#because fic is made of spillage! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

incorrectjane-andthedragon · 2 years ago

Text

Dragonblade Vampire! AU fic

So a little while ago in the JATD Discord, there was a joke flying around that Robert, Haroldus and Sir Theodore were vampires.

I may have taken this joke and ran with it.

This is a vampire fic, so it deals with some pretty heavy stuff, like death (of a loved one/family member), trauma, violence, lots and lots of blood, saliva, animal death, animal abuse/harm, starvation and imprisonment.

The pearly white eggshell reflected the light of the sputtering torch, the only source of light in the cave. Because of this light, it was plain to see that the eggshell was untouched. Pristine.

The blade of a dagger gently touched the shell, applying light pressure, slowly and steadily, until the shell’s pristine perfection became marred by a thin crack that slowly spread, cleaving the shell in two.

The egg suddenly rocked with movement.

The dagger was snatched away.

“It’s closer to hatching than we thought.” A man muttered. Usually, they remained perfectly still until the moment of removal.

Another man grunted in frustration as the egg rocked again. Bits of the shell fell away, a slitted eye peered at them.

More rocking.

A low chirping sound began to come from the egg as the baby dragon inside slowly poked its head out.

It was a beautiful thing- thin, dark green scales that gleamed like gemstones, striking, slitted green eyes.

It chirped again, turning its head slowly on its long neck.

What was it looking for? Its mother? Its father?

Well, if that was the case, then it would never find them.

“I wish we’d found it earlier.” Someone murmured. “Would’ve been easier that way.”

“Sacrifices must be made.” Someone said coldly and numbly in response.

The baby dragon chirped again. It stretched its neck out further, still searching. Its tiny needle-sharp claws broke the shell, and it fell out onto its belly, its jaw hitting the ground with a hard and horrible crack.

It closed its eyes and let out a keening squeal of pain that reverberated through the cave, piercing the eardrums, and likely the hearts, of the men watching silently.

“Shhhh.” One man rasped, reaching for the baby dragon at last. “Soon, it won’t hurt anymore. Shhh. Shhhh.” Using both hands, he roughly grabbed its sides, not seeming to care about its thin and fragile wings.

It squealed in disagreement, beginning to thrash.

The man opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it and gritted his teeth, exhaling sharply.

He began to lift up the baby dragon.

“Do you want your dagger?”

“No. It’s moving too much. It’d keep thrashing-too much risk of excess spillage.”

“I see.”

“I’m going to have to do this the old fashioned way.”

He lifted the still squealing creature until the curve of its back was to his face, its long, thin tail whipping against his chest. He then adjusted the thing until its swinging neck was to his lips.

With surprising gentleness, he pressed his lips to its neck.

Then he opened his jaw and bit down.

The other men watched, silently counting the sips of dragon blood he took and waiting for their turn. Soon, it was their turn, and by the time they had all drunk their fill, there was nothing left to drink. The dragon had gone utterly motionless.

There were footsteps, a rustling sound.

“What are you doing?” The man who had bit the dragon asked.

One of the men was rustling through the eggshells.

“Looking for anything else.”

“You’re going to drink the egg…fluids?”

“It might be worth it.”

“All right, meet us outside.”

The men departed into the night, one holding the limp dragon corpse under one arm.

The cave was completely silent, save for the sound of faint breathing, slurping, licking, and smacking lips.

Jane woke up in a cold sweat, heart in her throat. There was a bitter taste in her mouth, as if she was the one who had been drinking the baby dragon’s blood. She sat up and shook her head, trying to shake those images from her mind.

She’d had her fair share of dragon-related dreams over the years, the byproduct of years of passion, but there had never been anything even close to this.

She resisted the urge to hide under the covers like a young child and got out of bed. It was just a dream.

There wasn’t supposed to be anything unusual happening today, so Jane hoped that the familiarity would soothe her.

But tragically, she found the stress caused by the dream replaced by a new anxiety.

As she trained with Sir Theodore, she found that his movements rapidly switched from being much slower and stiffer than usual to so quick and tense they were almost manic.

He’s just simulating the feeling of fighting an unfamiliar foe on the battlefield. She told herself. He’s just pretending for the sake of training.

But the strange look in his eyes was very real.

------

The message he’d received from Haroldus about his impending arrival had made Theodore acutely aware of his worsening hunger.

He’d been foolish. He’d thought he could push his limits once more, like he’d done all the time when he was younger.

But his breaking point was getting lower and lower as he started to weaken with age.

It had been too long since he’d last been fed.

Anyone in the castle was off-limits. Anything? Well, there was that pig, but even if he left it relatively unharmed in the feeding process, Smithy would notice right away if something was wrong. There were other animals he could try for, like the local cows. It would be a hassle, but he could do it.

I really am getting soft. He bitterly chided himself. Feeding off of cows, a hassle? Back in the day I could drain a man of all the blood in his body as easily as breathing.

Well, that was an exaggeration. Draining a human of all their blood at once was considered a last resort to prevent starvation after an extended period of desperation. He’d come close to that point more times than he wanted to admit, and the memory of trembling with that weakness and terror still cut deep.

Soon. He told himself as he sparred with Jane. They made eye contact, briefly. His eyes involuntarily traveled to the veins on her hands, beginning to bulge from the physical activity.

She would give you her blood if you asked.

He swallowed hard, and wanted to turn his own sword on himself. He could never ask such a thing of her.

Why not? The unwanted thought continued, he was beginning to think of it as the voice of his hunger.

Theodore had heard many stories of vampires over the years, and many of them described a vampire drinking the blood of a willing victim as something…sensual. In reality, this was not always the case. Anyone who loved a vampire in any capacity could willingly give them their blood. Human family members, friends, comrades. Theodore had drunk the blood of all of those people on multiple occasions, but they’d all been adults. Drinking the blood of his young apprentice would just feel wrong. The breaking of some unspoken boundary.

They finished sparring, which came as a relief. He cleaned himself up, asked the king for permission to run an errand, then followed the sound of cows mooing as they grazed.

-----

“Jane?” Dragon asked, flying by her room like he usually did, landing in a way that was so graceless it felt graceful in its own strange way.

“Yes, Dragon?” she asked, scratching his snout a little as he poked his head through her window. His scales were thick, not at all like the baby dragon’s. She repressed the memory.

“You look terrible. Your face is all white.” Dragon continued bluntly. “Did you sleep well last night?”

“Is that all you came to ask me about?” She asked, both annoyed and appreciating his concern.

“Well, sort of, I had a really strange dream last night.”

Jane’s heart plummeted.

“So you had a strange dream too?” Of course he could tell she was trying to hide her unease, she could hardly hide it from anyone, let alone her best friend.

“Uh, yes.”

“What was it about?” Dragon’s yellow eyes bored into hers, she thought he could see her memory of the dead baby dragon.

“What was your dream about?” she asked gently. Please, let it have been about something like a three-legged cow being discovered.

“Well, there was a cow.”

Oh, thank goodness-

“And it was hurt, in a way I’ve never seen before. I flew closer to try and get a better look at it, but as I watched it, a shortlife saw me, his mouth coated in cow blood. He got scared of me and started running. He was running towards the castle. I knew he had something to do with the hurt cow, so I flew after him. Then I hit the cave wall with my tail and woke up.”

Jane nodded slowly. “That is a very alarming dream. But it is just a dream. Nothing to worry about.” She rubbed his snout reassuringly.

Dragon’s mouth twitched. “One of the strangest parts is, I remember the shortlife’s face very clearly. It was a man, one I’ve never seen in the waking world. I think- I think if I saw him again I would recognize him.”

“What did he look like?”

“He was youngish and tall, with very sharp teeth almost like a bat’s.”

“Well, there are plenty of shortlife men who are youngish and tall, but batlike teeth? I think he was just a figment of your imagination.”

“What about you? What was your strange dream about?”

Jane took a deep breath. “It was very scary. I saw-”

There was a knock at the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s Sir Theodore.” Jester said, sounding uncharacteristically serious. “He came back from his errand with a stranger in tow. I’m not sure what’s…something is going on.”

----

“Are you mad at me?” Haroldus whispered as Theodore led him through the castle. To the dungeon.

“No.” Theodore growled.

“It’s not like you to tell lies, even little ones. You’re mad at me.”

“All right, fine. I am frustrated with you, and this whole situation. For goodness’s sake, Haroldus, how could you have become so intolerant of sunlight that you need to stay in the dungeon while visiting the castle?”

“I did not want this to happen! I was living in a cave up north when winter came. Next thing I knew, the world was all darkness all the time. I grew used to this lifestyle, enjoyed it, even. Then I needed to venture out in the world again, and found my sunlight tolerance had plummeted. I hate this too.”

“Please just try to act like a prisoner so this is less awkward.” Theodore grumbled as he roughly shoved the younger vampire into the dungeon. The dungeon master would be coming soon, they had to finish this conversation quickly.

“Do I look like a prisoner now?” Haroldus whispered. He had mussed up his hair, was hanging his head and had a miserable grimacing expression on his face.

“Yes, perfect, just stay like that until I come back for you after the dungeon master leaves.”

“Theodore?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever lost your sunlight tolerance?” Haroldus asked in a small voice..

“Not really.” Never to the extent that Haroldus had.

“Will I get it back?”

“I do not know,” Sir Theodore sighed heavily. Haroldus’s misery was not entirely an act, and it was starting to tug at his heartstrings. He’d grown fond of the younger vampire over the years, becoming especially close after they’d both met in a dungeon much like this one.

That dungeon.

His pulse quickened at the memories. The stench in the air, the tiny puddles of disgusting water on the floor, the boy who played in them. The vial.

That stint in a dungeon was one of the best and worst things to have ever happened to him.

Footsteps were approaching. The dungeon master.

“Haroldus, one last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Robert. Where is he, again?”

“He should be waiting in the large cave.”

“Is he alone?”

“I couldn’t convince him to let anyone else stay with him, even for emergency help.” Haroldus sounded strained.

Theodore dragged a hand through his hair. “His cockiness is going to get him killed.”

“That’s what I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen to me!”

Theodore sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I can only hope he doesn’t veer off the plan.”

“The plan is the one thing in this world he won’t abandon.” Haroldus sighed.

The plan was simple.

Get dragon blood.

Haroldus’s “arrest” (originally supposed to be a mere visit) would distract the castle residents. Theodore would do something to distract Jane. After a little while, Jane and Dragon would be lulled into a false sense of security. Jane would be occupied with her castle duties, and Dragon would return to his cave.

Where Robert would be waiting for him.

Robert wasn’t going to kill Dragon, just get him to trust him and drink his blood and harvest enough for Haroldus and Theodore to drink as well. And hopefully not get himself killed in the process.

Originally, Theodore believed Robert was going to have at least one other vampire waiting with him, a friend, or somebody he paid off, it didn’t matter, but apparently he was so sure of himself he wanted to do this alone.

Theodore ground his teeth, furious at both himself and Robert.

I can’t blame him.

He breathed in the dungeon air, remembering the smell of the one they’d all been trapped in all those years ago.

He couldn’t stop the memories, even as he left the dungeon and executed his part of the plan in the castle.

He’d been discovered as a vampire.

He was numb as the human guards threw him into a cell with two other vampires, Haroldus and his good friend, both already becoming desperate for blood. The human guards wanted this to happen, wanted them to either waste away or tear each other apart. Their wish seemed to be coming true. They’d already tried drinking each other’s blood, but it barely worked. Haroldus was becoming despondent and weepy. His friend had begun babbling, words Theodore initially wrote off as nonsense as he tried to silently trudge through his own misery.

“How dare they do this to me? Do they even know who I am? Do you know who I am? I am the descendant of the priests who drank dragon blood! Dragon blood!” The other man proclaimed to the ceiling after the guards briefly left them alone.

Theodore found himself laughing for reasons that didn’t make sense now that he was reflecting on the memory while sane.

“Dragon blood?” He has asked, drawing out the syllables, turning it into a mocking song. “Dragon blood! Yes, it will solve all our problems! Dragon blood!”

“Yes!” The other man said as he gripped the bars of the cell. Then he turned slowly and saw the look on Theodore’s face. “Oh. You don’t really understand. You’re mocking me.”

Theodore giggled.

“No. Don’t mock me.” His fellow prisoner intoned, his face lit eerily by the light of the torch. “Dragon blood is the most powerful liquid in the world.” The other vampire sat slowly on the floor and began painting a picture of the beauty of dragon blood. It was hearty like soup. It left you feeling as full as if you’d drunk the blood of a thousand men. The scales added a unique and mouthwatering flavor to it.

And best of all, he had a vial of it hidden away, and a plan to get it.

Theodore’s mouth was indeed watering by the time the guards came back. He eyed them, but his dragon-obsessed new best friend got their attention.

“I think I may be dying.” He intoned. “Please,” he softened his voice. “Please, may I see my son?”

The guards said nothing.

Son? Theodore thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, the guards relented.

A young boy was allowed in with them.

“Hello there,” Theodore rasped “what’s your name, little one?”

“Robert.” The boy said.

“Hello Robert.” Haroldus ruffled his hair. “You look just like your father.”

Haroldus looked as if he wanted to talk more to Robert, but Robert’s father pulled him into a rib-crushing hug and whispered something to him.

Then Robert played in a dirty puddle a little bit. Then he had to leave. His father cried as the guards walked him away. Theodore teared up too.

Robert was allowed to see them again a month later. The only reason the vampires had made it that long was because Haroldus had discovered a rat’s nest. They’d been rationing the rats.

“Did you find what I asked you to?” Robert’s father asked, eyes gleaming.

Robert smiled and pulled a vial out of his pocket.

The vial of dragon’s blood.

“I found it all by myself!” Robert crowed as the vampires cheered loud enough to wake the dead.

Robert’s father took the first sip.

“That’s my boy!” He scooped Robert up in his arms. Earlier he’d hardly been able to grip the rats they’d been drinking.

Haroldus took a sip next. At once his despondent tears dried and he began laughing.

Theodore took the last sip. He grinned so wide he thought his face would crack in half. The stories were true. He felt his strength returning tenfold.

Now happily fed, they found escaping easy. The guards were overpowered like they were hardly there. Sneaking away to their next destination under the cover of darkness felt like an adventure instead of a life-or-death mission.

Robert had come with them, and no one had minded. Theodore found he liked having the little human boy around as they traveled more.

Which is why it gutted him when Robert got caught in the crossfire when they were discovered again while hiding out in the woods. Theodore had long since learned in the military that the enemy will always seek out the weakest links. But he didn’t want it to be true when he saw how badly injured Robert was after Theodore had chased off the attackers. He didn’t want it to be true when he saw the state of Robert’s father, who was once again babbling incoherently, this time in a pool of his own blood.

“Didn’t they know he’s human?” Haroldus screeched, trying to scoop Robert in his arms. “HUMAN, YOU MONSTERS!” He howled into the darkness.

But he didn’t stay that way for long.

Robert’s father turned him into a vampire to save his life. It was the last thing the vampire man had ever done, as he died of his own injuries that morning.

Things started to fall apart after that. Robert was scarred and could think of nothing but his father’s sacrifice. They began to lash out at each other out of grief and rage. Their friendship never ended, but it was shaken deeply. Robert grew up, slowly, very slowly, vampirism slowed the process. Theodore secretly felt it slowed his mourning process, for Robert never seemed to stop mourning his father and fixating on the stories his father had told him of dragons, their priests, and their blood.

Haroldus and Theodore fixated on those stories too, and soon, all three found themselves following them. While Haroldus was content to try and find dragon blood, and Theodore was happy with the knowledge of dragons they gained, Robert wanted more.

He wanted them to want more, too.

So now they were all here.

Theodore had come to Kippernia first, a scout of sorts. He’d joined the ranks of their castle, all while trying to think of ways he could get ahold of dragon blood. But it was extremely difficult, and soon he found himself getting swept up in the the life of a human rather than a vampire. Robert and Haroldus, in between Theodore’s increasingly sporadic messages, traveled more in search of dragons.

Recently, Jane and Dragon had been researching the dragon-priests runes more and more, leading to Theodore to message his comrades again. He’d informed them that the dragon had bonded with a girl, and that he would be responsible for keeping the girl away so Robert could collect the blood with fewer issues.

(Did he see the flaws in this plan? Yes. Did he wish he was the one making the plan instead of Robert? Of course. Did he feel he had a choice at this point? No.)

So now he was trying to hide his desperation as he ordered Jane to do more and more tasks, trying to keep her away from Dragon (and Robert, who was waiting) in any way he could.

Jane and Robert had virtually nothing in common. This was why Theodore knew the two of them would loathe each other if they ever met.

They did have one thing in common, though.

Stubbornness.

Theodore watched in silence as Jane flew away on Dragon’s back, presumably going to Dragon’s cave.

-----

Jane sighed with relief at the feeling of the wind in her hair. After such an odd day, she was grateful for the freeing feeling of flying. Up here, there were no strange prisoners that Sir Theodore danced around questions about. Up here, there were no frightening dreams. Up here, life was perfect.

They landed in Dragon’s cave in the usual spot. She dismounted with ease and walked further into the cave.

And came face to face with a stranger.

Well, rather face to shoulder with a stranger.

They were so engrossed with reading the runes on the cave wall, tracing them with one finger, that they didn’t seem to register her coming until her sword was drawn and pointing at them.

The stranger screamed and fell backwards. The sound brought dragon running, smoke beginning to trickle from his nostrils.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Jane demanded, leveling the sword at the stranger’s throat now that they were on the ground.

The stranger was a man, roughly in his twenties, with long black hair. It was difficult to make out other details in the dark, even with the sparks of dragon fire beginning to glow as dragon prepared to burn him to ash.

“The legends are true.” The man breathed in awe. “A dragon really does live here.”

“The legends?” Dragon said, cocking his head to one side.

The man looked like he might cry.

“Ever since I was a child, my father told me tales of mighty dragons.” The man’s eyes never left Dragon’s face, they were glazing over with an adoration that started to make Jane uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t explain. “I’ve spent years searching for dragons and their runes, looking for any proof that he wasn’t mad and that-” his eyes flickered down, registering the blade at his throat for the first time. “Are those runes on your sword?”

Jane and Dragon exchanged glances.

“Yes.” Jane said slowly.

The man looked even more starstruck. “It cannot be.” He breathed. He slowly reached for his belt.

“Don’t- I’m not going to hurt you.” He said. “I’m just- look at this.”

He had produced a dagger from his belt. He held it up to them almost like an offering.

There were runes almost identical to hers carved on the hilt.

-----

Two days later, Robert watched her shift the runes on her sword. The light of the evening sun seemed to be hurting his eyes, but he was clearly too hypnotized by the movement of the runes to care.

“It’s so mesmerizing, when it does that.” He murmured.

Jane nodded silently.

In the two days since they’d met, they’d been talking almost nonstop. Robert’s father had given him the rune-carved dagger, and ignited his fascination for dragons. After his father had been killed in a bandit attack, Robert had dedicated himself to searching for dragons and dragon knowledge to honor his father.

Jane was starting to like Robert. When he wasn’t starstruck by Dragon, he was actually a very confident and social man. He played with Lavinia, talked about animals and weaponry with Smithy, and even though he rarely ate, he always talked with Pepper when she served meals. She’d even seen him engaged in conversation with Sir Theodore.

Pepper had once remarked that it was odd how little Robert seemed to eat during the day. Jane didn’t think other people’s eating habits were any of her business, but she had to admit that he did seem to have a couple strange qualities. There were swathes of time when he went off to do his own business, no one seeming to know where he was. He often spent time in the shade when he could help it, and frequently shielded his eyes from the sun. When seeing this had prompted Jane to ask him just how much time he had spent in caves looking for dragons, he gave the nonanswer of “a long time, I suppose.”

“You must have been very dedicated.” She said.

“I am.” He said with a smile. He smiled without showing his teeth. Then he excused himself and went to ask Sir Theodore a question. As he walked away, Jane noticed his dagger slipped out of his belt and fell.

“Robert! You dropped your dagger!”

But he had already walked out of earshot. She picked up the dagger and jogged after him as he walked into the castle.

-----

“How much longer?” Haroldus asked. “It’s been three days.”

“Patience, my friend.” Theodore reminded him. “The best plans always take time.”

Haroldus sighed. “I just hope I can get out of here soon, I miss fresh air.”

I hate being reminded of the smell of the old dungeon. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to. The memories hung over them both like a storm cloud.

Footsteps descended the dungeon stairs.

“I was told I would find you both down here,” Robert said, his voice echoing.

“Robert!” Haroldus cried. “How is- How are you?”

“Everything is going smoothly…for the most part.” He added bitterly. He fixed Theodore with a firm stare. “You told me you would work on keeping the girl out of the way.”

“The strength of her bond with Dragon makes that quite difficult.”

Robert exhaled sharply. “Indeed it does. The dragon values her companionship above all else. Its ego is easily stoked, and all it seems to see me as is a blindly devoted disciple. The closest human in its life is that girl.”

“What do you expect me to do about that?”

“Stay out of the way as I get the girl on my side.”

Robert noticed Theodore’s grimace. “What?”

Theodore sighed. “It is no matter. We must do what must be done.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “You’re unhappy. Come now, what’s bothering you about the plan?”

Theodore scowled. “I do not want her on your side. I do not want her involved at all.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about that-” Robert said tensely.

“Why not?” Haroldus interrupted, looking concerned.

Theodore turned to Haroldus. “She is my apprentice. She’s-I…”

Haroldus jerked his chin at him a little, urging him to continue.

“I want her to stay safe. She doesn’t know I’m a vampire, and- we mean a lot to each other. She’s like family to me.”

“How sweet,” Robert said flippantly. Haroldus shot him a deeply disapproving look.

“So,” Robert continued, annoyed. “Her presence disrupts the plan, meaning we must-”

There was a sudden thudding footstep, like someone had briefly lost their balance on the dungeon stairs above them.

They all instantly went silent.

Robert turned slowly, his scowl exposing his fangs.

Waiting on the stairs, hiding, was Jane, still holding Robert’s dagger.

“Jane-” Theodore choked out.

But she was already running, Robert’s dagger still in hand.

Robert bellowed while Theodore started to cry.

“Don’t just stand there, follow her with me!” Robert snarled.

“Sprinting through the castle will cause chaos and distress to everyone,” Theodore wiped his shocked tears and tried to steady his voice.

“Why are you fretting about these humans so much?” Robert asked. “I thought they were just meat to you.”

Humans are meat. He’s killed enough on the battlefield and drunk enough blood to know that for all the cries about souls and spirits and internal sparks, flesh is the only thing inside a human, flesh butchered as easily as any beast or farm animal.

So when a human comes along to make him feel something other than apathy or hunger, he’ll never let harm come to them.

The castle residents are several such humans.

Robert huffed in frustration.

Haroldus growled. “Enough, Robert. You have been constantly disrespecting us this whole time, even after we agreed to help with this plan-”

“The plan, which I’m doing for all of us.”

“Yes, but it mostly centers around you.” Haroldus shot back. “I understood this from the beginning. And I let it. Even when you rejected my ideas and possible other help, I let it.” Haroldus looked him in the eyes, tearing up. “And do you know why?”

“Why are we doing this right now? She could be-”

“Do you know why I let this plan revolve around you?”

“All right, fine, why?”

“Because I felt guilty about your father’s death!” The word death echoed through the dungeon, silencing everyone.

“I indulged this plan, spoiled you rotten in other ways, because of my guilt.” Haroldus breathed.

“It wasn’t your fault he died-” Robert started, but Haroldus wasn’t done.

“And-and you became a vampire after he died, and drinking dragon blood was one of the only things that made you happy as a vampire for years, so I-I let you drink it, I let you create this self-centered plan…”

Haroldus, babbling and crying in a dungeon again. Theodore’s skin prickled as he remembered the old dungeon that had started it all.

Robert ran up the stairs and out of sight.

----

“So, where are we going, exactly?” Dragon asked as they flew higher and higher. “I don’t know.” Jane gasped. “I just need to get out of the castle. Something is- I heard Robert calling you an it and talking about some strange plan and Sir Theodore said some eerie things and I don’t know what’s going on and-” she shook her head. “Just fly.”

She breathed in, slowly and deeply, trying to soothe herself. She shifted her leg a little.

“Ow!” Dragon yelped, his body spasming, making her cry out as well.

“What is it?” She yelped.

“Something poked me!”

“Something-” she looked down.

She’d slipped Robert’s dagger into her belt as she’d fled.

It had poked Dragon’s skin.

She wanted to scream, she felt so foolish. Of course Robert’s dagger could also cut dragon skin like her own sword. Why else would it have runes in it? How did she not realize this sooner?

“How far away from the castle do you think we are?” She asked.

Dragon looked around. “It’s nothing but wilderness and the mountains now. I don’t think there’s even another shortlife settlement around for a good distance.”

“Perfect. If you’d like, we could land here.”

Dragon flew a little bit further, then landed on the side of a mountain, next to a cave.

“I’ve been here before,” he offered conversationally. She guessed he was trying to calm her. “I heard some shortlives calling it The Rust Mountains.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t stay long enough to find out. Maybe you will.”

“Maybe I will.” She said with a sigh, dismounting him and leaning against a wall. She closed her eyes.

“Dragon?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know anything about…vampires?”

“Vampires? No…why?”

She shrugged. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. For all she knew she had misheard Sir Theodore when he was talking to Haroldus.

Why had he been talking to a prisoner, anyway?

What is going on?

“I was a coward to run.” She muttered. “Everyone at the castle is probably in hysterics right now, especially with Robert and Sir Theodore and Haroldus being so strange.” Panic, shame, and adrenaline combined into a terrible cocktail that churned in her stomach. “We should go back.”

“No, not right now.” Dragon said firmly. “My wings are exhausted from all that flying. Your friends can handle themselves. I will rest.”

Jane growled, low in her throat, an almost animalistic sound.

And like an angry animal, she retreated into the darkness of a cave for comfort and familiarity. She sat down near the mouth of the cave and examined Robert’s dagger for the thousandth time. She and Robert had never been able to properly decipher the runes, and she certainly couldn’t solve them now. But there was comfort in the action, and she did it over and over again, stroking the dagger’s hilt and rolling it between her hands until her eyelids drooped and she curled up on the ground. Dragon lumbered in a few moments later, and soon they were both snoring.

Dragon’s rhythmic snores lulled her to sleep, so when they abruptly stopped, her eyes flickered open. She found Dragon still laying down, but his ears were up and his eyes open and searching.

“What is it?”

“I heard something. Multiple somethings. A horse, and briefly something that was like a bat but not a bat.” He sat up, looking out of the mouth of the cave. “I think someone’s coming, Jane.”

“What? Who? How?” Now she was on her feet, Robert’s dagger ready in one hand.

“It might not be an enemy,” Dragon cautioned. “I will try to get a closer look. He walked out of the cave. Jane watched the landscape below them herself, but her eyesight was nowhere near as sharp as Dragon’s.

“I’m going to fly a little bit, see if I find anything that way. There is definitely something out there.”

Dragon took off, began circling around.

Now Jane could hear hoofbeats echoing,very rapidly getting closer. Please be a random traveler, or-

“JANE!” Dragon bellowed.

Her grip on the dagger tightening, she began to sweat.

A rider on a dark horse was beginning to make their way up a rugged trail leading to the cave, headed straight for them. The horse was clearly struggling, but the rider seemed to struggle to care. That infuriated her more, and she stepped out of the cave with the dagger at the ready. If it could cut dragon scales, it could take care of a human enemy easily.

The thought chilled her. She’d rarely thought something about even her own sword before.

“IT’S HIM!” Dragon shouted.

Which ‘him’? Robert? Haroldus? Sir Theodore?

It’s clearly not Sir Theodore, so that leaves-

The rider was fast approaching.

Dragon was visibly panicking.

The world slowed down as he inhaled.

Jane screamed.

The horse and rider were nearly consumed by flames. The horse reared back, its whinny combining with its rider’s scream into a gut-twisting sound of pure pain and terror.

The rider awkwardly slid off the terrified horse’s back. He picked something up-a rock?-off the ground.

Dragon let out a smaller burst of flames, making the horse buck back once more.

The former rider plunged the rock into the horse’s back, then once more into one of its hind legs. As it slowly fell, the former rider got on his knees and pressed his mouth to one of the bleeding wounds.

Jane’s whole body was shaking.

Sir Theodore really was speaking of vampires.

Please, don’t let that be Sir Theodore.

It’s not. He would never do something so abhorrent.

You don’t know that. You don’t know what he’s done to survive as a knight for so many years.

It was the truth, but Jane wanted so badly for it to be a lie.

The vampire stood, leaving the still-alive but clearly shaken and weakened horse. He walked away from it, towards her.

She didn’t understand how he reached the cave so fast. Perhaps he drank the horse’s blood to gain its speed.

“Hello, Jane,” Robert said, licking some of the blood off his lips. He smiled, it was pure teeth. No, not teeth. Fangs, slick and shiny with gore.

Jane had been training for years for anything in combat.

She’d never even dreamed she’d have to prepare for something like this.

Dragon bellowed and dove for Robert.

Dragon filled the cave with his fury, it was all snapping jaws and thrashing claws and plumes of smoke and flame. Jane hoped he killed Robert.

But then she felt Robert’s arms around her half-carrying her, half dragging her away as she screamed. The world was pure darkness and smoke, and became somehow darker still as he shoved her through a crevasse in the wall with no light.

Her dagger flailed, but it somehow never found skin.

Robert pinned her to the wall with one arm. He was terrifyingly strong.

“I’ll be needing that, thank you very much.” His other hand roughly wrestled the dagger from her sweat-slick hand.

“What do you need it for? Where are we? How did you know where to find us? I’ll kill you!” She howled, not caring if she made any sense.

“I need this dagger to drink dragon blood.” He said with infuriating calm. “We are currently in a smaller cavern in the mountain that can only be accessed through a passageway too small for Dragon to fit through. To answer your final question, I’m a vampire, Jane. When the sun is often your enemy, you spend countless hours away from it. That, combined with my search for dragons, means that I know every cave system in this land like the back of my hand. I knew this was the closest one, easily accessible by dragon flight and rarely visited by Kippernians. I just had to follow my hunch and the sound of wingbeats. And the smell of Dragon’s blood.” He added. There was a burst of flame from Dragon in the other cavern, lighting his face eerily. She saw how hollow his eyes seemed, a small droplet of blood sliding off of the corner of his mouth, and those dreadful fangs.

She wrestled against his grip, but it was virtually no use.

“You’ll want me alive if I’m to answer your questions.”

She spat in his face.

“Please. The only question I want answered is how do I kill you as fast as possible?”

He could have killed her right then and there. He really could have. Instead his grip merely tightened, cutting off the blood flow. There was another explosion of fire, this time with a plume of smoke that made her eyes water.

“No, I think you want more answers than that. And I know you won’t get them from Sir Theodore. I know because I know him, I’ve known him far longer than you have.”

She spat in his face again. He ignored it again. He was a vampire who drank the blood of animals who still lived, his face pressed against their dirty pelts and open wounds. He probably considered human saliva sanitary.

“Well, since you are literally a captive audience right now…” the confidence she’d grown to know was back, only now it was bloated self-importance.

Robert began to tell her his tale. As if she cared.

Well, she did care a bit, but not about most of it.

His mother was dead. His father, who had become a vampire a little after he was born, raised him for most of his youth. Both of them had been very loving people. Him and his father had loved each other so much that he had delivered dragon blood to his father in a dungeon, and, a while later, his father turned him into a vampire to save his life, losing his own in the process.

“Sir Theodore and Haroldus, who had befriended my father while they were all imprisoned for being vampires-” he continued. That was all Jane processed for the rest of his speech. It actually stunned her into mild complacency for a few minutes, which Robert used to hurriedly explain his plan.

“-and dragons became my one reason for living this torturous vampiric life. They were the only thing to bring me consistent joy and purpose in those long centuries. Can you even fathom it, Jane? Watching all the humans you love die? Avoiding the sun? Not being able to truly eat or enjoy solid food? Do you have any idea what that does to a person? This prolonged life is a curse, and my only idea of a blessing was dragon’s blood. Even better, there could be a dragon to bond with! Bond with, like my father’s ancestors! Bond with, like you. You take your friendship with your dragon for granted, Jane.” His grip tightened on her shoulders. “Your life is short. Never will you understand the weight of living for centuries like a dragon could. Vampires are the only creatures who could truly understand dragons, and vice versa.”

Jane stopped squirming for a second, panting hard.

“You just want…a friend?”

His grip loosened significantly.

“I wouldn’t use the simple human term of friendship to describe it. In fact, I can hardly even describe it now. But once I make that dragon mine, I’ll finally have it!”

“Oh, Robert…” Jane said softly and pityingly. She reached for his torso, gently pressed her fingers against it in a comforting gesture.

“I’m so sorry…” she said, stroking his torso with one hand. She felt him become less tense. He leaned closer to her touch.

Her other hand lunged for his belt.

The dagger slid out, fit into her hand as if it had been hers all along.

She plunged it into Robert’s stomach.

“But you’ll never have it!”

Robert’s scream was deafening in the small cavern. She stabbed him again, then dragged his twitching form out to the larger cavern, where Dragon was waiting.

He set him on fire until they were sure he was truly dead.

She took a deep, shuddering breath full of smoke, feeling an odd sense of peace.

Then her legs gave out.

-----

“I bring you news of two things.” Theodore said to Haroldus, who was trying to discreetly sip the blood of a rat. “One: Jane is still unconscious, but shows signs of waking very soon.”

“That’s good,” Haroldus murmured. “Then she can tell us what happened to Robert.”

Haroldus had heard the commotion even inside the dungeon. Jane, Dragon, and Robert, chasing each other. Dragon, returning many hours later with an unconscious Jane in tow and no sign of Robert.

An unreadable but pained expression passed over Theodore’s face at the mention of Robert. Haroldus’s gut twisted.

“I bring you news of three things.” He amended. “I wasn’t going to tell you this until later, but-Dragon has reported that Robert is dead. Burned to ash.”

Haroldus fell to his knees.

“Why aren’t you doing the same?” He demanded through tears. “What is wrong with you?”

“It doesn’t feel real,” Theodore admitted.

Haroldus screamed and beat the dungeon floor.

Theodore quietly left him.

“The prisoner is still erratic,” he reported to the king and queen. “We need to keep him down there for a bit longer, until he calms down.”

It took Haroldus four days to calm down. Then Theodore was able to deliver the news he meant to give him initially.

“You need to get out of here.” Theodore said, wasting no breath or pleasantries.

“Why?” Haroldus asked. His eyes were still glassy, not with tears but something else. “I kind of like it down here. There’s no sun, and it brings back memories of happy times of Robert as a boy and his father-”

“No. Stop. You have to leave. You are being ordered to leave by the knights of Kippernia.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. Now come on. Get up. Let’s go.”

Theodore personally escorted Haroldus out of the castle, and out of Kippernia itself. Haroldus noticed this.

“Are you exiling me, Theodore?”

“Not officially. It’s not safe for anyone if you are here, Haroldus.”

Haroldus digested this information quietly. Theodore’s heart squirmed with guilt.

“All right. I’ll go back to my old cave up north.” He took a shuddering breath. “You will send messages, yes?”

“Yes, my friend.” He said gently.

Haroldus hugged him. Theodore didn’t want to let him go, but he had to.

“Haroldus?”

“Yes?”

“You’re very calm, so I need you to be honest with me. Are you planning revenge against Jane and Dragon?”

“I still want to, a little. I think I always will. But I know what Robert was like. We both remember what he’d done- what I let him do- to humans over the years. He had something coming for him.” Haroldus’s voice cracked, he blinked back tears.

Theodore hugged him again. They embraced for a lot longer that time, leaning into each other.

“You will send messages?” Haroldus asked again.

“Of course.”

Theodore watched Haroldus creep off into the darkness of the evening, then he received a message of his own.

Jane was fully awake and talking coherently.

----

Jane stared at Sir Theodore.

He stood a good distance away from her bed, a very calm expression on his face. As if he’d accepted whatever fate was about to throw at him.

“You’re a vampire.” she deadpanned. There was no one else in the room to hear but she wasn’t sure she would’ve cared if there had been.

“I am, indeed.”

She watched his mouth as he spoke. Sure enough, his front teeth were fangs.

“How have I never noticed your fangs before?” She asked quietly.

“The mind tends to see what it wants to see. You had no reason to suspect I had them, so you never truly saw them.”

She nodded.

“Have you ever drunk a person’s blood?” She asked quietly.

“Of course I have. Many times. I had to survive somehow.”

Neither of them looked at each other.

“You…knew Robert, didn’t you?”

“I did. Ever since he was a boy. A human boy.”

“He said-before he died, he said he wanted a dragon who would understand the weight of living for centuries.”

Her words weighed heavy in the ensuing silence.

“But if he had you, and other vampires…” she sighed. “There are some things we can never understand.”

“We can try,” he suggested gently. “You have just fully woken up, I’m sure a great many things don’t make sense to you right now.”

“Do they make sense to you?”

“No.”

“Then we can figure them out, together.”

#WHOOO #this was a big one #there's a lot going on here #maybe I'll expand on this #once I get an AO3 account and can format longer fics better #but that's a big maybe #so don't get your hopes up #dragonblade spoilers #some of this won't make sense if you haven't read dragonblade sorry #uh #no beta we die like men #no beta we die like vampires #jatd au #jane and the dragon au #crack treated seriously #jatd dragonblade #dragonblade jatd #haroldus is kinda ooc in this one but it's an au and we barely know anything about his personality in canon anyway so

0 notes

charmingpplincardigans · 5 years ago

Text

Hokay! I am here to ramble more than anyone ever wanted in answer to @z-bot, but like, I just love talking about poetry even though I have no idea what I’m doing, okay??? Okay! (Cut for your pleasure.)

Bonus Question I just made up: do you have any poems "in progress"? How do you usually approach poetry: do you write one and let it simmer, or does it all come out at once, or does it vary?

Yes! I do have poems in progress. I always have poems in progress. It’s very rare that any writing comes to me all at once. Sometimes this means that I’ll actively tinker with one over the course of several days or weeks. But also, sometimes it just means that I’m looking at something two years ago me thought was probably fine but which current me cannot abide. At this point it’s just like, as long as I’m a human in progress I will probably have poems in progress because, for better or worse, poetry is my pressure valve and the pillow I scream into when I don’t know how to pull a feeling out of myself any other way. (And when that fails I move on to the collaging.)

And it does vary but these days I mostly poem the way I collage, which is to say that I riffle through myself looking at all the different images or feelings or memories at my disposal and then mix and match them until I come away with something that more or less says what I’m trying to say. Poetry often feels like a puzzle to me in the way prose does not, because of how precise I feel I have to be about it.

Poetry does not give me the luxury of space, of corners to fill or walls to spill over. Poetry demands my attention and my patience. Poetry knows what it wants to be, even when I don’t know yet, and I just gotta keep chiseling at it until I hit angel, you know?

The first draft of any poem starts with a set of words or a tightness in my chest or a feeling of restlessness I can’t shake. I let that sit in me until I feel like I’m gonna choke. Then I get out my phone or my journal and go to work. The notes app on my phone is predominantly filled with poems in differing states of completion and lists of ideas for poems or chapbooks. In the beginning they are usually just stream of consciousness blocks of text that look like this:

The game I’m playing with myself in draft one is called Oh God Oh God What Is This Feeling And How Do I Make It Make Sense? This works for both negative and positive feelings since I, a dummy, have been alive for more than three decades and still do not quite understand how it’s possible to feel things this intensely without passing out in self-preservation.

The trajectory of this one is pretty straight forward. More straightforward than usual tbh. The first bit of it is actually the bit that was playing in my brain on a loop for an hour before I sat up to tap it out, which is not always the case, but that night I was dealing with the very concrete fact of what it feels like to have yet another a panic attack and that thought spiral there is just the thought spiral I go on whenever that happens. Just curled up in bed obsessively thinking about how I’m gonna die.

at night in the quiet dark I can’t escape the beating of my heart, at night in the quiet dark I can’t escape the beating of my heart, at night in the quiet dark I can’t escape--

So it’s about a panic attack, fine, but there is very obviously more than one level of thing happening here and honestly, it wasn’t a thing I was going to admit to myself until I got to the end there. Because the not so subtle tilt of the poem idea is:

I am in pain -> the pain will end -> the pain will end or I will -> one day I will end -> oh god oh god there are so many things I have to get done before then -> oh hey there are things I meant to get done before she met her end -> oh.

And that last bit was the thing that, for me anyway, elevated my every day emotional vomit to something I could craft a sort of apology around, and it was that apology that felt important enough to me to find a way to properly say it. So I metaphorically popped my unpoppable knuckles and got to work. (I have never been able to crack my knuckles. I am both intrigued and horrified when other people do it.)

The second draft is a god awful mess. If I’m working longhand in a journal I will read through the brain dump to identify and underline any phrases or words that I think are particularly useful or pretty or precise. Then I rewrite those phrases on the next page in list form and go to work knitting them together into something that feels right. I can do this part ten or more times if I’m feeling particularly useless about it, but I find that if I do it more than three times then the whole thing starts to feel overwrought and I step away from it to think until I find a better way in to the feeling. That could happen the next day, or it could take a year.

There are just some things you don’t understand about yourself until you’ve done the work and earned the right to know them and that goes double for poems. Sometimes. It depends. But sometimes.

In this particular case the second draft was where I settled on a repetitive stanza opener because I realized that the repetition of the situation was integral to getting me to the epiphany at the end. Third middle of the night panic attack in two weeks and feeling like no not this again. The words themselves which I was thinking to myself like there was no difference between mindfulness and self-destruction. The fact that my own death has become a worn out thought to me because I think about it so very much. The person I’m never going to stop missing and the way I mentally flog myself over all of it.

There was also the feeling I wanted to capture of how all of this always makes me feel pulled and pulled until I’m translucent taffy, so:

Night stretches thin and all I am aware of...

Night stretches thin and all I can think...

Night stretches thin and all of this is to say...

The third draft (or the hundredth, I don’t know, we’ll pretend like this one was easy, it more or less was in this case) is where I get to play with form and function. I’ll have been flirting with stanzas and enjambment through every version I rewrite, but this is the stage where I can get serious about it because this is the stage where I’m familiar enough with the content to begin to know what it wants. The poem and I go from vous to tu, more or less.

For me this is the most fun part, just like it is in prose, because this is where I start letting myself really feel the possibility of the whole thing. There’s nothing I love more than a heady feeling of The Possible.

After that it’s just polishing the draft until I can read it while pretending someone else wrote it and try to discern whether I actually like it or if I’m just over-invested in the idea of it. I change a word here and there. I fiddle with commas. I decide whether I can live with it. This one I could live with, which you know because it’s been posted to the this blog. In my notes app it looks like this:

There are a great deal many more poems tucked about it my life that I can’t live with. Most of them will probably never see the light of computer screen or day. And I mean, anyone can look at what I do post or the ones that have been published and decide for themselves whether any of it is any good at all. It’s possible I’m just deluding myself or that I’m narcissistic and vain, but it’s also possible that sometimes I do alright. I’d like to believe the latter is true even if the former is also true.

This all...feels like a lot, which is something I think about all the time. I wonder if I’m just torturing it all for no reason. I wonder if anything I write will ever feel grounded to me in the way all of my favorite poems do. The work of my favorite poets often feels effortless in a way. Not like they’re effortless to create or enjoy, but like they belong effortlessly in the world. Then again, I don’t really feel like my physical existence belongs effortlessly in the world, so perhaps expecting that of my words is a tall ask for the time being.

I just have no idea what I’m doing, you know? I don’t feel like a poet, which is a literal argument I’ve had with friends. There was an intervention and everything. I feel like I’m doing this wrong, or doing it the hard way, and that nothing I can make this way will ever feel true in the way the words of other people feel true for me. All I know is that sometimes I just have to say this stuff “out loud” and most of the time all I want from my life is to have left something beautiful behind and sometimes I feel like I’ve said a thing that will become lovely under the eyes of a person who could see themselves in it.

So I just keep taking my feelings out of my chest and turning them over under better light in an effort to stumble my way into understanding what it means to be anything at all. And you all keep having to scroll past it and ignore the twinge of secondhand embarrassment. Lucky you!

#z-bot #poetry #kl has a large barrel of wine but no cups #I write things #not like #popular things that a ton of people care about #but things all the same #god bless the ten of you who consistently give a shit tbh #I love you #let's all meet up and hug it out #also I can't help but think about how many times #someone has commented on my prose writing #and told me it was poetry or that it was poetic #because fic is made of spillage!#fic is the place where I go to just flood everything out until i'm plump and sated #and yeah sometimes it's pretty because pretty is what i'm shooting for #but it's never half as precise or half as quick as these small things are #that's a fight I have with myself fucking daily #because i want my prose to sound like my poetry #but ain't no one got the energy to keep that up for thousands of words #either to write it or to read it #the struggle in fic between style and approachability is real

5 notes · View notes

myobsessionofthemonth · 3 years ago

Text

Robot.. Romance?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Swearing

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: When the BAU girls hatch a plan one drunken night to investigate whether Dr. Spencer Reid is a robot, it leads to awkward moments, flirting and a bit of match making.

A/N: hi! this is my first official fic on my account. I’d love to see what you think but requests are open for whoever and whatever since this is a multi-muse! hope you enjoy it <3

═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══

“Impossible” You couldn’t even believe you were having this conversation. With the chief of BAU nonetheless. “It doesn’t even make sense”

Emily’s eyes were wide “Doesn’t it? He has terrible fashion sense-“ you actually liked his vests and ties, come on, they were cute “-his awkward dance moves-” not everyone was a born dancer “-and lastly. When have we ever seen him.. in water?” .. you had no response to that one.

JJ piped in, who had been silent for most of the conversation, “But him being a robot? That’s a little far-fetched even for me.”

Finally someone with some common sense!

“And she believes that John F. Kennedy’s death had something to do with an umbrella,” Tara sighed.

You rushed to disapprove, leaning forward, your drink sloshing onto the table by the sudden movement you made, fuelled by the conviction you felt, “That’s because it did! There’s evidence!”

She rubbed her eyes, not being able to recall how many times they’ve had this same variant of conversation “Of what? From who? Conspiracists?”

“The internet!” JJ huffed.

“Oh sure, because that’s a reliable source” This always happened. This time they’ve decided to go on a well-deserved girls night out, their schedules were as clear as they could be, and it felt great to finally let loose. You liked to put up a front, but the case you had just been previously assigned that the team solved the other night, hit you hard.

They always did. So it was amazing to relax, relaxing ended up being six rounds of cocktails and throwing bar peanuts into each other’s mouths, but it was therapeutic.

You slammed your drink down (luckily now empty so no more unfortunate spillage) “Penelope hack the government! The people need to know the truth!”

JJ and Garcia cheered in support.

Tara placed her hand on yours, giving it a comforting pat, “Y/N, we are the government.”

“Wait, we’re the government? — w oah you have such soft hands.”

Emily clapped her hands “Enough nonsense, let’s get back onto the serious topic at hand. That Dr Spencer Reid is a robot.”

“Em-“

“Don’t ‘Em’ me. I know the law and that includes the freedom of speech.”

JJ groaned, “Okay. I’m way too tipsy to recite the laws-“

“- I’m not! You have the right to remain silent. You do not have to answer-“ You rambled.

“-Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should be lovely.”

“Oh right”

“Anywayyy” Emily whined, “If you guys don’t believe me, we’re just going to have to prove it.”

“How is she the Head of the BAU again?” Tara smiled.

Penelope giggled, “It’s because she’s the most competent out of all the incompetent idiots she’s the chief of.”

“So how will we prove our Spencer is a robot?” You chimed in.

JJ smirked, “Our Spencer, or your Spencer?”

Your cheeks suddenly became warm. You blamed it on the alcohol. “Of course not.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little heads about how to prove it.” Garcia grinned. In books, you had always critiqued whenever they said a glint appeared in someone’s eye, but you take back every criticism. The shine you saw in her eyes was terrifying. And it was directed completely at you. “I have just the plan.”

PHASE 1

“Have I ever told you that you have no understanding of privacy?” You sighed, throwing an arm over your eyes. You were currently lying on top of your own bed while Emily rooted through your own closet.

She laughed, “Yes. Multiple times”

“And yet.”

“Yet, you let me anyway.”

“And yet I let you anyway” You repeated sadly.

You removed your arm and pushed yourself up to watch her scramble through your racks of clothes. You had some dimes in there, but most are comfortable clothes for travelling with the team or smart clothes for when handling cases.

“Aha!” Emily pulled out a hanger, adorning the worst sweater you had ever bought “This is perfect.”

You scrunched up your nose “That is ugly. Like, Ugly ugly.”

“That’s why it’s perfect.”

“Why are we doing this again?” You had a killer hangover from last night and the pounding in your head wasn’t getting any easier with Tornado Prentiss around.

“We’re picking out two outfits: one as attractive as me, aka. Woah, she’s so hot I just want to tear off that outfit right here and now.” She lifts one of your favourite tops, it’s a lilac purple flowy blouse, with a serious cleavage cut.

The colour did compliment your skin tone wonderfully if I did say so yourself.

“And the second outfit is attractive as a buck naked grandma that does not know what the hell a razor is.” It was a sweater you bought years ago for an ugly sweater day while you were still making your way up the ranks of the FBI. The sleeves were longer than they should have been, from you pulling at the material relentlessly.

In your defence, it had been your first official gathering with a group of people from the FBI outside the building, if you were sweating like a pig, and nervous to meet the infamous BAU team for the first time, no one could say a thing.

“Seriously?! Ew Emily, ew”

Emily placed the hangers on the bed and smoothed out any creases. “Step one in the ISRAR plan, complete. Step two, in action”

You’re almost scared to ask “ISRAR?”

“Is Spencer Reid A Robot Plan. Keep up Y/N”

You get up off the bed, if you can’t beat them (Emily), join Em. (Literally Em). “Sure, whatever”

Garcia had already sent you plans on a very intricate mind map which should not look as professional and as well thought out as it did. Especially when she had complained about being bed-bound with a hangover.

Click and Click

You took pictures of them both and prepared to send them to Spencer. “This is so stupid. How does this prove he’s a robot in any way?”

“One, it’s not stupid, your smile proves that. Two, robots have no sense of style. Everyone knows that”

The thing you hated most was that it kinda made sense “I regret everything about this, this is what I get for splitting two for one cocktail with you.”

Emily rolled her eyes “Fine, let me type it up then”

You held your phone to your chest “No way, I’m never letting you near my phone again”

“The Hotch thing was one time. Let it go”

You ignored her and instead focused on your text.

—————

Dr Spencer Who

hi! um. this probably seems a little weird but you’re my last option aha, the girls are probably still blacked out from last night!

i was just wondering if you’d offer me some advice on something. nw if not!

delivered 2 mins ago. read now. 2:59 pm

Hey Y/N. It’s no problem really. I’d be happy to lend you any advice. But if it’s to do with girls Morgan would probably be better to ask. - Spencer

delivered now. read now. 3:01pm

trust me I’d prefer to ask you this than him lol! thank you for the help. much appreciated x

[attached two images]

was just wondering what top you think would suit me better! I’m useless at this stuff hah

delivered now. read now. 3:02pm

Oh. Isn’t there anyone else to ask? This seems important to you and I don’t want to mess it up for you. Style? Not my best strong suit - Spencer

delivered now. read now. 3:06pm

in the sweetest way possible, ur my last option, please spence. I’ll be happy with whatever you choose. promise you :)

delivered now. read now. 3:08pm

Okay. No pressure? Haha

Is this for a potential meeting?

Of two people

That’s romantic?

Because that would be cool ha

But If you wanna keep that private! That’s okay too!

Not saying there was a right to share it with me anyway.

So, yeah - Spencer

delivered now. read now. 3:11pm

Dr. Reid are you asking me if I’m going on a date?

delivered now. read now. 3:14pm

I think so.

I mean yeah - Spencer

delivered now. read now. 3:15pm

it’s not for a date reid

delivered now. read now. 3:15pm

Good.

Not good as in. Good, good. Like, good for me.

Not good for me in that way. Like easier for me.

To pick an outfit for.

Less pressure for me. - Spencer

delivered now. read now. 3:17pm

i understand don’t worry haha!

so um, an answer yet..?

delivered now. read now. 3:17pm

Yeah.

The jumper is the best choice.

It’s supposed to be cold this week. - Spencer

delivered now. read now. 3:19pm

okay! thank you so much !! much appreciated! x

delivered now. read now. 3:25pm

No problem. Anytime. x

—————

Emily brought the phone closer to her face in disbelief “I was mostly joking, but he could seriously be a robot. How could anyone think that sweater looked cute? How?”

You shrug “I just know to never ask him for fashion advice again”

“Can’t believe you got a kiss, though.” She smirked, winking at you. “Pretty special, hey.”

You flopped back down on the bed, groaning “Shut uppppp. He’s just being friendly”

Despite that. It made you smile fondly at it later on in bed.

PHASE 2

“Are you sure about this?”

“Y/N, for the thousandth upon thousandth times, yes” Penelope laughed, tucking a piece of fallen hair out of your face.

“I can’t even stare at him too long without.. doesn’t matter. How am I meant to do this?” Your hand was fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt, a terrible habit. Your mum had told you plenty of times you needed to stop otherwise you’d ruin everything you owned.

Garcia gave you a reassuring smile “It’s easy. Plus he never takes his eyes off you anyway so it shouldn’t be too much of a challenge for him” she said.

“Enough joking. I think the computer radiation is getting to your head” You playfully nudge her shoulder. You were currently in her Batcave, as she liked to call it, and discussing phase two in her plan.

“Why is it me again?”

“Tara refuses to join in on this, even if she’s loving every minute and JJ is currently off, she’s taken a few days off with the boys. Apparently, a school virus has gone around and they asked for her to stay.”

You placed your hand on your hips “Emily?”

“She’s too competitive, and she’d cheat to win”

Couldn’t argue with that logic.

“You..?”

“I’d end up letting Spence win, I couldn’t dare to make my puppy boy sad!”

“Therefore it falls onto me. Fine, I get it. Just.. next time can it be someone else?”

“Yeah, yeah, now go win this!”

You leave the cave. Okay subconscious, that sounded really cool. Y/N, superhero, guardian of the Cave.

— Also an FBI agent who is currently testing if her co-worker is a robot. Maybe you should stop reading so much science-fiction, it’s getting to your head.

You find Spencer at his desk, fiddling with some toy while reading a case file. You couldn’t exactly see his face since it was so buried into the folder, but the curls you could recognise anywhere.

“Pretty boy!” You called with a grin.

Spencer popped his head up and blinked. Morgan mostly called him that when he wanted to rile him up or embarrass him so it was strange to hear it coming out of your mouth.

He furrowed his eyebrows “Y/N?”

You stopped in front of his desk, placing a hand on either side and leaning down “You, Me, let’s go right now.”

Spencer’s lips parted, he looked more confused than anything. You talked to him plenty, and even offered to play a chess game with him once or twice but you’d never broached a subject like this before.

“Y-You? With me? Y/N, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

You could see why Penelope didn’t want to do this now. He looked utterly puppy-like when he was clueless.

“Let’s have a staring contest”

The dip in his brow only deepened, and his lip turned upwards “A staring contest? Now?”

You squared your shoulders “Yes, now. Unless you’re afraid to lose?” You couldn’t help but think you sounded completely foolish, I mean.. FBI Agents here, like, hello. Yet you were still smiling brightly anyhow.

The next step in our plan.. you can’t believe you referred to it as our, was to see if he would win at a staring contest. Technically, If he wasn’t human, he didn’t need to blink. Not exactly sound logic, but the best Garcia had at the moment.

Here’s to hoping you aren’t shitty at staring contests.

“Do you have a fever?” He sounded so genuine you laughed. Spencer looked torn between touching your forehead for a temperature or keeping germs at bay.

“I’m tip-top health, don’t you worry Doctor” You found his concern sweet. “Now, are we going to duel or are you going to back down? Warning, I don’t think your ego would ever recover”

Spencer pushes himself up off the chair and leans forward so you were eye level. Goddamn did he have the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. If you could capture the colour and surround yourself with it whenever you went forever you would.

Spencer can’t contain a smile “My ego is going to be just fine, don’t you fret Y/N. I have eyes of steel” You snort, “I’ll have you know, I have a streak that has not been broken since middle school. That’s all I have to say.”

You click your knuckles “All I have to say is that I’m happy to be the one to break it.”

“Ready?” Reid narrows his eyes

You nod “Ready. Three, two, one… go.”

His eyes zone completely onto yours. You know it’s just part of the challenge but you can’t help but feel flushed. His gaze is so intense you feel like you’re the only thing that matters in the room to him.

Obviously, that’s not the case, but in this excuse to simply stare at him shamelessly, you let yourself believe, even for a minute, that he looking for more than just a win.

Your eyes begin to burn but you resist the urge to blink. Emily is not the only one who has a competitive streak.

“Hey guys,” You recognise Luke’s voice but you don’t look away “Uh. Hello?” He walks to join you guys at the desk. He raises his hand to wave in front of your face but before he gets the chance Spencer’s arm snaps forward and stops Luke’s hand.

Okay. That was a little hot.

A lot hot.

“Dude what the hell?!” Luke pulls his hand back to his chest, torn between looking confused and impressed.

“Staring contest. Gotta win. Got a reputation to uphold.” Spencer mumbles, his gaze never once leaving yours. If you feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, no you don’t.

Luke just nods, “Uh-huh. Why am I not surprised?”

“What do you need Lukey?” You ask, hoping to distract yourself from the burning need to blink.

Spencer’s eyes narrow, “Lukey?”

“It’s a stupid little nickname she won’t drop even though I’ve begged her to stop. It doesn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts that hear it, y’know?”

You click your tongue, “You love it really,” —

A pot of pens tumbles to the ground, creating a clattering noise loud enough to startle you into blinking.

At first, you felt immense relief, and then a wave of displeasure at actually losing (even though that was the whole point) and then confusion.

You glance at the stationary scatted on the floor, then to a sheepish looking Spencer. “Sorry about that”

Your mouth slowly gapes open, “you cheated!”

“Wha— no I didn’t!” he immediately goes on the defensive. “It was an accident!”

“Accident my arse,” you grumble, “now I know how you won that championship, with dirty tricks and cheap lies. I’ll remember this.”

“I—“ Luke throws a pointed thumb over his shoulder, “should I come back later?”

“No!” You both huff.

“I should get going anyway, Garcia needs me in the cave — her computer room. See you later Lukey” you say, still feeling a little flustered deep down from a certain doctors gaze.

You turn to Spencer and jab him lightly in the chest, “We’ll have a rematch one day. And I’ll win.”

Spencer just stands speechless for a moment before his lip curls into a little smile, “Can’t wait”

You nod and begin to strut away.

You make it a couple of metres before sighing and turn back around, Luke’s and Reid’s conversation slowly drifts off as you approach again.

“Pretend I’m not even here,” You mutter, crouching down and picking up the discarded stationery and putting it back into the pot, it would have bugged you if you left it. Even if it made you lose by default.

You stand back up, place the pot back on the desk before stalking back off, leaving the boys looking amused.

PHASE 3

Garcia ponders, “What else do robots do?”

Tara hums, “.. Can robots do the robot?”

Y/N snickers, “Now we’re asking the right questions”

JJ offers, “They know things impossibly fast?”

Emily groans, “Isn’t that Reid’s whole personality?”

“Doesn’t that just further prove the point that Reid is a robot?” Tara shrugs, fiddling with a pen she found on the lunchroom table. It seems like this operation has garnered weekly meetings.

Garcia pouts, “I guess so but that doesn’t really help.” She’s currently picking apart her croissant, the last case had hit too close to him for her so they were all trying to indulge her in an attempt to distract her.

“That’s with information though, right? He can’t possibly know every equation heart by heart?”

She brightens, “that’s true.”

“So, all we have to do is find an equation that isn’t too possible but isn’t too easy.” Emily strokes her chin in thought, again you would like to add that sometimes even you’re confused about how she’s top boss.

“Eight times eight?” You throw out

They all turn and look at you. You smile awkwardly, “What too easy?”

JJ laughs, patting your hand, “Close but I was thinking more along the lines of one hundred and eighty-four times seven.”

Tara rolls her eyes, she knew Reid was a genius but even that has limits “Come on, no one can figure that out quickly.”

“Spence can” You fully believe he’s a human super computer. Perhaps that’s why thinking he’s a robot isn’t that difficult. A very very cute robot.

Tara scoffs.

Emily clears her throat and shouts over to Spencer who’s at his desk, “Reid! What’s one hundred and eight-four times seven?” She calls out.

“One thousand, two hundred and eighty-eight.” He doesn’t even look up from his file.

Tara purses his lips, “Fair enough”

PHASE 4

You half-absently hum along to the chatter in the background, the plan was fun but it was starting to get a little ridiculous. Currently, the only thing that was on your mind was what swimwear you were going to choose.

You were in Emily’s apartment, true to her, they all had their own glasses of wine scattered about and Sergio was planted right on the window-sill, hissing below at anyone wearing a funky hat.

Tip to yourself; never wear a hat around him. It was scary.

There was a one-piece in your right hand, it was light pastel pink, with little strawberries scattered about. It was cute, and appropriate, but also a little worn. You had gotten it a couple of years ago on your first holiday and you were a fan of it ever since.

But— on the other hand, you had a light two-piece. It was classic black, with straps that wrapped nicely around your waist, that tied into a little bow. It accentuates your figure and frankly, it does make you feel confident but it seems a little much for a pool party at Rossi’s.

It’s just sad you never seem to have another occasion to wear it. It's a reminder that you really need to go out more — and potentially book a holiday while you’re at it.

Again it’s just sad that most of your friends are people you work with. Who also don’t go out much.

As much as you’re humming and harring about what You were going to wear, You knew you were just going to play it safe anyway.

“What do you think Y/N?” JJ asks, lightly placing a hand on your arm to bring you back into the conversation.

You blink, how long had you been zoned out. Emily’s glass was now empty but that didn’t give her a great time scale, “I think..” you winced as you said it “yeah?”

The risk of agreeing to whatever crazy plan they had concocted up was worth it if it meant you didn’t have to hear it all over again. You already thought about Reid far more than what was considered professional and this was not helping.

You just couldn’t get his baby brown eyes out of your head.

Tara raised a brow in disbelief, “Really?”

Meanwhile, Garcia clapped her hands in delight.

“Sure, why not?” The question wasn’t as rhetorical as you wanted. Could someone please answer why they shouldn’t do whatever they wanna do? Then potentially fill her in on the rest of it while they were at it.

Seeing the expression on each of their faces gave you an inkling that maybe you should have listened.

—

Yep. Yeah. You should have 100% listened. You’re never going to forgive them — forgive yourself more likely. You couldn’t do this.

You breathe heavily, “Am I going to throw up? I think I’m going to throw up”

JJ shushes you as she ties your bikini up again, “You’re not going to throw up. You look jaw-dropping and you should own it. In fact.. if I wasn’t a married woman—“ she trails off and winks up at you in the bathroom mirror.

( Or one of them, really how does many bathroom’s does one man need. Though you shouldn’t and don’t expect anything less from the almighty Rossi. )

They managed to get you changed into option two, into the ( impossible one with straps.) black one. Apparently seeing a pretty lady, as they phrased it, in something sexy would cause Spencer to short circuit. It didn’t make sense but the girls never saw sense.

You really wanted to be at home right now — or in the cute pink swimwear you were used to

You laugh and feel your nerves ease a little, “Do I have to do this?” Your knuckles were turning white from how tightly you were gripping the sink.

“I mean of course not,” JJ says rubbing you back, clearly sensing how on edge you were — it didn’t take a genius or a BAU member to figure that out, “You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

You sigh, “But?”

“But, the girls will never let you live it down.”

You know she’d never judge you if you didn’t do it, and neither would the girls really — even if they’d tease a little, but you had to do it. You wanted to do it.

“Okay.” You nod, steeling yourself. You might be being a tad dramatic. Once a drama major, always a drama major.

She pats you on the back, “I’m going you give you some peace and check on the boys, but I brought a backup bikini in my bag that I’m going to leave right here if you need it..”

“Thank you, Jay” You smile at her through the reflection. She pushes up onto her tippy toes and kisses your cheek before winking again and leaving the room.

You turn on the tap and splash some cold water on your face. The water wakes you up a little and you straighten your shoulders. “I can do this” You mutter.

Your eyes wander to JJ’s bag, “or maybe I can’t.”

—

“I can do this” You repeat, the flip-flopping from your shoes on the marble stairs matching the beat of your heart. You make a left — you finally learnt the ways of the house, even though it took months — and brought yourself to the kitchen.

You hum softly as a whiff of food hits you, you immediately spot Rossi cooking away with his infamous pasta, “This smell’s delicious.”

Rossi jumps to attention at your voice and his eyes soften once they reach you, “Buttercup! How nice of you to finally join us,” he motions for you to join him at the cooker.

You awkwardly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and force a little chuckle, “Yeah, sorry about shooting off straight to the bathroom. Just needed a moment.” You do as he says and shuffle over, there’s pasta softening in the pots and a sauce bubbling away. If you knew anything about Rossi it’s that all this would be homemade and his own recipe.

“I’m only teasing darling. You look Bellissima,” He appraises, and all the nerves in you just melt away. There’s always been something about him that made you relax, whether it’s now or when you’re driving yourself nuts trying to piece together a clue.

“Thank you,” you say softly, before nodding to food, “is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, no this is my kingdom. Nothing better than cooking a homemade lunch for my family, especially with some beautiful weather and a bit of Tom Jones playing in the background.” He stirs the pot before pointing the spoon, “Now, stop fussing about in here and join the party outside. Try and get around at the ping pong table before Morgan and Pren break it.”

“You Sir” You laugh, before saluting him off, behind your back he rolls his eyes fondly.

As you step into the garden you forget what you had ever been nervous about. Suddenly Tara appears at your side, “Ready babe?”

Something flutters in your stomach but it’s excitement more than anything. “Always,” You grin, before spotting some very mopped curls and shooting off. Morgan was currently speaking to Spencer who had his back to you.

Morgan spots you first and produces his best wolf whistle yet, he places a hand on his heart and looks like a proud brother. You don’t know if you should find it sweet, or a little icky but you laugh anyway and flip him off.

Intrigued, Reid turns around just as you reach him. Whatever he was going to say died immediately as he took you in. His ears burn red and all you can do is giggle at his expression.

“I— you,” he stutters, suddenly forgetting how his tongue worked, or how his brain works or his mouth or anything, “pretty..” is what ends up tumbling out.

You feel your cheeks start to heat and somehow that was one of the cutest things he’s ever said to you, you look down to collect yourself, before your flick your eyes back up and smile sweetly, “Thank you, Spence.”

He was in yellow shorts with a white button-up, some would question it but you just smile wider, “You don’t look bad yourself”

Spencer only turned redder, “I- thanks. Um, you look more than pretty but uh, forgive me my brains kinda gone on holiday.”

“Christ Kid, this is like watching a bad car crash” Morgan cringes, looking between you two.

You chuckle while Spence shrinks further into himself. “Be nice,” You chastise.

Morgan puts his hand up in surrender. “Anyway I just came over to ask if either of you wanna drink, I’m gonna go fix myself a drink myself, so I thought I’d ask,” You huff.

“Yeah sure,” Morgan smirks, “That’s all you came over for isn’t it-“ You glare at him and put your hands on your hips. “- okay, or not, whatever” he laughs.

“I- drinks sound good.” Spencer finally pipes up.

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh — he looked so clueless. God he had no idea how to act around the opposite sex, “Okay.”

“I’ll get us the drinks, one minute I’ll just-“ He moves over to the left, his eyes trying not to stay on one part of you for too long, “I’ll just be over heRE- he trips over his own feet and stumbles into the pool.

You squeal away from the splash and stare wide-eyed at the pool. Everyone has suddenly gone quiet and you slap a hand over your mouth but everyone could hear your relentless giggles.

Emily pumps a fist into the air, “He isn’t a robot! He can go in the water!”

All the girls cheer while you cover your face in embarrassment.

PHASE ???

You carry a fresh fluffy towel over to where Spencer has plopped himself down. He looks like a sad puppy all alone on the day bed. The now soaking button-up is stuck uncomfortably to his skin.

“I brought gifts,” You whooped, lifting the towels in a sign of peace. You had also found the cover-up you had brought along, it was basically a glorified long shirt.

Spencer looks up at you through his eyelash and you can’t help but admire how beautiful he looks, sopping curls or no sopping curls. “Thank you Y/N”

“No problem, I was uh,” You hated how this felt like a schoolyard crush all over again, “I was at fault a little, least’ I could do.”

He offered a small smile, “It wasn’t I was just a little.. distracted. My fault.”

“No,” You paused to run a hand through your hair, the feel of tendrils between your fingers calmed you, “I mean, everything. I’ve been a little weird recently. I’m sorry about that.. it was just.. something dumb with the girls.”

Spencer resists the urge to smile and shakes his head, “truly it’s fine.” — it only makes you feel all that worse, you’ve probably been making a show of yourself and him.

“I can’t believe I thought you were a robot.”

His nose scrunches up, “Wha?— how? why”

You suddenly feel embarrassed, you can’t believe the girls had managed to keep this gag going on for so long, and get away scot-free. Leave it to them to make you do all the dirty work.

“Well, um. Robot’s don’t have the best sense of fashion.” You start tugging on the bottom of your shirt, old habits die hard.

Spencer frown’s a little, “But I thought my vests were-“

“No no! I love your vests! And your ties! They’re cute.” You rush. You weren’t lying, he always looks so soft and comfortable and you’ve always imagined lounging about on the sofa in one of his cardigans snuggled down reading a book. It seemed perfect.

His spirits brighten, “You think they’re cute?”

“Um, yeah I do. I like your purple ties.” You mumble sheepishly. The number of times you wanted to fiddle with them during a case was unbelievable.

“They’re my favourite!”

“No way!” The sight of him smiling in the sun only swelled the longing you already felt. He looked so blissful, and completely himself. Spencer laughed and you followed soon after.

“Also the staring contest was part of it. But, the results were inconclusive because someone cheated,” You point a finger in his direction.

Reid dared to look insulted, “I didn’t cheat! You’re just a sore loser.”

You gasp, “You did not just say that.”

“Says the one who just told me you guys based an entire experiment on me!” His smile slowly slipped as he noticed the expression on your face. Trust him to screw this up.

“Spence.. -“ It started as a fun topic but you didn't want him to think you think that’s all he is; an object to pass the time. He was a real person, not some science experiment. Your feelings for him were also real. As much as you wished they weren't.

Reid wanted to reach out, comfort you. All he wanted to do was smooth the lines between your brows and make you smile at him in the way you only do for him. He wasn't aware of it until Hotch pointed it out one day, and ever since then his life goal was to get you to do it every day for the rest of his life.

“No, no.. Y/N I was only teasing. Don’t feel bad, please. God, I’m such an idiot.” It was all well and good saying how he felt in his head but he could never seem to form comprehensible sentences around you. He ended up always sounding like an idiot.

You chewed on your lip, “It’s not that it’s just..”

The words refused to leave your tongue.

Spencer motioned for you to sit beside him. You settled yourself down and released a breath, “I’m sorry.”

He scanned your face for a moment, it felt like the staring contest all over again but this time you were sat with only inches between you. He says the next words with such resolve it made your heart skip a beat, “I’m not.”

He was finally doing it, he was finally offering you into his mind. It was scary and brilliant.

You gulp, “You’re not?”

“No. I’m not. Whatever was going on — lead to you spending more time with me so I don’t think it’s something to be apologising about.” His eyes are heartfelt. But his tone — it’s soft and almost a whisper. As if he spoke any louder he’d spook you off. Gentle like a promise, something he doesn’t wanna break.

You accidentally brush your shoulder with his, the touch was light as a feather, but within seconds goosebumps had erupted and scattered all over your skin.

You were almost too scared to ask, “why?”

Your throat was dry, but your palms felt sweaty and your cheeks were hot but you felt cold to the touch all over. You couldn't give yourself hope.

Spencer inhales and closes his eyes, just for a moment. He wanted to see you when he finally admitted what had been clawing at his heart.

He opens his eyes to gaze into your own and you've never felt so vulnerable, he was looking at you like he could see every emotion you were feeling on your face. He probably could.

Spencer leans into you, “I like spending time with you." I, I like you.”

Finally, it was out there.

A beaming smile broke out from your lips, “I like you too Spencer. I do,” You nod frantically like you had to prove it, “I have done for a very long time.”

A laugh of disbelief trickled out of him.

There's that smile.. he thought.

You slowly lean forward and pressed your lips to his. In that kiss was the sweetness of passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a moment. His hand raised to press against your cheek and bring you impossibly closer.

It probably wasn’t the greatest kiss you had ever given, you couldn’t stop smiling. Your noses kept knocking into each other’s and giggles kept tumbling out. But you felt impossibly happy.

Suddenly shouts exploded around them, clapping, whistles- you name it. You pulled away and felt love in every inch of your heart. You turn to Spencer and smile, `'Definitely not a robot."

═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══

Emily watches them from afar, a proud look set on her face. She was warm inside and out; wine, music, and being surrounded by her loved ones? it was truly the perfect evening. Spencer and Y/N couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Aaron approaches her from behind, instinctively wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her into him. Emily hum's happily and leans her head against his chest.

Aaron smiles into her hair, "Emily Prentiss, I'll never doubt your matchmaking skills again."

536 notes · View notes

iyumeu · 3 years ago

Text

but a wolf in sheep's clothing

...is more than a warning ♡

a more lighthearted companion of my yandere obey me fic spirit guardian featuring: a more violent, assertive (aggressive) MC premise: MC gets hurt by bullies. their demons get upset. MC realizes that they have the power of friendship and also incredible violence on their side. this is the origin story of lucifer's migraine. cw: uh not much, there's just a mild fight scene and also MC might have killed someone? probably not though.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━��Ꮚⓛ ‸ ⓛᏊ✿━━━━━━━━☆⭒

From the very beginning you had known that you were being bullied.

It was definitely nothing you couldn't handle. Acidic rumors, ruined belongings, isolation... Things that you thought you left behind in high school. You should've known that hell was just another version of high school, except it went on for eternity.

Everything came to a head, however, when some of the demons tried to bring you to a shady place and you refused. You knew what a tertiary location was, and you wanted no part in it!

The demons weren't happy with that and almost broke your arm but you managed to wiggle your way out and run off before any further damage could be done. Unfortunately, the blue-black imprints of their grip remained starkly visible on your hand, causing a large commotion to happen over dinner.

Mammon had been the first one to notice the bruise on your arm and immediately flew into a panic, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you vigorously. You held back your urge to wrap your arms around him tight enough to break his spine. He held your best interests at heart.

Once Mammon was content with the amount of shaking he had done to you, Belphegor was next, pulling your arm over to him and tracing a finger over the bruised skin. Beelzebub was sitting next to him, leaning over to catch a better glimpse of it. It was like none of them had ever seen a bruise before.

There was a sudden, loud crash and your head shot up to see Leviathan on his feet, bristling in anger in his demon form as his tail whipped around behind him. His chair was overturned, the source of the noise. Beside him, Satan was in his demon form as well, the cutlery in his hand bent and distorted from the strength of his grip.

"Who hurt you?"

Asmodeus was still seated with a smile on his face, but his eyes were glowing slightly, gaze fixed upon you as he asked his question.

"It was just some demon," you replied flippantly. "I don't know why but they seem to have it out for me."

"You mean that this isn't a one-off?" Lucifer asked. You shrugged.

"It's the first time things have gotten physical, if that helps," you offer. Lucifer closed his eyes with a sigh. Oh no, you knew that sigh. The I'm-not-angry-I'm-just-disappointed sigh.

"Why didn't you tell us?" he asked.

"Well, I told the teacher. They just told me to deal with it on my own." A low growl sounded throughout the room. You quickly continued before a fight broke out or something. "I also didn't want to be a bother, you know? It didn't affect me at all, honest. Most of the time, I just thought they were really funny."

"Did you..." Satan took a deep breath and the smile on his face stabilized. "Did you never think about getting revenge?"

"Oh. I was allowed to get revenge?"

Seven pairs of eyes turn to you.

"Yes?"

"Huh. I thought that I needed to be tolerant and shit because I was a representative of the human world. Okay. Good to know. Anyway, it won't happen again, I can assure you that."

Uncaring of the tension surrounding you, you went back to your food, knowing that if you appeared calm enough, your demonic housemates would follow suit. And sure enough, on your third forkful of demon's hair pasta, they all calmed down and continued their meal. Little did they know, it was the beginning of the end.

But not for you! ♡

⭒☆━━━━━━━━✿ᏊⓛꈊⓛᏊ✿━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Mammon was sticking awfully close to you today, as was Beelzebub. They flanked either side of you like a pair of underworld bodyguards, rarely allowing you a moment to yourself. No matter where you went, one of the demons brothers would be either with you or in the general vicinity. Even Leviathan had gone to school, and it wasn't even mandatory for him!

You felt loved and protected and also incredibly frustrated. However, all good (?) things eventually came to an end and your demonic housemates could not look out for you forever.

It was lunch and, despite their best efforts, all of the demon brothers had been called away for one thing or another, leaving you alone to poke at your devil chili salsa potato wedges in the lunch hall. You waited for a bit and, as expected, the trio of demon schoolyard bullies appeared in front of you.

"Looks like your demon bodyguards are nowhere to be found," the lead demon mockingly. "And here you are, all alone and vulnerable."

You stabbed one of the potatoes and brought it to your mouth. It wasn't as good as Mammon's cooking but it was still better than Solomon's.

Frustrated at your lack of a response, the demon standing to the left of the lead one kicked your table, almost sending your metal food tray skittering off the edge. You quickly catch the glass of juice that did fall off the edge, fortunately without any spillage.

"Human, are you even listening?!" they snarled.

"Yeah I am," you replied. "I just didn't know what to say?"

One of the other demons grabbed at your arm and pulled you up to a standing position. It was the same arm that contained the bruises from yesterday and the rough treatment made you wince. They gave a snort of derision in response.

"Not so proud now, huh?" they sneered. You searched your memory for the words you used to say when you found yourself in such situations.

"Are you trying to harm me?" you asked, loudly. The cafeteria of demons glanced at you but otherwise turned a blind eye, as they always did. It didn't matter though, all you needed was for them to have heard your question, and the bullies' answer.

"I'm not trying," the demon said. "I am hurting you. And I will until you—"

With your free hand, you grabbed the glass on the table and smashed it against the demon's face. The glass shattered on impact and the demon reeled, letting go of your arm in the process. You wasted no time in picking up your chair and swinging it against the demon with full force and they flew into the, thankfully, empty tables beside yours.

"You— Get the human!" the lead demons snarled. You picked up your lunch tray and harshly brought it down onto the head of the demon charging at you. It impacted the demon's skull with a loud 'clunk' and the demon started to scream and claw their face. It appeared that some of the chili extract had gotten into their eyes. Oops.

You couldn't waste any time, though. The last demons, the lead demon, was fuming and making their way towards you. Lightning quick, you leapt onto the table and aimed a kick at their head. To your utmost surprise, the kick scored and the demon fell onto the ground. You jumped off the table and landed right onto the demon, making them shout in pain. Huh. The teacher wasn't joking when they said that that even you could deal with demons like this.

Still, you had to make a Statement. You had to reforge your Status in Demon High School as someone not to be messed with so as to deter any further bullying attempts.

So, you grabbed the demon below you by the collar and dragged them to the window. You hurled it open and then shoved more than half of the demon's body out of the window so that you were the only thing keeping them from a nasty drop.

"Wanted to bully the human, huh?" you asked. Your voice held no malice or anger. "Well, you should have killed me instead. Anyway, I hope you won't be bullying me, or any other human, ever again?"

The demon was whimpering, casting nervous glances at the ground below. Huh. You had a perfect quote for this, didn't you? You couldn't believe that an entire edgy teenager phase spent memorizing quotes you thought were cool would ever pay off like this.

"Perhaps you should worry less about gravity, who has already made up its mind about killing you, and more about me, who's still mulling it over."

The demon started to shake.

"I won't do it again!" they shrieked. "Please, let me off!"

You were going to pull them back in — you weren't going to kill them, that was illegal — when a loud shout startled you.

"MC?!"

You whirled around to see your demonic housemates standing around the entrance of the cafeteria, all staring at you with varying degrees of shock. With reflexes honed from years of getting into trouble due to fights, both of your hands shot up to either side of your head.

"It was self-defense, I swear!" you blurted out. Behind you, there was a scream that gradually got softer. Ah. Well. They were a demon and there was, like, a pond below. They would survive.

Probably.

#obey me x reader #iyumeu writes om #look idk what else to tag this #crack? it's mostly like self-indulgent #based on my personal obey me mc named kou #kou 'if you want to bully me you'd better fucking kill me while you're at it' omoc

285 notes · View notes

kemvee · 3 years ago

Text

14 days

(I really need a banner for this fic)

Read from the start here or find the whole story on ao3

Part 3 - Sugar & Spice, from the @14daysdalovers prompts x

Cullen stood in the exclusive council kitchenette making his morning coffee before the first of today’s meetings. He had continued to protest for a full 2 days about the need for a Ball before eventually conceding. If his arguments lacked their usual level of distaste for such schemes he attributed it to wanting a speedy resolution to the challenges at hand… and not because Amie’s pretty smile had lit up at the prospect.

‘-e tried to be suggestive but he-’

The muted voices and clicking of heels of tile audibly increased as his coworkers approached. Cullen tuned out their conversation as much as was possible and instead focused on adding just the right amount of cream to his drink.

‘No! What did he s-’

Sounded like the ladies were arriving. He briefly wondered what colour hair Amie might have today, yesterday she went for a green the exact same shade as her eyes. Cullen had to studiously avoid looking at her, almost to the point of rudeness. This little attraction of his had to end.

‘- I just don’t think he is interested-’

Cullen focused instead on adding the foamed milk to his drink with a perfect swirl.

“Good Morning-” he said automatically as Amie and Josephine rounded the corner “-I’ve just made Coff- OW MAKERS BALLS!”

In an uncharacteristic display of clumsiness the white china mug clattered quite spectacularly, spilling its carefully crafted contents all over the marble worktops and his pants. Cullen, an experienced military leader who didn’t so much as flinch during gunfire, had dropped his coffee in surprise. He had dropped his coffee because for the first time since meeting her Amie she was wearing Jeans, a slim fitting t-shirt and her hair was a remotely natural colour.

“Oh Commander!” Amie said, rushing over to help him clean the spillage with a hastily gathered up cloth, completely unaware that she was the cause of Cullen’s current predicament. The quiet sniggering from Josephine suggested that she perhaps had some idea.

The burning sensation seeping onto his thighs was mirrored by the hot flush that covered his cheeks as she fussed about him. Her own white shirt ended up with a few small stains, her deep auburn braid became dishevelled as she helped him clean

Once the bulk of the spill was dealt with Amie offered to make him another drink, Josephine excused herself with a pointed smirk in his direction.

While they waited for the next batch of beans to brew Cullen thought it best to make polite conversation. He prefaced the conversation with a neck rub that was for once borne of awkwardness and not pain.

“You look, ah casual?”

Amie nodded with good humour and answered while she poured the coffee into two new mugs, “Yes I was a bit behind with my dry cleaning.”

“And your hair is different?” Andraste preserve him, he could not talk to this woman.

She shrugged and added foamed milk, “Well it didn’t seem like I should bother wearing a wig today seeing as I couldn't coordinate with my suit.”

“You wear wigs?!”

She laughed easily at his question. “Oh Commander. Did you think I dyed my hair a different colour everyday?”

Cullen didn’t answer, he was trapped in a smitten silence.

“And now for the final flourish.” He watched as she sprinkled something from a little used shaker.

She handed it over with a smile and watched expectantly as he took a sip.

“Cinnamon?” He asked.

“Yep, my secret ingredient.”

He took another drink, smiling into his cup as she began to head into the meeting room with her own mug.

“Nothing like a bit of spice to heat things up,” she said with a playful wink over her shoulder.

Cullen’s grip on his drink tightened like a vice.

Maker, but she was going to be the death of him.

#cullen rutherford #commander cullen #14DALovers #sugar & spice #Cullen's resolve is crumbling #cullen/oc #Cullen/Trevelyan #Kemvee writes

17 notes · View notes

r0b0tb0y · 3 years ago

Note

fanfic end of the year asks: ALL THE QUESTIONS

I deserved that.

favorite fic you wrote this year: The Stolen Season, a short meandering Deadwood fic I wrote just for me.

least favorite fic you wrote this year: It feels a little harsh! I will offer Anomaly up for slaughter, because it has the lowest kudos and I think I did K2 & Kallus better in other fics.

favorite line/scene you wrote this year: the working song in The Theory of Harmony might be the best scene I ever wrote:

This song didn’t need Din’s accompaniment. The lyrics were in Basic, a slow and aching lament for a lost love. It matched the beat of the dewbacks’ footsteps, so they moved as an eight-legged beast that breathed with Cobb’s words. The last song was the kind to stir up the smoky air of a cantina. This one was made for journeys, a repetitive melody for anyone to pick up and carry wherever they were going, no note too high or low to strain an amateur singer. Its modular verses built texture and details of a doomed romance: Cobb would linger, occasionally, on a rolling tenor as he scavenged for the next snatch of words, gripping it tighter when the rhymes fell into place.

It was a working song, battered into shape by generations of labour, bearing the weight of callused hands and beaten backs and gnarled joints that twanged before a sandstorm.

Cobb’s voice was strong enough to cover the click of the helmet’s clasp. Din rode a few paces with it loose, waiting for the impending urge to secure it in place again. When the impulse never arrived, he slipped it from his head to hold firmly in his lap.

Without the HUD to distinguish the contours, the canyon’s depths became a blanket of warm black. The sky formed a jagged stripe above, indigo where the sun had set, a greenish tint around Guermessa. A spillage of stars in the direction of the Core, growing sparser toward the east: a worn-out cloak with pills in the fabric. Din rubbed his cape between forefinger and thumb. Cobb’s song was a mirage at the horizon of Din’s range: he could pick it out with help from the memory of the amplified version. Unprocessed, the voice had a softer husk to it, suede rather than wool, sand-blasted smooth like the round-edged rocks it was sinking into. Curling and catching in the clever crevices of rocks to chase the blood-suckers off.

Din only knew the theory of harmony; he knew his own voice rumbled like a barge in a storm; he knew this song could be pretty or it could be clear, but not both. All of this would disappear in the morning.

Should he have sung Grogu a lullaby, that he might remember as he drifted asleep in a bed much safer than a handmade hammock strung over a bounty hunter’s bunk? Could Din hold a tune worth remembering? How would he have taught his father’s language to a son with three fingers?

He hadn’t had the time to figure it out.

total number of words you wrote this year: my stats page tells me 84K, and there's about 3-6k in WIPs (one's coauthored and I'm not tracking what's mine).

most popular fic this year: The Theory of Harmony, starting out strong.

least popular fic this year: Anomaly. It's ok, buddy.

longest completed fic you wrote this year: Defect, at almost 16K, because strangers-to-lovers requires legwork (ಠ~ಠ)

shortest completed fic you wrote this year: technically it's Parting Ways, because ao3 counts words with dashes in the middle as one, not two, so a 100-word drabble becomes 97 words when you're writing about Bo-Katan.

longest wip of the year: I only have two WIPs, so three moon wolf wins by default.

shortest wip of the year: double beef burger with shoestring fries.

fandom you enjoyed writing for the most this year: I feel happily settled in Mandalorian fandom, and I really enjoyed a short visit to White Collar.

favorite character to write about this year: Obi-Wan Kenobi, surprising myself. I've got future plans for him.

favorite writing song/artist/album of this year: I come back to Monster Magnet more than any reasonable person ought.

a fic you didn’t expect to write: Defect. I kept coming to @bright-elen's inbox like 'you know what would be another cool spin on some concepts you've been doing?' over and over until I had that 'goddammit I'm going to have to write it aren't I' moment.

something you learned this year: I think about that 'ignore fake rules' advice really helps me. I stopped writing the fics I expected myself to write, and let things get a little weird to do looser, more exploratory work. Ultimately stories I'm really proud of like Chenini Wolf and then you are lost wouldn't have been written if I was trying to fit a certain idea of What My Style Is Like.

fic(s) you completed this year: 28 total: four multichaps, ten drabbles, five instalments in Flying Blind, five in new(ish) fandoms, sundry other oddnesses.

fics you’ll continue next year: if you're unlucky, those two wips. I'm holding out for The Theory of Harmony and Flying Blind additions, depending how BOBF shakes out.

current number of wips: two. Plenty more ideas up on the shelf.

any new fics to start next year: not holding myself to anything in particular, but there's some more fleshed-out longfic concepts I'm curious to try.

number of comments you haven’t read: inbox zero baby

most memorable comment/review: I had some wonderful examples this year, but this bookmark on The Theory of Harmony was very special. I love when people talk about stories as material objects.

holllyyyyyyy shit.....this is it. This is everything i could ever want in a fic. The WRITING???? THE PAIN???? the Tuskens were beautifully done, Cobb was lovely, it was subtle and sweet and vivid and awe-inspiring. A fic to dream about, and writing skills one can only hope to obtain one day. Just such a beautiful fic. It's the line that goes something like 'teaching his father's language to a son with three fingers' that just flayed me right open. And the singing as they travelled through Tatooine. I want to paint these words on my bedroom wall. I want to print them onto paper just so I can touch them.

events you participated in this year: absolutely none. It was great. I wrote birthday fics for a few friends in August and that was it.

fics you wanted to write but didn’t: I have a few good concepts up my sleeve but there's not enough to get onto paper yet. A Din/Obi-Wan fic, an Ahsoka/L3 fic, got incredible vibes for Pope/Catfish from Triple Frontier but I haven't knuckled down on them.

favorite fic you read this year: I actually read very little this year, and opted to read more traditional fiction. Looking at my bookmarks, the Narcos: Mexico fic they are two alone, they are really scratched my brain in the same way moments from that show did. I'm such a fan of the jealous/overhearing dynamic and the prose really understands the show's strengths being its beautiful texture and the abyss of ambition.

a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read: As usual I rec everything @bright-elen and @ghost-teat have been working on.

number of favorites/bookmarks you made this year: ten bookmarks, mostly of things I read in past years and forgot to mark.

favorite fanfic author of the year: actually I'm gonna shout out to the amazing artists @its-not-a-pen @dinkryze and @intricatecakes for all their gorgeous Mandalorian work.

longest fic you read this year: I do not actually know how to check. I think it might have been Sparks by @bright-elen?

shortest fic you read this year: Again, I am uncertain. Technically, probably this one.

favorite fandom to read fic from this year: Rogue One, my beloved. Incredible talent and a wonderful community. And Leverage, now I've finally watched it!

#ask memes

11 notes · View notes

unstoppableforcce · 4 years ago

Text

trivia night

pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader

masterlist | next part

a/n: oh so very smutty so [18+] y’all. thank you to everyone who inspired and encouraged me to enter the triple frontier fic world, if y’all like this one be sure to let me know so I can keep more coming !! ( and a special thank you to @mandoplease for publishing such incredible work that I had to join the Santi fic world !! )

“No, Jango Fett is from the prequels--”

“Boba Fett is also in the prequels--”

“And the originals--”

The whisper fight was not unusual for a Thursday night trivia night with the boys around the table at the brewery but it was unusual for Frankie, Benny, and Will to get away with the discussion for so long.

Santi was almost always the first to jump in and set the record straight, no matter the topic of the question asked by the bald and Irish host up by the bar, but not this Thursday. His stare passed over the few tables packed with housewives eying up Benny and ignoring their husbands, and over the twenty-somethings with purple and pink hair holding similar arguments. It was directed straight to the bar across the concrete floor and no where else.

Because it wasn’t tall and lanky Bram the bartender behind the counter like it had been every Thursday night for the past six months since Frankie moved two blocks away from the brewery. It was you.

And he couldn’t pull his attention from you, not even to correct the absurd whisper fight happening at the table around him that had spiraled into an even stupider battle between the brothers for the pen to scribble down the answer.

You were too distracting.

“Pope— Pope— give me the goddamn pen, Benny— Pope, come on is it Boba or Jango?” Will fought, nudging him enough to snap him from his thoughts but also nudging him just enough to send the beer in his hand clattering to the side, spilling out all over the table.

Frankie and Will were quick to grab their phones off the table, Benny scrambling exclusively for the tiny slips of paper for the trivia game, but Santi had no choice but to slide his chair back to try and avoid making a mess of his pants. Except it made a screaming noise that echoed around the large brewery warehouse, the metal chair against the concrete making people throw their hands to their ears and groan instead of focusing on the question at hand.

“Dammit,” he cursed out, reaching for a handful of napkins as his jeans got wet but as he began dabbing, he glanced around and realized the whole brewery shifted their attention to their table, “sorry, we’re all good.”

“Convincing,” Frankie chided and Santi quickly hit his hat off his head, earning a chorus of laughter from the table, but doing little to hide the blush on either of their faces.

“It had to be my beer?” Santi scoffed, grabbing another handful of napkins to begin wiping at his chair and the table.

“You weren’t helping with the question—”

“You two would have figured it out—“

“I told you it was Boba—”

“Turn in your answers to the front so we can move on to the next question!” The host called from the bar and Benny quickly stood with his answer on the slip of paper, taking it up to the front as everyone’s tables did the same.

But as Pope tried to keep cleaning with his futile napkin pile, a dry towel appeared on the table next to him, between him and Frankie.

“Here, let me...”

It was you, not Bram the bartender, pushing the dry towel into the spilled beer on the table, and he froze.

If he thought you were distracting from afar, it was worse up close.

Frankie didn’t freeze though, he quickly scooted out of the way, careful to lift his chair so it wouldn’t screech the way Pope’s did, but Pope still stood just a foot behind you, frozen in place.

The hustle and bustle of the trivia night continued on around them and you worked quickly, drying off the table and wiping down the floor where most of it ended up, but he didn’t snap out of it until you bent down in front of him and he realized he was just staring.

“Sorry, it was an accident...” He sighed, trying to get back to himself by bending down next to you, trying to help with his sloppy pile of napkins even as you waved him off.

“It’s okay, trivia can get pretty intense.” You chuckled, using your towel to collect the mess of napkins he had in his hands. “I’ll take that.”

“Oh um, thank you.”

“No problem--”

“I don’t know any of the Spice Girls!” Benny whisper shouted from across the table, interrupting the two of you as both of you slowly stood back up.

Santi took a glance around, realizing the trivia night had continued on around the two of you and that was what Benny was talking about, not any other random reason.

But he could still care less, focused more on you as he dragged his seat back to the table. Except you didn’t flee the table immediately and retreat back to the bar like he expected, you hung around, leaning into the table.

“What’s the question?” You hummed, quickly earning all of the attention of boys around the table.

“Umm who was the only Spice Girl not to sing a line during Wannabe...?” Frankie meekly offered from beside you.

“Posh.” You whispered before pulling back, flashing Santi a smirk and finally retreating to the bar while Benny scribbled the answer down quickly.

“Thanks—” “Thank you—” they all cheered behind you and you offered the same smirk you gave to Santi to the rest of them.

“That’s not Bram...” Will laughed out, sipping at his beer.

“No, definitely not.” Frankie continued to muse, nudging Pope again and almost making him drop the pitcher in hand as he moved to pour himself a new drink. “Was that what was distracting you--”

With his glass only halfway filled, he brought it to his lips to give himself an escape while the boys began to laugh around him.

“Yeah, definitely not Bram...” He joined them with a laugh but the next question came on quickly and they all moved on.

Except for Santi. He didn’t. He couldn’t, not that quickly.

He glanced back to the bar, looking past the bald man leading the questions to you at the bar. Though the second you felt his stare, you looked up from the counter and briefly caught it. But he only sent it back to the guys around him, missing the smirk that stayed on your lips as you stared.

As halftime from the trivia game sounded off, most of the crowd escaped out to the food truck in the back alley, including Will who refused to take orders for the others.

“If you want a taco, go out and get your own taco.” Will scoffed out, earning a round of groans in response.

But as Benny got up with his glass of beer to intercept the stares he had been getting from the table on the other side of him and Frankie excused himself for the bathroom, Santi really had no choice but to get up himself. And if he was getting up, he was going to talk to you.

At least, that was if he could catch your attention out of the crowd of men waiting for refills.

Nabbing a small section of counter top next to Bill, the older office worker who came to play alone nearly every week and oggle the owner, Santi patiently waited as you passed pitchers and glasses across the counter to the hoard of waiting men. He contemplated heading back to the table, not wanting to make things more difficult for you, but as he caught your stare again while you worked, he figured you might prefer for him to tough it out.

So he waited, and waited, past the ten minute warning from the bald host, then past the five minute warning, but eventually you cleared out the crowd and made your way over to him.

“Pitcher of the Amber or...?” You prompted, wiping some of the spillage from the last pitcher you past over the counter away as you maneuvered yourself across the counter from him.

“Yeah, please...” he sighed out, clenching his eyes shut as you turned your back to him.

No. No, was what he should have said, they still had almost half a pitcher left on the table but It came out before he could help himself.

What was wrong with him? He never had any problem asking for a name, or a date, or a phone number, especially when you set him up so well.

Hopefully the tacos made the boys thirsty because you quickly turned around with a full pitcher and he had to fish his wallet from his pocket, tossing a few bills out between the two of you. Enough to cover the pitcher and a healthy tip.

But nothing to wow you. He had no charm, no confidence. What was wrong with him—

“Need me to carry it back to your table or you think you can handle it without spilling?” You mocked easily, the smirk building on your lips again and practically drawing him further into the counter.

You had your own gravity to you, it was simple, effortless, unlike anything he had felt in a while. He leaned his elbows forward onto the counter next to the pitcher and you leaned closer just the same almost on instinct.

“I think I can manage that myself... thank you though...”

That wasn’t smooth, that could’ve been so much smoother, what the hell was wrong with him—

“Need anything else?”

“Your name?” There was his recovery, better late than never. He quirked his head and slyly dropped his stare to the counter with a chuckle before dragging it slowly back up to your eyes. “Maybe a phone number?”

The smirk didn’t even drop when you laughed at him, amused by the display.

“I don’t even have your name,” you mused, letting out a wistful sigh, reaching for your towel to wipe at the counter again.

“Santiago.” He extended his hand over the counter and you took it easily, offering your name back as you did.

“Maybe if y’all win trivia I can see myself offering up a phone number.” You shrugged, pursing your lips out slightly.

He didn’t let any blush rise to his face, just a hum of his own amusement. The blush for the whole room was worn by Bill just one seat over, trying desperately to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping though both of you could clearly tell he was.

“Maybe?”

You shook your head but the smirk on his lips only grew on his face, “Maybe,” you repeated.

“I think I can work with maybe.” He liked this banter, and he more than liked the smile you sent it his way with.

“Yeah? Then you better up your Spice Girl’s knowledge.”

“I know my Spice Girls—”

“Good for you man.” Frankie joked, having overheard just his line as he approached the counter behind Santi. “I thought I had the next round?”

Santi stuttered a bit at that, back off his game, searching for the words he needed but you had already chuckled out and shifted your attention away, grabbing the money and turning to the next customer.

“Oh, did I interrupt—”

“No, why would you think that?” Santi kept his voice down but let the sarcasm flow freely, throwing his hands up in some minor annoyance and Frankie hid his laughter and the heat of his cheeks behind the brim of his hat. “Just take the pitcher, will you—”

He looked back to the counter to push the pitcher his way and you were back, holding a handful of napkins out to him, “just in case.”

“Thank you.” He said again, taking them from your hand as you just shook, turning your back to him as he walked away with Frankie, the host calling for the start of the final few rounds.

He was no longer useless to the team. He magically shifted into the leader he normally was when they came out for Trivia night, answering questions before some of the guys could even process them, scribbling out faster than even Benny could manage. But in the end, it wasn’t enough.

Team ‘the boys’ worked their way into second place just behind the two assholes at the bar, clearly having just gotten off work with their loosened ties and rolled up sleeves. Team ‘rich and delicious’. That meant they got the applause and they got the free beer growlers.

It also meant Santi got nothing.

Or at least, he assumed that was the case, letting his stare fall to the guys around him as they cheered for their first second place victory since they started coming.

“Nice work man,” Frankie touted, patting him on the back as Will freshened up each of their glasses with more beer.

It was a fun night and it felt good to do better than ever before, but he was competitive to say the least. He wanted to win. Not just for the principle of winning, though it would have certainly been reward enough to beat the two dicks at the bar. But more so for you.

Though as he caught your stare across the brewery again, your smirk told him it wasn’t over yet.

After about another hour of drinking, you shouted out “last call,” and by then, most of the brewery had began to pack up and head home anyways.

Will had planned to drive Benny home, Frankie had planned to walk from the beginning but Pope steadfastly remained confident in his sobriety. Dolling out a few hugs or handshakes to say goodbye, he excused himself to the restroom and when he came out, his team was gone.

Making his way to the bar, now one of the few remaining patrons, he caught your stare and attention much quicker than he had before.

“No win for you tonight...” you joked and he rolled his eyes, taking claim of the seat across from you.

“Second is better than we’ve ever done so I still have that to be proud of.” He fought back, watching you wave to the last group of people as they left, kind enough to bring their glasses back up to the counter for you.

“Really?” You quirked your head over your shoulder as you continued to clean.

He quirked his head right back, amused to say the least, “Yeah, we aren’t the smartest band of guys—”

“No, I mean, you’re proud of second?”

He laughed out at that, meeting laughter from you as well and smiling, “is second not something you reward? First only?”

“I may have a prize for second...” You laughed, “but you don’t really strike me as a guy satisfied with second.”

“Satisfied?”

“Satiated, content, accepting of—”

He shook his head, another spell of laughter falling from his lips, “No, you’re right, I’m a competitive guy.”

Grabbing a tub out from under the bar, you settled it on your hip and maneuvered out of the bar, going table by table and grabbing the rest of the glasses laying around. “I know, you put up quite the fight for second, the ‘nearly grandma’s’ team was only two points behind.”

“I guess Posh Spice really helped us.” He laughed.

You settled the tub back out on the counter and reached over for a wet rag to begin wiping down each of the tables. “So what do you think you should get for second place? Especially if I’m the one who boosted you to second...”

“What should I get?” He couldn’t remember the last time he was around someone and kept his smirk up for this long, he’s never been so amused by someone, so playful with someone...

He felt light. Honestly, light. When was the last time he could say that?

“Well the phone number was for first, what’s for second?” You tempt your smirk back his way as you bend over the first table, wiping it down.

“I mean, a first date, a first kiss, I’m very interested in everything... what are my options here?”

“I’m starting to think maybe I should have reworked my tiering here, you know, put phone number on the bottom, third place or something.” You mused, moving to the next table as he turned on his seat at the bar to follow you with his stare.

“So I’ve already won the phone number?”

“Insatiable...” You mocked, finishing up with the last few tables and pushing the chairs in. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you quickly unlocked it, passing it his way, “How about you give me yours?”

“And then?”

“Well,” you spun around some as he began typing, looking up at you between his name and number, “it’s nearly midnight and I’m not off work yet, and I normally work everyday but Thursdays and Sundays so, I’m not much for dinner dates but I’m a big fan of breakfast.”

“That’s convenient, I make a mean breakfast.” He smiled, quirking his chin up as he handed your phone back to you. “How about tomorrow?”

“Now we might be a little ahead of ourselves, I just got your phone number.”

“I haven’t gotten anything.” He shook his head with another laugh.

He liked laughing this much. Sure, he laughed with the guys but he didn’t have plans to sleep with any of them. And the people he did sleep with weren’t like you. Maybe that’s what he’s been doing wrong recently.

“Second place...” you mutter, shaking your head as you take a few steps closer, effectively eliminating any space between the two of you, no bar to lean over, no nothing. “Second place would really be lowering my standards you know...”

“Should have told the ‘rich and delicious’ team to stick around.” He mocked as you leaned closer, his voice getting quieter and quieter as you did.

“Nah, second isn’t too bad when it looks like you.”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

In all honesty, he’d been staring at your lips since the two of you ended up alone at the bar and watching you bend over to clean... he had shown incredible restraint so far.

And judging by the way your stare fell to his lips, he wasn’t the only one. He felt more confident than he had felt all night.

More confident than he had felt in a while, if he was being completely honest.

He surged forward off the bar stool and grabbed your face with both hands, dragging your lips to his. The kiss was heated and full of fire, but far too short. He couldn’t let it linger for too long, almost all of his confidence coming out in the single surge. But as he pulled his lips back from yours, keeping his nose up against yours, he felt a spark of electricity flow through him from head to toe.

The way his lips hovered over yours, dancing against yours ever so slightly as he tried to catch his breath, it was like two live wires sparking against each other.

Electrifying.

Clearly you felt it too, because he couldn’t even catch his breath much less get out a word or two before your lips were back on his and your hands were gripping tight to his chest.

Stepping you back, his hands fell to your hips, guiding you onto the next bar stool so he had a better angle, his hips in line with yours in between your legs, his lips moving to attack your neck.

“Santiago...” you moaned out, his name floating through the stale air of the brewery like the sweet honey the amber ale tasted like and he swore he could taste it on his lips as he licked down to your shoulders.

“Let me take you home...” he rolled his hips up into yours and the breath that escaped you was even more rugged than the last.

“Oh well, first place...” you threw your head back, “first place would get to take me home.”

“What does second place get?” His kisses trailed along the gold necklace that hung around your neck, dipping lower into the cleavage of your black top.

“Well, we have the place to ourselves, might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

He laughed at that, pulling his lips off of you and glancing around the empty warehouse bar. “Yeah?”

“Could’ve come in first.”

“Oh honey, I’ve got no problem taking you on the table...” he smirked, dragging you off the stool and bringing your face back to his for a chaste kiss. “And I never come first.”

“Oh I set you up for that one...”

“Damn straight sweetheart.”

Grabbing your hips as you slung your arms around his neck, he moved you back to the nearest table and sat you back on it. And while you pulled at his short curls, deepening the kiss, he found the bottoms hem of your shirt and began dragging it tantalizingly slow up your chest.

Seems you were the one showing little restraint now, meeting his hands and rapidly lifting it the rest of the way off and tossing it aside easily.

“You’re good at that.” He mused, reaching for the bottom hem of his own shirt to do the same

“Yeah, I take it off at least once a day you know...”

“Smart ass.”

He grabbed for your hips again but instead of drawing you closer, he flipped you around, pressing the front of your hips into the table and pushing hims elf firmly against your ass. With one strong forearm taut around your torso, he kept your back against his bare chest, dragging you as close as possible until your breaths aligned with his and his lips could move to your ear.

“Is this okay?” He huffed, still trying to catch his breath and staggering even more so as one of your hands reached up to intertwine your fingers with his holding against your chest.

With a roll of your hips back into his, eliciting another groan from his lips, you responded with a throaty, “Yes...”

Your head fell back onto his shoulder as his restrained and hardened length continued to grind into your ass, the fingers of his hand not holding you upright dipping to the button of your jeans and undoing it quickly. The hot breath panting out of your chest held in your throat as his hand dipped even lower, dragging taunting lines along your soaked underwear.

His hips rocked in a deft rut against you still but now rocking your tight bundle of nerves into the palm of his hands, prying a restrained whimper from your lips.

“Baby, I want to hear you.” He cooed into your ear, his mind desperate for the honey of your voice and the way his mind seemed to drown in it. The hot pleasure of each movement bubbling in his stomach, he was hardening against your ass, you were soaking over his fingers...

“Santiago...”

A growl released from his lips, as his hips stuttered against yours. He wanted more of you, more of your delicious voice whining out into the echoing warehouse, more of the decadent juices dampening his fingers as he pushed aside your underwear and dipped into you one finger at a time, more of the hot taste of your skin as he sucked onto the bend of your neck to your shoulders, more of you... so much more of you.

Bending you over the table, your hands splayed out over the freshly cleaned surface, trying to keep yourself upright with nearly quivering arms. His pants hit the floor, belt buckle clattering to the concrete, and yours quickly followed suit, worked down your legs to bunch up around your boots and ankles. But keeping yourself partially upright was futile, turning your head over your shoulder you caught sight of him stroking over his fully hardened and lengthy girth and all but resigned yourself to your impending fate, laying down the rest of the way with another moan released your lips.

The sight of him alone had you clenching around the stale air of the warehouse and nothing else, desperate for more of him.

“You want this?” He played, drawing a languid stroke over himself as he brought his tip to play against your exposed and aching cunt. “Tell me you want me, baby.”

“I want you...”

“Yeah?” He pressed in gently, toying with you as your grip around the table tightened. “Tell me baby.”

“Smart ass,” you groaned, earning a gentle yet playful smack on your ass that you relished in, trying to back into him for relief. Finally, the taunting tease was too much and you pleaded for him with your dripping honey tone, “I want you, I want you, please.”

Pushing the rest of the way in, all of your noises held tight in your throat while he kept still within you, relishing in the feel of you stretching around him as your hands clenched tight around the table. One of his hands worked up your back, unclasping your bra with a practiced move and continuing up to the back of your neck, pushing your face into the cool table top before he began to work in and out of you.

His other hand held at the dip of your lower back, holding you in place as his thrusts accelerated in pace. The holding grip felt like a crushing weight but nothing like the force of his pounding hips as he nailed you deeper and deeper into the table. The repeated hits of your hips against the table threatened to leave bruises but you could care less, the pain was pulling an addicting sense of euphoria from your core and you’d cover your body in a thousand bruises if it meant you’d feel this good.

Weaving his hand from the back of your neck into your hair, he lifted your face up just enough to meet his lips as he bent over you, finding a newer, deeper angle with his lips ghosting over yours.

“How does it feel, baby...” he taunted as you tried to bring your lips to his but he held you just far enough back to feel his breath but not his lips.

Close, tauntingly close, but not enough.

“Kiss me, Santi...”

“How does it feel?”

Sending a particularly pounding thrust into you, your head fell back against his shoulder, your moan descending into a sob as his lips met your neck for a lengthy lick and bite.

God, you didn’t just feel good, you felt right. You felt right like nothing had before, not since he and the guys got back from South America.

He bought the house because it felt like the right thing to do, he stopped doing work that would hurt himself because it felt like the right thing to do... but this was the only thing that felt right. He had been looking for something like this for longer than he could even remember and he wanted more.

“Santi—”

He cut you off with his lips on yours, contorting at a weird angle but giving him new access to your still half clothes chest. He wanted your bra off, he wanted to feel every inch of you, every single goddamn inch of you.

Every sound you made, no matter how faint, echoed in the big room now, even in competition with the obscene sound of his hips smacking into yours. You could hear each grunt and breath that fell from his lips and he could hear the same from you, every whine and moan, every whimper and—

“Please...”

Your words vibrated against his lips and released a new level of desperate need from within him.

The hand he had fighting with the fabric of your bra relinquished the fight to get it off, moving underneath to take hold of your breast, his other hand reaching back around your torso to hoist you back up into his chest. His teeth gritted together as he found a whole new rhythm, faster, faster, faster...

“Oh my g—”

“Oh fuck honey.” Everything was getting tighter, the tense coil in your stomach, his grip around your chest, every muscle in his legs and abdomen, the pull of you against him... you were clenching tighter and tighter around him, tighter and tighter.

His hips snapped even harder into you as his rhythm began to falter but his hand reached down from your stomach with a purpose. His hand was back on your pulsing bundle of nerves, but not his palm, two fingers, rubbing meticulously at first but quickly loosing all sense of control as you began to shake against him.

Biting down on your shoulder, he moved to a pace he couldn’t hope to maintain, trying to push you over the edge with his fingers, rubbing faster and faster and faster and—

“Fuck, Santi— fuck.” you shook, coming apart around him as your scream of his name cursed out into an echo, bouncing around the warehouse walls and playing into his ears on each bounce. Then your breathless whisper released just loud enough for him to hear in your smoothest voice, drenched in honey, drowning his ears in it, “Santiago...”

And that was all it took.

He was falling apart, barely managing the control to ask “can I— fuck, can I— inside?” and get an exhausted nod from you before he came apart.

His hips stuttered, knocking you into the table once, then twice in quick succession, all accompanied by whines of his own falling from his lips against the skin of your neck.

“Not bad for second place...” you mocked, still out of breath as he kept you held up against his chest.

And his laughter shook the both of you, his forehead, now damp with sweat, pressed into the side of your face. As he slipped out of you, sending you both whimpering out from the loss of contact, he kissed down your spine until he picked his own pants up.

“Let me take you home,” he kissed back up your spine until you turned around and met his lips with yours. “I promised breakfast...”

“I like breakfast.” You hummed, holding him close by his curls, forehead holding against yours.

“I like you.”

To think, you had the audacity to be mad when Bram the bartender asked you to pick up his Thursday shift.

—

tags: @mandoplease @spider-starry @pizzahutmonkeybutt @mouse230 @kindablackenedsuperhero @shakespeareanwannabe @mylifeliterally @this-cat-is-dea @woakiees

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader #oscar isaac #triple frontier #smut #oh my god i can believe i did it #i hope yall enjoy

581 notes · View notes

kinkcommissions · 2 years ago

Text

"A Man's Man"- Superstore Sickfic

Written by: Pine

This fic is based on the short arc where Jonah drinks the ranch dressing to impress the warehouse guys. ‘nough said ;)

There is a very slight reference to my previous Superstore fic “Spillage”. It’s unimportant to the plot of the fic, but if you enjoy this kinda thing, check out “Spillage” first because this one technically follows that one (though the reference is only small)

Hope you enjoy :)

---

Jonah swaggered toward the breakroom. He practically bounced with excitement. Not only did he get the warehouse guys to join the union without having to partake in endless questionable activities with Marcus, but he did it by connecting to them as men. Jonah had always been insecure about how manly he was. He knew he wasn’t the kind of guy to lift weights and pull girls; he was more the kind of guy to make a cup of coco and tune in to a new podcast, arguing out loud with the speakers with no one else to hear. He had never been “a man’s man”, until today. To chug a gallon of ranch dressing perhaps wasn’t the most intellectual solution to the problem, but it had worked. He was only grateful that he had skipped lunch today, though with nothing else in him, that ranch was sitting heavy…

Even acid reflux couldn’t get him down. A gallon of dressing was definitely not brilliant for his rather sensitive stomach, given that it was mostly used to all organic, locally sourced foods. Though that didn’t matter, he could just swig some pepto when his shift was over and he got home. And though he was stuck on shift for another hour or two with an increasing pain in his middle, he was still high off his success with the guys.

“You look more peppy than usual” came Garret’s voice. Jonah turned to see him also heading to the breakroom. “Let me guess, you served Greta Thunberg at the checkout?”

“No, cool stuff like that never seems to happen to me” Jonah replied. Garret smirked, further amused that Jonah had missed that he was making fun of him.

“No, I chugged a gallon of ranch to impress the warehouse guys into joining the union!” Jonah didn’t wait to see Garret’s reaction before continuing, meaning he missed a flash of concern across his friend’s face.

“Maybe I should chug things more often” Jonah said, half talking to himself, walking through the employee door towards the breakroom. He raised his voice again bringing Garret back into the conversation.

“That’s what us guys do isn’t it? Chug drinks?” Jonah paused for a moment, trying to think of a more macho term for drinks.

“Booze? Hooch? Liquid Courage?” at the last, Jonah nodded, satisfied and Garret stifled a laugh, imagining Jonah calling ‘beer’ ‘liquid courage’ in front of the warehouse guys.

“Can you even chug a gallon of ranch?” Garret asked as they walked together down the hallway.

“Apparently so” Jonah replied, placing a hand for a moment on his stomach, reminded of the heavy feeling settling there.

“I mean, without hurling it all back up again later”

“I don’t think that’ll be an issue” Jonah said “I like to drink probiotics so my digestion…” he patted his stomach twice “It’s got to be fairly well boosted by now”

“Ok buddy, don’t come crying to me when you’re chucking up a gallon of ranch in the employee toilet”.

“Won’t need to man, guys chug all sorts all the time right? And ranch is meant to be eaten anyway!”

They made it to the breakroom and took a well-deserved rest, Garret grateful to take a break from serving customers; Jonah grateful to be off his feet and give his stomach a chance to start working on that ranch. A sore stomach for one evening seemed like a small price to pay for respect and admiration from the guys.

---

“Oh god”

It was too late for pepto. Jonah gripped his stomach firmly as he hastily made his way from aisle six, where he was stocking the shelves, and towards the employee toilet. Turns out Garret had been right, and its not like he could ask him for help now after what he had said, but more because he had already helped him a while ago when Jonah had eaten that bad yoghurt and subsequently thrown it back up when confronted with a particularly bad spillage. Garret had been so kind to him then and Jonah didn’t want Garret to think of him as this shrinking violet that vomited every time something disgusting happened. Plus, he wanted Garret to believe him about his probiotics and the benefit they had on his digestion. He’d come so far trying to teach Garret about organic, probiotic food and this would make him lose all his earned credibility on that topic. A quick trip to the men’s room was all he needed this time, and he was more than happy to do it by himself.

“Jonah?”

“Dina!” Jonah was flustered, he quickly removed his hand from his stomach and tried to wipe away the sheen of sweat across his brow.

“You’re already finished in aisle 6? That was quick. Ok, I need you to run a message to Amy, she’s in her office. A shipment came in today, apparently we’re short one item. Those bastards think they can short us one item per shipment like I’m not going to notice? Do you even know how many gallons of ranch they would owe us by the end of the year?”

“Oh god” said Jonah, though they weren’t really words, more spoken through an involuntary and powerful retch that keeled him at the waist. He put a hand instinctively to his mouth.

“Woah, you okay Jonah? You’ve gone a little green there. It’s very noticeable on account of your pale complexion. Was it something I said? Don’t like me talking about ranch shipments?”

Bleruuugh. The retch was short and strong, his body so full of ranch, it didn’t need to come far to escape. The hurling was vicious, a wet noise followed his gagging which was muted by a mouthful of partially digested, warm and stomach-tinged ranch dressing. The vomit was almost pure ranch. It looked white. It smelt tangy. Jonah tasted nothing but ranch and this only served to quicken the process.

Dina took a couple of quick steps back, managing to avoid most of the fluid, getting herself hastily out of the firing line.

“Damn Jonah, youstole the ranch from the shipment?”

Jonah took his opportunity to speak while he had the chance, though his voice was thick.

“No! Well yes, I guess technically? But only to chug it so that the warehouse guys would join the union! I-“ he cut himself off as speaking for so long was bringing on another wave of nausea.

“Ah, a classic dick-swinging contest huh?” Dina nodded understanding “I’ve been where you’ve been, I’ve chugged enough ranch to open a sandwich shop of my own”

Jonah paused for a moment, distracted from his sickness

“What would you sell, ranch sandwiches?” though at the thought of his own comment, Jonah promptly spewed liquid onto the floor again.

“Okay buddy” Dina said, placing a hand on his back to lead him away. She pulled out her walkie talkie.

“Glenn, can you send Sandra over to aisle six, tell her to bring a mop”

“Can do Dina!” came Glenn’s nasally voice from the other side of the walkie talkie.

“How does that man not get laughed out of every room he walks in?” Dina questioned out loud as she strode purposefully, leading Jonah to the employee toilet. She managed to get him there without further mess made out on the floor. Dina threw the door open, and seeing one of the stall doors closed, she started hammering on it with her fist.

“Clear the room now!” she called, her voice booming through the toilet.

Marcus replied from inside “Dina I’ve just started and if I stop now I’ll have to start all over again in another bathroom”

“Save it Marcus. Out. Now.”

Marcus fled from the stall, naked, and bundling his clothes in his arms,

“Jesus Marcus why are you naked?”

“Oh so you guys would rather try and get pee stains out of your clothes?”

“Just don’t pee on yourself?!”

“Yeah” Marcus scoffed “If it were that easy! Good one Dina” and then he left.

“He is a strange guy” Jonah said but started retching again.

“In!” Dina demanded pointing into the stall and kicking it open.

“Was that really- oh-“ Jonah cut himself off again and made his way to the toilet kneeling down and centring himself just in time for yet another torrent, hailed down into the toilet bowl. The discontented cries of Jonah’s struggle to evacuate the ranch were echoed back into the room. Amidst the sounds of vomit pooling in the toilet came the desperate groans and agonised moans that could only be coming from someone ridding themselves of a gallon of ranch.

Dina reached out but hesitated before touching him. Hearing his struggle, her decision was made. She laid her hand across his back and made comforting circular motions. He instinctively leaned slightly back into her hand, almost forgetting she was there; he only focused on the feeling of comfort. Some distant part of him was embarrassed at her presence, but a very real and immediate threat of another exodus brought any straggling thoughts back to his here and now as he fully emptied himself into the toilet; his hands grasped desperately at the seat. Jonah’s posture was small, his knees together, head bowed and back slightly arched as he retched. Dina stood behind him in contact with his back. She had begun making staccato hushing sounds and realised it was the same noise she used to quiet her birds, but it seemed to helping Jonah so she didn’t stop.

After his vomiting had stopped, Jonah let out a more than exasperated breath and sat back onto his knees. He wiped his brow once more and Dina was already offering toilet paper, which he took gratefully, and used to clear his nose and clean his mouth. He stood.

“You missed a bit” she said softly and with the toilet paper she still held, she dabbed the corner of his mouth. Jonah was very flustered.

“Thank you. And, erm- thank you for- you know”

“Hey” she stopped him “I’ve been there. It’s okay.”

She turned to leave and stopped, turning back to face him.

“I’m gonna have to take the cost of the ranch out of your pay. It’s nothing personal but you did consume stock while on shift.”

Jonah smiled, glad to return to their usual dynamic and quickly leave the vulnerability behind.

“I won’t write you up though, I think you’ve probably suffered enough”.

#sickfic #sick jonah simms #superstore sickfic #jonah x dina #emeto #jonah simms #superstore

8 notes · View notes

mithranqueersmusings · 4 years ago

Text

The Night Before I

Chapter: 1/15

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo hangs around after the club closes and meets a stranger.

Tags: Eventual Smut

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The night was coming to an end, whether Ringo wanted it to or not. John and Paul had left half an hour ago, and as the club's inhabitants gradually thinned Ringo began cursing himself for not taking the opportunity to share an Uber home. Yet he still felt determined to stay clinging to the bar until the staff would have to force him to leave. This had become a common occurrence as of late, Ringo clinging on desperately to the end of every single night out as though it would provide anything at all. Despite all his attempts to go home with somebody, anybody, there didn't seem to be a single person remotely interested. Perhaps a change of scenery would've helped, but he'd been coming to this club for as long as he could remember; the music was good, the drinks were cheap, and the men were relatively good looking, what more could he ask for?

Taking a final sip of his vodka-coke, Ringo looked around the dimly lit room in a last attempt to find someone to go home with. He knew he wasn't looking his best, his stubble grown far beyond looking rugged and bordering on sloppy, his flimsy pair of sunglasses resting on the collar of his shirt with a spillage stain clear to see. Everyone else in the room seemed to have the same idea, preying eyes tracing the walls as each person waited for someone else to make the next move. It was rather depressing really, a bunch of men desperately clinging on to the hope that someone would find them moderately attractive enough to fuck them once and never see them again. What kind of romance was that? Ringo let out a soft laugh at the thought, shaking his head as he decided it was probably best to slink home than embarrass himself trying to flirt. Paul and John seemed to have it so easy, like they were made for one another, and here Ringo was struggling to even get a second date from a guy.

Ringo heard the fateful words that signalled the closing of the bar, only giving him about half an hour before the whole place shut down too. Letting out a sigh, he turned his back to the bar and leaned against it, taking one last glance around the desolate space before putting his sunglasses on and heading towards the exit. The cold air stung his once warm face, he pulled his jacket tighter to his body in an attempt to keep some heat. Outside the club were various scenes of debauchery: girls toppling around in their high heels barely able to remain upright, teenagers throwing up in the gutter, men sprawling with one another any chance they got. It was pretty pitiful, but Ringo loved it in a way. It was just so familiar. A small smile spread on his lips as he took out a cigarette to light, he knew better than to try and get an Uber at this time - he'd lost enough money with the rush hour - so he decided to wait it out until everything calmed down before he shamelessly made his way back home. Few people had the same idea, everyone was rushing around after taxis or trying to get signal on their phones, Ringo couldn't help but feel a little smug to have seen this situation coming a mile away. The sounds of the city were calming to him, even the crisp coldness of the air was refreshing.

"Bum a cig?" A voice broke Ringo's fragile serenity, one belonging to someone he didn't recognise.

Ringo managed to hide how startled he'd been, evidently he hadn't realised how much the alcohol had been dulling his senses. With his sunglasses on it was hard to tell exactly what he was looking at, but the voice certainly wasn't familiar.

"Sorry?" Ringo replied, suddenly feeling far drunker than before.

The voice chuckled "Can I have a fag?"

"Oh... Yeah, sure." Ringo fumbled around in his pockets for the packet, then offered them to the stranger.

Cigarette in mouth, they waited for Ringo to spark the lighter which had become an impossible task. He wished he'd lied from the beginning because this was just getting embarrassing.

"Stupid fucking thing." Ringo mumbled, his anger growing as the stranger's presence felt heavier and heavier.

The stranger chuckled once more then moved Ringo's hands gently away so that they could bring their face closer, managing to light the cigarette from Ringo's own without much trouble. For a moment Ringo didn't think they were going to pull away and he felt his heart quickening, but they soon did and leaned against the wall beside him casually.

"You here alone then?" They asked, Ringo began trying to guess what they looked like from their voice alone.

"That obvious is it?" Ringo envisioned someone younger than himself, their voice was certainly attractive but that didn't necessarily mean they would be.

"Sunglasses give it away." They replied curtly, their accent was fairly thick "Can you even see in them?"

The stranger lowered themselves slightly so that they could stare directly into Ringo's eyes, or at least where he assumed they would be. Ringo let out a short laugh and took another drag from his cigarette, what was this guy's aim exactly?

"Not really." Ringo cleared his throat "There's some things I'd rather not see on nights like this."

"Fair enough. Makes pulling easier, I bet." They rested their foot on the wall, the longer Ringo stared the more he could discern a faint outline of their body.

"If it did would I be standing here at 4 in the morning?" Ringo chuckled, exhaling smoke.

The man laughed in response but said nothing else. A silence fell over them for a few minutes, nothing but the bustling sound of the city gradually emptying itself. For the first time in his life Ringo cursed his signature choice of wearing sunglasses, not knowing what this stranger looked like could prove rather detrimental. Whether they were trying to make a move or not, Ringo wasn't sure he was desperate enough to fuck somebody whose face was a mystery. Taking in another deep breath of smoke, he debated a smooth strategy of getting his glasses off without being too obvious. If their voice was anything to go off, they sounded rather attractive, but that was hardly enough. Unfortunately the types who tended to hang around after clubs closed down weren't often the nicest things to look at, all the good-looking ones had gone off with their equally attractive partners hours ago.

"Don't suppose you're headed to an afters." The man finally spoke again, taking Ringo a little by surprise as he'd become so preoccupied with his thoughts.

"If you count heading home and passing out on the bathroom floor an afters, then sure." Ringo flicked his cigarette away into the gutter and slid his cold hands into his pockets.

"Probably a sign to call it a night then." He spoke softly but didn't move from Ringo's side just yet.

Ringo grew impatient, it was now or never, no matter how many ideas floated around in his mind he couldn't think of a non-obvious way to take his sunglasses off so he just pulled them down the ridge of his nose as casually as he could manage. Only moving his eyes and not his head, he finally caught a glimpse of the stranger: dark, shaggy hair and a sharp face. Maybe it was the alcohol skewing his vision, but the man looked absolutely stunning. This was the deciding moment, if he messed this up the chance would be gone and he'd be going home alone for yet another time - it had gone beyond counting. Whether this guy was far beyond his league or not, Ringo just had to try, he wasn't afraid of a little rejection if the potential reward was so sweet.

"I know a place that might still be open." Ringo blurted out a little too desperately, trying to maintain his composure "It's a little dodgy but you can't really be picky at this hour."

"Oh yeah?" The man turned to face him, and Ringo thanked the support of the wall for preventing his knees from buckling "Is it close?"

It took Ringo a moment to think of a coherent answer, this man really was beautiful. Exactly why he was bothering talking to some aged alcoholic like himself, he'd never know, but he wasn't about to spoil this golden opportunity. He was just about drunk enough to have the confidence to back himself, even if it didn't work out maybe he could seek somebody out in the next joint, but that was really scraping the bottom of the barrel.

"We can walk it, it's just a couple of streets down." Ringo took a step away from the wall then feared he looked too enthusiastic.

"Sounds good, lead the way." The man said with a smile "I'm George, if you were wondering."

Ringo slowly began walking down the now relatively barren street, just a few stragglers were meandering at a variety of angles.

"Ringo." Ringo replied with a small smile, he hadn't realised the height difference between the two of them until now.

"Huh?" George had zipped up his windbreaker and brought his shoulders up to protect his face from the cold.

"That's my name... Ringo." Ringo repeated, feeling sheepish all of a sudden.

George laughed and Ringo caught a glimpse of his teeth, his canines far sharper than Ringo had seen before, it flooded his head with images he only hoped he'd see come to fruition.

"Right, sorry." George stopped himself from laughing any further "Not a fake name is it?"

"Course not!" Ringo scoffed, he couldn't help but feel a little offended by the remark "If I was gonna make up a name I'd go for something a little plainer, I think."

"Like George?" George winked with a grin and Ringo almost tripped over his feet.

Could it be a fake name? Ringo didn't really care, with a face like that he could be called anything at all and he'd still be interested.

"I'm just kidding." George nudged Ringo lightly "Never understood the point of fake names. Where's the fun in fucking someone who's gonna call out a name that's not yours?"

The laugh caught in Ringo's throat, he made an attempt to cover whatever strange noise followed with a quick cough. Whatever this guy's deal was, Ringo wasn't entirely sure, he was being a little too friendly for someone he'd only just met but Ringo wasn't exactly complaining. He only wished he looked a little more presentable, standing next to George he didn't need to imagine what a state he must look. Even before Ringo could think of something to say that was attempting to be witty but was unlikely to come across as such, George was speaking again.

"Ringo's got a nice ring to it, though." George reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, sliding one between his lips "Want one?"

It took Ringo a moment to register "But... I thought you didn't have any."

George laughed again, a sound Ringo could easily get used to hearing "Couldn't think of another opener. Sorry for lying, take one and we'll be even."

Ringo reluctantly accepted the offer, pulled out his lighter and began struggling with it once more. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he continued to embarrass himself until George intervened. Snatching the lighter playfully, George moved in closer to Ringo's face yet again so that the tips of their cigarettes were almost touching and managed to spark the lighter after a couple of attempts, lighting them both successfully. It was hard not to panic a little with George so close to his face, those dark eyes focusing on his slender fingers. Luckily George pulled away before Ringo could let his mind wander. The realisation alone that George had intentionally approached him out of pure interest rather than a need for a smoke made Ringo feel practically giddy.

"We're even now, then." George held his cigarette up like he was making a toast.

"I dunno, you did deceive me after all." Ringo tutted jokingly, turning the final corner before they arrived at their destination.

"Well you'll just have to think of some way I can make it up to you." George grinned, his tongue running over his sharp tooth; Ringo didn't have to be too imaginative to think of a few options "If you play your cards right, of course."

#the beatles #Beatles #beatles fanfiction #beatles fanfic #George Harrison/Ringo Starr #george harrisonxringo starr #george harrisonxreader #ringo starr/george harrison #starrison

12 notes · View notes

canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 4 years ago

Text

Shirt Happens. (M. Way x Reader)

for: anon

request: I’m so happy to see that you’re back! Hope you’re doing well! I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader is best frens with Mikey Way (include the others if you want to! I live for the way you write their interactions!) And she’s always stealing his clothes and acts like she isn’t (It’s super obvious though) and in the end they end up together? Sorry for the long ask, but thank you for reading!

note: here you go, my love. sorry it took so long; i hope you enjoy it! :) x

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

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

“That’s a cool shirt.”

“Oh, thanks! I got it at my favourite store – Mikey Way’s Closet.”

Ray lowered his taco from his mouth and stared at you in disbelief. Raising both brows, you picked up your soda and took a gulp.

“You’re stilldoing that?” he gawked, shaking his head to ensure that his disapproval was very much clear. “Jesus, (Y/N), just tell the guy how you feel about him already.”

You almost choked on your Coke, a hand immediately flying to your mouth to prevent spillage as you suffered through a coughing fit.

“For the last time,” you wheezed, coughing once more and hitting your chest to ensure that you were clear before continuing, “It’s not like it; I only steal his clothes because they’re so much cooler than mine.”

“Riiight.” Ray ran his tongue over his teeth and nodded skeptically.

“I’m serious.”

Widening his eyes, he nodded and held up one hand to show that he was relenting. “I believe you.” He took a sip from his own drink. “He does know that you’re taking his clothes though, yes?”

Clearing your throat, you readjusted yourself in your seat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure he does.”

✧✧✧

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SHIRT?”

Mikey let out an angry groan as he ruffled through his closet, tossing t-shirts and hoodies over his shoulder as he searched for the one that was eluding him. He’d been planning on wearing it tonight for a week – he’d even taken it out and placed it on his dresser – but now the damned thing was nowhere to be seen.

From downstairs, an irritated Gerard huffed as he checked the time on his phone before yelling out at his younger brother.

“Can you hurry the fuck up? We’re gonna be late!”

The singer’s voice reached Mikey’s room as a distant yell, muffled even more by the fact that Mikey’s was torso deep inside the jackets and shirts hanging in the closet. Nevertheless, the younger Way heard his brother’s call clearly, and responded with and equally frustrated response.

“I can’t find my fucking shirt!”

“Then just wear a different one!”

“No! You know I’ve been planning this for-“

The bassist had an epiphany then, and he stopped tossing clothing around as his face morphed into a scowl. Removing himself from the closet, he stomped over to the doorway and shouted down the stairs.

“Gee, I swear to God, if this is some kind of joke-“

“The fuck are you on about?” Gerard growled, annoyance growing by the minute as his brother delayed their departure from the house even further.

“This isn’t the first time my shit has gone missing,” Mikey pressed on, “and I know that it’s gotta be one of you-“

“OH, FOR THE LOVE OF-“

Now pushed way past his limit, Gerard stormed up the stairs with such vigour that Mikey could feel the floor shake all the way in his room. A moment later, he was shoved out of the way as Gerard barreled into his room and made a beeline for the closet, grabbing the first shirt he could find and throwing it at his brother’s face.

“It’s a pub crawl, not a fashion show. If you’re not done in the next thirty seconds, I’m leaving.”

✧✧✧

A tipsy Mikey stumbled into his bedroom in a drunkenly haphazardly manner, almost tripping over his own feet but managing to grab the edge of his dresser and steady himself just in time.

Figuring it’d be best if he took advantage of the equilibrium, he began undressing himself. You strolled into the bedroom shortly thereafter, significantly less drunk and with your hands outstretched and ready to catch your sloshed friend if need be.

Now free from the uncomfortable constraints of his skinny jeans and combat boots, Mikey looked around in search of his boxers and sleep shirt. He couldn’t find it in its usual place, prompting him to let out a groan of frustration.

“I can’t believe this,” he frowned, throwing his hands up. He lost his balance for a second, but you gripped his arm and helped him stand upright. “All of my clothes – all of them are just disappearing! Like what the fuck!”

Pursing your lips, you looked down at the t-shirt you had on – his t-shirt. It was a plain black one, which is probably why he hadn’t noticed that it was his, and it was one that you’d swiped from his closet months ago already.

Clearing your throat, you patted him on his back and gently led him to the bed. “C’mon, I’m sure we can find something else in here.”

You managed to pick out an old tee and shorts from one of the dresser drawers and helped him pull them on. A mere two minutes later, he was passed out on the bed.

✧✧✧

The next morning, you were preparing breakfast for you and Mikey; humming to yourself as you flipped pancakes. When the last one was out of the pan and on top of the stack, you wiped your hands on a dishcloth and started for the stairs.

From the bottom, you called out to Mikey. “Yo, Way! Food’s ready!”

You received no response from the bassist, prompting you to heave a heavy sigh and relunctantly trudge your way up the stairs and to his bedroom. Once you got there, you find him (once again) torso deep in his closet, clothes strewn all around him.

“Uh… whatcha doin’ there?”

Upon hearing your voice, he retracted his body and lifted his head to look at you. The poor guy looked distraught, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

With a loud, exasperated exhale, Mikey explained. “My clothes – especially my shirts – keep going missing.”

Looking down at his Smashing Pumpkins tee you were wearing, you clicked your tongue. “Spooky,” you replied, widening your eyes.

“Wait a minute…”

Mikey wasn’t sure whether he was seeing things as a result of a mild hangover and too little sleep, so he shut his eyes and rubbed over them a couple times before checking to see if he was indeed seeing what he thought he was seeing.

And he was.

You were wearing his shirt.

“It was you!” he gasped, eyes the size of saucers as he jutted an acusatory finger in your direction.

“Well yeah, clearly,” you scoffed, placing your hands on your hips, “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“But… why?”

Brushing it off with a shrug, you tugged at the tee and looked down at it. “Smells like you. It’s comforting.”

Mikey’s mouth fell into an ‘o’ at your revelation, but he quickly recovered and played it off with a joke. “Jeez, (Y/N). If you wanted to date me so bad, all you had to do was ask. No need to raid my closet.”

“Maybe this was my not-so-subtle way of telling you.”

Oh.

He had most definitelynot been expecting that response. And his face showed it too.

Swallowing harshly to comfort your dry mouth, you looked down and shook your head awkwardly; his expression felt like a shot to your gut.

“But it’s cool if you don’t feel the same, obviously; like, I get-“

“Shut the fuck up.”

Snapping your head up, you frowned, preparing to rip him a new one for being so rude. You didn’t get that far, though, since his lips found yours in a super passionate kiss.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” he pulled back with a smile, brushing your cheek affectionately as he gave you another short kiss, “In case it wasn’t obvious enough – I do feel the same.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing into his arms. “Thank God.”

“So… does this mean I can get my clothes back now?”

“Oh, Mikey,” you stroked his face, “They’re ourclothes now.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

7 notes · View notes

chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

The Most Important Mission

One-Shot

Description- Valkyrie/Queen of Asgardians (Brunnhilde), and Captain Marvel (Carol Danvers), Protector of the Galaxies, come together for an important mission.

This one-shot is my entry for the writing challenge set by @anika-ann ! The fic is set almost a year after Endgame and is inspired by the prompt - “As far as plans go, this isn’t a good one.” “This was your plan.” “I didn’t think you’d actually say yes!” Check out the challenge here

Warning - Fluff

Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

Fire alarm blared as the room filled with thick, black smoke. An acidic, burning smell filled their nostrils as Brunnhilde and Carol escaped the room, coughing. Smoke stung their eyes and formed tears. They sat on the floor outside the room, panting in defeat.

"I had no… no idea this would be so difficult," said Brunnhilde, catching her breath. "To think I signed up for this," Carol shook her head, "should have listened to Fury."

"Where do you think we went wrong? We followed everything that was mentioned in the briefing," wondered Brunnhilde.

"Well," Carol looked at her, "I don't think I should have used the plasma blasters. That's probably what set the device off."

“As far as plans go, that wasn’t a good one,” commented Brunnhilde. “It was your plan!” exclaimed Carol. “I didn’t think you’d actually say yes!” Brunnhilde retorted.

They got up, brushing the dust off themselves when Sam and Maria came rushing into the room. "What the hell were you doing?" shouted Maria, looking at the destruction in shock.

"Fury assigned us to a mission for today, but things did not go well," Carol admitted.

"Fury gave you an assignment for today?" asked Sam.

"Yes," replied Brunnhilde.

"For Morgan's birthday?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Did he ask you to bake a cake?"

"Yes."

"And you burned down the kitchen?!"

Carol looked sheepishly at Brunnhilde.

"Weren't Scott and Banner in charge of the birthday cake?" wondered Maria.

"They were, but they had to help with the decorations, as Bucky was a little jumpy around balloons," noting her confused face, Brunnhilde added, "Somebody kept popping the balloons." Maria nodded in acknowledgement as Sam snickered.

"So what do we do now? Should we just order the cake from a bakery?" suggested Maria.

"No. We took this mission and we will see that it is completed," announced a determined Carol.

"Boy you need Martha Stewart to pull this off in such a short time," claimed Sam whole assessing the damage to the kitchen.

"Who is she? Can we bring her in?" asked Brunnhilde.

"I will ask the tag team to locate her right away," added Carol.

"No no! You won't lay a finger on Martha Stewart!" Sam spoke in panic, "I have her recipe book on simple cakes for beginners. You can use it in my kitchen. Just, don't plasma-fry my oven. I can't have a hangry Winter Soldier staying with me."

"Hangry? Don't you mean hungry?" Maria corrected him. "Please! Have you seen the guy? He's always angry. It gets worse when he's hungry on top of it."

Brunnhilde and Carol looked at each other, "Are you sure we don't need Martha Stewart here?"

"Yes absolutely!" asserted Sam.

"You have 3 hours ladies. Good luck," Maria departed with a reminder.

3 hours later...

The birthday party had just begun at the Stark Farmhouse. The house had been transformed to resemble a castle, with balloons, streamers and other decorations dotting the surrounding lawn.

"Everybody! Welcome the birthday girl, Princess Morgan, Ruler of the Cheeseburgers Kingdom!" Peter Parker announced as he accompanied the little girl dressed in a princess costume. Everyone cheered and welcomed the cute princess with confetti and hugs.

Pepper went around the party with Morgan, greeting everyone and thanking them for coming. "Happy," she called out to him, "Where is the cake?" He tapped his pockets, trying to find his mobile, "Let me call and check."

Just as he was about to dial Carol's number, he heard the sound of wings flapping from somewhere above him. Soon, he was covered in the shadow of Brunnhilde's regal white Pegasus, descending on the grounds.

"We are here!" she announced from her seat on the winged-horse. "With cupcakes!" added Carol from behind her.

"Ooooo a flying horse! Look mamma a flying horse!" Morgan excitedly sprinted towards the animal. "Wow! I wasn't expecting the Pegasus Brunnhilde! Thank you for the surprise," said an astonished Pepper. "Yeah well, we thought what does every princess need? A flying horse that she can ride into battle!" Brunnhilde beamed in response.

"Exactly! Say Morgan, do you wanna ride the Pegasus with Aunt Carol and Aunt Brunnhilde?" Carol asked the birthday girl. "YAY!!" Morgan screamed with joy, "Mamma can I go with them? Pplleeeeeaasseee??" she pleaded with her puppy eyes. "Uummm maybe after you have cut and eaten your birthday cake?" suggested Pepper.

"Birthday cupcakes not cake," Carol corrected Pepper, "We just thought cupcakes would be easier for everyone to handle and would save the hassle of cutting and serving each slice."

"Aahh makes sense," Pepper agreed and led them towards the table where they could set up the cupcakes.

"Our distraction is working so far," Brunnhilde whispered to Carol as they started unpacking the boxes. "Let's hope we get away with the next part," muttered Carol.

"Okay everyone! Can I have your attention please?" Carol clapped her hands together and everyone looked at her. "We have another surprise planned for this party! Here we have a large cupcake only for our birthday princess to cut and eat," she gestured towards a cupcake that was a little larger than the others in size due to spillage of the batter. It was coated with multicolored sprinkles, M&Ms and marshmallows. The cupcake was basically a 6-hour worth of sugar rush packed in a bite.

"And for the rest of us, there are plain cupcakes which you can decorate with 5 different coloured icing options! Isn't that fun?" continued Carol, trying her best to be enthusiastic.

"5 icing options? Awesome!" said Peter Parker excitedly.

"Oooo so many different colours that you can eat," Mantis looked at the different icing bags with wonder.

"I am Groot." "He says thank you for also including the brown colored icing," Rocket translated for Groot.

"Aawww you are welcome Groot," replied Brunnhilde.

"C'mon everyone let's sing Happy Birthday and cut the cake," Happy announced.

In hindsight, everyone could have prepared better for this moment. You see, the thing with the Happy Birthday song is that it has different variations not just on earth, but also across the galaxy. Shuri, Okoye and T'Challa chanted calmly in isiXhosa while Drax stomped his feet in tune with his song. Brunnhilde and Thor sang the Asguardian version by flailing their arms around. Rocket and Nebula covered their ears as Mantis shrieked. The rest of the earthlings hummed/sang along at different tempos, with Peter Quill ending on a high note ".... to yoooooooooouuuuu!"

Morgan looked around happily at the cacophony of birthday songs and blew the candle on her cupcake.

As the others started crowding around the cupcake stand, Maria expressed her concerns, "Have you guys eaten these?" she said, gesturing towards the cupcakes.

"Ha. Ha," Carol laughed sarcastically, "Don't worry we had them tested in the lab. They are safe to eat."

"Y'all baked cupcakes, made different frostings, and got here in just 3 hours? Especially after that fiasco in the kitchen? Spill the tea sis," Shuri cocked an eyebrow at them.

Both Brunnhilde and Carol looked at each other with confusion. "We didn't spill any tea. Although we did knock over a jar of coffee beans," said a confused Brunnhilde.

"Yeah and how do you know about the disaster in the kitchen?" inquired Carol.

"It's trending on Twitter," Shuri shrugged nonchalantly.

"Who put it there?" they both asked in unison.

"I did!" Shuri confessed with a smirk and left to play with Morgan, who was busy admiring the giant Pegasus.

Bucky came over to their stand, unsure of the choices. He tentatively picked up a plain cupcake, thanked them, and quietly headed for a corner. Calling out after him, Sam asked Bucky to wait. Sam quickly took an icing bag and started frosting swirls on his cupcake. He looked at the 2 ladies, "Do I dare ask about my kitchen? Has it survived your baking endeavours?"

"Yes yes of course. We only had to use the fire extinguisher once," Brunnhilde reassured him.

"Twice," Carol reminded her.

"Oh right. Yeah twice. But everything else is good!" Brunnhilde beamed at him.

Sam shook his head and went ahead to join Bucky. To Carol's surprise, they exchanged their cupcakes as they sat on the bench.

Almost half of the cupcakes were now gone, leaving the tabletop in a mess. While Brunnhilde was busy teaching everyone to ride her Pegasus, Carol was busy bursting the balloons filled with confetti above Morgan.

Rhodey approached Brunnhilde as she landed the Pegasus with Nebula. The blue alien looked visibly happy when the winged-horse nudged her playfully. "Thank you for bringing this guy over here," said Rhodey, acknowledging the animal. "It was nothing. Anything for little Morgan," Brunnhilde brushed him off. "And it's also a good distraction from the fact that there's no birthday cake and y'all are clueless when it comes to decorating cupcakes," Rhodey added with a smirk.

Brunnhilde chucked. There was no pulling a fast one on Rhodey. "So what's going on between you two?" he playfully elbowed her. "Nothing much really. We spend some time together whenever she comes back, which is hardly ever. But that's really all there is to it."

"And you can't join her on her travels because?" Rhodey paused for her to fill in.

"I am a Queen Rhodey. I am responsible for my people. They have nobody on Earth other than me. And you, of all the people, know how difficult the government is. I mean it's not our fault that we are more advanced than the entire human civilization!"

Rhodey sighed defeatedly, "I hear you. More governments across the globe are increasingly losing sympathy for the Asguardians. I know you have already considered this before, but are you sure you want to keep your people on Earth? Don't get me wrong, I love having you guys around. It's just that the Council isn't exactly happy with the fact that there are literally aliens living amongst us."

Brunnhilde considered him solemnly, "It's not that easy to just find an empty planet in the galaxy and inhabit it. There is always some or the other governing body who would have an issue." She kicked a stone out of her way as she continued, "Behind all its glitz and gold, Asgard has a bloody history, one that is marred by the destruction of civilizations. Any other planet familiar with it wouldn't be as kind to us as Earth. At least here, it helps that Thor is a popular figure."

"And have you shared this with Ms I-Got-Plasma-Cannon-Blasters-In-My-Hands?" Rhodey nodded towards Carol.

Chuckling, she shook her head, "She has enough problems of the galaxy on her shoulders. I don't want to add on to that. I just want her to relax and enjoy herself when she comes back home."

Home. There was another reason she didn't share with Rhodey. Brunnhilde was scared that if the Asguardians moved to another planet, Carol might stop visiting her afterall. For her, Earth was her home, where she was born. And even though they hadn't discussed the extent of their "relationship", Brunnhilde didn't want to lose Carol. After the battle with Hela where the love of her life had bled to death in her arms, Brunnhilde had been scared to be with someone. But now, she was terrified of being alone.

Brunnhilde didn't realise she was standing alone on the ground, gazing into space when Carol's voice brought her back to earth. "Hey what's wrong?" she cooed. "Ahh nothing much really," Brunnhilde managed to compose herself as the despondent memories of her lonely time on Sakaar dispersed from her mind. "Had fun with the balloons?" she inquired.

"Yeah, until Pepper said no to the use of superpowers at the party," Carol pouted.

"How are we supposed to keep ourselves entertained then?"

"Clint for one found a few magic tricks to practise on the Strange Doctor," Carol gestured towards Clint where he excitedly removed a quarter from behind Doctor Strange's ear, who looked ready to send Clint into the dark dimension.

"And as for us," Carol continued in her honey-sweet voice, "I can think of a few things we can do to entertain each other," she said with a wink.

"Not at a kid's birthday party!" Brunnhilde dramatically gasped.

"I was talking about sharing a cupcake! What were you thinking?" Carol giggled as she revealed the cupcake from behind her back. It had an uneven, squiggly heart piped on it with pink icing.

Brunnhilde laughed as she looked at the heart, "Are you sure we should eat it?"

"Eh, everybody else seems okay. Wouldn't kill us to eat at least one."

"You never know. WE baked this," Brunnhilde chuckled as they sat on the lawn, enjoying the setting sun.

"Ummm so listen. Have you heard about this planet called Nyorg? It is around 12 jumps from Asgard, in the Androyorg galaxy?" asked Carol.

"I think so. Isn't that the planet which went barren a few thousand years ago?"

Carol nodded in confirmation. "I was recently inspecting that planet for signs of life. Few patches across the planet are already covered with trees and grass. There are tiny streams and lakes which supply a steady amount of water. Also, the houses that people left behind are still there. But they do need repairs."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Brunnhilde looked at her with curiosity.

Carol hung her shoulders, "I know the problems Asguardians are facing on Earth. This is not your home. And it will never be. The best option for you guys is to start over, you know that too."

Brunnhilde squinted her eyes at her. "Are the Mnoreyags okay with us residing on their planet?"

"Technically, they abandoned the planet 4,578 thousand years ago. So they have no claim over it. Still, I spoke with the head of the Mnoreyags and he is happy to concede his claim on the planet," Carol assured her.

"But what does he want in return from Asgard?"

"Nothing," Carol said a little too quickly, averting her gaze and instead looking down at the grass.

Brunnhilde held her chin and turned Carol to face her. "What did you offer him?" she asked her gently.

Carol placed her head on Brunnhilde's shoulder, "He wants my blood sample to try and recreate my superpowers."

"But that's -"

"I know. It can be disastrous. But I am hoping Asgard regains its past glory and power to help stop the threat," Carol smiled hopefully.

Brunnhilde shook her head in dismay.

Sensing her hesitation, Carol continued, "The Nine Realms that Asgard guarded are no longer under your command or protection. You know better than anyone that peace and order must be restored in the realms. And for that, Asgard needs to become powerful. Worst case scenario? We will deal with the Mnoreyags if they manage to replicate my powers."

"You shouldn't have to do this for me," Brunnhilde whispered sadly.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, my Majesty," Carol rested her forehead on Brunnhilde's.

Sudden explosions in the sky demanded their attention. Beautiful patterns of fireworks lit the darkening sky. Brunnhilde noticed the colours from the fireworks highlighted Carol's features in the most beautiful way possible.

"No," she said abruptly, to Carol's surprise, "No, you will not give your blood sample to those Mnoreyags idiots. They abandoned that planet. They have no right over it."

"But we need to give up something-,"

"The Queen of Asgard will never give up anything of hers. Ever," Brunnhilde interrupted her with a smile.

Tears filled Carol's eyes when she realised the importance of that statement.

They shared a quiet kiss amidst the hub hub of the party, with the stars in the night sky promising a brighter, better future.

Permanent tag- @donutloverxo

#Marvel #pride month #lesbian pride #valkyrie #Valkyrie x captain Marvel #Valkyrie x carol #captain marvel #brunnhilde #Brunnhilde x carol #avengers #carol x brunnhilde #carol x valkyrie #captain marvel x valkyrie

39 notes · View notes

smolbeandrabbles · 4 years ago

Text

Loser Like Me - Intern!Nolan Sorrento x Reader (Ready Player One)

GIF Credit: X @crawlingmist @mandy23b @wltz-bby @happyskywhale #MendoTagSquad

Babe you’re platinum all the way

Author’s Note: Before we even begin - Mini Series for sure! Also I’ve never seen anyone do this before me, so here we are!

I know by now if you’ve been following this blog for any length of time you know how much I love this man. With my heart and soul. However - there’s a particular scene in the movie I just... really don’t like. It’s the Intern scene. I won’t go into a whole lot of detail, but it hits me deep on a personal level, and I hate that it’s played for laughs. I thought it needed some ‘rectifying’! And came up with this little series. 😊 I really hope you enjoy taking this journey with Nolan, as much as you have my others!

Disclaimer: RPO characters/storyline not mine / whilst following what they did with him in the movie, some of this will be influenced by Lacero (because of course it will!)

I wanted to write a quick note about his age! I headcanon every Mendo that does not have a canon age as the same age Ben was when the movie was shot. So... For RPO that’s about 46/47. Making Nolan 47 in 2045. The intern scene takes place in 2025. Making Nolan, as stated in the fic, 27.

Premise: Nolan Sorrento has a head full of dreams that he’s sure will be actioned by the OASIS creators any day now. But fetching coffee is all anyone at Gregarious Games thinks Nolan is good at. Lucky for him, you see things a little differently...

Words: 6397

Warnings: In general - people being douches to Interns. / swearing

_____

Yeah, you may think that I'm a zero But hey, everyone you wanna be Probably started off like me You may say that I'm a freak show But hey, give it just a little time I bet you're gonna change your mind

All of the dirt you've been throwin' my way It ain't so hard to take, that's right 'Cause I know one day you'll be screaming my name And I'll just look away, that's right

Push me up against the locker And hey, all I do is shake it off I'll get you back when I'm your boss I'm not thinkin' 'bout you haters 'Cause, hey, I could be a superstar I'll see you when you wash my car

Just go ahead and hate on me and run your mouth So everyone can hear Hit me with the worst you've got and knock me down Baby, I don't care Keep it up and soon enough you'll figure out You wanna be, You wanna be A loser like me

---

The alarm went off at 6:40am. As it did every day – but Nolan Sorrento was already half way ready, and had to skid out of the bathroom to snap it off, before any of his neighbours complained again. Sometimes he just couldn’t sleep – and he felt it probably wiser to just get up and get on. Sorrento’s head was full of ideas, ideas that he knew would help him make it big someday. Hopefully right here where he worked, at Gregarious Games… once he got a job that wasn’t an internship, that was. And - when he wasn’t fetching coffee, or running papers, or trying to book meeting rooms and call other people that worked around the company as requested by those higher up - Nolan would sit with his notebook and plot out what his future would look like, and the tech he would use to get there, whether it be available right now, just within reach, or something that one day he’d be at the forefront of making. He dreamed, because right now that was all he could do. Nolan had a job and that was enough to be thankful for, he had his life… which was more than could be said for some people. Sweeping back into the bathroom he studied himself in the mirror for a moment with a small sigh. He liked to give himself a daily pep-talk, because there wasn’t anyone else that was going to do that for him either. ‘Okay, Nolan, you got this. For real this time – they’ll ask you to fetch coffee and then you can walk in and be like… Guys! Your OASIS project – what about if you did this-!? How can they not love it? Maybe they’ll bump you to tech? Maybe they’ll make you a partner!’ It hadn’t worked out for him so far, but he could dream – maybe today was the day! He gave himself a firm nod, running his hand through his thick dark blonde hair to neaten it (at least the highlights were going to look good once he got into proper lighting!) and then dashed from the bathroom again; throwing a suit jacket on – that didn’t match his outfit but was good enough – he looped his pass around his neck, grabbed his keys and his satchel before heading out of the door. No time for breakfast, he’d think about that later! First things first; getting into the office. It was still nerve wreaking for him to walk up to that office with coffee; it used to give him shakes just thinking about maybe getting the coffee order wrong, but now he knew he had that down. Nolan knew that Gregarious Games was on the verge of something not just great, but phenomenal. People all around the company treated it’s two founders like Gods, and Nolan knew exactly why – he was doing the same. They were creating the seemingly impossible; giving people an escape from the hell that everyone was living. The longer he was here, the more Nolan gained confidence – Morrow at least knew his name now, and he was also privy to the fact that not everyone got to interact with these two as much as he did. It came to the point where he actually liked being asked to fetch coffee for them, because he’d get to try out a new idea. “-What about this-?” “Maybe later, Nolan, thanks for the coffee…” “But I really think the OASIS could just use-” “Thanks, Nolan. Really, but it’s a busy time.” “Well maybe-” “Nolan…” Then he had to walk from the room with a deep breath and try not to get so disheartened. No matter, there would always be tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that… on into infinity. But Sorrento smiled gently, one day he’d come up with something that would be so mind-blowing they would have to listen to him! And he was getting close, he was sure of it. With that thought, he jogged back down the stairs, confidence sky high. “Oh-! Nolan-!” He turned to the voice calling him, “Yes?” “Could you come help me with something… I’m not exactly sure what I’ve done wrong on this presentation… I just can’t fix it…” “Sure-!” “OH. And, whilst you’re at it, would you mind picking up my printing? Thanks, Nolan!” He blinked several times watching them walk away passed the printer, and then sighed again – well, he still had a ways to go yet…

Nolan was aware that there were people in this company who didn’t like him, that thought he was strange. The pop culture he consumed was obscure at best, or... not obscure enough at worst. Nolan liked the modern stuff, the early millennium. The remnants of Y2K... where everyone lost their heads thinking computers and clocks would all stop working. Apparently, that wasn’t highly valued, and everyone thought that the 80s was where it was at. Nolan wasn’t sure of that himself, and thought maybe most of them were just posturing because that was the era that Halliday and Morrow were obsessed with. It made sense; they’d grown up in that time. Nolan was just far more nostalgic for things he’d grown up with - than a time he didn’t even really know.

Other people he figured didn’t like him for other reasons, but he’d never quite got the opportunity to find out what those were. Only that it felt a lot like being shoved up against a high school locker again. And he was 27. There were a couple in particular that liked to get physical; only this time they decided to do it when he was carrying two full cups of coffee. “Whoops-” “Shit! Sorry-!” As if he sounded anywhere near it. “It’s okay though right, that’s your job, you can just make more.” If he wasn’t already on a time limit, “And clear that up whilst you’re at it.” “What do you get a full employee badge for making coffee anyway?” “Oh no-! You read that wrong mate, it’s just an intern one.” “Ah-! Not permanent then? Coffee can’t be that good-!” “Less permanent now-!!!” Nolan bit his lips together, because he knew what would happen if he retaliated, these two were full time employees that (probably) had way more important jobs than he did. He knew which one of them was more likely to be walked out of the door after a confrontation, and he needed this.

“Do you two assholes want to leave him the fuck alone-!?” They all turned, to an impatient looking woman standing with her arms crossed. And this would be a moment that, although he didn’t know it yet, would go down in history in Nolan Sorrento’s life. For this was the moment he met you. You could not have been glaring at them both harder - and felt that for the man stuck in the middle, it was pretty fortunate that you walked by. “Y-Y/N-!” “Don’t give me that, why don’t you go bother someone else-!?” “But he-!” “Is trying to get coffee from point A to point B, I didn’t realise Gregarious games hired children these days that would be such a hindrance. Why don’t you get back to your desks and do your jobs-!?” They didn’t dare argue with you – skulking off, although muttering profusely. And Nolan was nearly speechless, but also realised there was coffee all over the floor: “Ah-! Ahhh-! Shoot-!” “No, no, no...!!” You moved towards him, hands gently pushing him back to standing; “I got this, you go make them again...!” “No, no, I can’t leave you to-” “Nolan, it’s okay... I got this...” He stopped suddenly; now he would know if he’d seen you before. He would. Nolan was good with things like that. He opened his mouth, but you ushered him back towards the kitchen; “I’ll help in a moment, just let me do this!”

Sorrento didn’t know what else to do but wait for you in the kitchen, by now he probably could have gone outside and got a coffee order, but in you walked, throwing away whatever you’d used to tidy up the spillage. “Good thing I like the smell of coffee...” You wiped your hands and turned to him, with a gentle smile; “Sorry about those guys. They’re self-entitled assholes who shouldn’t have the jobs that they do. Alas, I am not a hiring manager... are you alright?” “Oh, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” You nodded, “I can see that.” “F-forgive me, Y/N...” that is what they’d called you, “but...” “Oh; I’ve heard all about you - Nolan Sorrento. And your ideas!” He looked away for a moment, aware that he was blushing, “But also that you make one hell of a cup of coffee...” that just made him blush harder. “You also do a little bit of work in my department, so I’ve seen you around. I could use a mind like yours, y’know? Maybe I’ll have to get you in for experience...” You nodded to the half-made coffee; “I’ll help, if you teach me how the boys upstairs like it.” “Oh... y-yeah sure...” Nolan moved aside as you crossed the kitchen, “What’s your department?” “Technology. So, they do all the ideas and spec and testing, and my team codes it. We also run all diagnostics on errors, though the less we see of those the better!” “Your team-!?” “I like manage like 2 people, it’s nothing.” But Nolan was staring at you like all his wildest dreams had come true. “...Wow. That’s... that’s incredible-!” “If I could get the right people in my team, it’d be more so...” You eyed him curiously, “And somehow you’re only an intern?” “I’ll take what I can get.” You giggled “Until one of the big plans comes off?” “Yeah I guess...” That faint shade of pink was back “I admire that.” “What?” “The confidence to tell Halliday and Morrow your thoughts. The imagination it takes to have ideas like that. It’s cutting edge stuff, Nolan. I couldn’t do that - I am more... the girl who executes the idea. And turns your dream into a virtual reality... but I don’t have such a knack for original content.” You gave him another sweet smile that had him turning quickly back to the coffee; “Now why don’t you teach me how to do this - and I’ll explain why it’s a little late.” “Y-yeah... lets... do that!” ***

Overall Nolan was pretty harmless, he kept himself to himself and did every task that was asked of him. You made a point of finding him to say hello, and chat to him for a few minutes every time you passed his desk. And you noticed that when you approached him he always looked quiet and subdued, but by the time you moved on he was joyful and animated and it always hurt you to have to move on. Still the smile on his face didn’t fade after that. He was full of endless enthusiasm, and more importantly than that – something you felt Gregarious aught to be paying attention to – he was hungry, if work didn’t come to him he’d seek it out, Nolan certainly wasn’t afraid of doing that. Every so often he’d be walking by with someone and you’d catch a snippet of another great idea that filled his head – but more often than not was met with “That’s great, Nolan, but…” You were amazed to see this didn’t deter him; sure he’d look disappointed, but he didn’t give up. Sorrento’s attitude and personality intrigued you, and one afternoon when he was leaving for another coffee run, you made a point of walking with him. That soon became habit, as did joining him for lunch. It didn’t win you a lot of friends, and more often than not you’d be asked ‘What the hell are you thinking!?’ ‘Yeah, Y/N! You actually have talent!’ ‘Nolan Sorrento is never gonna amount to anything. He’s pushing 30 and all he does is make coffee.’ You didn’t understand why, or how, anyone in this office could pick on him. And why everyone just let them get away with it. Your defence of him was ruthless. “He’s a fucking INTERN, not a coffee boy – oh my god! It’s about time someone actually taught him something about the business. Nolan’s got a head full of ideas and if no one else is gonna utilize him, I fucking will – because it only takes one job ad or someone to recognise what he has and he’ll be off to IOI!” “They can have him.” “You know what, screw all of you! When Nolan’s running this place and you’re all begging for jobs, I hope to God he remembers what you did to him.”

Nolan was wasted here. But you didn’t want him to be wasted here; he was at times a little too unconventional for your game makers, given his little corner of pop culture (not that he’d opened up to you a lot about that, but occasionally you got a glimpse of it by what he referenced and laughed at), or a little too ‘business’ for your co-founders - monetization was practically a curse word… Yet Nolan had a mix of talent that barely anyone else in this company did, and no one was giving him a chance to use it. Worse still to you – an Intern, who should be learning everything the business has to offer and be given every opportunity to get stuck into it, was doing not a lot more than fetching and filing paperwork. And sure, you were younger than him, but you wanted to take this into your own hands.

“Hey!” A smile was already present on his face before he looked up; “Hey!” “You busy today?” You folded your arms on top of his desk divider; Nolan looked a little shifty; suspicious of you for a minute. “I mean, I got plenty to be getting on with…” You gave a disappointed sigh; “Aw, see I really needed your help with something.” “…Really!?” He wasn’t about to hide that shock – Nolan hadn’t done anything directly tech related for your department before, and that was your exact remit. “Yeah, but if you-” “No, no!” He stood, “I’d love to help, that’s what I’m here for, right?” You couldn’t help yourself, and giggled, “Did you just become un-busy?” “…Yeah. Yes, I think so.” Nolan placed his hands in his pockets with a grin, and waited for you to tell him what to do; “Awesome, let me show you around tech central!” You beckoned him to walk with you, “And for the record, no, I was pretty sure intern meant you were also here to learn, and I’ll be damned if I don’t teach you something. How’s your coding?” “Not a strong suit.” “What did you study?” “Uh… Business and economics… just touching on computing as a minor… why?” You turned back to him very nearly shocked; “At College!?” “Uhm. Yes?” He’s a College grad and we have him paper pushing, my God, no one is ever hearing the end of this! But you just nodded, “What’s the dream Nolan?” He became bashful, looking away from your face for a moment, as if he didn’t dream – or as if every dream he’d been working for was suddenly stupid; “Uh. I…” “C’mon, everyone has one…” You touched his arm delicately, “Hand on heart, ten years from now, when you’re close to 40, where do you wanna be?” Sorrento looked a little affronted by your close to 40 remark but held his tongue; “Uh. I guess, I’d like to be in charge of a company like this one.” “Good man, right answer.” You swept him into another room – a neat row of 5 desks on one side, and one on the other – no barriers between you – the single desk was covered with paperwork; in the centre a flashing image, highlighting what various coding pieces were about to address in game. You indicated for him to sit at a desk in the row of five, and joined him. “And you?” “None of my dreams are really to do with work…” You shook your head, “I mean, sure I’d like a couple of promotions but I’m kinda okay where I am – as long as I still love what I’m doing. I’d just like to help people, you know? And the OASIS might help people… So,” you breathed, “I’d like to make people happy, and I don’t know how measurable that is, but I think I’d feel pretty good in ten years’ time if I managed that!” Nolan watched you for a second, and your gentle smile, and wondered if you’d even realised that for him at least you’d already completed that goal. Maybe he’d keep that back, for now – but he knew that in ten years’ time he wanted to look back on this moment with you and say “I was your first! You might not know, but it was me!” *** You set him a series of tasks and challenges and, as you did so, explained his way through them, who they were for and the effect that doing them would have on the business or the OASIS itself. Your team kept to themselves but you’d let them do that for now, the group was a little insular and he was an outsider right now, they’d warm to him; you worked with nice guys – not like the assholes who behaved like grade schoolers. Every so often, performing your own tasks, you would ping Nolan a calendar invite. “…What’s that?” He would ask you, and you would tell him “Oh! That’s a meeting with the Head of Marketing… Finance… Engineering… PR and Communications… HR…”, the list was endless – but if you had to create an intern program for him for yourself, you damn well would. You were a little more social and a little more pushy, so you knew you could get him working in all the teams and on projects that actually meant something – starting with your own, then he’d have something to show for it. All he needed was a little boost and a shot to his confidence and Nolan would be away; it was already obvious that he believed in his ideas enough – now you wanted to give him the knowledge to back it all up, and finally let him use what he already knew.

By the end of the first day Nolan was a little worried that he hadn’t finished all the tasks you had set, and as your team packed up and left for the night, he looked nervous. “Nolan, you okay?” “…I mean I… I still have a few things to do- I-I’ll finish them, I guess I might just be a little late.” You sighed; “Nolan, you’re an intern, honey – you don’t get paid overtime, just finish them tomorrow – It’s fine.” “…T…Tomorrow.” He swivelled his chair to you but didn’t dare look hopeful, “You want me back?” “Yes, of course I want you back, I told you I need you right now! With all that’s going on so close to launch we’re getting stretched pretty thin, and what better place for you to get stuck in than the midst of all this! I mean you’re getting coffee for ‘em, might as well get your line of code in the finished product too, right?” You stood, slipping your jacket on, “That desk is empty, by the way. I don’t really like the idea of you sitting alone out there…” Blush dusted his cheeks again, “You sure they won’t mind?” You scoffed; “Nolan, by the end of the first week they won’t even notice you didn’t sit there before today! Now come on! Go home!” You were right of course, and by day three your team of two were saying good morning to him, and asking how his evening had been. It took Nolan a little while to answer, because he just wasn’t used to it. By the end of the first week it was ’We’re just heading out for coffee, would either of you like anything-!?’ which you liked, because yes, someone should be asking him which coffee he wanted instead of him fetching it. And by the end of week two you were all sitting together at lunch, and when everyone took a five-minute break, Nolan got to participate in office banter and shit talking. “Guys! May I remind you that our office doesn’t have a door-!” “Oh come on, Y/N! You out of all of us are the one most likely to go off on these idiots!” Nolan turned to you, “You do have a tendency to come back from meetings, throw your notebook down and proceed to tell us how much you hate everyone.” “OHHH!!” The other two started howling with laugher, “OH! He’s got ya, Y/N!” “First off I hate all of you! Second, I also hate that you’re all right-!” But you liked this, and you already knew it was doing wonders for him. Sure, from time to time people would swing by and ask if they could take him off you for a second, and he did still do the infamous coffee run; but you let him go at his own discretion. What you were happy to see, was that his old desk started clearing, and Nolan’s files and notes, and everything he’d had on it managed to find its way into your little side room. That’s when coffee started appearing on your desk every morning. Nolan was always in before you, and had clearly expertly memorised your coffee order. At first you thought it was a simple and sweet one off, but it kept happening. Upon telling him he really didn’t have to do it for you, Nolan would smile and say; “Oh! It’s really the least I can do. After all, look at all you’ve already done for me…” Still, you became grateful to see the cups, and as you sat contentedly with them before you started the day you always noticed him beaming out of the corner of your eye; you only liked to pretend you didn’t. About three weeks into Nolan’s stint with you, the project you had him working on was nearing completion, and your intern was fretting about if you’d have him move. “Nolan, you don’t need to panic – you can still sit with us, there’ll still be plenty for you to do here. Besides like I say, once we finish this everyone is going to want to work with you anyway – and seen as you’ve had most of the introductions, there will be things from them to work on – so you can get your holistic business overview!” He’d been through most of the meetings that you’d set up – and as you suspected, some of them weren’t even aware there was an intern to give any work to, leaving the program entirely in your hands. Your boss didn’t seem to mind too much, and it wasn’t interfering with what you were doing otherwise. Eventually you just let Nolan get on with the meetings himself, and given his background all you seemed to gain from it was positive feedback. ‘He’s great!’ ‘I know. But tell him that!’ You thought he was ready for his big break; and breaks didn’t come much bigger than this one; “Hey, Nolan, you’re on first name basis’ with Halliday and Morrow right?” He raised an eyebrow curiously, “Yeah, I guess.” “I got a feeling you know this project pretty damn well by now.” The two in the corner turned to give positive affirmation to this statement. “Uh huh?” He tipped his head, intrigued as to where this might be going – although the looks on their faces told you they already knew; “How’d you like to help me present it to them next week?” ***

If this was the chance that he had been waiting for, then it was huge. Nolan didn’t show it, not on his face, nor in his stance. He was two steps ahead of you on the presentation but he always asked if what he’d done was okay, and everything you told him to add or take out he considered very carefully. “You didn’t have to do this all yourself, you know.” “I just wanted to take pressure off the team. I dunno, if one person works on it, I guess it also looks a little more polished.” You let him have that, and what he created in the end was one of the best presentations you’d ever seen. Using space effectively, but also very minimalist. “Slides don’t matter so long as you explain them, that’s the backing. You’re the draw.” “Someone paid attention in class-!” He beamed at your recognition, “Yeah. I did.” So it was no surprise to you that he presented well. Except Nolan didn’t just present well, he presented to Halliday and Morrow like a professional – and at every moment you got, you allowed yourself to simply be in awe of him. Where was this man when everyone else was being a total jerk? The different between Nolan now commanding the room, and the soft-spoken intern who liked to float his ideas around desperately when given even the smallest margin of opportunity was staggering – they were poles apart and even his smile was confident. If this was a technique Sorrento had perfected, he was damn good at it – but part of you wanted to steal a little of that confidence and inject it into his personality. The presentation ended, and you both took questions; the more technical they became the further you were in your element, and you got to close out by yourself. It would have all been perfect, had someone not thrown in a comment about Nolan finally talking about someone elses ideas. You decided to let it go just this once, because you probably couldn’t have been prouder of him. Nolan had done much the same to you as you had been doing to him when it was your turn to do the talking – and with all your focus elsewhere he couldn’t help but stare at you. He could do it for an elongated period of time when he was standing here; with the type of smile on his face that he assumed you only saw in really sappy old movies. At first he thought it was just nerves, you were kind and sweet and friendly and for the first time since Nolan had started he felt really included in Gregarious. That was before you dragged him into your team, and he knew that from this project alone – and the way you continually alluded to his work even through this presentation – that you were getting him all the exposure he would need. But it wasn’t just a nervous disposition, it wasn’t just because you saw him and what he was capable of, but you made him smile. Really smile. And that smile was on his face from the minute he set about getting ready for work, to late at night as he was falling into bed. Even just looking at you now Nolan consciously realised how much he did think about you – how much more you made him enjoy work. You’d done so much for him and he realised he wasn’t even sure the right way to go about thanking you. Still, Nolan wasn’t so sure he just wanted to thank you. Would you even be interested in being anything more than friends with him? – that just came with the risk of losing you completely. And for a second that hurt, because Nolan couldn’t. He couldn’t risk it. Not even when he felt this strongly; saying anything jeopardised his happiness. Right now, he couldn’t afford that. Even if you said ‘just friends’ - surely things could never be the same… It made his question answering a little distracted, but then, even you seemed a little unfocused until you got into your stride; then his smile came back, and Nolan got to watch you do what you did best. *** You left the room and immediately punched the air “YES! YES! NOLAN! YOU DID IT!!!” You shook his arm, “Oh my god-! You were so good!” You were elated; not only had he been particularly commended on his effort, but several people in the room had already asked if he could help them in their areas. Nolan accepted them all, of course, because he knew as well as you did that once he had all the tools and proved himself, those ideas in his head were one step closer to being a reality. And then maybe Halliday and Morrow would finally put them to use in the OASIS. One step at a time Nolan – he breathed – you made it this far but you have a little while to go. Your dreams have to wait a little longer, but… she gets it, finally someone gets it! Nolan laughed nervously, “Yeah it… it was pretty great-! It felt good, for sure. And you were impeccable, I need to brush up on my technicalities.” “You’ll get there. But you-! Where did that come from? How do you even present like that!? You gotta teach me, I’m not a natural presenter at all.” Nolan wasn’t one for letting you compliment him without continuously fielding them back. You both had to compromise and take credit here-! “WHAT-!? No, no, you present really well… I just… I dunno I guess I kinda find standing up there and throwing a project out to a waiting world kinda… easy.” You couldn’t help but agree with him, thinking on it for a moment, maybe that’s why he was known so much for ideas around here. For the way Nolan would always pitch them; even though his personality would make him out to be a quiet wallflower who did as he was told. Your team were waiting for you when you got back, and seeing you both joking together made them look at one another with knowing smiles. They wondered if you even realised it yourselves yet. You’d been oblivious before, they’d seen it – but Nolan was positively swooning. Yet, you were giving off vibes like you were interested. They’d grabbed a spare packet of confetti from the last time one of the team had a birthday, and as you both entered the room laughing they were staring you down. “I feel like we don’t need to ask, but how did the presentation go-!?” “Well, really… REALLY well!” Nolan flashed a grin, causing them to give each other the same knowing look before laughing themselves and throwing confetti everywhere. “Congratulations-! We knew it!!” For a minute he looked at a loss and you were laughing, quickly explaining the significance of throwing confetti whenever anyone did a good job – although you also had black confetti tucked somewhere for a slightly more ironic version of the celebration. It just made things in the team a little more fun. “OH.” He said, as if he immediately understood and ‘of course how could it be anything else? Teams always do this!’ - but Nolan did smile. “I guess it’s back to it now, right?” “OH NO!” Sorrento also noted your team had their coats on, “You don’t think you’re getting away with just confetti – do ya Nolan-!? It’s celebration time-! We’re going to the BAR!” “Oh?” He wanted to say the bar wasn’t really him, that he was a one drink and go kinda guy, and that really he ought to be saving any money he made and not drinking it… But you were pulling your jacket on too and that made him torn. Again they turned to each other, and they almost wanted to lock the both of you in here until you figured it out yourselves, so they did the next best thing. “Well, you two come when you’re ready.” “Guys, it’s gonna take us like five seconds…” You scanned your emails quickly, but as nothing was urgent opted to sign off. “No, no! Take your time!” “Besides, you know how crowded it gets down at Campari’s, Y/N, we’ll get a table!” “First rounds on me!” You shook your head after them, and turned back to Nolan, tentatively pulling on his coat. “You know, you don’t have to come.” “No- I- It’s for us right, I feel like I should.” “Nolan, it’s alright, really – I’m not the greatest drinker, I’ll have one and head home. Okay, maybe I’ll get a round, it’s my team but… honestly, if bars aren’t your scene.” Nolan shook his head vigorously, blonde hair flying for a moment, meaning he had to scrape it back off his face, slight blush maintained; “No. I want to come. Maybe we can leave together and just have one, right?” “That’s good with me.” You smiled, “But trust me, you do not have to stay.” By the time you got outside they were long gone, and you debated for a moment calling a taxi, before you decided it was better to just walk it and use the exercise. “Man-! I forgot something-!” Nolan turned to you as you suddenly stood stock still on the pavement, “Do you wanna go back?” “No.” You shook your head turning to him, “I forgot to tell you something.” His face immediately turned puzzled, and he straightened before leaning slightly away from you; “What?” You took a deep breath, before beaming, “How proud I am of you. And what you’ve achieved. That I’m just… lucky to have a friend like you… really lucky. We’re pretty like-minded, but different enough for it to work. And I really like being with you Nolan, it makes me happy. I’m probably the happiest I’ve been in a long time and… relaxed and… wow… oh my god…” Your smile faded slowly and your eyes widened, you weren’t looking at his face, or in fact anything at all and you could forget about talking. All you’d succeeded in doing was confusing him; his heart did nothing but sink at the word friend, and for a minute Nolan decided he would have to accept defeat… But suddenly you were talking like him – like the way he felt about you – and it was pouring, until you stopped. Why had you stopped when there was so much more to say? Or Nolan hoped there was – but then did he dare even hope-!? He didn’t hold his breath. You pulled your eyes back to him, and suddenly everything made sense. EVERYTHING made sense, and maybe you were trying to repress it, or you didn’t want to see what you thought you saw. Perhaps you just thought it’d be inappropriate considering, and you didn’t want people thinking you were helping him because of your feelings – but because Nolan Sorrento was worth helping. Now you were standing on a street in the middle of Columbus, Ohio, staring at each other and one thing was clear to you; Nolan projected his feelings. But Nolan wasn’t acting on them. No matter.

You stepped forward, minimal gap though there was between you - because of the way you walked together, shoulders almost always brushing - closing instantly as you pulled him into you. Pushing up on your toes your lips touched his. Nolan froze – he wasn’t even sure of the way he should react. Well – in his head he knew plenty, hold you, pull you closer, kiss you back at the very least!, but his brain would not compute the actions to the rest of his body; he was shocked. Because this was really happening. Nolan could count the number of girlfriends he’d had on one hand, one finger even and it’d never been serious. He also didn’t need both hands to count the number of kisses he’d received – and if he was honest, how many of those were real? How many of them were dares the other party never really wanted to be involved with in the first place? Sorrento didn’t want to dwell on that, and closed his eyes, but if he didn’t do something you would let him go and all too soon. That thought compelled him to wind his arms around you. His kiss back was tentative, as he made sure that was okay to do, but you didn’t pull away from him – encouraged Nolan held you a little tighter. His stomach was full of butterflies and when he thought on it later, all his dreaming didn’t even come close to this feeling – more nervous and more confident than he’d ever been in his entire life. Part of him wanted to go back to his apartment, slam the door and scream in joy (perhaps not, though, that’d only have the neighbours threatening him again) – maybe he could just do that in his head. But right now, Nolan was holding you, and that was all that really mattered. You let each other go gently, both a little breathless, both a little blushy, and both with no idea what to say next. “N… Nolan?” “Yeah?” “I…” “I know…” but his voice pitched, “Me too.” You giggled, finally stealing a look back to his face; “But I meant it.” He nodded, blush rising, “I-I know that too. You said… everything I’ve… wanted to say.” You nodded along, and both of you laughed as conversation became silence once more. Nolan took a deep breath; “Let’s… uh… they, they’re probably waiting for us.” “Yeah. Yeah, good shout!” But as you continued to walk, this time Nolan held his hand out for yours, and felt elated as you took it, entwining your fingers with his. He knew he would have to take this one step at a time – but his confidence was suddenly sky high, and Nolan felt about ready to take on the world. You watched him walk for a moment, how he even seemed to hold himself better – strides giving him the look of a man on a mission. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched Nolan Sorrento literally change in front of your eyes. You’d been in relationships before, and although that wasn’t what this was yet, you knew that you were in for a wild ride no matter where it headed. But one thing was for sure, you were going to give him the adorably sweet picture-perfect romance that he deserved.

--- Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed! 😊💜

#Nolan Sorrento #Ben Mendelsohn #Ready Player One #Nolan Sorrento x Reader #There will never be enough Nolan Sorrento on my blog #AMANDA - I can't unsee Cody Ko and this feels like cursed information!!#Special Shoutout to Amanda and Joss for the hair discussion!#150!!!#linzi writes #smol bean drabbles #Thank you Amanda for beta reading parts of this... All the way back in March!#Actually theres a lot of wisps of your ideas from our conversations in here...#It... it gets ropey in places but it's got a strong beginning and strong points SO...#Hopefully you enjoy the baby intern-!!#She's a little Lorena but it also feels like Lorena with the personalities flipped

38 notes · View notes

remys-lucky-franc · 4 years ago

Text

Comfort - Remy POV Fic (Queen of Thieves)

“Hey, I wanna ask for a Remy angst. Are you allowed to write angst?”

I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to write this for you, life’s just been a bit crazy between work and studying lately, and it’s so annoying because I’ve had some really nice requests that I’m excited to write for people, but I just haven’t had any time to work on them! Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this @ilovewritingfics 💕

Notes: although it’s written from Remy’s POV (I’ve never written a POV before for anything!), the fic is set in Nikolai’s route, which sounds weird, but you’ll see what I mean. No specific TWs for the fic, it covers Nikolai’s trauma surrounding his family, so if you aren’t up to date and don’t want a spoiler on that, or if it’s upsetting to you, consider giving this one a miss.

Word Count 2100

I want to credit my lovely friend @stopforamoment for her suggestion on the topic for this short fic - thank you lovely.

—-

[MORE] [[MORE]]

Dinner Club. One of my favourite things we do together. Every member of The Gilded Poppy is different and everyone has their own interests, of course. But this is something we can all enjoy, and I love this family time so much: everyone laughing, sharing food, telling stories, teasing each other... It’s always such fun to be part of this, and after a successful heist, it’s even better!

After all, tonight we have a beautiful vintage fencing sword in our possession! I know, it’s part of a much larger plan, but for tonight at least, stealing it has made Niko really happy, and that makes me happy. He’s sitting at the end of the table with a glint in his eye, listening to Daisy and Leon chatter joyfully about the (I must say, very predictable) ‘twist’ at the end of some romance novel. It’s a glint that I’ve seen a lot since Daisy joined our (very attractive) crime family. I smile to myself as I watch how her cheeks colour so prettily when she notices his eyes fixed on her, like she’s the only person in the room. It’s been a long time since I’ve saw Niko’s interest pique the way it does when she’s close by, if ever, actually. The energy between them, it’s something quite unique: special. She’s a match for him in ways I’ve never seen before, and the challenge is good for him. It’s like she set off a spark in him and all of the wonderful things that make him Niko, are just ‘more’ with her around. I watch them play their game - anticipation, flirtation, power and control - I’m well-versed in ‘love’ and seduction (some would say ‘a master’) but this something else: it’s not part of a con, not something ‘to get out of your system’... I only hope Daisy doesn’t tire of it, because I’ve never seen someone get the better of Nikolai Stirling the way she can.

I lean forward skewering something delicious from the sharing platter in front of me, popping it into my mouth, laughing along to the friendly debate Zoe, Jett and Vivienne are having. Vivienne’s losing her argument and is trying to convince me to fight her corner, but I’m too preoccupied with how I could use my conman charms to ‘gently persuade’ my best friend and Daisy to forget who is winning their mindgames and push them closer together. Niko will hate me meddling, but it’s for his own good! Maybe tomorrow I can-

My plotting is abruptly ended as the waiter heading to a table behind us is jostled by a man who tries to squeeze past him in a space that’s too narrow. It’s like the world slows down... I can see what’s unfolding, but I’m powerless: I have no time, no way of stopping it. The waiter loses his footing, one arm flailing. I’m holding my breath! He recovers (barely) without falling over, but not before the glass of Amarone perched on his tray swirls and sloshes to one side, a crescendo of blood-red bursting free down the front of Nikolai’s crisp white shirt. The bold bouquet of fruit and spice hits my nose as deep red splatters bleed and seep across the fabric. Nikolai is frozen, complete horror etched across his face. Suddenly, all I can see is the scared fifteen year-old I befriended on the streets of Paris carrying a sick kitten.

The waiter has discarded his tray; he’s panicked and apologising to Nikolai, fumbling for a napkin to try to blot away the mess. Our friends have noticed, but before anyone else can react, I’m halfway across the table with the salt cellar slipped inside my pocket. I wrap one comforting arm around Niko, my other hand on the waiters arm, reassuring him (in flawless Italian, of course) that everything is under control and I’ll take it from here. Within seconds, I have Nikolai on his feet, gripping him close to me as I guide him towards the restroom: always moving forward. I keep my free arm across his chest, deliberately, to shield the stains from his sight; leaning in close, chattering to distract him. Anything I can do, anything to keep him walking until I can get him inside. He’s hyperventilating by the time we enter the plush restroom, and fortunately it’s empty.

“Niko? Breathe. Slowly. Come on.”

He’s still not responding, I gently put pressure on his shoulder, manoeuvring him onto an Art Deco-style chaise beside a large mirror. I crouch in front of him, cupping his face in my hands, offering comfort, speaking softly,

“It’s ok. I’m here. Your Remy’s got you. It’s going to be ok. You’re safe.”

It’s a mantra I repeat several times over while he trembles. Minutes feel much longer, but now his breathing is slowing and for the first time since the spillage, he makes eye contact with me. I’m so relieved! I nod and smile before I press a heartfelt kiss to his cheek. The worst has passed. He’s going to be ok.

I pause, taking just a few seconds to catch my own breath: getting him away from the table to a safe space, keeping him moving, it was all automatic, all done on instincts. But now, my mind races. I’m so glad this happened when I was at the table; would anyone else have been able to get him out the way I did? Would he have let anyone else lead him off like this? He looked so vulnerable just now, it breaks my heart to think of it...

‘Focus, Remy. Come on. You’re not done yet.’

I lean back, fingers shifting to his collar, offering him my most suggestive grin,

“Lose the shirt.”

Nikolai manages a weak laugh (I knew that would get him!) as his fingers move toward his buttons, I realise a second too late that his hands are shaking too much to undo them. He mutters a strangled apology and rakes a hand through his dark hair as I make short work of them, startled by just how hard his heart hammers inside his chest, even now, minutes after the incident. He shrugs his way out of the shirt and I take it to the counter, grabbing some paper towels to blot out the liquid before dumpling half of the stolen salt cellar onto the stain. Selecting an expensive-looking cologne from the selection provided, I head back to Niko, spritzing it around him as I go, trying to erase the lingering scent of the alcohol from his nostrils.

As I join him on the chaise, he clears his throat awkwardly, his usually crisp clear voice barely audible at all,

“Thank you.”

I bump my shoulder against his, still trying to lighten the mood,

“Pas de problème.”

He still looks like he’s met a ghost, and I can feel the seat vibrate under me from his agitated tapping foot. But at least he’s speaking to me: when things have happened before, things that have triggered horrible memories for him, sometimes it’s taken hours to get him to even look at me. The first time it happened, long before The Gilded Poppy existed, we were only street kids, sleeping rough and begging. I’ll never forget it as long as I’m alive. A group of men left a bar near where we were hoping to earn a few francs, one of them was worse for wear and fell to the ground, vomiting. It wasn’t until I turned to Niko, ready to make some sassy comment about how the drunk couldn’t hold his liquor or his wallet, that I realised something was very, very wrong. It took hours for him to come back around, and days to feel better afterwards... I didn’t have a very happy childhood, and I was forced to grow up quickly, but not in the same way as Niko. The things he suffered... I can’t help but put myself into his shoes, picturing my family around our small dinner table, my lovely old meme, my mother bringing food to the table, my father chatting to my young brother about school... How unreal it must have felt to Niko, how terrifying. I cannot begin to imagine: to watch your whole family die... And such a painful death... It’s little wonder it haunts him. I scrub my hand across my eyes trying to shake the sickening scene.

I clap my hand on Niko’s knee as I stand, heading back to check how the salt is working on his shirt: it may seem ridiculous, but a conman has to think fast, and you never know when a cleaning tip like this will be useful! Of course, the shirt is looking much better - now I just need to rinse it and dry it off. Almost done. I bustle around the washbasin, running the breast of Niko’s shirt under the piping water, rinsing away the salt, pink dye flowing down the drain, erasing tonight’s events. I hold it up to the lights, smiling as I do.

“I think the shirt will survive, Niko.”

I start the hand drier, just as I hear Niko murmur something, far too low for me to hear over the roar,

“What was that?”

I stop, making my way back across to the chaise, gesturing for Niko to repeat himself. He looks up at me with the saddest blue eyes,

“I never wanted her to see me, like, this. How can she...” His posture visibly stiffens, “She won’t respect me after this?”

I frown. Of course, he’s talking about Daisy. And something in his voice tells me that Daisy’s ‘respect’ isn’t the feeling he’s truly worried about, but while he’s shirtless in a restaurant bathroom really isn’t the best time for me to play Cupid... I try to tell Nikolai that Daisy is the last person who would think any less of him because of this, she is so lovely: surely he knows her well enough, to know that? Daisy is sensitive and kind: she would understand. But he’s still shaken and so agitated about what happened at the table, my honest words make no difference; his barricades are going up and he mutters that he doesn’t want her pity. I make a show of raising one eyebrow at him, and shaking my head before I march back to the hand drier. I love Niko dearly, but he can be so stubborn, it makes me crazy!

Ten minutes later, Niko is looking much more collected, and is back in his gleaming white shirt: I am a man of many talents, it’s true! He straightens himself up in front of the mirror as I watch on: it’s almost as though nothing ever happened. We exit the restroom and rejoin our friends. Everyone is wonderfully discrete: they pretend we never left the table. Niko doesn’t utter a single word for the rest of the evening. His expression is strained and he doesn’t touch a bite of his food - he’s going through the motions but I know he can’t wait for the evening to end. I chip in some delightful anecdotes to help keep the conversation flowing, but what happened tonight weighs heavily on me: what if this happened and I wasn’t here? What if something like this happened on a heist? What if I couldn’t get to him? What would we do? How could I keep my best friend safe? What if something went wrong and I wasn’t around anymore? Who else understands like me?

I meet Daisy’s big brown eyes over the table, concern is written across her face. She really cares for Niko, it’s so obvious. I wish he would let her in... Having someone else who loves you, an extra person in this world looking out for you, to rely on... She could be the best thing that ever happened to him. She could make him happy, I can see it all.

I make a silent promise to myself: they say that love will find a way? Well, it certainly will when Remy Chevalier helps it along.

#queen of thieves #lovestruck fic #remy chevalier

16 notes · View notes