates between small spoon and big spoon, kinda depending on his mood.

✗ BOY O BOY does he get jealous. Uh please reign in your setter >:(

✗ Its mostly due to the fact that he’s insecure about himself - he thinks you will leave him like everyone else (in middle school - yes, he is still traumatised from it.)

✗ When he does get jealous he might be snappy to the other person and glare at them or be snappy at you and glare at you. When this happens please give him space because he needs it to clear his head. When he feels better he will come up to you and hug you into his chest so that he can’t see your face and you cant see his, then he will mumble an apology.

✗ Ever since you two began to date he has practiced apologising and getting better at apologising, this is because his inability to admit to his own mistakes was a sour patch in your relationship that almost ended it but he really did not want to lose you so he sucked up his pride and worked on what he had to; of course you also worked in what you had to. God I love character development 😩

✗ Dates are mostly at home dates or dates revolving around volleyball. If you're not into volleyball, Kageyama would not date you, it's something he is so passionate about and loves with every breath he takes (like you) and he refuses to compromise one love for the other.

✗ ooooh he likes arcade dates a well! He thrives in a competitive environment. If you're not competitive and don't want to compete against him then he’ll compete for you - against the machines lol. Of course you play as well! But i doubt youre as competitive as this blueberry, and if you are - well i guess at the end of the day youll both be stacked in tokens 🤠

✗ Sugawara my beloved <33

✗ He. Is. So. Affectionate!

✗ Mans loves skin on skin contact ykwim?

✗ He is down for pda and does not care what others think - only what you think <3.

✗ I mean he might make out with you in public if you ask nicely

✗ Dates are very fun with him, he’ll take you to cafes, to amusement parks, to carnivals, to movies and all the like. He’s a cliche lover and he’s proud of it.

✗ Your first kiss happened on New Years Eve/Day. The two of you sat on the roof of his house and watched as the fireworks lit up the starry sky of Miyagi and chanted the count down together. The second ‘one�� left your lips he grabbed your face (softly!!) and pulled you in to crash his lips against yours.

✗ Suga loves to cuddle, preferably face to face because he just thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world.

✗ He is not the most jealous person, he definitely does get jealous but never of strangers. It's more when his close friends or your close friends get a bit too comfortable if that makes sense? He normally plays it off with humour and messes around because he acknowledges that he is insecure and that it is most likely him thinking of the worst case scenario; however if he really does start to worry and get jealous then he will sit you down and talk about it with you. To him, communication is key.

✗ Ngl Kenma is definitely in my top 3 favourites.

✗ I may or may not be a Kenma kinnie 😳🙈

✗ i love my non-toxic gamer boy <33 anywho: no matter what ANYONE says, kenma is definitely affectionate. In fact I'd say he’s one of the most affectionate boyfriends. As we all know, he is shy and introverted but he likes to hang around and spend time with people he likes. He also talks a lot to them. So I hc that he’s a bit of a chatterbox with you and it makes him really happy when you let him talk about a game or a theory he has. He’s a great listener so you can count on him to pay attention to what you say.

✗ if you didn't already have one, he bought you a switch. He loves video game dates especially when he can't see you in person (*cough* lockdown *cough*)

✗ he loves when you sit on his lap when he plays video games. I know everyone talks about sitting on their partner’s lap as some sexual thing and yeah that can happen but most of the time he’s really soft with you and just enjoys being close to you. Loves when you cuddle into him while he plays so that he can place his head on yours or your shoulder.

✗ i think he is a bit shy when it comes to kisses but definitely warms up after a while. He absolutely refuses to sleep if he doesnt get your goodnight kisses. He loves to kiss you on your nose and your cheeks the most. He loves when you kiss him on the forehead and the nose <3

✗ kenma is not one for pda, it's just not his vibe. He prefers intimacy and privacy; his relationship is not a movie for the world to watch and gawk at. Especially timeskip!kenma. Though that does not mean he wont ever show you skinship in public, occasionally he will softly hold your hand and maybe press a light kiss to your cheek.

✗ in terms of jealousy, he is moderate. Kenma, as we all know, has incredible people reading skills, so he understands the situation pretty clearly and knows when you’re uncomfortable/what you think of the situation. Most of the time you can deal with the unwanted attention and he doesnt get jealous, but he does get insecure. He shows this by going quiet and looking away when you look at him, you can cure this by giving him hugs when you get home.

✗ Akaashi my beloved <3 he’s so pretty i can't even-

✗ ugh! Just imagine him in a dark/light academia aesthetic.

✗ perfection.

✗ akaashi is the sweetest most attentive boyfriend, he loves you to pieces and never fails to let you know. He tells you he loves you every morning and every night. He probably makes meals for you and leaves notes in that have a sweet comment like “i love you, you're the best <3”

✗ he love back hugging you BUT also receiving back hugs 🥺✨

✗ akaashi is a booknerd and an introvert. Please cuddle up to him and let him read his book to you.

✗ there are only 2 things that can restore his social battery: sleeping and you.

✗ which means he wants cuddles when he’s tired 😊

✗ he is not jealous. He just doesn't get jealous, maybe annoyed if the third party is being a bit too pushy and you're clearly uncomfortable, but he just never feels jealous. No matter how hard you may try to make him jealous (plz dont cause that's kinda toxic imo) he just won't feel that way.

✗ definitely the ‘mom/dad’ as he carries sinister, pads, bandaids → a whole first aid kit basically, everywhere. Bb must be prepared.

✗ dates are so sweet with him, cute niche cafes and dimly lit libraries. Maybe the occasional abandoned building. He loves spending time with you, so really he's happiest whenever he’s with you; having coffee at McDonalds or a niche cafe won't change anything.

✗ he’s hard to pinpoint for pda. I feel like he’s indifferent about it. He probably prefers to keep it indoors or to just small and sweet gestures (no making out in public sorry-). It definitely comes down to your preferences, if you don't like it then he won't and vice versa.

✗ semi semi semi semi semi semi

✗ omg mr musician

✗ he definitely plays guitar - lead guitar and bass guitar.

✗ skilled fingies for sure 😗

✗ boy why are musicians so hot???? 😫😫😫💦💦

✗ he writes songs about you. Semsem has a bit of trouble saying exactly how he feels, so he writes it and sings it to you with a small little smile and eyes full of love.

✗ off topic but Semu has the best music taste in haikyuu

✗ he loves hugs so much <33 please hug and cuddle with him 24/7

✗ very affectionate, he’s always touching you someway. Loves kissing your forehead.

✗ he is jealous. Yeah definitely. He writes songs about being jealous 🗿 not that you mind of course ‘cause they're bangers. I think he might get snappy when he’s jealous, not directly at you but at the other person. He definitely gets a bit bitchy. Sometimes he acts that way to you so you've just gotta slap some sense into him. Say something like “what's your problem?” or “tell me what your problem is so i can help fix it.” ← that's probably the best thing to say.

✗ afterwards he’ll just snuggle with you until he feels better.

✗ he asks for your opinion about his songs all the time, please be honest (but also praise them if you like them lol)

✗ he takes you to niche spots he finds, like hidden concerts and stuff. Loves when you come to his gigs <3 oh and when you scream for him (in more ways than one).

✗ dates are cute and fun. Mostly walking around together → carnivals, main street, farmers market. Those kind of things.

✗ when it comes to pda he loves it. Loves being able to show the world who his s/o is. If you don't like it then he will tone it down and only do what you’re comfortable with. If you're also into pda then he will happily make out with you anywhere (you're one of THOSE couples 🤢 /j)

✗ all round best boyfie <3

✗ oikawa 😳 have i told y'all how much i love him? Oikawa is the best written character, no cap, he is so complex and real it's crazy. It's so fun to write about him because you can pick him apart, you know his flaws, his weaknesses, his nightmares but also his strengths and dreams. Anywho i'll stop ranting now but i just love writing for such a perfectly imperfect character-

✗ he puts up a cocky exterior but thats all false. He's as scared as you are, he's scared that you'll leave him like his exes because of how obsessed and focused he is on volleyball. However he is a changed man, he's learned to balance his priorities. If you ever feel like you're being sidelined please communicate with him.

✗ he values communication above all else and wants nothing more in a partner than for them to also value communication.

✗ back to the point → if you feel insecure of your relationship and that volleyball is taking too much of his attention let him know. He will change that. To an extent → he may have an important game coming up which is why he is focusing more, but he will always find time for you.

✗ he never forgets to text you good morning and good night. He also sends you wholesome memes and makes sure you're taking care of yourself - they're like reminders for him to also take care of himself.

✗ he is both jealous and insecure. Everyone who gets too close to you or spends a lot of time with you, he is jealous of. Jealous because he wishes he could spend more time with you but he knows he can't - not without jeopardising his volleyball career. He's also insecure, because he knows you could just leave him for a more fulfilling, more attentive, more balanced relationship. You know that too, I mean, of course you could leave him but no one would be as good as him. No one could match up to your beautifully flawed boyfriend.

✗ he is affectionate, very, very affectionate. He loves you so much. And because he spends so much time on volleyball, anytime with you he's touching you - memorizing every dint, every curve, everything about you so that he won't ever forget.

✗ Oikawa has trouble sleeping unless he's with you, he wants to sling to you in his sleep and be grounded and remember that he is loved and cherished and appreciated y'know?

✗ pda is not an issue for him. He doesn't care what anyone else says or thinks :P in this relationship the only opinions that matter are his and your’s. Tell him you're uncomfortable with something and he won't do it, and vice versa. But otherwise, like Semi, he won't mind having a good makeout session with you in the middle of the street ;)

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romione-trope-fest · 3 years ago

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Ron Weasley and the Half Blood Prince

Enjoy @edie-k's take on a Ron-centered Sixth Year AU for our first fic today!

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Title: Ron Weasley and the Half Blood Prince - Chapter 1

Author: Edie K.

Rating: Teen

Summary: What if Ron had received Snape’s book instead of Harry?

Trope: 6th Year AU

Note: This will not rewrite the entirety of HBP. I’m more interested in exploring how having the book impacted Ron’s self-worth and how that would impact his romantic life. Therefore, don’t expect anything super ambitious out of this.

Some text quotes from HBP. Thanks to adenei for all the beta help!

@@@

“Weasley,” said Professor McGonagall, glancing at the last class schedule in her hands against a long piece of parchment. “Hmm, this all seems to be in order. I was pleased to see the E in Transfiguration - you stepped up your efforts after our career counseling last term and that was reflected in your exams.”

Ron flushed. He’d known he’d need to achieve an E in McGonagall’s subject to continue and it was a requirement for Aurors.

“I’m sure you heard me tell Potter that Professor Slughorn will accept an E for Potions so I assume you’ll be adding the course as well.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Fine. All seems to be in order.” McGonagall handed him back his schedule. “Ask Professor Slughorn for some spare supplies until you can obtain your own.”

Ron nodded as he headed back toward Harry, his heart feeling lighter. He had tried to keep it out of his mind but losing his preferred career path had been weighing on him. Glancing at his schedule brightened his day further. “Look… we’ve got a free period now!”

@@@

Unfortunately, that had been the high point of the day so far.

Upon returning to the common room after getting their schedules, Katie had cornered Harry and started squawking about tryouts. Angelina hadn’t given a fuck about letting all of her fucking friends stick on the team last season – and they hadn’t even played in two years!

Then of course, Defense Against the Dark Arts with that arsehole Snape had been embarassing as ever– although Harry had been brilliant with that dig on him. And if the homework he had assigned was any indicator, getting his dream job had done nothing to loosen the stick up his arse.

Now they were headed to a double potions lesson and as much of a relief as it was to not deal with Snape in here, Hogwarts track record on new teachers wasn’t stellar.

After entering the room and greeting Ernie Macmillian, Ron noticed the large cauldrons that were already omitting strong aromas in the air. Normally Ron associated the smell of the dungeons and potions with pure and utter misery but today, the room smelled fantastic. Hanging in the air was the scent of Mum’s roast chicken, fresh crispy bacon, and a familiar mixture of cinnamon, ginger, and something else that he couldn’t quite place.

He snapped himself out of his haze when he heard Harry speak his name to Slughorn, informing the professor that they needed books and supplies. Slughorn handed him a beat up old edition of Advanced Potion-Making before addressing the class again.

Slughorn began to quiz the class on the contents of the cauldron and as was typical, Hermione was answering every question. She identified first Veritaserum and then Polyjuice Potion (of which he was way too familiar with). She then identified the potion with the smell that was so enticing as Amortentia.

“—but I assume you know what it does?” Slughorn asked.

“It’s the most powerful love potion in the world!” said Hermione.

Wait, what?

Hermione was finishing her detailed explanation of the potion. “It’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and —”

Ron finally placed the last scent he smelled in the potion. That spicy cinnamon and ginger mix was the same as the perfume he had gifted to Hermione last Christmas. Did that mean… what did that mean?

He knew that in some sort of way, he fancied Hermione, at least a little bit. And whenever he lingered on the idea too long, it was a bit unsettling. But for her scent to show up in a love potion was a completely new level of terrifying.

Slughorn was still raving about Hermione. “One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she’s the best in our year! I’m assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered.

Slughorn awarded Gryffindor twenty points and Hermione turned to Harry, beaming.

“Did you really tell him I’m the best in the year? Oh Harry!”

Something about that just turned Ron’s stomach sour. “Well, what’s so impressive about that? You are the best in the year– I’d’ve told him so if he’d asked me!”

Hermione brushed him off as she turned back to Slughorn. Why did it suddenly mean so much more to her for Harry to say it?

Slughorn continued through his lesson, explaining the contents of the fourth cauldron as Felix Felicis and explaining that today’s practical work would be a competition for a vial of the rare potion.

Ron sighed as he opened his book. It would be amazing to win that vial, to have what Slughorn described as a perfect day. What would that be like? He knew it was a long shot.

And his hopes were dashed further when he opened the book to see it covered in handwritten notes, making it almost impossible to read. And the note taker had a terrible, cramped scrawl that even he found illegible.

After deciding he had determined most of the ingredients, he headed to the supply cupboard to gather what he needed. He glanced around the room to see what the others were doing, hoping that he was reading the instructions correctly.

He started cutting, preparing, and adding his ingredients to the cauldron. As he got to the sopophorous bean, the instructions were completely unreadable. Instead, all he could make out was the prior book owner’s advice

Crush with fat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting.

“Hermione? You got a silver knife?”

“Yes, yes, take it,” she said, not looking up at him.

Ron let out a frustrated breath. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t easily distracted from any lesson but would it kill her to make some eye contact with him?

He started to crush the bean and was shocked that the arse who scribbled all over the book knew what he was doing. The juice that came out of the tiny bean was surprising and when he added it to his cauldron, he was shocked to see that his potion turned a bright purple.

Now excited by what was a clear advantage, he looked at the next note from the book’s former owner but it was completely indecipherable. Glancing around the room, he saw everyone else stirring and he began to do the same.

“Time’s up!” said Slughorn.

Ron glanced around again. No one’s potion seemed to be the pale pink the book described but that wasn’t much of a surprise.

What was a surprise was that he and Hermione’s looked very, very similar.

Slughorn came around inspecting each potion before finally getting to their table. Slughorn first stopped and stared in his cauldron. He looked up at Ron and smiled. “Nice effort. I’m sorry, your name again?”

“Uh, Ron, sir. Ron Weasley.”

“Well done, Mr. Weasley.”

Slughorn moved on to look at Ernie’s, then Hermione’s, and finally Harry’s.

“Well, it’s quite close but Miss Granger, I think you are the winner today. Very nice effort though, Weasley.”

Slughorn handed the vial to Hermione and she accepted it with a huge smile but as they packed up and left the dungeons, her focus shifted solely to Ron.

“Ron, that was excellent! Slughorn was right, it really was quite close,” Hermione praised.

Ron felt any of his lingering disappointment from losing out of the lucky potion float away at her words. “Yeah, well, I guess I was just paying close attention to the book.”

When they returned to the common room, Ron and Harry split from Hermione to go to their respective dorms to drop off their books.

“Don’t tell Hermione but I kind of wanted to see you beat her today,” Harry mentioned. “What got into you?”

“Well, I got a little help,” Ron admitted, flipping the book open.

“How could you even read this?”

“I barely could. I think my potion might have been even better had I been able to read the last step.”

Harry flipped through the book. “Huh, look at this.”

Harry pointed to a line at the bottom of the back cover.

This book is property of the Half-Blood Prince.

“Thinks pretty highly of himself, huh?” Ron snorted, taking the text back from Harry.

Harry laughed. “If I could beat Hermione in Potions, I’d feel pretty good about myself too.”

@@@

That evening, Ron spotted Ginny in the common room. She was sitting on the sofa with Dean (a bit too close for his taste).

“Gin! Are you writing to Mum tonight?”

“In the morning,” she replied. “Why?”

“I added Potions to my schedule and I need her to get me Advanced Potion-Making and the basic supplies. Can you just throw that in?”

“You can’t write your own letter?”

“I will this weekend! I just have a lot going on right now,” Ron pleaded.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Fine. But you owe me one.”

Now Ron rolled his eyes. “It’s that big of a—”

He stopped as he felt someone brush up against his side as they walked past.

“Hi Ron,” said Lavender, smiling at him.

Ron gave her a bewildered look. “Uh, hi Lavender.”

“Bye Ron.” Lavender gave him a small wave as she slipped out the portrait hole.

“Yeah, bye.”

“Tell me you’re going to go for that,” Dean chimed in suddenly.

“What?”

“Lavender!” Dean replied. “She’s into you and you have to go for it.”

Ginny snorted. “He wouldn’t know what to do with her if he got her.”

Ron shot her a murderous look even though he had been thinking something similar. He wasn’t interested in Lavender— if he had any doubt about it before, the Amorentia had cleared that right up— but Lavender had dated a couple of other guys. It was terrifying enough to figure out how to make a move on someone with the same lack of experience he had.

Dean laughed Ginny off. “He’d figure it out real quick.”

“Why would Lavender be interested in me?” Ron asked.

Dean shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I heard. Oi, Seamus!”

“Yeah?” Seamus wandered over toward the three of them and plunked down on the other side of Dean.

“I was telling Ron that Lavender fancies him.”

Seamus nodded. “Yep, she's into you. Heard it directly from Parvati. She’s got a thing for tall guys.”

“Just because she’s interested doesn’t mean Ron is,” said Ginny. Ron glanced at his sister and was surprised to see she now looked… nervous?

Seamus nodded. “Remember Ron. Just because she buys you a butterbeer, it doesn’t mean you owe her anything.”

The three boys laughed while Ginny scowled.

Met with Ginny’s irritation, Dean suppressed his laughter first. “Why wouldn’t he be interested? Lav’s a good laugh and she’s the prettiest girl available in our entire year!”

“Because prettiest isn’t everything! Maybe Ron wants someone that’s smarter or classier!” Ginny argued.

“Does classier mean smaller tits?” asked Seamus. Ron sniggered and Dean was biting back a smile.

“You’re an arsehole,” Ginny shot back. “All I’m saying is that, Ron, if there’s someone you fancy, she might fancy you back, even if she’s more subtle about it. You don’t have to date someone just because she rubs up on you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Ron narrowed his eyes. Even if Lavender did like him, he wasn’t interested but where the fuck did Ginny get off telling him what to do? “I like how you think you get to have an opinion on my love life but I can’t say shit about yours.”

“Hey!” said Dean.

“I’m going to find Harry,” Ron spit out, stalking off.

“Just don’t be an idiot, Ron,” Ginny called after him.

Ron fumed. No way in hell was his sister going to tell him what to do.

#submission

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princecharmingwinks · 3 years ago

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i cant believe you said you dont write for fandoms!! these are ending up AMAZING! have another fail date for you to make better: we went four-wheel driving over the dunes out bush, we took my car but he drove because he's done the route before. we were the second car in the convoy and because my car is a little smaller than the others it couldnt make it up the last dune! it nearly made it over before sliding back into the sand and ended up half buried! (1/2)

(2/2) the rest of the group had to drag and push us out with planks and chains etc while we were stuck inside because no way in hell i was opening the door to let the sand in! so three wheels in the sand, waiting on our rescue, irl it was a bit awkward but im hoping you'll rewrite a better ending <3

Awww concussed dragon, you are sooo sweet! Thank you! Your unique failed dates are great to work with. Alrighty, let's get into this one! So the pack got big in this one and while most don't have lines, I liked the idea of everyone being there (or almost for anyone I missed haha). I left some of the couple combos up to interpretation so feel free to ship at your leisure.

---

The pack, after much pestering from a certain human/spark, were finally going on their camping trip. The alpha had finally conceded when Stiles had shot him a pout and hopeful eyes. Derek had reluctantly agreed and ignored the snickering of his betas in the corner of the room.

On the morning of the trip, everyone was pairing up into groups of drivers and passengers so no one drove alone and there were less cars.

Derek and Stiles were the last members out of the rebuilt Hale House. Derek had been locking up and Stiles was finishing off some wards to ensure there were no unwanted visitors while they were away. He was still learning to harness his spark but small wards of protection were easy enough. Defensive magic was easier, offensive was another story.

Stiles threw his bag into the back of the jeep and glanced around.

"So, who's joining Roscoe and me?"

Erica snickered, "Derek."

"What?" Stiles and Derek snapped in unison. Well at least Stiles had a punctuation mark, Derek's not so much.

"I'm with Danny, Lydia and Jacks." Kira spoke up. "Scott, Malia, and Isaac are with Allison."

"I'm obviously with my boy." Erica jumped onto Boyd's back, who was used to his girlfriend's antics and easily caught her. "And Theo is meeting us there after picking up Liam from work. Everyone's paired up so that just leaves you two."

Stiles felt his heart flutter but managed to keep his voice even as he spoke, "Alright Alpha My Alpha, let's get going."

Derek didn't say a word as he slid into the passenger seat of the jeep. Everything would be fine.

Everything was not fine. Stiles was definitely going through a quarter life crisis at the realisation most of the pack were in couples. How did he not realise that? When had it become a prerequisite to start dating a pack member? And now it was just Stiles and the alpha. The alpha he had been in love with for years. Great...

"What's wrong?"

Stiles was pulled out of his internal panic by said alpha's soothing voice. Derek had softened over the years, showing care and concern for each member of the pack. He now bought scent-free nail polish for Erica (so the acid smell didn't upset all the were's noses), stocked Isaac's favourite gummybears and even hugged Kira willingly at her university graduation. Derek Hale was a softie.

"I'm fine, nothing wrong here, no sir." Stiles prattled. Even he heard the blatant lies without supernatural healing. He glanced to his side and was greeted by raised eyebrows.

"Ok, so I may have just realised how paired up everyone in the pack really is."

"Except us."

"Yeah," Stiles sighed. "Except us. Do you ever think about that? Like, why you haven't dated anyone since..." He trailed off. Derek didn't have the best track record for his love interests but he hadn't even been on a date for more than 3 years.

Derek looked out the window at the scenary, they were driving into the sand dune part of the journey, and for a moment Stiles thought he wasn't going to answer.

"I've been waiting."

Stiles blinked. Huh?

"For someone so smart, you're really clueless sometimes." Derek huffed, glancing back at Stiles.

"What have you been waiting for?" Stiles dared to ask. They had paused to allow Allison's four-wheel-drive to roll up the last sand dune, waiting for their turn. Roscoe would be the last time to make the climb.

"I thought it was my imagination at first but then you kept coming around and..."

It was Roscoe's turn now and Stiles slowly prepared for the final climb of the dune. He tried to keep focused on the task at hand, allowing Derek to speak his thoughts. You never rushed the alpha when he was being vulnerable.

"I know you kind of like me?" Derek voiced it as a question but all Stiles heard was sirens in his brain. Derek knew? Stiles' foot slid off the peddle and they immediately started rolling backwards, fast.

"Shit! Shit, shit shit." Stiles acted quickly but it wasn't enough. Roscoe descended the sand dune and sank, refusing to move. Sand on either side of them blocked the bottom of their doors. They were officially stuck.

Stiles rested his head on the steering wheel and slowed his breathing. There were multiple crises going on but most had solutions.

The others would work out they hadn't made the climb soon enough or Theo and Liam would find them on their way through. So either way, Roscoe being stuck wasn't a massive deal. The real dilemma was Stiles' outed feelings for Derek.

The same Derek that was eyeing Stiles with concern as he called Kira to request some assist. Stiles heard him hang up before the sound of a door handle being jiggled. He snapped his head up.

"Whoa there sourwolf, there is to be no sand storm in this car, thankyouverymuch." He reached out and tugged the alpha's hand away from the door.

"I figured me getting out and pushing was the preferred option to sitting here with you in a state of panic at my assumption."

Stiles pulled his hand back. "What?"

"Look, we can just forget I ever said anything, alright? I get I'm not the most desirable crush to have. It's probably just familiarity and your sense of loyalty that's fueled your scent around me anyway. Don't worry about it."

Stiles shook his head, "Oh no you don't. You opened that can of worms and I'm no coward." The spark met Derek's gaze. Had he been planning on ignoring his feelings for the alpha? Sure. But was he going to run away from a moment like this? Nope. Stiles Stilinski was a lot of things but after running with wolves and other supernaturals for most of his life, he knew when he needed to tackle something head on.

"Now, before you go down your rabbit hole of I'm-not-good-enough crazy talk, I've got something to say."

Derek nodded like the soft alpha he was and turned to face Stiles more fully.

"You, Derek Alexander Hale, are amazing. A little on the martyr side but that's because you are so protective of your pack. I'd be crazy to not fall in love with you. That's right, love not like. I've been in love with you for years but how was a kid like me going to catch the alpha's eye? I didn't want to ruin our friendship. This," He gestured between them. "This is important to me. I don't want to ruin it."

Derek released a sigh of relief? Stiles couldn't read his eyebrows which was disappointing when he was the most expert at interpreting the alpha's facial expressions.

Then Derek was darting forward and claiming Stiles' lips in a searing kiss. Stiles went with it, almost unbelieving that any of this was happening.

Derek eventually pulled back and rested his forehead against Stiles'.

"Worth the wait." The alpha whispered, grinning, bunny teeth all on display.

"Two way street here. You could've said something too. How long have you liked me?"

Derek blushed and it was only because they were so close that Stiles saw the pink of his cheeks and ears.

"I've always liked you, even if I didn't always show it. But love? I think I've loved you since you woke me up on an elevator floor by punching me. You could have left without me but you didn't."

Stiles pouted, "Since then?"

Derek raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong?"

Stiles pushed Derek back and clumsily crawled across the gear stick to straddle the alpha's lap.

"We could have been having the best sex of my life for years, Derek! Years! We've got a lot of making up to do." Stiles dove in to kiss Derek this time. The alpha happily drew Stiles in closer, curling his arms around the spark's slim waist.

A knock on the window, interrupted their make-out session. Boyd's face appeared with judging eyebrows to rival Derek's.

"Heard you needed a hand." Boyd spoke loudly with a smirk as Derek's hand moved away from Stiles' ass to rest safely on his back.

"What's Erica doing?" Stiles asked, leaning over Derek to squint at the blonde chatting wildly on the phone. Derek focused his hearing.

"Turns out I'm not the only one who was waiting." Derek grinned, "And everyone apparently owes Lydia money."

They did eventually get Roscoe out of the sand dune thanks to the advantages of going camping with multiple supernatural creatures. By the time everyone was settled in the camp and Erica had informed Theo and Liam on the events of the day, Lydia was a very rich woman.

Stiles couldn't complain though. Not when the alpha was snuggled between his legs as Stiles sat on the log and Derek roasted them marshmallows. Apparently no one trusted Stiles near an open flame following the incident with that vampire clan. Stiles combed his fingers through Derek's hair and looked around at the pack. This camping trip was the best idea ever.

Ok so I must confess I do not camp like...ever and have no idea how four-wheel-driving works so please forgive any major errors in that department. I tweaked things a bit from your prompt sorry. I just couldn't imagine Stiles letting anyone else drive Roscoe. Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for popping in!

#sterek #teen wolf #derek hale #stiles stilinski #princecharminganswers #princecharmingwrites

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a-dusty-emerald · 4 years ago

Text

Till it sinks in: Draco x Reader / Hurt-Comfort, Fluff Fic

A hurt-comfort fluff fic, with a slytherin Y/n being the girlfriend of the softie-who-hates-to-be-called-softie-so-he-bitches-all-day Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Where Umbridge uses her quill on you.

_____________________________________________

Dolores Umbridge, maybe the most hated teacher to set foot at Hogwarts, had a special dislike against anyone who disobeyed. And while that may be all teachers, not all teachers dismissed sobbing students from their detention. Every single student that got detention with Umbridge looked broken afterwards, but no one knew what she said to them; it was a mystery.

Professor McGonagall, for instance, made sure the students that misbehaved researched a wide topic for a few hours during the week, with the intimidating presence of her self. Professor Snape, on the other hand, locked students in the Potions classroom and let them out after the successfull brewing of a potion of his liking. Hence, it must be something similar.

Y/n strolled into class, her curls bouncing around the embroided slytherin crest of her robe. Defence against the dark arts was her worst subject, she only thought it was interesting when Professor Lupin taught it, and had done surprisingly well. Then, it was a hands-on, useful and fascinating module, while now, Umbridge followed the Ministry's policy to teach the students in a "risk free" way, by only reading through the theory. Not only were the lessons incredibly boring, the whole book was utterly useless.

"As if Voldemort will ask you the theory of Merlin's rule of categorisation of spells when he Avada-Kedavra's your ass", Y/n had scoffed when she saw the chapters. Draco had laughed, but told her that his father had owled him that Umbridge was a family ally, and hence he could not be out of line in her class.

"When did you become such a nerd?"

"Oh shut it Y/n", Y/n recalled.

She had also implemented some stupid rules, like "no touching between boys and girls, and a six feet distance at all times", and reduced the hours that students could go out of their dorms. While Dumbledore wanted the students to be at their dorms by 10pm, Umbridge thought that 6pm was acceptable.

As if.

Y/n entered the class, the only class she did not sit with Draco. Apparently, boys and girls could also not sit with one another, since they would eventually touch. And in a doomed world controlled by Umbridge, that was a sin.

Draco spotted his girlfriend entering the room, wearing a bored look on her face. He was not excited about DADA either. His parents might have told him that Umbridge was the best thing that could happen in this school, but he was not blind or stupid. The stuff being taught were useless and her teaching method was more boring than 5 hours of Divination with no breaks in his eyes. At least then, he could laugh at Trelawney. Now he just was supposed to stay silent and listen Umbridge reading the most basic book ever again and again.

He realised he got lost in his thoughts and was staring at Y/n longer than intended. She seemed bored as hell, but her eyes always intimidated him - yet, he would never admit out loud. Even the plainest of her looks had such passion beneath it, her deep dark orbs had a fire in them, surrounded by thick eyelashes, making her look coy and mischevious even when she was not planning to.

Y/n noticed him looking and smirked back at him.

"Stop staring, people might think that you like me" she mouthed silently to him. He grinned and shook his head. 'She is something else', he thought.

An unpleasantly familiar trotting of heels approached the creaking floor at the centre of the classroom, making students focus on the short, evil woman that was tormenting the school; Umbridge.

"Hello, my dear students" she smiled in a sickly manner. "Today we are learning about the theory of protection spells."

Y/n groaned, thinking other students would join her, however, it was this uncomfortable and awkward moment that everyone had decided to stay deadly silent, making her disapproving groan loud and clear to be heard.

"Is there an issue, miss Y/l/n?" Umbridge smiled in the evilest way she could.

"No, no, of course not. I always wanted to listen about the theory of protection spells." Y/n smiled in the fakest way possible.

"Is that irony I am sensing, Y/l/n?" Umbridge had a more serious look now, her smile not decieving anyone.

"Nope." She said, emphasising the "p" sound in her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she quickly glanced to Draco, who had a warning glare. "Don't aggravate her!" He mouthed. Y/n rolled her eyes, and unfortunately for her, Umbridge saw that, taking it as it was directed at her.

She scrunched up her nose and stomped her heel lightly on the floor, when she exclaimed: "Detention after class, miss y/l/n! That attitude of yours is no match for a young witch!"

Draco did not know why everyone was saying Umbridge's detention was horrible, he had heard she only requested some lines. Even so, her detention had gained a horrible reputation, and he didn't like it one bit that his girlfriend would be the one going there.

Even so, he was angry at her, he had warned her so many times. She was such a brat every time she spoke to Umbridge, when he had told her that every student that was leaving her detention was crying.

The DADA lesson had finished, when Y/n saw Draco stomping towards her, stopping around the 6 feet limit, keeping his distance.

"Why do you never listen?!" His angry hissing voice aggravated her even more.

"I rolled my freaking eyes, Draco, chill."

"You were sarcastic. You know you were. Are you happy now?" His glare was piercing her soul.

"I am not, actually. I would prefer no stupid rules, but I guess my boyfriend is too much of a wuss to think for himself and see how ridiculous Umbridge is."

"She just wants order. Besides, its temporary!" He half whispered, half yelled.

"Sure. Tell that to yourself to feel better, darling." Now she was mad at him. "Now excuse me, I have a detention to go to." She closed the gap between them - breaking the rule- just to bump on his shoulder angrily, and stomped past him, going to detention.

"Fine! I don't give a fuck, then!" She heard her boyfriend's voice. She knew he didn't mean it at all, but she silently prayed he changed his mind after her detention, he had an hour to think by himself after all. She was hoping for an apology.

Y/n lightly knocked on her door, listening to Draco's advice for once. She should be polite, calm and collected no matter what she said to her. She couldn't risk an expulsion. Umbridge's sickly laugh was heard. "Come in, y/l/n."

Y/n opened the door, fighting back her urge to laugh or roll her eyes. Her least favourite colour, fuchsia pink, was plastered everywhere, cats trapped on the walls, and a heavy, sickly, sugary aroma filled her nostrils, she did her best to keep her pokerface.

"Sit", the teacher ordered. "You will do some lines today, Y/n."

Relief passed through her. That wasn't that bad. She grabbed a piece of paper and moved to grab her quill, when the fuchsia toad in front of her stopped her. "Oh no, dear. I'm afraid you wont need that." She smiled, and handed her a large black feathered quill from her own collection. "Use this, please. It is one of my favourites."

Y/n grabbed the quill and moved again to reach for her ink. "Oh, silly me, I forgot." She heard the professor giggle. "You won't need any ink, dear."

She looked at Umbridge confused, her tamed eyebrows furrowing to her words. Still, she went with it. She grabbed the quill and before she started, Umbridge directed her "you shall write the line: I must not be arrogant." Y/n resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"How many times, Professor?" She said.

"Hm... let's just say... till it sinks in." Umbridge giggled once again, sipping her tea.

Y/n scoffed silently and started writing the lines, red ink magically appearing on paper. Her left hand was uncomfortable the whole time, but she ignored it. As soon as she finished the first line, though, the discomfort became a burning sensation, and hurt so much, like someone was creating small cuts in her skin. She looked at her hand to see what was going on, only to see the line she wrote engraved in her hand.

'You evil bitch' Y/n thought.

Every time she would rewrite the sentence, it was like the invisible knife digged deeper and deeper in her skin, twisting at each twist of the quill. She looked at Umbridge with teary eyes, a silent plea to stop this torture. Blood was seeping out of her wound uncontrollably now, staining her robe. Umbridge just glanced at her and said "one more page."

Through silent tears, a wrecked bloodied hand, trembles and gritted teeth, she finished her torture without making a sound. She excused her self, said goodbye to the professor, and closed the heavy door behind her, exhaling with a trembled sob escaping her lips. An exhale that she was holding for an hour.

She contained her tears and hid her hand from plain sight. She did not want to worry anyone, and she sprinted with all the energy she could muster to the dungeons. She just wanted to wash it off, wrap it in a clean cloth, and have a good cry.

As she was approaching the dungeons, it dawned on her: she could run up to Draco there. What should she do? On one hand, the thought of making him feel bad enticed her, she was still mad about his behaviour. On the other hand, she knew he meant no harm, and that he would make her start a legal war with Umbridge. She really didn't want to do anything right now, as much as she hated her guts.

She hid her hand better, wiped her eyes, took a few deep breaths and prayed that her boyfriend was not in the common room, as she opened the door.

Unbeknownst to her, Draco was waiting restlessly at the common room all this time. He didn't like the fact they fought before, he hated not being on good terms with Y/n. He didn't think he was entirely on the wrong though. 'Maybe if she listened to me once in a whi-'

His thoughts came to a halt when he saw a trembling Y/n enter the common room. Her eyes were red and glassy, and she was crouched in a weird position. He instantly forgot everything he was thinking of and sprinted towards her. When her eyes fell on him, she inhaled sharply, sttaightening her posture. He was terribly worried and she could feel it.

"Darling?" His soft voice was music to her ears.

Her eyes avoided his, refilling with tears just from his worried voice.

"I-I need to go to my room." She said with a lowered gaze.

"Tell me what's wrong please-"

"I thought you didn't give a fuck." Her voice was low when she said it, her teary eyes finally meeting his. She did not mean to snap at him, but everything was too much.

He finally locked eyes with her now, the emotion he saw in her overtaking him. He pursed his lips and looked down.

"I'm sorry. You know - baby you know thats not true. I want to know what happened. What did she say to you that made you cry? You don't cry easily, I know that. If you want I'll report her!" He was frantically searching for her gaze again, his grey irises full of concern.

"She said nothing bad to me. She instructed me through my lines." She avoided his gaze once again.

He lowered his gaze as well, and broke the -for once- uncomfortable silence, his voice slightly broken.

"Do you not trust me?"

His words echoed in her head. She did. She did with her life. She could not stay mad at him, no matter her anger. "I do. I'm sorry, I'm a-a bit of a m-mess, i'll tell you, j-just give me a few m-minutes..."

His hand grabbed hers to pull her into an embrace, to hold her close, to calm her. As soon as his hand grasped her own, though, a strong wave of stinging pain shot through her, a hissing sound escaping her lips as she yanked her hand away. She was holding it close to her heart, a few hot tears escaping her eyes. There was no escape now.

Draco looked at her wide eyed, a blank expression of confusion mixed with worry resting on his features. "What-"

He looked down on his hand. Blood.

He inhaled sharply. Blood? His heart was pounding in his chest now, his fury for Umbridge boiling. What exactly happened in her detentions?

"Darling." He spoke. His voice was low and steady, and Y/n could swear she could hear her own heartbeat. "Your hand. Please." He extended his own to signal her to give her hers. Slowly, she put her bloodied palm on his own.

"Did she do this?", he hissed angrily. Y/n nodded but winced at his tone, not ready for facing an angry Draco. He saw that, and his features calmed down.

He grasped her shoulders carefully, gently pulling her in a hug, lightly kissing her forehead and letting his lips linger there. He tilted her chin up, pressing a quick peck on her lips.

"Im not mad at you". He said steadily, to show he meant every word. "I'll kill her, honestly" he mumbled, as his eyes examined the wounds.

"I must not be arrogant?!?"

He felt his anger rise again, as he managed to read the cuts that were filled with blood.

"She h-had a black quill. I would write on paper and it would transfer the letters in m-my hand. Must be c-cursed." Y/n said between small sobs.

His one arm cradled her head and she felt him moving the other one on her waist, urging her to move. "Come on, lets get you cleaned up. I'll send a letter to my father. She will be out of her position tomorrow."

Y/n's eyes widened "No n-no I-"

Draco didn't let her finish "Y/n, I love you but please shut up."

For the first time in a while, Y/n giggled, music to Draco's ears.

He took his time being extra gentle on her wound, making sure it is clean, before putting a few healing spells on it, muttering apologies whenever Y/n would wince.

"Tomorrow your hand will be good as new. Trust me."

"I trust you Draco. Thank you."

His eyes looked up from her wound, and Y/n was sure she could melt. He had the softest gaze ever. They fell asleep in each other's embrace, soft kisses taking away the pain.

The next morning, Y/n could hardly stiffle a laugh at the annoucement of Umbridge being suddently fired. She turned at her boyfriend, who looked smug as ever.

His eyes glimmered and his eyebrows wiggled with smugness, as he said:

"She should not have been that arrogant. Guess karma is a bitch." He shrugged.

That Malfoy boy was your everything and you knew it.

FEEL FREE TO LIKE AND SHARE!! Feedback is always welcome, love you all!

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thatsbucknasty · 3 years ago

Text

she used to be mine (xi) waitress au

summary: Inspired by the broadway musical. Y/N Beck is a pie baking force to be reckoned with. She’s pregnant with her lazy ass husband, Quentin Beck’s baby. As everything around her turns upside down, Doctor James Buchanan Barnes charms his way into her life.

pairing: Y/N x Bucky

tags are closed

author’s note: Alrighty guys, we’ve almost reached the end of this story. I hope you’re still reading, please tell me if you are!

chapter 11: she used to be mine

I wake up startled by a searing throb down the side of my belly. I quickly remove the sheets and there’s no blood so I try to lift myself up from the bed and start walking to the kitchen to get my decaf ready. I remember Bucky talking about the Braxton-Hicks contractions in one of our appointments a couple weeks ago and he told me I should walk so I walk. I have one of Wanda’s pregnancy books that she keeps sending me and walk, walk, walk for what feels like hours, although it’s only been 15 minutes.

I see myself in the mirror and I can’t recognize myself. My body’s changed so much, I’m pretty sure I have a few more wrinkles around my eyes and a few more freckles from all the damn walking under the sun. But that’s not what bothers me the most about all these changes. I just don’t feel like the person I used to be. She was good, a bit messy but always kind, she had a lot more hope in life for herself and those around her. I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy, or the divorce, or everything combined that’s made this version of me so bitter. And this isn’t something I can fix with a little more butter and sugar, in fact I don’t think it can be fixed.

It’s been the longest week of my entire life. Old Nick and Sam collectively decided to gang up on me, and I feel Bucky had to do with it a little bit too. They forced me to go on a “stay-at-home-vacation” until the baby is born, which should be any day now, so I’m just here, alone on a Saturday morning, while everybody is working, Quentin is sleeping with that woman and hasn’t even bothered to call me or show any interest in either his unborn child or our imminent divorce.

This is boring, I feel useless and I need to get out of here. This house, this awful, lopsided couch, that crooked picture frame of me and Quentin at prom so many years ago. I want to throw all of it away and start fresh in a nice, picket white fence house, just me and my baby. Wanda and Nat would come visit and I would bake some of my “La vie on rose petals and vanilla ice cream pie”, we would have a no boys allowed day when it’s just us, and sitcoms, and I could have wine or coffee again, little peanut could have a puppy or a kitty to play with and I would give her all my love and we could be a real, whole family. If I wasn’t tied to this place, these curtains that never let any light on, that man who was always so violent and disgusting but only just showed his true self, maybe I could have that pastel colored life that I should deserve. But what if this is what I deserve?

I called Quentin six times this week. Matt finally was able to send me the divorce papers that I already signed, but that lying, cheating, bastard hasn’t sent them back to me and won’t even dare to answer my calls or texts. I cleaned every surface of this dingy house and put every item that reminded me of my screwed up marriage in a box outside for the garbage collector to take away. Quentin can buy new shirts and underpants, if he can’t answer the stupid phone I can throw away his stuff. I don’t even care anymore.

I find myself walking again but not around my kitchen. I’m waking to the diner cause I felt trapped in the house and I need to cook, something with lots of garlic or onions, I will call it “Wrecked home scrambled eggs pie” served with sauteed bell peppers on the side and a spicy sauce dripped on top of the crust.

I go through the back door and into the kitchen before the girls see me, Sam reacts by giving me a side eye and continuing flipping the burgers he’s working on right now.

“Table 9 order’s ready!” Sam calls out and Wanda takes it.

“We have a pregnant lady in the back, stress baking”.

“I can hear you!”

“Alright good, well you shouldn’t be here. You’re lucky it’s a busy day so we can’t just drop everything and drive your ass back home where you should be!” Nat’s in the kitchen window scolding me now too, perfect. I knew this was coming and to be honest I prefer their banter than the deafening silence I felt at home.

“Just so you know, I’m texting Bucky and he’s coming over” Sam interjects.

“Wha- guys, I’m just baking one pie and then I’ll go, tell him he doesn’t have to come”.

“Why couldn’t you bake this one pie at home then?” Wanda asks with genuine curiosity in her voice.

I decide to be truthful.

“I felt trapped and lonely, I missed the diner. Plus I didn’t have any bell peppers at home and I was craving them”.

They all look at me weirdly, there’s no pity in their eyes, there’s just�� tenderness.

Bucky arrives an hour after I got here, with a stern face and his lab coat still clinging to his frame.

“Hey, what’s up, sweetheart? You’re supposed to be resting”. He rubs my shoulders and all I can think is how grateful I am for this little family and this man life blessed me with.

I explain how awfully sad and stressed I was feeling at home and he takes a seat between me and Steve, who’s eating a slice of pie while Wanda’s showing him what she calls “satisfying cleaning Tik Toks”, and Sam’s chatting with Nat about a concert he’d like to take her to next week. Everything about this feels so calm and I’m even starting to feel sleepy with Bucky’s skilled hands rubbing my knotted neck and shoulders.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s decided to finally stop being a fucking hypocrite! It’s Y/N and the stupid fucking Doctor. Tell me, Doc, did you enjoy gazing at her lady parts when she’d go for a “check up” and fell in love because you too are lame and boring?”

I grab Bucky’s hand and stand between him and Quentin, using my other hand to protect my belly.

“What the hell are you doing here, Quentin? You’re not welcome here anymore”. I say, head up high but voice trembling.

“Came home to drop your divorce papers- that I’m not signing by the way- and to tell you to fuck off because whether you like it or not, I’m gonna be a father and you can’t do anything about it baby girl. It’s you and me! It’s always gonna be you and me, so tell you precious Doctor and your friends goodbye. We’re coming home!”

Quentin grabs my hand and tries to yank me away from Bucky but before I can do anything else Steve and Sam are already punching the shit out of Quentin, sitting him down on the floor and pushing his arms around his back. Bucky is taking me away from the fight, shielding my eyes from the view, he knows I don’t need this kind of stress. Nat called the cops when Quentin arrived, knowing the asshole would pull out a stunt like this. Minutes pass and I can’t step away from Bucky’s embrace to see his ass handcuffed and thrown into the police’s back seat.

Bucky takes a step back to look at my face as he feels me trembling and his shirt soaked with my tears.

“Y/N, sweetheart, it’s over. He’s gone”.

I try to form words but then it hits me.

The pain.

This is not what I asked for.

The excruciating cramp-like aches in my lower stomach.

If I’m honest, I’d give this life back for a chance to start over.

The water running down my legs.

I would rewrite the story, from beginning to end.

I can’t feel my legs. All I feel is fear, pain and anger.

This is the life that I’m bringing you into, little girl. I’m so sorry. To you, but also to the little girl I once was. Because she also deserved a good life and she’s gone, but she used to be mine.

chapter 12: contraction ballet

#waitress musical #waitress au #bucky x reader #doctor!Bucky #waitress!reader #Marvel AU #avengers au #Bucky Barnes #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #sam wilson #Steve Rogers #quentin beck

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asstronauts · 4 years ago

Text

quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

rating: t word count: 2.4k pairing: the homoeroticism of 200 amplified, aka jemily summary: a post-200 rewrite, in which jj spends some time in emily's arms and in the hospital instead of in a bar right after being tortured.

read on ao3, if you'd prefer

tw mention of jj's canon abduction and torture

---

A hundred feet.

Strangely enough, it wasn't the closest she'd come to death in this line of work, but now it was all that separated her dangling feet from the ground below.

She felt nothing besides Emily's arms and her heart thudding in her chest. JJ risked a glance downwards, turning her head ever so slightly to look.

Michael Hastings' body fallen. Dead.

It was over.

"You're here. It's you," JJ managed between ragged breaths as she was pulled back from the edge of the rooftop and onto solid ground. Her hands were still clinging desperately to Emily's biceps, her only lifeline while the world spun around.

“Emily,” JJ murmured, though it came out sounding more like a question. She needed to be sure. After hours of torture at the hands of Tivon Askari, and after the intense pursuit of Michael Hastings onto the rooftop, her friend’s comforting presence seemed almost unbelievable.

Emily inhaled sharply and reached out to move JJ's hair back. The blonde flinched instinctively, then slowly relaxed into Emily's touch. It was nothing like Askari's rough hands. It was tender — a soft brush across her cheekbone to wipe away a tear she hadn't even realized was there. The gentle caress grounded her, letting her know she was here and that somehow, against all odds, she was still alive, safely kneeling with Emily on this concrete rooftop a hundred feet high.

JJ could hardly bring herself to look around. She didn’t recognize the building he’d taken her to. It was in D.C, that much she could be sure of, but the air felt different now that she was free from Askari’s grasp. Fresher somehow. Below her, the city lights blinked on, unaware of the terrifying ordeal that had just happened. And in front of her, Emily.

Emily's hand was warm. Or perhaps JJ was just freezing. There was a chill in her bones that had remained since she'd seen Askari's face, a cold she couldn’t quite escape.

"You're here," JJ repeated, her voice steadier but still quiet. She shivered against the concrete, her shallow breaths visible in the cold night air.

"So are you." Their eyes met, and JJ found Emily's filled with concern, with relief, with love. They carefully searched JJ's face to make sure she was okay.

Emily's gaze landed on the blonde's unbuttoned shirt, and she furrowed her brow, the hard lines in her face deliberating a question she didn't want to ask.

JJ shook her head and drew back slightly. He didn't, she wanted to say.

He didn't, but she could still feel his hands on her, all over her. He didn't, but she could still hear his voice saying, "Maybe I can make you one. Another one." He didn't, but...

"It's okay," Emily murmured in a soothing voice. She noted the look on JJ’s face, but didn’t press further. “You’re okay now. You’re safe.” Her heart broke at the way the woman clenched her jaw and avoided Emily’s fixed stare.

JJ gave a stiff nod of permission as Emily reached out, gently beginning to button the shirt back up. JJ licked her lips and forced her fingers to relax their grip as she tried to speak again — to say something, anything.

"Cruz...is he-"

"He'll be fine."

"And everyone else?"

"Everyone's okay." Emily looked up as she finished with the shirt. “They’re waiting downstairs with the ambulances whenever you’re ready.”

“How did you find me?”

“We...we looked into everything from when you were in Afghanistan. Your backstop.” Emily tried to meet JJ’s eyes, but they were staring guiltily at the ground. “No more secrets please, JJ.”

“No more secrets,” she echoed back. “Only the truth from now on.”

JJ opened her mouth as if to say more, then shook her head and furrowed her brow.

Emily knew there were questions she was avoiding, trying to ask about the team to dismiss any concerns over her own wellbeing. Denial was ingrained in her nature — a habit she had perfected so well, she sometimes managed to fool herself.

The younger agent stood unsteadily and pretended to inspect her top as she took a moment to collect herself. "We should head down then," she mumbled, crossing her arms as another shiver ran up her body.

"You're allowed to take a moment, JJ," Emily said softly and rose to stand in front of her. "Take your time."

JJ bit her lip and shook her head ever so slightly. If she took even a breath to process all that had happened in the last 24 hours, the inevitable breakdown would come rushing over her, and she feared she'd never be able to stop.

"You're okay now," Emily said again, reaching her arms out and allowing JJ to collapse into them. The blonde buried her face in the crook of Emily's neck as gentle but strong arms wrapped around her body.

From the moment Hotch had called her about the news of JJ's disappearance, Emily's heart had been gripped by an intense fear over the other woman's safety. The thought of JJ in danger, of JJ hurt, of JJ on the brink of death had been too overwhelming to bear.

The panic had fueled her to find everything she could on Tivon Askari, to do everything she could to fight for JJ’s life. But the anxiety that had built up during Emily's flight over was only just now beginning to subside, as she reassured herself of JJ's safety.

"You're okay, you're okay," Emily whispered as she rubbed comforting circles on JJ's back.

She's okay.

---

45...46...47...48...

Emily concentrated hard on counting the hospital floor tiles, whatever she could to keep from thinking of her friend having just been tortured. She’d read the files on Askari, and she knew exactly what JJ had gone through. The drugs, the physical abuse, the waterboarding, the electrocution. It made her burn with uncharacteristic anger, made her wish this man had received a fate worse than death for hurting JJ. And from the look she’d seen on JJ’s face, there was far more to the story than just what Emily had read.

The situation had left the rest of the team a headache-inducing amount of paperwork, but Hotch had insisted that someone be present when JJ woke up. All eyes had landed on Emily, with Penelope demanding she be called immediately after, no matter the time of night.

It was late now, but Emily still felt restless. She picked furiously at her nails, counting and recounting the tiles over and over again until a voice broke her thoughts.

"Emily? She wants to see you."

Emily looked up and mouthed a silent thank you to the doctor, not quite trusting herself to speak aloud.

A wave of relief washed over her as she walked into the hospital room, and blue eyes turned to meet her.

"You're here."

Emily managed a sort of strangled sound in reply, a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

"I'm still here," she breathed, reaching out her hand to grasp JJ's. It was icy cold, but just warm enough to reassure Emily that JJ was alive.

"I wasn't sure...I've been seeing things," JJ mumbled. "I saw you, or I thought I did. Before I saw you, I mean."

JJ shook her head, trying to clear the cloud from her incoherent thoughts as Emily creased her eyebrows in confusion.

She exhaled and tried again. "It doesn't matter. But you...you really came all the way here for me."

"You'd do the same for me," Emily replied. "Hell, you already did the same for me."

Their eyes met.

Paris.

Emily remembered everything — the long nights that never seemed to end, the two of them exploring every street and shop, the night JJ had grabbed her hand and pulled her into an alleyway, and they'd stood unbelievably close, eyes shining in the moonlight with exhilaration...

She wondered if JJ remembered everything too.

"How long do you have here?" JJ asked.

Emily bit her lip. "A few hours." Not long enough.

"Do you have to go?" came JJ’s quiet voice. Emily had asked the same question that night in Paris.

They’d let the question hang unanswered then too, both too afraid to admit that they were running, not just leaving. Because staying would mean confronting the intensity of their feelings for one another, and that was somehow more terrifying than anything they’d ever faced in the field.

Besides, Emily's expression said more than her words could.

“How are you feeling?” Emily asked instead of answering.

“It hurts,” JJ said simply.

Emily’s grip around her hand tightened protectively. "I know," she whispered.

JJ began to trace delicate circles along Emily's knuckles with her thumb, eyes slightly unfocused. She could feel her mind already struggling, tendrils of flashbacks lurking beneath the surface. The pain in her side seemed to intensify, and her breath caught slightly.

"Hastings and Askari are dead." Her voice came out raw and louder than intended, as though she was still convincing herself of the fact.

JJ took a shuddering breath and shivered as a chill went up her spine.

Cold. Why was the room so cold?

She felt, rather than saw, everything around her shift as a sudden sense of dread overwhelmed her in the haze. Dark. Cold. Alone.

Alone, except for him. The shadow of Tivon Askari loomed in front of her, and a bolt of pain and panic wracked her body.

“Come back to me, JJ.”

She blinked.

“I wasn’t..I-It wasn’t a full flashback or anything,” JJ stuttered. “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay, just breathe.”

JJ sat for a moment until the pounding in her chest subsided, painfully aware of the heart monitor’s rapid beeping. She focused her attention on Emily’s hand in hers.

“I’m fine,” JJ repeated quietly.

"I know it doesn't feel like it yet," Emily replied. "It takes time, but I promise one day, you’ll be okay. You’ll feel safe again."

Emily moved her free hand to touch JJ’s shoulder, capturing her full attention so that the blonde could read the sincerity in her eyes.

“What do I do till then?”

"You could get a tattoo. We could match," Emily said lightly.

"Blackbird," JJ mused with a tired smile.

She remembered the day that Emily had shown her the tattoo, how she had stared in amazement at the beautiful ink that somehow both covered and showed off Emily's scars from her encounter with Doyle. Even then, she had been slightly wary, but Emily had taken her hand and guided her fingers to graze the tattoo, showing her that scars weren’t something to be afraid of.

The bruises and lacerations would fade. The electrical burns would leave a mark. JJ could feel their sting now, marring her skin with ugly scars. Perhaps she could get a tattoo to cover them up, but there was only so much she could hide. Beneath it all, there’d still be a heavy burden, an invisible wound she’d have to carry day to day, case to case, for the rest of her life.

They sat, hand in hand again now, letting the presence of each other be enough. JJ's thumb was still tracing its way across the familiar landscape of Emily's hand, one that the blonde had long since memorized. In those moments, with Emily holding her hand, it felt like everything was okay. Yet there was a feeling of horrid anticipation, like the teetering at the top of a rollercoaster, where the burning in her stomach told her that the moment Emily let go and left for London, time would inevitably start again, and everything would fall quickly and suddenly, collapsing into a wild frenzy despite Emily’s words of comfort.

“I don’t want you to go. I need you here,” JJ murmured.

She wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the medication talking, but she hadn’t quite realized the truth behind the statement until she’d said it aloud. JJ tried it again, her voice barely a whisper. “I need you.”

The admission hung in the air unanswered for a moment, and JJ’s mind raced, wondering if she’d made a mistake.

Emily didn’t speak, staring hard at the hospital blankets as if they would tell her the meaning behind what JJ had said. Part of her wanted to scream with joy at the idea that JJ wanted her near. But the other part of her shrunk back in fear, wanting to flee across an entire ocean once again to run from her emotions. She was terrified of what she felt towards JJ — an affection more intense and overwhelming than anything she’d ever experienced before. Without it, she’d be lost. She couldn’t risk that; it was too fragile to be tampered with, too precious to even be acknowledged.

“I saw you,” JJ began rambling, unable to bear the silence. “When they were trying to get my codes, I thought I saw you. I guess my mind just needed something or someone to hold on to. You should’ve been a million miles away, but some part of me knew that you’d come. That I’d be okay because you were coming.”

“JJ-“

“I knew it’d be you. It’s always going to be you.”

“I can’t...” Emily began, but the fear choked her and kept her from finishing her sentence.

“I know you have to go.” JJ’s grip tightened as her voice broke. “Will you stay until I fall asleep? Say goodbye now so I don’t have to watch you leave.”

A lump rose in Emily’s throat. Tell me to stay again. Tell me to stay for you, and I’ll leave it all, she wanted to say. But her cowardice won in the end.

Instead, Emily nodded and sat next to the bed as JJ closed her eyes.

---

JJ awoke to an empty hospital room. The pain in her side flared, and tears sprung to her eyes as everything she had experienced hit her full force.

The fluorescent lights blinked back at her from above, and the only noises she could hear were the gentle beeping of a heart monitor and her own shallow breathing.

One hand lay across her torso, the other gripped the hospital bed sheets as though she’d been holding onto something, to someone. She could've sworn...

She’s not here.

No, Emily was in London, thousands of miles away. There was no way, right?

She wouldn’t have come and then left her, not again. JJ pulled her hand in and held it to her chest, as she bit back a cry.

It must have been another hallucination. It had to be.

Any other way would hurt too much.

#why was this so hard to write it took so long #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #jemily #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #my post

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valdomarx · 4 years ago

Text

La Campanella

McShep + Rodney plays the piano Rodney never could resist a challenge, especially when it’s set by Sheppard.

Atlantis is a place of many wonders, but Rodney's favorite is this:

In a distant part of the northern pier is a short, squat tower which he and Sheppard investigate on a routine patrol.

And in that tower is a large, unassuming room like a lecture hall.

And in the center of the room is an object seven foot long and three feet high, elegant, delicate, and familiar.

“Is that…” Rodney practically runs over to touch it, as reckless as that urge can be in Atlantis, but he knows this isn’t a weapon or a piece of broken technology or some dangerous machine. It’s a thing of beauty.

It’s an instrument remarkably like a piano: white and black reversed, keys slightly different lengths, but the same 12-step configuration making up an octave. Keys which strike strings stretched over a wide frame with soft hammers, and this can’t be a coincidence.

“How... ” he starts, and then he answers his own question. “The Ancients must have invented this instrument and brought the concept with them to Earth. But that would overturn so much musical history they’ll have to rewrite the textbooks, can you even imagine the implications -”

John does not look as fascinated by the profound repercussions of this discovery on the history of western classical music as Rodney is.

He waves questions of history aside and sits on the low stool in front of the keyboard, blowing away the years of accumulated dust. His hands instinctively settle into arches, his wrists loose, and he plays a few simple scales. The notes sound out clear and true, but -

He frowns.

“Something wrong?” Sheppard is leaning over the instrument, studying him and it with interest.

“This is tuned half a tone lower than an Earth piano. Feels a bit weird, that’s all.”

“How do you know that?”

Rodney affects his smuggest smile. “Perfect pitch, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sheppard says, rolling his eyes.

Rodney looks around the room furtively, keen for reasons he can’t articulate that no one else should observe them, and he starts to play.

It becomes a habit, a place to unwind, somewhere they visit on off hours and in quiet moments.

Today Sheppard is flicking through a golf magazine while Rodney warms up with some Bach. The music is pleasing and orderly, and the sparse, bright notes explode in fractal-like patterns, unfurling and changing and becoming more complex the closer you look.

John tilts his head to one side and says, “You know there’s a whole bunch of classical music on the Atlantis server?”

Rodney grins. He did know that, in fact. Never get between a team of scientists and their file sharing. “I may have heard.”

“I listened to some of the Chopin you like. Then some other piano stuff as well.”

“Yeah?” Rodney picks at a fingernail. Something about the idea of John listening to music just because Rodney likes it makes his heart beat a little faster. “Find anything you liked?”

“A bunch actually. Have you heard of a piece called La Campanella? By a guy named Liszt?"

"Have I…" Has he heard of the single hardest piece in the entire solo piano repertoire? The fact he could never get those double stops right haunts him to this day. "Yeah, it rings a bell."

"I like that one," John says decisively. "It's nice."

Nice??? Sheppard thinks the most epic and demanding piece of all time is nice? Of course he does.

"You should learn to play it," John says casually, like he's suggesting they watch an action movie instead of a scifi.

"I should -" he splutters. "Do you have any idea how difficult that is? It's practically impossible."

John smirks and says, "I thought practically impossible was your specialty?"

Rodney is still spluttering when John throws him a wink and walks out.

And then, because despite being the finest mind in two galaxies, on some level he truly is an idiot, he stretches out his fingers and starts to practice.

It's not like he had copious free time to start with. But he makes space whenever he can to come to the piano room, chipping away at this ludicrous piece, bit by bit, phrase by phrase, over and over and over.

People think that learning to play is artistry, and maybe it is that too, but mostly it's a grind. You keep doing it again and again until you get it right. It's as much about stubbornness as about skill.

And stubbornness is something Rodney McKay has in abundance.

Liszt really was a sadistic old bastard, Rodney thinks sourly as he works on the right hand jumps until his fingers turn to lead.

Sometimes Sheppard comes and sits with him while he practices, and on those days he plays easier pieces, things which are familiar and casual. Not that John seems to pay much attention, but Rodney has the urge to impress him all the same.

He’s always having that urge around John.

He spends an entire week working on his goddamn trill.

It shouldn’t matter and it’s not like anyone will really listen to it. But it seems to represent something important — a sequence of paired adjacent notes, next to each other but never quite touching, bouncing off each other time and time again, a dance of two — though he doesn’t want to examine that too closely.

He doesn’t tell anyone else about the piano. He tells himself that’s because it’s convenient that he doesn’t have to share and can use it whenever he wants.

But really, he likes that it’s his and Sheppard’s; their own tiny secret in this vast and sprawling city.

He hears the piece in his sleep, and on missions, and when he’s working in his lab. It becomes a background hum of his brain, always there, a sort of yearning for the possible, the platonic ideal, the way that things could be.

He tries not to examine that too closely either, though the weight of the realization is becoming harder to ignore.

Eventually the piece is as ready as it's going to be. He scribbles a quick note during a meeting, folds it into a paper airplane, and throws it at Sheppard's head. He hits him right in the temple, and he manages to avoid cheering when Elizabeth glares at him.

I have something to play for you, the note reads. Meet you at 7? You know where. - R

He jots it down without really thinking, and only once he's thrown does it occur to him how soppy it sounds.

John doesn't seem too perturbed though. He smiles down at the note and meets Rodney's eye with a little eyebrow wiggle which Rodney takes to mean, Gonna impress me?

By the time John arrives, Rodney is all warmed up and more nervous than he's ever been about a performance. His heart is racing, and when John gives him a fond look and says, "Hey," it trips even faster.

Once he settles in to play though, there's a certain kind of mental clarity that settles over him. His hands know how to do this, he just has to sit back and let them.

His wrists are still tense as he sounds out the first few bars and then, all at once, he relaxes into it and lets the music carry him. Hours of repetition have made every chord, every melody, every insane and unreasonable jump into something almost effortless. He even forgets John is there: there’s only him, and the piano, and the music.

The music builds and builds, each section becoming more and more ornamented, more complex, more physically demanding, all at a relentless pace that sends most players reeling. But he's got this, he can do this, it turns out all he needed was a bit of motivation.

The penultimate section is his favorite: The technical parts are done and here he can throw himself into the wild, over the top glory of the final melody. And perhaps he shows off a little bit, catching John's eye and grinning at him, but that's all part of the fun.

The piece ends with a crashing, massive finale that makes him feel like a virtuoso, and then in a last few epic chords it's done, as tight and perfect a five minutes as you could wish for.

The final chord reverberates on and on through the stillness of the room, glowing out beyond the city and into the night.

"Wow." John's eyes are wide. "That was great."

Rodney preens, because that ineloquent little comment somehow means more to him than an auditorium full of ecstatic applause. Having John look at him like that makes the months of practice worth it.

"You liked it?" He's fishing for compliments, but he figures he's earned it.

"I did," John says, staring at Rodney's hands like they hold the secrets to the universe.

He looks up and blushes at having been caught staring. Then he deflects and shrugs one shoulder. “Honestly, though, it’s not my favorite piano piece.”

Rodney narrows his eyes. He has the distinct impression he’s been played. “What was your favorite then?”

"I prefer Songs Without Words."

"Mendelssohn?" he explodes. "You wanted Mendelssohn? Jesus Christ, I learned to play that when I was eight!"

John grins. "I appreciate simplicity in music."

"Then why on earth did you make me learn Liszt?!"

John has this joyous, manic light in his eyes, like he's having the time of his life here, messing around with Rodney, of all the things he could be doing. "I like watching you do impossible things."

He sucks in a breath. "I hate you."

"No you don't." John leans in, smug and delighted, and oh, Rodney is so in love with this ridiculous, infuriating man that he could burst. "You learned La Campanella for me."

"It wasn't that hard," he says quickly, because he has a reputation to maintain here. But John laughs and gives him this soft, teasing look, one eyebrow quirked at a ridiculous angle beneath the chaotic mess of his hair, and Rodney is defenseless.

"Whatever you say, McKay," John says, and Rodney has the feeling he sees straight through him. "Now play it again."

#mcshep #stargate atlantis #my writing #where my fellow classical music nerds at this one is for you

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purrincess-chat · 4 years ago

Text

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH10

And we’re back to our regularly scheduled mischief. Kind of. I’ve tweaked this part a little bit to suit what’s coming up in a few chapters. The middle of this story looks a lot different than before, and I’ve spent the most time on it (been stuck at the “halfway” point of this rewrite for 3 months, but we’re getting there) All of our characters are about to go on their own journeys. For better or worse ;)

Previous First Next AO3

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

Chapter 10: Kids in the Dark

“Hey, Nino, got a second?” Adrien asked the following morning as their classmates shuffled into the courtyard.

Nino perked up, draping an arm over his shoulders. “Sure thing, dude. It’s been a while since we’ve had some guy time. I’ve just been super busy helping Alya with her deputy duties. I miss you, bro.”

“You mean Lila’s class representative duties?” Adrien corrected.

“Well…Lila’s busy doing more important stuff, so Alya has been picking up some of the slack, and I’ve been helping her out,” he said. “Besides, Marinette used to flake on some of her stuff too when she was busy.”

Adrien suppressed a sigh. Things were worse than he thought. He should have helped Chloe yesterday. Someone needed to put Lila in her place, but more than that, Marinette deserved justice. Every day Lila found new ways to turn everyone against her even in her absence, and Adrien wasn’t going to sit by anymore.

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about Lila,” Adrien said. His stomach tightened into a knot, but he wasn’t chickening out this time. “Don’t you think it’s a little unfair that Alya does all of Lila’s work for her? I mean, we elected Lila to lead the class, but it feels like she hasn’t really done anything herself. Even if Marinette had other stuff to do sometimes, she still did a majority of the work herself.”

“Well, Lila’s doing global stuff that’s way more important than our class. She leads by example,” Nino said.

“Well, if she’s too busy to be class rep, why would she run?” Adrien asked. His methods were a little around the bush, but hopefully he could convince Nino. They were best buds after all.

“Dude, do you want Chloe to be class rep again? You weren’t here when she was in charge, so you have no idea how bad it was. If Lila hadn’t stepped up, we’d have all been stuck with her. Sorry, but nuh-uh, no way am I going through that ever again.” Nino shook his head emphatically.

Given the choice, Adrien had picked Chloe, but now probably wasn’t the best time to admit that. He understood why no one else wanted Chloe in power, and in most cases, he could agree with them. But Lila wasn’t exactly the step up everyone thought she was either.

“Couldn’t someone else who has more time have run? I mean, most of us would prefer anyone over Chloe,” Adrien said pointedly.

“Bro, I get you and Chloe have known each other since you were kids, but I don’t think you fully understand how deep she’s sunk her claws into everyone here,” Nino said. “She digs dirt on people to keep them from defying her, and if that doesn’t work, she just gets her daddy to threaten the teachers. No one else here can overthrow her. Lila is the only one with an outside advantage because she knows celebrities and ambassadors and stuff. She’s got Chloe beat, and that’s why she’s everyone’s hero.”

It was hard to argue with him there. If Chloe were nicer, then this whole process would have been a lot easier. Anyone looked like a saint compared to her, and after yesterday… Lila could gain all the praise in the world because now she was just like them—another one of Chloe’s victims.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was no easy way out here. If he exposed Lila, then Chloe would claw her way back to the top and make everyone miserable again. If he didn’t expose Lila, then she’d just continue to use everyone and drag Marinette’s name through the mud. He’d tried to convince Chloe to be nice once before, but that didn’t last longer than a day. If he could just get Alya to see the light, she could take down both Lila and Chloe…

“I know you and Alya are busy, but is there any way we could all meet up for juice this afternoon? There’s something I want to talk to you both about.”

♪♫♪ Kill Em With Kindness ♪♫♪

“You said you wanted to talk?” Alya crossed her arms over her chest.

The bench along the Seine was abandoned this time of day, which was why Adrien liked it—he didn’t want anyone interrupting. Considering Alya parted ways with her best friend over Lila, she had clearly fallen deep into her web. This conversation required precision, and Adrien wasn’t taking any chances. He was going to speak his mind.

Nino took the seat beside him without a second thought, gesturing for Alya to do the same. She hesitated, searching Adrien’s expression with a skepticism that said she didn’t entirely trust him. This conversation wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Yeah. It’s about Lila…” He clasped his hands together to keep them from fidgeting. “There’s something you should know.”

“Let me guess. She’s a liar?” Alya cocked a brow. “I know you’ve been by to see Marinette several times. I find it funny how you’ve never mentioned this until now.”

“Look, I know I should have come forward sooner, but Lila is a liar. I can prove it,” Adrien said.

“Oh, can you?” Alya barely masked her cynicism.

“The day she came here, she tried to convince me that she was the descendent of a fox superheroine to impress me, but Ladybug showed up and called her out over your blog post,” Adrien explained. “She and Ladybug had never met before, and truthfully, I don’t think they really even like each other.”

“Can anyone else confirm your story?” Alya asked.

“Marinette can. She was there,” Adrien said.

“Oh, we know that Marinette follows you around.” Alya smirked. “But ya know what I think? I think Marinette is just trying to turn you against Lila because she tried to tell us a similar story before too, but she had no proof.”

“Why would Marinette do that?”

“Trust me, dude, there’s a reason she doesn’t want you hanging around Lila,” Nino said.

Alya elbowed him hard, and when Adrien seemed confused, she rolled her eyes. “Even if you are telling the truth, can you blame me for being a little suspicious? Lila has been here for months, and you’re calling her out on something that happened on her first day? And only after you’ve been hanging out with someone who tried to prove her guilty with the same story?”

“It does seem kinda suspicious.” Nino rubbed the back of his neck with a wince. “Sorry, bro.”

“But I’m telling the truth! That really happened.” When they weren’t convinced, he added, “Okay, fine. You’re right. I shouldn’t have waited so long. I just didn’t want to start trouble.”

“So why start it now?” Alya asked.

“Because people are getting hurt, and I’m tired of looking the other way,” Adrien said.

“What people?”

Adrien bit his tongue. Alya was too defensive. Even if he did point out how Lila was using everyone at school, she’d find a way to justify it just like Nino had earlier. This was Lila’s power—convincing everyone that they enjoyed being manipulated.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I am telling the truth. Marinette isn’t the enemy here,” he said.

Alya took a step back and slung her bag over her shoulder. “I find it a little hard to trust you when you’ve been hanging out with her,” she said. “And after Chloe’s little stunt the other day… don’t tell me you three are working together.”

“No, we’re not.” Adrien held up defensive hands, and when Alya crossed her arms over her chest, he added, “If you don’t believe me that’s fine, but please, look into it. Don’t believe everything Lila tells you. Be a journalist. Investigate.”

Alya eyed him, lips pursed, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll look into your story, but if I don’t find anything, I want you and Marinette to apologize to Lila.”

“Fair enough,” Adrien said.

“Come on, Nino.”

As Alya stalked off, Nino searched Adrien’s expression. His eyes bore all of his confusion, torn between his girlfriend and his best friend. Much like everyone else, Nino wasn’t sure what to believe, but so long as there was doubt, Adrien couldn’t lose hope.

“Nino!”

“Catch you later, bro,” Nino said.

“Yeah. Later.”

♪♫♪ Walk Me Home ♪♫♪

“I’m so excited that you’re finally coming to my house! You have to sit in my massage chair.” Macy squealed as she and Marinette walked arm in arm.

Eliott trailed behind them, things in their group having gone back to normal after the previous day’s events. Marinette was wrong about him. He had Macy’s back even when she couldn’t see him, and they gave her hope that not all friendships were so fragile. When two people trusted each other, nothing could pull them apart.

“We should invite Martin too. I didn’t do well on our last chemistry exam.” Eliott ran a hand through his hair. “Besides, he seems happier when he’s with us, even if he is quiet.”

“He usually waits for his chauffeur out front. Let’s see if we can catch him.” Macy picked up the pace, but she froze the moment they reached the front entrance. “Oh no.”

“What’s the problem, Martin? You said you would do my homework for the entire year,” Gabrielle snarled. “Were you lying?”

Thomas held Martin by his shirt collar, but his eyes bore a fierce determination even if his hands were shaking.

“I-I don’t want to be your puppet anymore,” Martin said, face blanched and eyes wide.

“He’s standing up for himself,” Marinette gasped.

“Kind of. He’s about to get his butt kicked,” Eliott said, but Marinette was already marching down the steps. “And so are we.”

“Gabrielle,” Marinette called.

“Oh, look, little miss thinks-she’s-all-that is back to save her pet hamster.” Gabrielle stepped between Marinette and Thomas. “This doesn’t concern you, street rat, so why don’t you run along back to the sewers?”

“Not until you let my friend go,” Marinette said, undeterred despite how Gabrielle towered over her.

“And just what are you going to do to stop us? You’re as tiny as a mouse, and there’s no one around to save you now.” Gabrielle leaned into her face.

“She’s got us,” Eliott said. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Macy squared her shoulders beside him.

“Two more cowards? I’m shaking.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You think you’re all high and mighty because you won a design contest and got some free tickets? Please, I could ruin your whole life with one phone call.”

“So, do it,” Marinette said. “You talk big, so let’s see you follow through. Make the call.”

“Uh, Marinette, is this such a good-” Eliott held out a hand, but Gabrielle’s glare silenced him.

“Don’t tempt me!”

“Are you going to ruin my life or not? Because if you’re not, then there’s nothing stopping me from helping Martin.” Marinette nodded to him, still dangling in Thomas’ grasp.

Gabrielle’s jaw clenched, but before she could reply, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Marinette?” Adrien stood timidly at the base of the stairs, his bodyguard holding open the car door.

Upon seeing him, Gabrielle faltered, jolting away from Marinette as if she’d been shocked. Macy clamped her hands over her mouth to muffle a squeal as several of their schoolmates stopped to stare in awe.

“Adrien? What are you doing here?” Marinette asked as he climbed the stairs to meet her.

“It’s Friday. You said you were going to visit your friend’s house, so I thought we could ride together.” He glanced around at the scene before him. “Is everything alright?”

Marinette turned to Gabrielle, whose eyes burned through her. Their classmates whispered to each other, all seeming to wonder if Gabrielle was going to show out in front of Adrien Agreste, but even she knew better than to tempt the most beloved boy in Paris. Attacking Adrien was effectively social suicide, and Gabrielle wasn’t going to lose her reputation now. She averted her gaze, red hair flipping over her shoulder as she spun around to face her boyfriend.

“Nothing. We were just leaving,” she grumbled, and her group disbanded.

Thomas set Martin down on his feet before following Gabrielle to their limo.

“Friends of yours?” Adrien cocked a brow.

“Not exactly.” She turned to Martin. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” Martin straightened his glasses. “You must think I’m weak.”

“Not at all. I thought it was very brave of you to stand up for yourself,” Marinette assured him.

“Sorry you had to save me again. I wish I had the strength to defend you too.” Martin curled his shoulders. “Thank you, Marinette. I promise I’ll try to be stronger next time.”

“You’re already strong where it counts.” She touched his chest. “In here.”

His cheeks flushed, and he glanced up at Adrien, eyes widening again. “You’re-”

“Adrien Agreste!” Macy latched onto his neck with a hysteric giggle.

“Macy, be cool, remember we talked about this?” Marinette coached.

“Let him breathe.” Eliott pried her arms off and extended a hand. “I’m Eliott, and this lunatic is-”

“Macy Chanteur!” She broke free of Eliott’s grasp and stuck out a hand for Adrien to kiss. “I have a poster of you on my wall.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows raised.

“She’ll calm down,” Eliott said. “I think.”

“It’s cool. I’m used to it,” Adrien chuckled. “But please don’t treat me like a celebrity. Any friends of Marinette’s are friends of mine.”

“Adrien just called me a friend!” Macy squeaked, and Eliott placed his hands on her shoulders to restrain her.

“My name’s Martin. Martin Michel.”

Adrien turned to the small boy and smiled. “Nice to meet all of you.”

“We were actually about to go to Macy’s to talk about my designs for you-know-who if you want to come, Martin.” Marinette offered.

“Uh, sure.” He nodded.

“I hope it’s alright that Marinette invited me, Macy,” Adrien said. “We only just met, and I’d hate to intrude.”

“You can come over whenever you want, Adrien.” She tried to boop his nose with her finger, but Eliott swatted her hand away.

“Great. We can take my car.” Adrien gestured to his bodyguard standing dutifully on the sidewalk.

“I’m going to ride in his limo!” Macy wheezed.

“Try not to hyperventilate.” Eliott guided her down the steps.

Adrien fell into step beside Marinette. “Your new school is huge,” he remarked.

“Yeah, if it wasn’t for Macy and Eliott, I would totally get lost,” she said.

“They seem nice.”

Marinette’s gaze softened on them as Eliott seated himself and Martin between Macy and Adrien. “They are.”

“So, what was all that on the stairs?” Adrien asked as Macy gave the driver her address.

“Gabrielle,” everyone collectively moaned.

“The Chloe Bourgeois of the school,” Marinette explained, and Adrien nodded in understanding. “She’s got more bite and brute strength, but ultimately, I sense that she has less power.”

“That was incredible how you called her bluff,” Macy said. She seemed to have regained some of her composure, though she still stole frequent glances at Adrien when she thought no one was looking.

“When you deal with the daughter of the mayor of Paris, you get used to empty threats and power pulls.” Marinette shrugged.

“I was sure we were going to get our butts kicked. It’s funny, I usually avoid trouble, but the past couple days have felt good,” Eliott said thoughtfully. “You’ve helped all of us become a little more confident, Marinette.”

“I just don’t like to see my friends get pushed around, that’s all.” Marinette insisted.

“Isn’t her modesty adorable?” Eliott said to Adrien.

“Marinette deserves every ounce of praise, I know it.” He agreed. “She’s amazing.”

Marinette’s cheeks burned. Adrien praised her a lot, but she was just as unprepared for it each time. Macy wasn’t the only one on the verge of passing out in the car. Was it possible to die of happiness?

“Speaking of amazing, we need all of the details about Clara.” Macy leaned across Eliott.

“Clara?” Martin cocked a brow.

“Nightingale. She’s asked Marinette to design for her!” Macy reminded him. “Oh, it was so tempting to throw that in Gabrielle’s face. I don’t know how you resisted the urge.”

“Well, I want to make sure she likes what I come up with first,” Marinette said. “No sense bragging if she hates everything and asks someone else.”

“How are your designs coming along?” Adrien asked.

“Well, I have a few ideas-”

“Show us!” Macy and Eliott demanded simultaneously.

“Nothing is final yet. I’ve just been playing around,” Marinette said as they pulled into the gates of a large house.

“You should sit in my meditation room. It’s totally tranquil, and it might help you get ideas. Can you imagine? Future-world-famous fashion designer sketching her breakthrough piece in my house!” Macy said as they climbed out, then casting a smile to Adrien added, “Do you think you could design my wedding dress someday?”

“Slow your roll, Macy. You just met,” Eliott chided, tugging her up the front steps ahead of the group.

“Your friends are lively,” Adrien said to Marinette. “I like them.”

“Well, Macy and Eliott have been friends for a long time,” Marinette explained.

“Since they were kids,” Martin added. “Their parents are old friends, and they’ve been in the same class every year.”

“That’s awesome. I hope you and I can be close like that someday.” Adrien smiled at Marinette.

If Adrien said any more nice things to her, she’d have enough butterflies in her stomach to give Scarlet Moth a comeback. Why did he have to be so sweet and handsome, perfect, smart, talent-

“Well…” Macy snapped Marinette out of her trance. She held her arms out and twirled around as her butlers opened the front doors. “Welcome to my home.”

#marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist remix #mdcspr #mdcsp #my writing

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pinktwingirl · 3 years ago

Text

Loki Series Rewrite (AKA Loki Series but with Squirrel Girl): Ep 1

Hey guys! Long story short, I wasn’t a fan of the Loki series, so I decided to make my own rewrite (including my favorite Marvel character, Squirrel Girl!) These are basically a collection of scenes that I would’ve either added or rewritten to improve the show. Btw, this is a continuation of my Endgame rewrite where Loki comes back to life after dying in Infinity War, so the Loki in this version is modern-day Loki, not 2012 Loki. Also, the whole Loki x Sylvie self-cest thing made me VEEERRRRY UNCOMFY, so I got rid of it. Their relationship is purely platonic in this. Anyways, enjoy! (This work is in screenplay format.)

INT. TVA - DAY

We pan through the TVA and see agents at work, checking timelines and watching training videos. We see various TVA posters warning about variants and "protecting the sacred timeline."

We then cut to RAVONNA RENSLAYER in her office. She is at her desk, sorting through files. Suddenly, an agent bursts in.

AGENT

Ma'am, we have a situation.

Ravonna follows the agent to a computer, where we see a timeline branching off from the main one.

AGENT

Is this the variant we've been searching for?

Ravonna glances at the computer and nods.

RAVONNA

About damn time...

EXT. CHICAGO BAR, 1986 - NIGHT

We see a woman with long, black hair and a green dress chatting with a man in a bar. The song "Devil Woman" by Cliff Richard is playing in the background.

MAN

Can I interest you in another drink, beautiful?

The woman lets out a flirty laugh and blushes.

WOMAN

Oh, you're too kind.

The man turns to the bartender.

MAN

Hey, can you get my girl here a...

(He turns to the woman.)

What can I get you, honey?

WOMAN

Surprise me.

The man turns back to the bartender.

MAN

You heard her.

The woman has a devilish smirk on her face as she watches them. The man turns back to her as the bartender starts mixing a drink.

MAN

You know, I feel selfish. I've been talking so much about myself, but I still don't know a thing about you.

WOMAN

Well... what do you want to know?

Suddenly, another man approaches them.

MAN #2

Hey, what do you think you're doing with my date?!

MAN

Your date? She's mine, asshole!

MAN #2

I caught her first!

(He turns to the woman.)

I'm sorry, honey, is this guy bothering you?

MAN

Bothering her?! You listen here, shithead-

He grabs the other man and they begin to wrestle with each other.

WOMAN

(Playfully)

Oh no, please don't fight over me...

As the men grow more violent, a bit of green magic shoots out of the woman's hand, causing the first man's wallet to fly into her grasp. She slips by the men, undetected as the bartender tries to break them up. Outside the bar, the woman walks off. With a smirk, she shifts into LOKI, now in his male form. He unveils the tesseract with magic and disappears.

INT. THE BENATAR - NIGHT

Loki reappears in the Guardians' ship, where Thor and the Guardians of the Galaxy are waiting for him. Loki smirks.

LOKI

Another successful venture.

THOR

Did they fight?

LOKI

Like bilgesnipe.

Thor bursts into laughter, and Loki hands Rocket the wallet.

LOKI

I also got the wallet, as requested. Although, I don't think Midgardian currency will have much value on the far side of the galaxy.

ROCKET

Who cares about the money? I just wanted the wallet.

(He dumps out the dollar bills and admires the wallet.)

This is nice leather...

LOKI

Anyone else have any travel requests?

QUILL

Oh, I got a whole bunch.

NEBULA

Quit acting like children. An infinity stone is not a toy to be played with.

LOKI

Oh, please. The tesseract and I go far back. If anyone can control it, I can.

ROCKET

You know, I'm starting to think you've just gotten sick of being around us, and now you're just looking for an excuse to get away.

LOKI

I will neither confirm nor deny that.

THOR

By that, he means "yes."

ROCKET

That's pretty rude of you, grease weasel.

Loki scowls at him.

DRAX

Can you travel to Kylos? I would greatly enjoy having some trego fruit again.

LOKI

Certainly.

The tesseract starts to glow in his hands.

INT. TVA - DAY

The agent and Ravonna are still at the computer.

AGENT

He's using the stone again. He's going to time-jump.

RAVONNA

Block it. Intercept him.

The agent presses a button.

EXT. MONGOLIA - DAY

Loki crash lands in the Gobi Desert and wakes up, looking utterly confused as a group of villagers approach him.

VILLAGER

(in Mongolian)

Who are you? Why have you come to our home?

Loki raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to respond. Suddenly, a portal opens and several TVA agents enter. They lean down to examine the tesseract, and Loki abruptly rushes over to them.

LOKI

Don't touch that!

The agents ready their prune sticks. Suddenly, HUNTER B-15 opens a portal and enters.

HUNTER B-15

It appears to be a standard sequence violation.

(She checks her tem-pad)

Branch is growing at a stable rate and slope. Variant identified.

LOKI

I beg your pardon?

HUNTER B-15

On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the sacred timeline. Hands up.

The agents activate their prune sticks.

HUNTER B-15

You're coming with us.

LOKI

I'm sorry, who's "us"?

Hunter B-15 activates her own prune stick.

HUNTER B-15

Last chance, variant.

Loki chuckles.

LOKI

Look, I don't know who the hell you seem to think you are... But if you don't mind, this is actually your last chance.

(Beat)

Now get out of my way.

Before he can attack, Hunter B-15 strikes him with her stick.

INT. TVA COURTROOM - DAY

Ravonna pounds her gavel.

RAVONNA

Next case, please!

Hunter B-15 forces Loki onto the stand.

RAVONNA

"Laufeyson"... Variant L1130, aka "Loki Laufeyson"...

LOKI

I prefer "Odinson," thank you.

After a pause, Ravonna shrugs.

RAVONNA

Very well...

(She crosses out "Laufeyson" on his case file and writes in "Odinson.")

Loki Odinson, you are charged with sequence violation 7-20-89. How do you plead?

Loki chuckles.

LOKI

Madam, a god doesn't plead. Look, this has been a very enjoyable pantomime, but I'd like to go home now.

RAVONNA

Are you guilty or not guilty, sir?

Loki smirks.

LOKI

Guilty of being the god of mischief, yes. Guilty of finding all of this incredibly tedious, yes. Guilty of a... "crime"... against the "sacred timeline"? Absolutely not, you have the wrong person.

RAVONNA

Oh, really? And who should we have?

LOKI

Well, in my defense, the only reason I ever came in possession of the tesseract is because the Avengers traveled back in time.

Mobius enters the courtroom.

RAVONNA

We're not here to talk about the Avengers. What they did was supposed to happen; you reviving yourself with the tesseract and running around time, causing chaos was not.

Loki laughs.

LOKI

I'm sorry - not supposed to happen according to whom?

RAVONNA

The timekeepers.

INT. TIME THEATER - DAY

Mobius is showing Loki clips of his life and trying to dig deeper into his psyche.

MOBIUS

You know, trying to kill all the frost giants, invading Earth, I don't see anything very mischievous about this...

He plays a clip of the bifrost nearly destroying Jotunheim. A family of frost giants runs in fear as the land is destroyed. A little girl screams as her father is vaporized by the blast. Loki is visibly uncomfortable.

MOBIUS

Look at that. Did you enjoy doing that?

LOKI

Enough of your games. You've made your point.

Ignoring him, Mobius plays the clip of him telling Kurse where to go.

MOBIUS

And then, you tried tricking the dark elves into finding Thor, but instead, you sent them right to Frigga.

Loki tenses when he sees Frigga fighting Malekith.

LOKI

I don't want to watch this.

He winces, trying to keep himself together, as he watches Malekith stab Frigga.

MOBIUS

Well, you're going to watch it. Because that's your life, that's the consequences of your actions, and that is the proper flow of time! Now, why don't you tell me, do you enjoy hurting people?

LOKI

I don't have to play your games-

MOBIUS

Do you enjoy killing?

LOKI

I'll kill you.

MOBIUS

What, like you did your mother?

Enraged, Loki tosses a chair at him. Mobius dodges it, and it flies through the hologram of Frigga's dead body. Loki lunges at Mobius, but he uses the time twister to send him back on the ground. Loki growls in pain.

MOBIUS

Sorry, the time twister just loops you, not the furniture. You weren't born to be king, Loki. You were born to cause pain and suffering and death. That's how it is, that's how it was, and that's how it always will be. All so that others can achieve their best versions of themselves.

LOKI

(Voice cracking)

That's not true. You're lying.

MOBIUS

It is true. Your life ended after Thanos snapped your neck, because you fulfilled your purpose of assembling the Avengers to destroy you. Your purpose was never to become a hero. You're a villain, and that will never change as long as the sacred timeline runs its course.

INT. TIME THEATER - DAY

After Loki escapes and returns to the time theater on his own, he finds a folder of papers on the table. He opens it and reads the first file. It reads "LOKI ODINSON - MAIN OBJECTIVES: MURDER, LIE, MANIPULATE. LIFE PURPOSE: CATALYST FOR THE AVENGERS. OBJECTIVE FULFILLED. LIFE TERMINATED. END OF FILE.

Horrified, Loki stares at the file as tears run down his face. After a moment, he starts laughing as Hunter B-15 enters.

HUNTER B-15

Something funny?

After a pause, Loki shakes his head.

LOKI

Glorious purpose...

INT. TIME THEATER - DAY

Loki is talking with Mobius after being apprehended again.

LOKI

I will admit, the TVA is... formidable. Even an infinity stone is useless here.

(Beat)

You're not going to let me return to my own timeline, are you?

(Beat)

MOBIUS

Normally, no, we wouldn't. But... if you help us... maybe the timekeepers might be willing to make an exception. A rogue variant's been killing our minutemen.

LOKI

And you need the god of mischief to help you stop him?

MOBIUS

That's right.

LOKI

Why me?

MOBIUS

The variant we're hunting is... you.

Have some actual Lady Loki yay!

So yeah, the purpose of this episode was mainly to re-establish the show within the continuity of my version of Endgame. Squirrel Girl comes in next episode!

@drawntothedarkside Here’s your tag!

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come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years ago

Text

//broken pieces. miya atsumu//

Request: Yeah, by a lot of you. But me too, tbh

Warnings: very mild implications of sex, low self-esteem, some swearing, infidelity

Word Count: 2,1K

Notes: things i need: cuddles from bokuto, sleep, and a cherry vanilla coke. But, the coke first please.

{Read Part I - “Missing Pieces” HERE}

{Read Part III - “Two Pieces” HERE}

He didn’t want to look at you. He didn’t want to see what he already knew. If he looked at your face and saw all of those brand new tears streaming down your cheeks, everything he had just done would finally hit him. He’d have to face the fact that he alone ripped your heart out of your chest and tore it to shreds.

He was quick to cover his torso with a new shirt. Quick to cover up the physical reminders of his sins. But, that quiet nickname, the name that you’d been calling him since you met, the name that he’d come to love so much, the name that left your lips in the most intimate of moments was now filled with sorrow. The heartbreak evident in that single word kept echoing through his head, reminding him off all the times that he’s laid awake, listening to your quiet sniffles because of him. Because he was far less than everything you could have wanted in a boyfriend. Because he kept all of his emotions bottled up inside his chest and just shoved you out when things got hard for him.

He didn’t want to look at you. But he did.

You didn’t look angry. Atsumu would’ve preferred that to this. He would have preferred that you sat there and yelled at him, calling him every explicative in the book. He was well aware that he deserved it, but you showed no intention of taking all of your pain out on him. Rather, you just sat on your side of the bed, sad eyes staring at his swollen kiss-ridden lips, at the deep bruises that crept up his throat, at his blonde hair that had had a set of fingers that didn’t belong to you raking through it only a mere hour earlier. The soft glisten of tears on your cheeks and red puffy eyes being highlighted in the rays of the setting sun. You kept looking like you wanted to say something, but every time your mouth moved, you would catch yourself just letting out a quiet whimper instead of words and clamp your jaw shut again.

Atsumu didn’t want to look at you anymore, so he turned away. He turned away and those missing pieces to the puzzle that he had been keeping from you had been crumpled to an irreparable state. He turned his back on apologizing, shame washing over him as his own words failed him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block your image from his mind. He didn’t want to see the black stains of mascara adding to the pained expression.

It didn’t matter what he wanted though, because no matter how many times he tried to steer his mind away from everything, he’d remember your bright smile there to greet him after practice every day, your eyes crinkled in happiness as you would lean up to kiss his cheek, but just as soon as those mental images would start to warm his heart, your face would morph in his head. He’d be right back to the present image of your face branded into his memory.

There’s a soft sniff and the bed springs squeak as you get out of bed.

“I’m sorry.”

Those small words leaving your lips felt like a knife to his heart. You were apologizing to him? Why? He was the one who ran off and cheated. He should be the one on his knees, grovelling for forgiveness, but rather, your head was hung as you stood behind, your words still fresh on your lips.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t make you happy, ‘mu.”

Another stab. There was a tremble in your voice. He knows that tremble. It’s always there when you’re upset. He used to hold you against his chest and quietly tell you that everything was going to be okay while tears left damp circles on his t-shirt. Atsumu couldn’t remember the last time he had done that though. It’d been a long time, that’s for sure. He’d been pushing you away for months now, the shame of his lies bubbling up in his chest every time you would look into his eyes. It was better to just keep you at an arm’s length and let him work through everything himself. He thought that maybe this would make him feel better. Maybe if someone else was there to tell him how great he was, he’d get out of whatever slump he was in, but he just kept burying himself deeper and deeper into this pit, desperately trying to crawl his way up and come back to you.

But, he never could.

Every inch of progress he made, he would lose his footing and slip further away. It was wrong and he knew that the very first time he let some other girl touch him while he was out, but Atsumu’s mind played games with him. Somehow he had convinced himself that every “I love you,” every “You look so handsome, ‘mu,” had been fake, that you were saying everything you did to him because you had to. Hearing those same things from a different pair of lips, well, that would fix these feelings, right? His name falling from someone else’s mouth in breathless whimpers would make him feel better, right? Someone else telling him that they loved him would take away all of these insecure thoughts, right? But, no matter how many times he left a bar early to go home with someone new, Atsumu was left feeling emptier than before.

“Are you happy?” Your hand is on his back now, fingers lightly grazing the area that you had remembered seeing those bright red lines. “With her, I mean?”

There’s a soft hiccup from the man in front of you as his head falls. He had always been good at hiding his short whimpers of approaching sorrow, but the way that his shoulders shook as those crystalline tears finally spilled from his brown eyes gave him away in an instant. Your arms found themselves wrapped around his torso, holding him tightly against your body, the same way that Atsumu used to comfort you.

“I don’t get you,” he whispered, his voice straining to push through the rock in his throat. He had ruined everything. He had been the one to take those pieces that could’ve fixed everything and he had broken them. But, here you were, trying to pick up those broken pieces, attempting to squeeze them back together, so you could finish the puzzle and make it beautiful again. “I- I do this and-” Atsumu pauses, taking in a strangled breath, trying to blink away the salty drops that blurred his vision. “And you’re apologizing to me. I don’t get it.”

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t good enough, Atsumu.”

He wanted to go back and rewrite every part of the story. He wanted to erase everything and go back to when things were happy and the two of you would spend nights giggling as you tried to recreate dumb TikTok dances, when you would chase him around the house, both of you sliding across hardwood floors in socks. But he ruined it. He ruined his relationship. He ruined you.

You stood there this entire time blaming yourself. Believing that all of his actions were your fault and that if only you had shown him that you cared more, he would have been happy and he wouldn’t have felt the need to cheat. Your constant apologies hurt him more than any amount of screaming could have. You could’ve kicked him out, told him that you never wanted to see him again, and none of it would have hurt as much as this. Those genuine apologies escaping you just rammed the knife deeper and deeper into his chest.

But, he deserved it, didn’t he? He deserved to feel the same level of anguish that you felt. If this was as easy as a screaming match, Atsumu would just be left numb with anger, heaving for air. He would’ve said things that he didn’t mean and you would’ve walked out for sure. He didn’t deserve to be held in your comforting embrace, to have your head pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, mumbling apologies against the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

The croak of his voice caused you to lift your head, but when Miya Atsumu finally turns to face you, to face his mistakes, he just presses you into his chest. Maybe it was the old comforting feeling of having his arms around you, being able to smell his cologne that you loved so much, or maybe it was the wave of realization that, no matter how hard you wanted to, you couldn’t just look over those broken pieces that had been ruined by a couple’s insecurities. They would always be a part of the picture that encapsulated your relationship. They were battered and weary, but they were there, never to be forgotten.

The two of you must have been quite the sight, really. Standing in the middle of your bedroom, the light of day long gone, bodies racking with sobs, not able to do anything else but cry and whimper soft apologies against each other’s skin.

“I’m such a piece of shit. I don’t know why you’ve put up with me this long, Y/N. I’m a lying, stupid, cheating piece of shit and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his tears dampening the top of your head.

“B-but, if I was better for you-”

“Please, stop blaming yourself. This isn’t your fault. You were always good enough, princess. I was the weak one. I was the one who wasn’t good enough for you and I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like you weren’t enough.” Atsumu’s voice is soft and sincere, each word slipping out without a second thought. He was as calm as he could’ve been given everything. His eyes had started to dry as they had finally run out of tears, mouth dry from all of those shaky breaths between mournful weeps. He wanted to place a kiss on your lips, make you feel all of the love that he genuinely still held for you, make you feel every apology that he couldn’t figure out how to voice, but he knew better. It wasn’t the time. His actions had already caused so much damage, driven the wedge between you so deep that he wasn’t sure if it could ever be fully removed and repaired.

He felt you shift in his arms, your fists balling up the front of his t-shirt in pent up frustration. “I don’t want this to be over, Atsumu. I really don’t, but if you don’t love m-”

“Y/N, I do love yo-”

Atsumu wasn’t sure what took him more by surprise: the weak fists pounding against his chests or the sudden change in the volume of your voice that inevitably ended in a sad crack as misery crept back into your heart: “Then why the hell would you do this to us?!”

“Princess, I’m sorry-”

“I don’t want an apology anymore! I want an explanation, Atsumu.” The fists that had been battering him had become slow as any hope that had remained when it came to putting the pieces back together slowly dissipated into the realization that this was probably it. You could try all you wanted, but you’d never be able to make the picture look like it should. “Please.”

That plea had him pushing you away, sitting you down on the edge of the bed. But, he placed a gentle hand on your knee as he sat down next to you, urging you to meet his gaze. Atsumu always kept his emotions right there behind those gentle brown eyes. Every single ounce of love, remorse, and desire to put all of those pieces back together stared right back at you.

“Then, let’s talk, because I don’t want this to be over either.”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #miya #miya atsumu #atsumu #miya x reader #atsumu x reader #imagine #x reader #i really wanted to make this angry #and break them up #but then i kept getting really soft #because i genuinely do think that he loves reader #and i think reader really loves him #even if he is a dirty cheater

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zero-violence · 3 years ago

Text

So I guess I’m writing this because if Jon deserves closure from me I sure as fuck deserve closure from you. Please bare with me since I’ve seem to have lost the ability to write coherently. Don’t worry I’m only passing this single note to you and no one else and would prefer you not share it.

(each marked break represents a day in which I wrote here. This took awhile to put together.)

***

I wrote something here about myself. Personal information about my past that I wanted to share with you. But I deleted it. I never delete or edit or change or even rewrite things that I write. I wanted them to exist as written like paint on the canvas. Every mistake part of the greater art I had made. But you taught me something. Something I didn’t know could happen. You taught me that my words could be misheard. Could be changed and twisted to what someone else wanted. They could turn my words upside down and whiteout every thing in between. They could burn away my words. Reach into my chest and squeeze my heart from the words I put on this page.

I’m deleting the words about myself and my life. I don’t trust them with you anymore. I don’t know what you mite cut away to fit your own selfish needs.

(deleted)

***

You said it was something that always happened to her and she hated it.

You said don’t do it.

You said lay off.

I never listened to you like I should of.

I keep falling back and forth between this whole.

I had to find out on my own. I had to make my own choices.

And.

I should of buried myself deep and pretended there was nothing wrong with me and kept my friends a little longer.

Honestly.

The most honest way to word it.

I wanted... I want to

I want to hurt myself so desperately so you would never have to.

I’m going to be writing this over a long period of time and my laptop crashes a lot. I don’t know if I ever really plan on sending this to you or not. I don’t know why i want to send this to you. I mean I wanted to write a suicide letter but this seemed more productive to be honest.

Rather punch life in the face than admit defeat.

I don’t blame you for not caring as much as I did. From my side you were my longest lasting friend who was closest to me. From your side I was just friend number like 56. Just another video game guy. Just another weird person. Just another one.....My biggest regret are all the words I said during the end that you seemed to ignore. I did love you. I genuinely loved you so fucking much. I couldn’t imagine a week going by without hanging out with you. I know you had other friends and a job and a life. But but but I’m not sure right now I have to sleep soon and my emotions have been punching me in the chest all weekend. Till another day i guess.

***

I wasn’t going to write here today but someone said you were happy now and I was happy for you. I’ll try and remember this whenever I get mad at you.

***

Hi, its me again. This is turning into some kind of journal entry at this point and I’m not really sure anymore if I’m going to sneak this to you or not. I mean its going to expose my name change which is probably already known. But,. No Its going to expose anything else. I don’t even know if you’ll read down this far let alone read beyond this page and take a look what's behind the curtain. I personally wouldn’t do that its a dark place.

I have all this anger in me directed at you but if these are my last words I really don’t want them to be that way.

Maybe I’m wrong.

I mean wrong is something you know really well.. Sorry, I couldn’t segway this very well into the next point of my writing.

You told me Jon would never chase after me. Its not the kind of person he is. Jon turned up one night and demanded closure. Maybe we were closer than you said we were. We talked but I gently pushed him away like everyone else. I don’t want you to hate them because there talking to me. I don’t want you to get upset or angry. I whole heartedly mean this. I know these people want to be friends with you and her. I don’t want to ruin that for them. I unfriended, blocked, and deleted them for you. I don’t want them to lose you like I did. Its not been a good time.

You told me she wouldn’t just let me go. She would chase and cling onto me. That I couldn’t just walk away. You were wrong. She let go and pushed away. It was really that easy. I don’t know how you got both of these wrong.

You said I would be ok.

I’m not.

I’m not at all ok.

Sometimes I wonder if you can’t fathom or comprehend or even sympathize these feelings. I get that you haven’t had many bad things happen to you. But when someone says they love you why can’t you understand. I know who popped into your head just now. Because it wasn’t me. I honestly don’t think you heard me each time I said it.

My own mother would be jealous of you.

I never say those words to people.

People say them to me and I always reply back with.

“I love me too”.

If not also

“Yeah I’m pretty great”.

I used to call it self love because self love was the only love I had.

The above statements mite be confusing but I’m not here to dip into my relationship with my family right now.

I’m just here to talk at this wall in front me trying desperately to reach the other side of it, I’ve been using the word desperately a lot lately. I am very obviously desperate. Desperate to live. Desperate to exist. Desperate to avoid an end by my own hands.

I have this deep deep deep hatred for the end of all this. I don’t believe, well anything anymore. I don’t believe your tears or sadness. Just a façade to make her not angry at you. It would never happen again because you would never let me back again. You had won. I was gone. And she stopped being angry at you one tear at a time. It must of been easy to get better knowing you would never have to deal with the consequences of your actions.

Promise that you would never do it again.

What a fucking empty fucking promise.

Do you smile every day? Laugh even? Enjoy life with others?

It must be nice to not be alone.

It didn’t cost you much did it.

***

Its like venting. I really doubt that I’ll ever give this to you. Just somedays. Ok like every day. I miss you a lot. I hate how it ended. This is the part of me that wants to grab the knife and stab myself while I smile back at you. Its ok don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt that much. I always wanted one of these. Only my best friend would know I always wanted this. And usually around this point I can collapse into a fit of tears. I’m probably going to lay down and just fall apart as a person. I do that from time to time. Day to day. Don’t worry too much about it. At least times like this all this loneliness fades to the background and I’m left with the crippling pain of everyone being gone. And everything is just a a void a blur a just constant dark room with the lights off and laying in bed so long it hurt and I can’t even fall asleep anymore. I mean it got really bad. I had to force myself to goto my doctors appointment. I don’t know a lot of people are worried about me and I barely even show whats wrong with me and there just extremely worried about me. Which worries me what would happen if I actually showed how I was to them.

Sorry I’m just not not good right now. I’m sorry. I should stop talking before I start apologizing non stop till im crying. im sorry.

***

I keep having this constant thought today. That maybe your a nice people. And you removed a negative from me hoping it would create a positive. And it just left this neutral area. Like just because what’s pulling me down goes away doesn’t mean I suddenly go up or even eventually go up. I just stay where it left me. All the way down here. The same horrible place I was in a month ago. Existing at the edge of wishing it was worse so I could have an excuse to die.

***

“ Anybody can look at you. It's quite rare to find someone who sees the same world you see. “

***

I want to drown

***

I’ve thought about this. I still want to drown.

***

I don’t know in what world you think its ok to just hurt someone. And that walking away from the problem you helped make will just go away because you can’t see it anymore. Someone loves you and your just this horrible human being. You didn’t just take yourself away you took everyone around you away. And left this person. Left me all alone. This isn’t how you take responsibility. This isn’t how you heal. This isn’t how you overcome. This isn’t how fix what is broken. You don’t throw it outside and hope it goes away. Its fucking burned against my skin. I’m screaming where no one can hear me. And I’m just non existent to you. I’m dead. I went off to the farm where I’ll be happy with a whole new group of friends. Right? Life will go on. Right? Sometimes I take the knife out and think about it. So many choices. I could finish it far better than you. Just a slit across my neck. And I would truly be gone. Never a worry in your life again. I could just put it back in my chest so much more painfully than you. But at times like this. Days like this. I think about removing it from my own chest. And gently setting it back where it belongs. Right back in you. I really don’t deserve this pain from you. But I think you do. I hope the lies pile up. I hope your twisted emotions pile up. I hope the fear and doubt you placed in everyone piles up. I hope you end up in this same place you put me. All alone. With a knife in your chest. And you don’t know what to do with it. And you scream. You yell for help. And it only echoes back at you. And all you ever loved is removed from your life. Because you couldn’t overcome something that seemed so small to you. But bigger than this world to everyone else. I hope it hurts deeply. I hope it hurts too much. I hope its the last thing will ever share together.

This is funny to me. Because I know your not that deep of a person to be hurt that way. And even if this happened. You would be too blind to it to even notice. And the people around you would never stab you like that. Just let you exist in vague little bit of grey life. Pretending to share in that empty happiness that you have. Pretending its real. Because they don’t know any better. And there too afraid to find out if its real or not.

Enjoy the happiness you find on the back of all this pain. I just want you to know you lied. And you’ll never be capable of telling the truth. There just words you say to make them not angry at you. Because that’s the only way you could make them happy. Or not mad at you. I think the guilt of them being angry hurt you more than you taking away the happiness. I think you only thought about your own happiness when you promised you would never do this to her again.

I think we confused you being a happy person with you being a selfish person. There not one in the same. You just suck up everyone else’s happiness around you. And enjoy life putting everyone else’s needs below your own. Even if you think I’m wrong. You’ll just be lying. But only for a little bit. Because you’ll stop caring shortly and not even bother with lying. Letting the problem drift away pretending its been solved because its gone. Forgetting so much that you won’t even know its on the back of everyone's mind when they think of you, interact with you, and talk to you.

That you mite hurt them too.

So no one will ever push too hard on you.

And you’ll never experience a deep closeness with someone ever again.

Handling you gently. In case you throw a tantrum and decide they aren’t allowed in your life anymore.

I don’t want this knife anymore I think.

Please take it back.

***

Man, I feel guilty thinking about her as a friend the same way people feel guilty talking to me once because of you. Can’t even think about people we care about without the guilt that you mite get upset about it.

***

I really doubt you’ll do this or care or feel some deep yearning to be a better person. But I know other people have a little bit more humanity within them than you.

But if you feel some greater sense of self and feel she needs to hear something from me Just let her read this.

“Don't worry soon ill be someone you cant remember and I'll forget you easily. Ill disappear and ill never exist for you no matter how hard you try to remember. You'll have a happy life. Its going to be ok. I won’t exist in a way that you can think about. Only a memory. I refuse to be more than that. Goodbye. “

***

I was supposed to write something nice here but I’m not sure I can do that.

Maybe if I pause a moment something will come out. Something that will bring a smile to you. Something that doesn’t stab and punch at you.

Maybe not though.

I’m going to disappear. Be someone unable to be reached. In person. Online. In memory. I won’t even let her remember me. Change my favorite color. Burn my favorite books. Be someone that only exists to her in fiction. A story someone once told her. Something that was never real. Can you be jealous of a fictional character? I bet you would find a way.

She won’t even be able to remember me. Not a single person around you will ever even allowed to experience my existence. Not a word from me. Not even a sound. Something less than a ghost.

And I hope.

I hope and I pray so fucking much.

That the voice at the back of your head goes away. And you never hear it again. And if another voice comes into the back of your head I pray for the ones around you.

If this is the cost of your peace of mind than I’ll pay it ten fold for you. I’ll stab and bleed out for you. You have to live your life. You need to live your life. I hope one fucking day you realize all the things she does to chase after you. All the bits of your existence she’s been copying all this time that you never noticed. You should really try and be more healthy for her sake. Be a little more responsible. No one is going to take care of you but you. Be stronger. She follow along right behind you like a child. You mite not notice. But she’ll pick up the same weight you do and try and be strong too. She’s infatuated with you.

Be someone worth all that love. Don’t flinch before this daunting task. Stand strong. Head up. Look forward. And you walk. One step at a time.

You do the small things.

Stop ordering out less. And she will too.

Start saving money And she will too.

Exercise so you live longer. And she will too.

Be out going. And she’ll be right behind you jumping with joy.

Its time you make a life. And drown out all those demons in your head.

I don’t think you’ll read down this far. I don’t think twchh will give this to you for me. I think you’ll refuse it in a fit of rage if you even look at it. And if you even open this and start to read. A tantrum will erupt from you and my words will be lost beneath your rage once again.

Its how I motivate myself to disappear so easily. Because well.

Like you said.

You wont chase after me.

So if for good or bad. Worse or ugly. Whatever mistakes I make from here on out. I do it with the thought that I won’t exist and I won’t hurt you anymore. You’ll be happy. I’m constantly agitated with the thought of the things I need to do so I can disappear fully. Burn this, buy that, cut here, and bleed out over there. It takes a lot to change yourself. I guess you were right about that.

If you somehow read this far. I want to thank you. For what short time we spent together. I shouldn’t apologize anymore. But I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better person for you. I want you to be happy and I wrote all of these words out of love for you. And if given the option I would do it all over again. Yesterday, today, 10 years from now. I would let you stab into me all over again. Don’t be scared of hurting me. Don’t be upset that you did. I’m endless. I’m forever. I couldn’t die if I wanted too. The world won’t allow my escape. It requires more from me. Sorry this is getting so dark but this is the brightest my days get.

Goodbye who was once a friend.

Goodbye who was once more than just that.

So much more.

Goodbye

***

By the way I’m still giving you a birthday gift if I can figure out how to make it work. That’s more for me than you. I wanted to give it you before your trip so you had some extra pocket cash but I couldn’t get the money together in time. I want to do this because I’m not a liar. You were my friend and I wanted to give you a birthday gift.

Anyways I’m going to see if someone will give this to you now.

11 notes · View notes

thermaflute · 4 years ago

Text

Forever Together

a/n: Ahhhhhhh this is my first collab with the BNHA POCuties and I hope I did alright. Fun fact about me: I’ve never actually been to a wedding so I was a bit all over trying to figure this out. Despite all the rewriting I did on this I still had a ton of fun on it and it made me realize I need to write more fluff. Please give my buddies works a read here, everyone worked super hard on this collab!

Synopsis: It wasn’t easy for either of you to admit that love wasn’t an awful emotion, it was even harder to confess that maybe you felt love for each other. The real challenge however, was getting the two of you to say the two simple words that would bind your complicated selves forever.

Word Count: 3.1k

Your hands jittered against your dress, tears threatening to form behind your eyes. The mirror in front of you revealed absolute decadence, your dress was a marvelous white, lace trimmings all around. Your usual hairstyle now in its natural state, you looked gorgeous. But your insides churned with intimidation. It was going to be a small wedding, yet you felt as if there were a sea of people out there, waiting to see you. You feared they’d be able to tell that you were scared.

You two had started talking about marriage a long time ago. Well, rather how you detested it. You two were friends in high school, you were in general studies, and he was in the hero course. He often came to you about his problems because he needed a perspective from someone out of the hero loop. He was a bit aloof but you never seemed to mind, and you two surprisingly connected well into your second year. That day’s conversation started over some left over cake from a group project you had, you mentioned your preferred cake, he mentioned his. You stated that if it were up to you your wedding cake would be f/c, if marriage was your thing at all. He agreed with you, and you both confided that you thought love was a joke that led nowhere. Love was a finicky pursuit that would inevitably end in disappointment and heartbreak.

That disappointment never came. Neither of you were proud to admit it, but the two of you started to feel...things...for each other. It wasn’t immediate, it was slow and gradual. You went to college, he joined the Hero workforce, and neither of you stopped caring for each other. He made time to visit your dorm, and when you could, you would bring him lunch at his office. He always made room for you, and you always made room for him. That’s just what friends do.

Except, friendship was a boundary that was quickly dissolving. You found yourself yearning for his presence and days that he couldn’t make it felt so unnatural. His conversations with you would make you smile beyond your face, and you found yourself addicted to hearing his laughter. He was kinda beautiful, oddities and all. You despised the nervous feeling you began to get around him, so you decided to be honest.

“I mean, where the fuck did he get the idea that I wanted to study with him like? First of all, you worry about you, second, you not finna catch me getting an F for your dumbass like you’re not even cute.” Shoto didn’t respond, he simply stared at you with a small smile, and you quickly realized that you were ranting. “Ah I’m sorry for ranting, how was your day?”

“You’re fine, I like hearing about your day. However, to answer your question, it was alright. It got better when I saw you though.”

Your eyes quickly glanced at him before looking away and you feigned a joking attitude. “Ha, you do miss me, I thought you forgot about me the second you walked out the door.”

He eyed you, clearly missing the joke, “I could never y/n, I think about you everyday.” There was nothing for a few seconds but the sound of laughter in the hallway and a poorly managed club screaming outside. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.” It came out very harshly.

“Oh you’re fine, I knew what you meant.” You looked away for a minute, the tension getting worse. You had to end this “I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I may have caught some feelings for you Shoto.”

He frowned at you and your blanket that was wrapped around him caught on fire. He quickly put it out and glared at you, “You...You make me feel sick y/n.” He left, leaving you with a burnt blanket and a pitiful sadness. For nearly two weeks, he avoided you, making sure to leave you on delivered and telling reception to not allow you up. The truth was, he felt the same, and he knew he made a mistake when he told you that, but he genuinely had no clue how to tell you he was interested in you without it sounding like a curse on your life.

You were unavoidable, the fact you two didn’t accidentally cross paths until the cafe was astounding. So much of your interest and favorite spots combined so it was inevitable that he would run into you again. You saw him sitting alone at the usual table and decided that if he was going to ignore you, he was going to have to give you a proper response first. You sat in front of him, immediately startling him. He quickly grabbed his things and mumbled an apology underneath his breath.

"Wait! I know how you feel about all that, trust me I'm not happy either but I just wanted to be honest. You’re really important to me, and it’s nearly impossible for me to fall for someone but you made it in. I don’t regret liking you either, because you’re genuinely a good guy but blowing me off for two weeks has me reconsidering if you’re even that. Do you know how long I’ve been crying? God, you didn’t have to insult me now Shoto."

"I didn’t insult you?"

"How else am I supposed to inter-." You thought about who you were dealing with and realized you'd been going about this the wrong way. "Okay, well if you're not insulting me I need you to elaborate on what ‘You make me feel sick’ means."

The stoic man in front of you seemed to look frustrated with you cornering him. But he understood the sudden drop in your friendship with him was upsetting you. "I told you too much. I shared too much of my time with you. You gave me entirely too much of your own, and now I feel ill when I see you. I feel even worse when I don't. You told me that you were interested in romance, and that sickness engulfed me. I-” He seemed as if he was straining to talk to you, he was clearly flushed and you can feel the heat radiating off of him. “I think I have feelings for you as well.”

You two sat at the cafe in silence, both radiating very murky energies. Passerby’s stared at you and the Pro Hero in confusion, both of your boring holes into anything else that wasn’t each other's eyes. You broke the silence first, “Shoto, I don’t mind the feeling. I know we shitted on it for a few years now, but uh, it’s not awful.”

“It’s not,” he responded, still staring painfully somewhere else. The cafe was still busy around you, but for some reason it felt like you two were the only one’s there. It felt like that often with him, even in this weird ass situation you were still comforted by his presence.

“Do you want to go out?” You finally asked him, he was sweating bullets. You two looked like highschoolers, it was honestly embarrassing how difficult that was for the both of you. He gave you a quick sorry and quickly left with all of his stuff. You stared at the empty seat in front of you in half disappointment and half awe. He really just got up and left, again.

You look back on that so fondly now, you two were young adults, unsure about the world and each other. Too scared to label the affection you already gave each other. To think you would be walking the aisle for that man in a few hours was not only ironic, but kind of terrifying. Sure your commitment issues got better, but they weren’t exactly gone. You loved Shoto with your whole being but something about getting married scared you shitless.

You reverted back to the safety of your memories, and quickly checked to see if you still had the screenshots from when you first got together. You remember trying to act cool about it but you immediately called up every friend you had to tell them the news.

You giggled at the messages, feeling the warmth of the past wash over you. You two really blossomed, slowly but surely breaking down boundaries that neither of you even realized was there. Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, and months to years. Your mutual “experiment” with love seemed to be really stable. After a while of being together, of course others began to question what was next.

The light filtered through the blinds of your apartment, your senses slowly came on to the rest of the world, dragging you from a dream that was already fading into obscurity. You feel your body get closer to skin, and you breath in the lovely scent that you’ve come to adore. You felt kisses on your shoulder and a slow sigh from behind you before the sheets became soft again, you were fading back into sleep.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

Your heart jumped. “Sure.”

“I had something longer prepared for this after a talk with my mother but after laying here with you, I think it would be better if I just said it. I’ve been thinking a lot about marriage lately. I know it’s a large commitment, but I can’t see myself anywhere else with anyone else but you. I love you more than life itself. ” He snuggled closer into you and wrapped you tightly. “You don’t have to answer now, I just wanted to let you know how I felt.”

You rolled around in his arms to look at him, his hair was all over, his eyes were lidded and clearly still exhausted, but he was so sincere.

Your sleepy voice came out as a croak, you extended your hand up to stroke his hair back, revealing his forehead. You scrunch your face up at him and act as if you’re thinking. “I don’t even like you though.” You gave him a slight giggle, and kissed him. “I would love that baby.” You feel some tension leave his body and he smiles at you with glossy eyes. How long was he thinking about this? He leans into you and plants a kiss on your nose and you both fall back asleep, entangled together with thoughts of forever.

Forever. The word felt so solid when you were with him, like it wasn’t something that could falter or fade. But whenever you thought about it too long you grew terrified, the word became too solid. It felt inescapable. You know it’s just the fears speaking, but you just didn’t want to find out that things could be different. As the days grew closer and closer, your anxiety worsened as things around you changed.

“Yes, this is my Fiancee, y/n.” “I saw a few houses near that park you like, would you like to check it out with me?” “Have you decided on what colors to decorate the venue.” “Fuyumi wants to know if she can handle the catering and the flowers? Are you alright with that?” “Well since you’re indecisive I’m just going to book them all and we can just go everywhere for the Honeymoon.” It seemed as if everyday he was reminding you that this wasn’t a dream. It was always the slightest things, the easiest questions that would leave you with the realization that this was for real. You two were no longer teens that were scared to hold hands, but real adults that love each other enough to put it on a legally binding paper. No amount of movies, girl talks, or family could have prepared you for the stress you were going through.

You snapped out of your thoughts again and looked at the time. You had to walk out soon and your nerves were fried. The movies made this seem so easy but here you were, glued to the chair, trying to find any reason under the sun to either go through with this or run away. The door to your dressing room opened and in came your friend, the maid of honor.

“Well you don’t look too happy.” They looked partially stressed from all the running around but was still checking in on you before everything started.

You tried to make a face that looked reassuring but you ended up just looking like you were going to cry.

Your friend held you, careful to not harm your dress. “You got this y/n, you look too pretty to be this sad on your special day.”

“I know, I’m just really nervous.”

“Well don’t be too hard on yourself, Shoto isn’t exactly doing any better.”

You look at your friend confused, they take the hint that you weren’t aware this whole time that he’s been really frazzled.

“Well Izuku had to quickly get a backup suit. Shoto was so stressed that he burnt through his suit. Seeing as your dress is still in one piece, I think you’re fine.”

You felt oddly comforted by your fiance's stress, in the oddest way possible it was nice to know that this wasn’t difficult for just you. “Oh, that’s kind of funny.”

“I know right, man's been so worried about this forever, I guess it’s just all coming out now. See, y’all are literally the same.”

You look around with a small smile already starting to feel better. “Thank you.”

“No problem, that’s what I’m here for! However, Imma really need you to hurry up because Izuku said he’s starting to literally steam through the suit and they really can’t get another backup.”

“Fine, I’m coming.” You stood looking down at all the white underneath you, you felt the anxiety creeping up and swat it away just as quickly. “I got this.”

You barely heard the music, or saw anybody on the way down the aisle. Your mind completely blanked, only remembering the sensation of an arm locked around your own and the vague feeling of a bouquet in your hand. You focused only on the man in front of you, he looked happy to see you. His hetero chromatic eyes that always brought you peace once again managed to make you feel calm.

Eijiro began his spiel, he was so happy to hear that you guys were getting married and practically begged to officiate. You both agreed, thinking it was beyond sweet that he wanted to do this for you two. As the red head continued his speech, you slipped away into a revelation that forever wasn’t a terrifying word anymore, it was actually something rather nice to look forward to.

Shoto held your hand and returned to appearing mostly stoic to anyone else that wasn’t you. You learned to tell when he was happy from the occasional slight smile, but mostly through his eyes, they had a particular gleam in them when he was emotional. He seemed well composed, but after years of all that Hero training you could still see the small wisps of steam lifting off his suit.

"Do you take Y/n to be your wife, to cherish in friendship and love today, tomorrow, and for as long as the two of you live, to trust and honor her, to love her faithfully, through the best and the worst, whatever may come, and if you should ever doubt, to remember your love for each other and the reason why you came together with her this day?”

For a split moment he saw you how you used to look and remembered the second he fell in love with you. You were in your uniform still, leaning over a railing, making a joke about how fun it would be if he made an ice ramp to slide down. You were at ease with him, and it always made him feel at peace with you.

"I do.”

“Do you take this ULTIMATE manly man Shoto to be your husband, to cherish in friendship and love today, tomorrow and for as long as the two of you live, to trust and honor him, to love him faithfully, through the best and the worst, whatever may come, and if you should ever doubt, to remember your love for each other and the reason why you came together with him this day?

You laugh at the redheads words, the audience does the same. You realize that no matter what anyone else saw him as, he was always your hero. Sure he's never saved you from a burning building, but he was the first to save you from just feeling alone. Whether it was a tutor, a cry session, or just some fun, he was always there for you. You want to always be there for him, and even if you can't do it perfectly, you promise that you'll always try.

“I do.”

"Well alright then, you two are officially married! You may now kiss the bride.”

You lunged at your now husband, completely forgetting that he was technically supposed to be kissing you. He didn’t mind it at all and returned your kiss with equal admiration and love. Though you two will probably continue to be complicated for the rest of your lives, you can at least do it together.

“Forever right?”

You smiled at him in tears, the audience was full of excitement and fervor but it all felt silent and peaceful to you. “Forever.”

#BNHA POCuties collab #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x black reader #bnha x poc!reader #boku no hero academia #tooth rotting fluff

151 notes · View notes

mopeytropey · 4 years ago

Photo

a beer buds series: chapter 10

author’s note: When I originally told my wife of the idea for this series, she immediately suggested an entire rewrite of 'a pleasant undoing' but told from Lexa's perspective. So I'm counting chapters 9 and 10 as honoring her wishes. The continuation of this series will reprise our almost strictly Lincoln + Lexa formula, but I'm not naive enough to think that at least 99% of you weren't going into this also hoping for some premium Clarke + Lexa content. (Forgive me for the deviation ... and the smut)

Timeline: essentially, we're just picking up where chapter 9 left off ...

Beer: Lil’ Heaven: Two Roads Brewing (Stratford, CT) SESSION IPA

Made with three exotic hops - Azacca, Mosaic and Equinox. Taste is of tropical fruits, specifically passion fruit, grapefruit and apricots. Finishes with just enough toasted malt character to balance.

ABV 4.8%

Posted on AO3 here, or below the cut:

:::

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

“I saw you two days ago.” Lexa affectionately rolls her eyes, nevertheless smiling while accepting an exaggerated hug from Lincoln as if they are reuniting after a long separation.

“Work doesn’t count. You’ve been completely off the radar for a week, socially speaking.”

They’ve met for an impromptu breakfast at a local diner not far from Lexa’s apartment. She’s back in her neighborhood for practicality reasons, having left the idyllic bubble of Clarke’s bedroom in order to do some loads of laundry. But, it’s also a nice excuse to see her friend.

Lincoln has already procured them steaming cups of coffee and a pair of red vinyl stools at the breakfast counter that faces the busy griddle top. He is grinning at her as they sit, awaiting her response.

“I’ve just been … busy,” she says, not even able to curb the bashful smile that follows as she removes her coat and hat.

Lexa pretends not to blush, knowing full well her time spent with Clarke has superseded any other social obligations as they have begun a long overdue exploration of new and exciting facets of their relationship.

Namely sex. A good portion of her week has, in fact, been absorbed by unspeakably good sex.

“Uh-huh,” Lincoln laughs warmly. “I wasn’t even sure you two had remembered how to physically separate at this point. Thought maybe Clarke would be joining us as well based solely on the fact that you two haven’t surfaced for anything other than work responsibilities in a full week.”

Lexa sips her coffee through a growing grin to prolong any acknowledgement of Lincoln’s playful accusation.

“Morning, hon’.” A familiar waitress says in passing, leaving two menus beside Lincoln’s coffee cup. “Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

“Thanks, Helen,” Lexa smiles. It’s not often that she indulges in big breakfast meals, preferring her protein smoothies or avocado toast, but Lexa has nevertheless fallen into a routine of frequenting the diner as a way of establishing new roots.

In her old Brooklyn borough it had been the Chilo’s taco bar where she and Anya would meet every Friday to decompress from the work week over carnitas tacos and cheap beer. In her new portside life in Massachusetts, it’s Angie’s Diner. The coffee is palatable, at best, but the atmosphere is welcoming and Lexa has always enjoyed seeing familiar faces when forced to dine alone. Helen’s gruff, New England endearments in a seasoned, smoker’s voice, have consistently been a comforting presence.

When the woman shuffles off to tend to the other, early morning diners, Lexa turns to see Lincoln still watching her expectantly. “Clarke had some tasks at Dockside to attend to, and I really need clean clothes.”

“And, you’re functioning okay in her absence? Breathing okay and everything?”

Lexa laughs at his continued teasing, but easily concedes to an honest answer. So much uninterrupted time spent in Clarke’s company, sharing the myriad truths about their feelings, has apparently begun to bleed into her other relationships as well.

Lexa has almost always been able to leave herself unguarded in Lincoln’s presence anyway.

“I’m probably more dysfunctional when she’s around, actually.”

Lincoln stifles a laugh around a sip of his coffee. “That sounds like a fair assessment. Everything’s going as well as expected then?”

“Yeah, it’s—” Lexa tries, and instantly fails, not to picture Clarke lathered and laughing in the shower while Lexa fights to stand beneath the warm, steaming spray; Clarke pressing her against the kitchen countertops with hands roaming while the coffee steeps; Clarke cuddling into her on the sofa with the lights dim and the TV volume low “—it’s been really good.”

“Oh no.”

“What?” Lexa smiles unsurely, eyes widening at Lincoln’s grave expression.

“What’s with the hesitation?”

“What hesitation? I did not hesitate.”

“I know that hesitation.” Lincoln narrows his gaze at her, dark eyes assessing for signs of Lexa’s concession. “What are you in your head about now?”

She really needs to stop associating with people who can read her like a book.

“Okay, fine,” Lexa exhales. She flips open the worn menu, its once glossy, laminate pages now dulled from years of loyal patronage. “I’m just adjusting to the intensity of it all.”

“You’ve made a major life change. Totally normal to feel overwhelmed,” Lincoln shrugs.

“I know. You’re right. I haven’t even slept at my apartment in almost a week.”

“And, this is somehow a bad thing?” Lincoln laughs.

“No, I have absolutely zero complaints,” Lexa clarifies. “But, we’re spending literally all of our free time together—and portions of our work days, too.”

Lincoln chuckles after another sip of coffee. “Also totally normal. In the beginning, Octavia used to impose all of these ridiculous sleepover schedules—like, spending three nights a week together is the maximum, or whatever—only to completely abandon her own, dumb rule and would end up sleeping at mine for weeks at a time.” Lincoln thinks better of it a second later and warns, “Don’t ever tell her I told you that.”

The legitimate fear she can see in his eyes makes her laugh, and suddenly she doesn’t feel quite so overwhelmed. “I’ve always considered it wise not to let on that I know just how obsessed Octavia is with you.”

“Smart woman,” Lincoln winks. “So, other than acclimating to new sleeping arrangements, what is it that’s stressing you out? You think you’re spending too much time together?”

“That’s the thing—I like being able to be with Clarke as much as possible. This past week, spending time with her, I’ve felt calmer and happier and more settled than I have in ages.”

Lincoln smiles so warmly, Lexa can feel it in her chest. “Don’t you think Clarke feels exactly the same way?”

“I’m pretty confident that Clarke enjoys having me around, yes. It’s not like she’s trying to kick me out of her house or anything yet.”

“But?”

“But, I keep wondering what the long-term implications are. Because the way that everything is changing between us: it feels … significant.”

“Yeah. That’s because you’re in l—”

Lexa looks away with a groan that drowns out the rest of Lincoln’s statement, rubbing a hand against her forehead. “Oh my god, please stop saying that.”

“Okay, okay,” Lincoln laughs. And then, after a moment while clearing his throat, he not-so-subtly reiterates: “But, you are.”

Lexa studiously ignores any truth in Lincoln’s playful accusation and further expounds, “I guess if anything is stressing me out, it’s not knowing if Clarke is experiencing something similar to what I am right now.”

“Knowing Clarke like I do, and having had the pleasure of a front row seat to all of this from day one, I can confidently assure you that she is right there with you. That being said, have you ever considered—I don’t know—asking her yourself instead of sitting here having a hypothetical conversation about it with me?”

“I do plan to speak with her about this,” Lexa assures an openly skeptical Lincoln. “I do.”

“I mean, you’re in the first week of a new relationship, Lex. I get it. That is usually not time that’s predominantly spent talking.”

Lexa is saved from her sudden flush of embarrassment by the return of their waitress, Helen, who kindly disregards the red tint on Lexa’s cheeks as she orders her scrambled eggs and rye toast.

“The point is,” Lincoln continues once their orders have been placed, “you guys have this really solid and established friendship going into this thing. In my experience, that can sort of push you ahead at a faster clip than you’re probably accustomed to in relationships.” He drains his coffee, placing it back onto the counter with a dull clink. “So, what would make you feel better about the rate at which you and Clarke are headed?”

Lincoln has a uniquely comforting way of simplifying Lexa’s life. He’s so genuine and forthcoming, and she could hug him again for all his supportive logic. Instead, she takes a deep breath to clear her head and pledges to hug him later.

“I want to be up front with her about where I see this going, to determine whether or not she and I are on the same page. I want her to know that I’m—”

“—in love with her?” Lincoln grins.

Lexa punches him, with unintentional force, and regrets it only when Helen—a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper curls and kind eyes—glances at them in mild concern as she refills their coffee. “I would ask if he’s bothering you, hon’, but I have a feeling you’re more than capable of handling yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I deserved that,” Lincoln assures their waitress, laughing at Lexa’s menacing scowl while rubbing his arm.

“I was going to say, I want Clarke to know that I’m not interested in dating anyone else.”

“Oh, right, right,” Lincoln nods, still smiling. “See, I just keep forgetting you two haven’t already been dating exclusively for, like, six months.”

“Why do I hang out with you again?”

For all her feigned exasperation, she is instantly wrapped up in an embrace, not unlike an older brother might lovingly harass his younger sibling. “Because you love me.” He pulls her in closely for a monstrous hug—right there at the diner counter—despite Lexa’s sharp elbow to his abdomen as she playfully fights against the forced affection.

:::

Clarke emerges from her silver Saab just as Lexa ambles across the snow-dusted gravel of the marina, icy rocks crunching beneath her boots. Cars are parked at odd, misfitted angles wherever they can find space between the boats set up on large blocks in their bright white winter wrappings. Clarke is wearing her plaid scarf and bulky winter parka, and Lexa’s chest tightens with equal amounts of excitement and trepidation at seeing her again after a short span apart.

“You should have let me pick you up,” Clarke says by way of a greeting.

“It’s not a bad walk from my apartment.”

Their breaths dissipate in the air between them after briefly appearing in frozen clouds. Lexa can feel her teeth about to chatter because the air on the water is properly freezing, but she attributes the chill along her spine to the nervous energy of being near Clarke.

Clarke’s gaze narrows in judgement. “Stubborn.”

“Those in glass houses,” Lexa counters, arching her brow in a way that brings that pleasant tint of blush to Clarke’s cheeks.

It could very well be the wind; except Lexa knows that it isn’t.

“Okay can we further reprimand each other once we’re inside where it’s warm?”

Clarke’s gloved hand wraps around her coat sleeve and tugs until they are both headed towards the blue front door of the coffee shop. A welcomed gush of warm air envelopes them instantly, and Lexa’s skin begins to tingle where the harsh winds had chilled her face. There isn’t much of a line, nor is the shop crowded with other people. The moderately-sized open room is sparse with patrons, enjoying their steaming drinks under natural lighting and softly playing music.

It’s been six days—not that Lexa has been meticulously keeping track, but it’s been six days—of near-constant kissing and unrestrained touch; of perpetual orgasms and an intentionally precise exploration of Clarke’s body; of general sensory overload when it comes to redefining her relationship with her best friend. Hardly a week has transpired since they began testing the waters of this mutual attraction, which has nevertheless consumed Lexa entirely.

Maybe it’s only been six days, an insignificant length of time under normal circumstances, but it feels much more weighted than that.

Between the kissing and the touching and the orgasms, nevermind the sudden influx of unveiled honesty, she can hardly keep her head above water. Her mind hasn’t stopped spinning since that first kiss on Clarke’s doorstep, and she’s only slightly concerned with contracting vertigo if they don’t stop and address what is happening between them sooner rather than later. Lexa needs to sit in a familiar, public space in the light of day with her best friend to discuss the implications on their relationship as it progresses at full tilt.

Lincoln’s advice rings in her ears as they enter the shop: just talk to Clarke.

“Hey, strangers!” A barista greets them happily as she and Clarke approach the cash register. Her name slips from Lexa’s memory, but Clarke returns her greeting for them both.

“Hey, Morgan.”

“Oh my god, I thought you two got lost at sea or something. We haven’t seen you in ages.” Morgan is young, perhaps just out of college, with bright pink hair and a septum piercing.

Clarke’s head shifts so that she can give Lexa a strange look, which Lexa promptly returns before offering a brief smile. “Oh, um, yeah. Just busy during the holidays,” Clarke answers.

Lexa gives her order and Clarke pays, brushing off Lexa’s insistence on paying her share. In seven months, if she’s learned anything, it is not to question Clarke’s generosity. They move to a deserted sofa beside an old wood stove fireplace to wait for their drinks and begin removing their coats and hats. Lexa’s toes begin to tingle and thaw within her leather boots as the heat from the fire permeates.

The harborside shop is the same as always: natural light streaming through the windows facing the water; a smattering of locally produced art hanging on brightly colored walls; and, a handful of other patrons sitting in mismatched furniture with computers or paperbacks. Everything is the same, except for her and Clarke.

They sit closely, quickly finding small, innocuous points of contact. Clarke tucks into one end of the sofa so that her knees rest gently against Lexa’s legs. Their hands seek touch as the barista delivers their drinks, separating only briefly to accept the steaming mugs and offer their gratitude. Once Morgan leaves them to attend other customers, Lexa falls into the comfort of their secluded, sun-drenched pocket of the shop.

“It’s so cold outside. I think my feet are still thawing.”

“It feels nice in here,” Lexa responds, smiling because Clarke inches closer to her anyway and she was only outside for under two minutes as it is.

Lexa senses a buzzing from her coat where it sits beside her and reaches into one of its deep pockets to check her phone. A text from Lincoln confirms their plans to meet up later for drinks. She types a quick, one-handed response before replacing her phone and returning her full attention to Clarke.

“Lincoln,” she explains, although Clarke doesn’t look poised to ask.

“Does he miss you already?”

Lexa laughs, shaking her head. “No, he’s not nearly as codependent as you.”

Clarke attempts to withdraw her fingers from where they are slotted between Lexa’s, but Lexa tightens her grasp with a widening grin at Clarke’s dropped jaw and feigned affront.

“Are you still hanging out later?”

“Yeah, he was just confirming the time.” Lexa’s thumb smooths across the back of Clarke’s hand in a slow, repetitive arch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Clarke shakes her head firmly. “No, this is your sacred time together—I can’t encroach on that.”

“It’s beers and appetizers, Clarke. I wouldn’t call it sacred.”

Clarke’s eyes widen dramatically. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

The empty threat makes Lexa smile again. They’ve always had a particular talent for banter, and the added layer of their recent sexual experiences makes it all the more delightful to trade taunts and harmless barbs.

“How was your laundry adventure?” Clarke asks while reaching for her coffee, and Lexa smirks.

“Thrilling.”

Despite her instincts to stay within reach of Clarke at all times as much as physically possible, there is also the issue of personal hygiene. In this case, it was Lexa’s growing pile of clothes that needed attending.

“And breakfast with Lincoln?”

She can’t tell Clarke how she is actually reconsidering a lifelong friendship with Lincoln because he had spent a majority of the morning brutally teasing her. To reveal that would require Lexa to also elaborate on his specific proclamations about her feelings for Clarke.

And so, Lexa tells her, “It was good.”

“You can always do laundry at mine, you know.”

“Is this just another ploy to keep me tethered to your house for longer intervals?”

An exasperated look flashes across Clarke’s face while she swallows down a mouthful of steaming coffee. “Yes. Have you not been paying attention at all over the past week?”

Lexa swallows through a grin of her own. There’s really only one, notable thing they’ve been engaged in over the past week, and to think of it now has Lexa’s face warming as she becomes acutely aware of Clarke’s proximity in a public space.

“I’ve been a little preoccupied lately.”

Light laughter escapes her as Lexa’s right hand fiddles the ribbing of Clarke’s sweater between her fingers. She is dressed in something off-white and oversized that cuts at a low vee below her neck so that Lexa’s eyes begin to wander to its shadowed opening. It’s a sweater she remembers from the time before—when all of Lexa’s cultivated interest in Clarke (including her wardrobe) was something unspoken and dutifully ignored.

Lexa remembers that Clarke had been dressed for a dinner at her mother’s house, and Lexa had been granted a chance encounter for quick minutes in which they danced around a thrumming attraction. She can feel it sparking in the air between them now, their pocket of relative privacy threatening to implode from the calculated looks Clarke is giving her.

“Busy week?” she further teases, eyeing Lexa’s blush over the rim of her coffee mug as she takes another sip.

Lexa purses her lips and narrows her gaze at Clarke’s self-satisfaction. “Exactly how much joy does it bring you to torture me?”

“So much,” Clarke laughs. She slips her fingers between Lexa’s so that they are loosely held together. “But only because you’re so adorable when you’re exasperated.”

“Flattery is supposed to absolve you?”

“Obviously.” Clarke rolls her eyes, bringing Lexa’s fingers to her mouth and brushing them quickly with a kiss.

With affections such as this, Lexa would forgive her of almost anything.

“So,” Clarke says through a sigh while bringing their joined hands to rest again on her knee. “What did you want to talk about?”

Now that Clarke has given her the floor, Lexa practically swallows her tongue in nervous vacillation. She had strategized a few, well-devised talking points during the process of cleaning her clothes, not to mention procuring some sound advice from Lincoln over breakfast, but sitting here in front of Clarke has made Lexa forget how to string together words and phrases to construct complete thoughts.

In a desperate attempt to find her resolve, she reaches for the cup of english black tea she’d ordered. Lexa takes her first sip, wishing she’d asked for a pinch more sugar but nevertheless hoping it will soothe her racing thoughts.

“I just wanted to … check in.”

Pathetically underwhelming start. Lincoln would be so disappointed. She takes another sip that is more like a gulp.

Clarke nods slowly. “Okay.”

“About us.”

“Okay,” Clarke repeats, her smile looking apprehensive at best.

“Our friendship has evolved significantly over the past week, and rapidly, at that. I just thought we should—” Lexa wavers and Clarke comes to her rescue.

“Check in?”

“Yeah,” Lexa nods.

“Okay. Are you—are you feeling okay about everything?”

Lexa begins to tangle her fingers around Clarke’s more fervently. “Things with you are almost too good.”

Clarke’s smile changes instantly, full and bright and genuinely pleased. “I feel the same. I’m actually feeling incredibly, fucking lucky, to put a finer point on it.”

“Good,” Lexa smiles, exhaling a modicum of relief. “I do too.”

“Oh my god, you had me scared.” Clarke leans back into the couch, dislodging their hands to run her fingers through her hair. “I thought you were going to say you want to date other people or something.”

“What? No.” Lexa’s breath has been lost to a vacuum of panic so that her ask is hardly audible. “Do you?”

“No! No. I’ve dated, Lexa. I’ve dated plenty,” Clarke laughs lightly, reaching for a surer hold on Lexa’s fingers. “But, you—I mean, you’re single for the first time in over three years. You must have thought about it.”

Not single, Lexa says to herself before thinking better of it and rephrasing aloud:

“Clarke, I could date a hundred women and none of them would be you.”

“Yes, I am fairly certain I’ve yet to be cloned.”

“Are you going to stop being a smartass so I can say this?” Lexa smiles in mock irritation.

“Sorry, sorry.” Clarke pinches her lips together, attentive. “Continue.”

“What I mean is, no one else would compare. I’ve never met anyone like you—this connection I feel with you, I’ve never experienced anything like it.” Lexa takes a breath, licking her lips before forging onward. “I can’t say where this is going, but I can say, unquestionably, that I have no interest in dating anyone else for the foreseeable future.”

The words leave her in a rush of honesty. It feels like she’s said too much too soon, but Clarke leans forward with a smile and Lexa interprets the gentle press of her lips as having said exactly the right thing.

“Do you think we can take these drinks to-go and finish this conversation elsewhere?” Clarke’s voice is pitched low and seductive, and Lexa senses a chill tingling at the back of her neck.

She resolves to stop doubting her honesty, if also to reconsider hanging out with Clarke in public spaces for a while until they can get their rampant sexual urges under control long enough to enjoy a cup of tea.

“Did you have a specific location in mind?” she grins in response as if the gleam in Clarke’s eyes isn’t a clear enough indication.

:::

Part 2

:::

The sex is consistently noteworthy, and Lexa had never really doubted that she and Clarke would be compatible in that way, but so is the intimacy alongside it. Lexa has never before distinguished between the two so markedly. But, with Clarke, the intimacy is so distinct. When she is coming around Clarke’s fingers, letting her watch the strains of pleasure in her face and shoulders, Lexa registers the vulnerability of being caught in Clarke’s gaze as an orgasm ricochets through her.

Ordinarily, a week into any new relationship and Lexa would still be clinging to well-practiced safeguards. She would be withholding some parts of herself for safekeeping and ultimate preservation should things go sideways.

But, not with Clarke.

She likes that Clarke watches her so carefully. The way that she feels when held by Clarke’s gaze is a kind of certain safety that Lexa hasn’t known before. She kisses Clarke fully, holding nothing back as the pulsating aftershocks of her orgasm begin to ebb. When Clarke slowly removes her fingers, Lexa bites Clarke’s lip, swallowing the soft moan that follows.

“Does this mean you want to be exclusive?” Lexa asks, still breathless, when their lips have parted.

She feels Clarke’s laughter against her face before she’s being kissed again. “Yes, you idiot.”

“Good. Because I want to take you out.”

“Tonight?”

“Not tonight. It’s going to require some planning. I’d like it to be a proper date.”

Clarke’s elation is instantly visible. “Okay. I’m going to be honest, I’m highly intrigued to find out what a proper Lexa date looks like.”

Lexa kisses her again and considers, not for the first time, if she’ll be able to stop now that she’s started. Clarke’s warm tongue and soft lips are now vital to Lexa’s existence. She craves the sensation of their mouths sliding together at random intervals throughout her days.

“Kissing you has not been a disappointment,” she says, bringing more of Clarke’s bright laughter as they shift their limbs to reposition against the mattress.

Clarke’s leg wraps around her waist as Lexa brushes stray hair from Clarke’s face where they now lay facing side-by-side. “Oh, my god, I’ll second that. I knew you would be a good kisser.”

“Did you?” Lexa smiles at the confession. She likes that Clarke had thought of her in similar ways. She had not been the only one lost in questionably scandalous daydreams over the course of their friendship.

“Yes. I may have thought about it, once or twice.”

“I had a pretty good feeling about your talents as well.”

It’s such a simple, shared admission that nevertheless makes Lexa’s heart trip in its rhythm. “And now, I think about it constantly.”

For that, she is rewarded with another press of Clarke’s lips. “Me too. I’m pretty sure I’m regressing into a terrible excuse for a restaurant manager as a result of constant distraction.”

“And the bar for your professionalism was already set so low as it is.”

“Hey!” For that she gets a finger plunged sharply between her ribs, and Lexa squirms away from Clarke’s violent tickling.

“I’m kidding. You are an elite and respected paragon of your field.”

“You’re damn right I am,” Clarke affirms with pride.

“Honestly, I was so lost in thought the other day, I dropped a six pack on my foot.”

“Lexa!” Clarke laughs, kissing Lexa again anyway. “Oh no.”

“No permanent damage,” Lexa smiles. “Can I tell you what else I really like?”

Clarke could not look more delighted. “Yes, please.”

“I really like your sweater.”

“Wait—which sweater?”

Lexa props up onto an elbow, separating their warm skin as she casts her eyes around the room before locating the sweater in question. It sits near the foot of the bed where it had been discarded moments before. “That one,” she says. “It looks really good on you.”

Clarke seems both surprised and amused by the compliment. “Come here.”

Lexa allows herself to be pulled closer when Clarke wraps both hands around the back of her neck and their limbs slot back into place. They kiss lazily as if time doesn’t exist while Lexa’s hands begin to drift along the pathways she has started to chart across Clarke’s skin.

“I like seeing you in such a good mood,” Clarke eventually tells her.

“The effect of midafternoon orgasms cannot be underrated.” The frank sentiment makes Clarke laugh again as she rests their foreheads together and begins smoothing over Lexa’s skin with the tips of her fingers. “Also, I like being able to tell you things—things I wouldn’t have been able to say before.”

“I like when you tell me things.” Clarke tucks a strand of loose curls around Lexa’s ear. “Anything else in that busy head of yours you feel like sharing?”

Three words ring prominently in Lexa’s ears, and she fully blames Lincoln’s stupid taunting for the sentiment being at the forefront of her mind. It has nothing to do with the soft, swirling blue of Clarke’s eyes, or the subtle tilt of her mouth, or the fact that Lexa has memorized the sound of Clarke’s laugh. She swallows roughly and presses her lips to Clarke’s, sealing the unspoken words between them for good measure.

She instead tells Clarke a different truth, “I’m feeling much better since we talked.”

“I’m glad,” Clarke smiles. “I feel better, too.” She runs a hand down Lexa’s arm, finding her fingers.

“I was sort of anxious to say anything,” Lexa admits, feeling brave while cocooned in Clarke’s bed despite her earlier insecurities. She had worried, yet again, about saying too much. There was always the risk of Clarke pulling away if Lexa revealed too much. “I spent at least two days debating with myself.”

Clarke’s exaggerated surprise results in Lexa’s quiet giggles. “No, you did? You tortured yourself for days with unnecessary internal debates? That is highly out-of-character, Lexa.”

“You really are a lot more like Lincoln than I ever realized.”

Clarke’s laughter somehow brings them closer together, and Lexa shifts her legs where they are staggered between Clarke’s. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And, I’m glad you finally talked to me about this. I mean, I wasn’t totally expecting you to propose in the way that you did, but—”

“Clarke.” Lexa buries her face into the pillow and clenches her eyes to stave off her creeping mortification. So much for embracing her honesty.

Of course, Clarke is endlessly humored by watching Lexa suffer and only continues her assault on Lexa’s heartfelt admission. “I mean, correct me if I’m misquoting, but you said: ‘for the foreseeable future,’ which basically translates into asking me to date you, but like, forever.”

“Oh my god,” Lexa mumbles, her face still pressed into the soft cotton of Clarke’s pillowcase.

Clarke is not deterred by Lexa’s mounting humiliation, pressing kisses full of laughter into her neck and shoulder until Lexa finally turns to face her. Using the leverage of her leg wrapped around Lexa’s hips, Clarke has since wrestled her onto her back.

“See?” she says, running an index finger down the slope of Lexa’s nose and effectively smoothing the furrow of embarrassment between her eyebrows. “So adorable.”

It’s hard to keep hold of her ire when Clarke is naked above her and straddling her hips. Perhaps Clarke knows this as well because even as she shifts imperceptibly, Lexa feels it straight through her core. Her hands come to rest on the tops of Clarke’s thighs, and though she senses a residual scowl tugging at her lips, most of her regret for being too honest has faded.

“I’m sorry for making fun,” Clarke says while her thumbs rub circular patterns on Lexa’s ribs.

Lexa has never seen anyone look less apologetic in her life. “I would be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t actively trying not to laugh.”

“No, no, I’m serious,” Clarke reiterates, although she is fully laughing now. She clears her throat, aiming valiantly for composure. “What you said was so sweet, and, I mean, in case you couldn’t tell, I sort of plan on dating you for a really long time, too.”

Lexa fights her own smile rather poorly. “Well, that’s very convenient.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Clarke nods.

It’s the perfect segue into more unrestrained fondling, more languid kisses, and Clarke seems to be on the same wavelength as she leans her weight onto her hands and begins to roll her hips. It’s easier falling into this rhythm when for six days they have perpetually cycled the same routine: intimate talks bookended by multiple orgasms that are interspersed with brief intervals reserved for sleep and nourishment.

Lexa gasps into their first kiss from their well-timed movements—the feeling of them sliding together in that way has a heated sensation building quick and low. Just the pressure of Clarke on top of her and the way her slow, purposed movements are hitting Lexa in the all the right spots, has her close to a second orgasm in minutes.

She can hear Clarke’s breathing accelerate as well, the forced puffs of air through her nose that Lexa feels against her cheeks as their kisses grow more urgent. Clarke’s hand moves first, skating down Lexa’s abdomen as she lifts her hips to slide her fingers towards Lexa’s clit. It’s been no more than twenty minutes since her last orgasm, but Lexa’s body instantly responds to the circulating pressure of Clarke’s fingers moving against her.

They are still figuring things out, learning how the other responds to physical arousal, but this—Clarke on top of her, easily working her towards climax with deft fingers and filthy, open-mouth kisses—will do the trick every, single time. Lexa could probably come with much less stimulation at this point, when brushing touches while fully clothed are sometimes too much for her to function. Never mind the visual currently hovering over her—Clarke’s bouncing chest, grinding hips, and blown pupils. An image of her fingers sunk into Clarke in this position is enough to send Lexa over the edge. Her back arches off the mattress as the orgasm rolls up her spine, and Lexa catches her breath only after Clarke starts kissing her again.

A familiar dilemma has Lexa torn between using her hands or her mouth as the tingling sensations of her own orgasm have barely begun to fade. In the end, her urgency to feel Clarke’s arousal, and see it to completion, has Lexa moving a hand between their bodies to slide eager fingers into Clarke’s folds. There will always be time later to bury her face between Clarke’s legs.

Her breath always stutters at that first touch—it’s slick and warm and Clarke groans appreciatively when Lexa extends two fingers just as Clarke sinks onto Lexa’s hand. That she is open and intimate with Clarke in a way she never thought possible has not fully registered as her new reality, and for a brief second, Lexa’s mind goes blank.

In another breath, Lexa shifts, guiding Clarke to change her position just enough that she can take one of Clarke’s nipples into her mouth. The quick suction and slow laps of her tongue produce a groan from Clarke that Lexa will be thinking about days later.

“Fuck, Lexa,” Clarke pants, her hips now thrusting quicker against Lexa’s hand, pressing harder against her fingers as they slide in an out.

Clarke’s arms shift, palms flat against the mattress on either side of Lexa’s head where she is still holding her weight.

“Are your arms getting tired? Do you want to switch positions?” Lexa absently moves her hand that had been massaging one of Clarke’s breasts to lightly hold her bicep.

“No.” Clarke smiles and kisses her softly, in direct contrast to the way she is currently riding Lexa’s fingers. “You’re very sweet, but I’m good.”

“Okay, good. Because I’m really appreciating this view,” Lexa grins, moving her hand again to swipe a thumb across Clarke’s nipple.

“Do you think you can—”

She doesn’t let Clarke finish, relying instead on her still-developing intuitions, and takes the other nipple into her mouth.

“Yes, fuck.”

Lexa celebrates her victory of predicting Clarke’s needs by altering the position of her hand to reach Clarke’s clit with her thumb, the result of which has Clarke nearly collapsing onto her as her elbows buckle and her hips jerk forward. Lexa finds a well-practiced rhythm after that and works Clarke all the way to climax until the movement of her hips becomes erratic and she is no longer able to string together coherent profanity.

The comedown is soft and fun, quiet giggles and breathless kisses. Clarke collapses onto the mattress beside her, arms and legs finally relieved of their tension, and Lexa curls onto her side so that she can rest a hand onto Clarke’s stomach where she lies flat on her back.

Lexa is so content, she feels like her body might levitate in a boneless mass above the bed. Clarke’s breathing is still coming to rest, and Lexa watches her hand rise and fall with each inhale and exhale.

Into the greying stillness of the bedroom, Clarke asks, “Hey, what time are you supposed to meet Lincoln?”

The serenity Lexa had felt shatters in an instant. “Oh shit!” She flails about for a moment in search of her phone, having completely forgotten about her plans. “What time is it?”

She locates her phone before Clarke can answer. It’s already half past three, and Lexa’s stomach plummets. The text from Lincoln says: where you at?

“Are you late?” Clarke has come to sit behind her where Lexa’s legs hang off the mattress near the bedside table where she’d found her phone. Lexa feels soft kisses against her shoulderblade. “What did he say?”

Below Lincoln’s text is a picture of two full pints of beer sitting on a bar counter. She holds her phone at an angle so that Clarke can see Lincoln’s texts.

Lexa runs a hand through her hair as her heart hammers from the sudden jolt of adrenaline. “Shit.”

More than the shame of accidentally standing up one of her closest friends, Lexa dreads the fallout of this enormous misstep because Lincoln is never going to let her live this down. Worse yet, there is a good chance that he’ll share the story with Anya, which will mean, essentially, Lexa can never again return home.

“Why don’t you get dressed and go? I can drop you off,” Clarke offers sweetly, still pressing reassuring kisses along her back.

“I’m going to ask him if we can reschedule,” Lexa decides.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Lexa answers, turning her head to smile at Clarke over her shoulder. “I don’t

really feel like putting on pants at the moment.”

Clarke kisses her shoulder cap and grins in return. “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

“Let me give him a call really quickly.” Lexa reaches for a shirt on the floor—something of Clarke’s she’d worn to bed the night before—and stands to slip it over her head. Something about calling a close friend while completely naked and still coming down from an orgasm makes her slightly uncomfortable.

“Take your time,” Clarke tells her, also rising from the unkept sheets and blankets to pull her hair back into its messy bun. “I’m going to go downstairs and reheat our drinks from earlier.” She tugs at the hem of Lexa’s tee shirt and places a kiss at the corner of her mouth on her way to the bathroom. “Do you want a snack, too?”

“Okay.”

Lexa grins, following after Clarke’s lips as she starts to move away. A soft hold on her wrist is enough encouragement for Clarke to lean up into another kiss, reminding Lexa just how shaky her legs still feel from their exertions in bed. Perhaps sustenance to replenish her blood sugar is necessary instead of relying solely on a steady drip of oxytocins.

Lexa appreciates the view of Clarke’s retreating backside even in the fading light of the bedroom as the sun has started to move towards the horizon. She runs a hand through her wild curls and exhales, preparing to make her phone call while perched on the edge of the mattress.

Lincoln answers on the first ring. “Hey, buddy. Did you get lost?”

“Something like that,” Lexa says. “Clarke and I went for coffee, and then I sort of … lost track of time.”

“Say no more,” Lincoln laughs. “It’s your turn to ditch me for a girl now, right? I hope the sex was worth it.”

The fact that she is wearing nothing more than a thin tee shirt has Lexa covering her face with her hand. “Lincoln, I didn’t—”

His laughter persists, and Lexa wonders how loud it must be within the confines of the bar. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s totally fine. Honestly, I’d be more upset if you weren’t standing me up for time with Clarke right now.”

“I’m really sorry, Linc. I can be down there in like fifteen minutes.”

“Don’t you dare.” For the first time since he’s answered the call, Lincoln’s voice takes on a serious tone. “I swear to god, if you show up here, I’m frogmarching your ass right back to Clarke’s house.”

“Okay, fine,” Lexa laughs. “Let’s hang out early next week though. Beers on me.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m serious. I actually ran into some people from the gym plus the rep from Two Roads is here doing a tasting—I’m good, I promise.”

“I’m going to make this up to you,” Lexa reiterates. Despite Lincoln’s assurances, her guilt does not fully dissipate.

Clarke chooses this moment to step out of the bathroom, wearing just as much clothing as when she’d gone in, and Lexa’s brain lags at the sight. Her expression seems to be asking if everything is okay, and Lexa smiles in response.

“Lex, would you stop? Tell Clarke I said hi, and I’ll see you at work on Monday. Oh, hey, ask her if she’s tried the new session IPA from Two Roads. It’s intensely enjoyable.”

“Okay. I will.” She smiles up at Clarke, who has stopped to stand in front of her after slipping into a tee shirt and sweatpants. Lexa’s hand settles on Clarke’s hip like a magnet snapping into place. “Clarke says hi, too.”

“Sorry, Lincoln!” Clarke says, projecting her voice towards the receiver while tucking strands of curls behind Lexa’s ear. “It’s all my fault.”

There is more laughter down the line before Lincoln reiterates that everything is fine and he could never actually be angry with either of them.

:::

“So, since when do you source your unhealthy caffeine intake from elsewhere?”

“Huh?” Clarke smiles.

They’ve taken up seats at Clarke’s kitchen island with their reheated drinks from the coffee shop and Clarke’s version of a snack: smoked turkey and cheddar sandwiches on toasted potato rolls with homemade aioli.

They’re both wearing slightly altered versions of the same outfit—soft tee shirts and loose sweatpants, Clarke’s cut off into shorts so that Lexa’s fingers are continuously tempted to trail across all of the exposed skin within reach.

She sips her tea and returns Clarke’s smile.

“The barista at the coffee shop seemed shocked to see you,” she clarifies. “Don’t you practically pay rent there by spending so much of your time buying their coffee?”

For a brief moment, Clarke can’t seem to find her voice. She practically chokes on her sandwich, taking longer than expected to swallow her first bite. Lexa raises an eyebrow expectantly as their drinks emit swirling strands of steam into the air between them.

“I—I could ask you the same,” Clarke volleys back, not unkindly, as she dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin and reaches for her coffee. “Morgan seemed just as surprised to see you there.”

Lexa bites her lip and looks away. She had asked out of genuine curiosity and confusion, and now it seems yet another bout of confessions is forthcoming.

She clears her throat. “Do you have any beer, actually?”

Clarke laughs lightly before shifting her expression into something like mild offense.

“Um, hi. My entire existence is practically centered around craft beer—do you even know me?”

“Right,” Lexa laughs. “Stupid question. Would you like one?”

“Again: do you even know me?”

Lexa starts to slide off her stool with a bright smile that belies the low buzz of nerves she is withstanding as an unspoken conversation simmers between them. Clarke is dislodging their legs from where they had sat in a close tangle at the island. “Stay,” she directs her, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll get them.”

Once Lexa has pulled open the fridge door, she turns to look at Clarke over her shoulder. “Do you have a preference? Lincoln was asking if you’d tried the new IPA from Two Roads.”

“Are you actively avoiding answering my question by distracting me with beer inquiries?”

Lexa pinches her lips together to ward off a sheepish admission, and Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately. “Look on the left hand side, bottom shelf.”

Lexa ducks down to retrieve two brightly colored cans of IPA before closing the fridge door and returning to the island. “Not to split hairs, but technically, you avoided my question first.”

“Okay, fine,” Clarke sighs dramatically. She takes one last dreg from her coffee before shoving it away in favor of the can of beer Lexa has just opened for her. “I was—” Clarke actually ducks her head so that Lexa can see her thick eyelashes fluttering “—I was afraid I would run into you during the, uh, when we—”

“Broke up?” Lexa supplies. She is still holding a small smile for Clarke when blue eyes finally snap up to meet hers.

It had felt like that. A relationship ending—a significant one at that. And, Lexa had been left broken in the aftermath.

“I was going to say when we stopped talking,” Clarke continues. “But, it was more than that. It did feel like a break up. And, we didn’t decide anything—I cut communications all on my own.”

“Clarke—”

“I’m really sorry, Lexa.”

Lexa is already shaking her head, part disbelief at what she’s hearing, part exasperation that Clarke has mistakenly absorbed all of the blame.

“Clarke, I know you have this bizarre obsession with always being right, but I can assure you—what happened in November was all on me.”

“I just vanished, Lexa. I didn’t even tell you why or allow you to explain anything.” Clarke’s eyes are downcast and her voice softens in unmistakable regret as she fiddles the silver tab on her beer. “I freaked out and hid away. And, it was really shitty.”

Lexa can’t help the way her mind creates distinctions between Clarke and Costia—the contrast of Costia’s distance from their relationship to Clarke’s sudden disappearance. With Costia, it had often felt like abandonment and disregard. The space between them had been a disappointment, a mild discomfort that Lexa sustained over time. Losing Clarke—and it had felt like that, as if she turned around one day and panicked to find Clarke had vanished—left her devastated and painfully bereft.

“Not seeing you was horrible. Not being able to talk to you was even worse. But, I’m glad you stepped back and took that space. It was shitty, but not because you did anything wrong.”

“I hated not seeing you, too,” Clarke admits, and they share another small smile across the kitchen island, tinged with a distant, remembered sadness.

“I couldn’t avoid Dockside, contractually, but I—I didn’t want to encroach upon your other spaces.”

“So, you stopped going to the coffee shop.”

Lexa confirms with a short nod and takes the first sip of her beer. She’s glad they’ve had this talk, but she’s also more than eager to segue out of November’s gloom that is better left in the past. She takes a cleansing breath and sets down her beer.

“In the end, I was glad you created that barrier between us, Clarke. I was miserable, and Lincoln will tell you that I was insufferable to be around, but it made me realize what a massive idiot I’d been.”

Her admission elicits an actual laugh, and Clarke shakes her head fondly. “So much for that Ivy League education.”

There’s a lot more that could be said, and it’s a much longer conversation that they will likely parse out at some point. But, today has been exceptionally good, and Lexa isn’t quite ready to lose the momentum of their good moods. Even for the sake of honesty.

“I’m a slow learner,” Lexa shrugs.

“Based on the activities that occurred in my bedroom this afternoon, I can attest to that being entirely untrue,” Clarke says, voice pitched low and taunting.

At the return of Clarke’s brazen flirting and sly smile, Lexa ducks her head as her cheeks warm. Because, despite the fact that they have spent a good portion of the afternoon swapping orgasms, she still sees Clarke as her best friend, in many ways, who she has only recently had the distinct pleasure of seeing naked.

“I’m sort of a quick study in that department,” Lexa smirks.

“I’ve noticed,” Clarke laughs. They sip their beers in weighted silence for a few beats, sharing glances as they drink, and then Clarke adds to the mounting tension by asking, “So, when do I get to hear more about this date?”

“The details of the date itself are highly classified,” Lexa explains in all seriousness, despite her stomach swooping.

“Classified, huh?” Clarke laughs into another sip of beer.

“Do I honestly strike you as someone who is going to halfass a first date?”

“You don’t strike me as a person who has halfassed anything in their entire life.”

“Correct,” Lexa smiles. She shifts smoothly along the island’s edge until she is again stood on the same side as Clarke, who accepts Lexa’s proximity with a slow-spreading smile. “You know, I could potentially be persuaded to provide a sneak peek of some post-date activities,” she offers, already moving to enter Clarke’s space more fully as their drinks are gingerly slid a good distance away.

She slowly spins Clarke’s stool just enough that she can slot between her legs, and Clarke is already leaning into the touch as Lexa’s hands curve around her jaw. The kiss is like regaining breath after being submerged under water. Their conversation on past events hadn’t been strenuous, by any means, but Lexa registers a sense of relief to have resumed their previous activities all the same.

She sinks into the warmth of Clarke’s lips and tongue, exhaling after several, languid moments. When her hands move to slide up the length of Clarke’s thighs, eliciting a distinctly strained exhale as Lexa teases her fingers beneath the cut-off edge of Clarke’s shorts, it’s abundantly clear where they’re both headed.

They make it as far as the sofa.

Lexa can’t be bothered to maneuver the stairs when there are so many other available surfaces on which to make Clarke slowly shake apart. She does so on her knees while making good on her earlier intents to spend a long stretch of time between Clarke’s legs. The last shards of sunlight are nearly gone, leaving them in golden shadows and dim light from the kitchen while Clarke moans soft encouragements and cards her fingers through Lexa’s hair. There is no rush, no urgency, hardly a sense of time moving at all. Lexa feels calm and confident, content to bring Clarke closer to release at a measured pace as she begins to gently rock against the pressure of Lexa’s tongue. Everything feels languid and slow, like running through water.

It’s not lost on her, as Clarke’s orgasm eventually echoes through the quiet house, heels pressing into her back and Clarke’s fingers threaded into her hair, that this very sofa had been the impetus for their time apart. The innocence of that encounter, as she and Clarke gave in to the comforts of shared sleep, had propelled them toward a shift in their relationship. Looking back, everything that has transpired between them since that singular event seems inevitable.

Falling asleep with Clarke that first time had been rife with implications that they would eventually end up right back here: a cozy, nondescript, weekend night spent on Clarke’s couch with nowhere to go.

The insignificance of an otherwise mundane Saturday is outweighed by the way Lexa’s mouth curves into an easy smile as she kisses the warm skin of Clarke’s inner thigh. Clarke is coming down from the aftershocks of a slow-rolling orgasm when Lexa registers a sharp uptick in her heart rate as they lock eyes while Clarke is still catching her breath.

And, this too holds weight—for all their recent honesty, there are still things Lexa has left unsaid.

“Get up here,” Clarke gently demands. Lexa complies without pause.

Clarke’s sated and satisfied groans melt into scratched laughter that dovetails with their kiss, and the magnitude of what Lexa feels is underscored as their mouths meet.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Clarke tells her some breath of time later, when Lexa has moved from the floor to the sofa at Clarke’s urging. “If this type of activity is in the cards for date night, I don’t really give a shit what the actual date itself looks like.”

They lay along the length of the sofa, limbs over lapping at certain intervals, and Lexa’s hand flat against Clarke’s stomach beneath her tee shirt.

“Good to know I can scale back my efforts,” Lexa smirks, feeling no less satisfied that she has reduced Clarke’s expectations with one, albeit exemplary, late-afternoon orgasm.

Clarke’s laughter echoes Lexa’s contentment, and her smile grows. She can feel the subtle shaking of Clarke’s diaphragm beneath her fingertips.

“This has been such a good day,” Clarke says, adding further reinforcement to Lexa’s equally satisfied mood. “I really like having your here. Have I mentioned that?”

Lexa grins into Clarke’s close gaze and presses her lips to the edges of Clarke’s smile. “Once or twice.”

“Lincoln is the kindest, most-deserving creature on the planet, but I’m really glad you stayed here instead. Just this once.”

Lexa’s contented smile slips and she nearly groans as her head falls onto the armrest. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke laughs.

“I pride myself in being reliable—no excuses. If I say I’ll be there, I’ll be there. Especially when it comes to Lincoln or Anya.” Lexa exhales and glances up to find Clarke’s eyes. “The fact that I neglected our plans for—”

“The best sex of your life?” Clarke supplies with swagger. Lexa’s smile returns without her consent. “I mean, you looked like you were about to say: the best sex of your life.”

As laughter bubbles up from her chest, it vanquishes Lexa’s lingering criticisms about her snap decision to break plans with Lincoln. Clarke’s commentary is a reductive synopsis, at best, but also not entirely untrue. “Yes. Something like that.”

A beat of silence passes and then Clarke says, “If you’re worried he’s going to give you a hard time about breaking plans, wait until you tell him you proposed.”

She buries her face against Clarke’s shoulder to the delighted rasp of Clarke’s giggling laughter and concludes, yet again, that it is the absolute best sound in the world, even at her own expense.

:::

#a pleasant undoing #brewkru!#a beer bud series #clexa fic

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