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deandoesthingstome · 2 years

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Hall Pass - Chapter 1

Paring: Henry Cavill x Reader (RPF)

Series Summary: You run into Henry Cavill at the start of a two-week house-sitting vacation. You had some previous plans. Some were ruined by your now ex-boyfriend. Some were made better. Guess by whom?

Series Warnings: I’ll be honest, this whole thing is just self-indulgent smutty fluff. Here’s what I offer: meeting, making out, and having sex with Henry Cavill (rpf). I’m probably NOT going to be adding chapter warnings unless I get a bug to re-write and something worms it’s way into the story that I wasn’t expecting.

A/N: I started this story shortly after the fiasco of The Witcher and Superman announcements. I thought about how great it would be to try and cheer him up a little. For the purposes of this story, he is single. No hate to anyone in his life right now, in whatever way you imagine that to be. I also understand if you do not read rpf. Feel free to scroll on by. I don’t need to hear about it.

This was going to be a looooong one-shot, but solicited feedback prompted me to break it up for you.

Playlist: I will add to Spotify for each chapter.

Word Count: 3.1K

"You've got to be fu..."

You barely had time to register the deep intonation of the same words you yourself were spouting when you glanced up from your phone screen just before walking smack dab into a 6'1" brick wall.

"...cking kidding me."

Your phone hit the ground with a clatter, though you knew it could sustain the impact. The best thing your as-of-this-minute ex had ever done was insist on the military grade phone case for your clumsy ass.

"I'm so sorry. Are you quite alright?"

"Oh, I absolutely should be the one apologizing," you responded, not even glancing up to check out the person from whom the sensual accent slipped as you knelt to retrieve your device. Had you done so, you would have noticed the shape blocking your way moving in the same general direction and probably wouldn't have bumped your head into his. Possibly.

"Oof! Oh dear..."

"My god, I am so clumsy! Please forgi..." you lost the rest of that apology as you raised your head and found yourself staring directly into the clearest blue eyes you'd know anywhere, the spot of brown, a dead giveaway.

"Cat got your tongue now?" A dazzling smile peeked out from behind a short, salt and pepper beard as firm hands gripped your shoulders to steady you. "May I help you up?"

It was all you could do to nod and soon you were standing once again, phone in hand, staring up at a face you would never in a million years dream might be found outside a Warhammer store in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere. You blinked a couple times, then clasped a free hand against your burning cheek.

"Thank you. And I'm sorry. I wasn't looking at all where I was going. Let me just get out of your way and let you get on with your day."

If the slight furrow in his brow didn't cause your mouth to salivate, the tiny lip pucker sure did.

"Well that's just it, isn't it? The reason I was in your way in the first place..."

"Oh, this isn't your fault..." you tried to interrupt.

"...is because this door appears to be locked and there's a hastily hand-written sign stating 'Emergency. Back tomorrow at 10.'"

You glanced to the side to confirm the statement as well as peel your eyes off the man in front of you, for fear he was seeing all the thoughts inside your head. Who were you kidding? He'd clearly already seen them, the way he returned a shy grin as he finished his explanation.

"Oh that sucks. Wonder what happened to Josh?"

"Who's Josh?” he asked, with a deadly raised eyebrow.

"The store owner. He's usually here everyday, late sometimes even. If he's not here, something is definitely out of sorts. Hope he's okay," you worried.

"Do you frequent the store often?"

"Me? Oh, no. I buy honey from Josh's wife and sometimes he keeps a few jars around the store for regulars. I was going to see if I could pick some up."

"So you're not a gamer then?" Was that a tinge of disappointment underneath the curiosity? No, why would there be?

"Um, noooo..." Dammit. You took a quick look around to see who might be with him, possibly about to wrangle him away, but there didn't seem to be anyone worried about an errant fan. "Look, I'm sorry, but aren't you...?"

"Aren't I...?" A cheekier version of his shy grin appeared and you were absolutely done for.

"Oh my god. Please, forgive me. I should get out of your hair."

"It's Henry," he offered a large hand in your direction.

"Henry Cavill," you whispered back, accepting the shake.

"That's so odd," he grinned, hand still clasped in yours as you continued to let him slowly raise and lower your arm, completely amazed it was even happening..

"Hmm? What's odd?"

"We appear to have the same name."

You laughed and offered your real name before ending the shake.

"Lovely to make your acquaintance," he smiled. "Were you that upset about missing out on the honey?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You appeared quite upset just now. It must be really good honey."

"Oh my god, it's the best," you gushed, excited to talk up your friend's business. "She makes a clover variety as well as orange blossom and both are phenomenal. Oh, but no, that's not, no, I hadn't seen the sign at all."

"Well something seemed rather upsetting."

"Oh, my, um boyf.., um," you stuttered, unclear why you were about to unload your personal shit on a Hollywood A-List celebrity.

"It's alright. I didn't mean to pry."

"Well, what are you doing all the way out here anyway? Surely, there's another location closer to the city. I mean, you were here for the convention, right?"

"Yes, well. You're not the only clumsy one. I blame these fat fingers," he waved a hand in front of your face and it was all you could do not to drool. "I ordered a special model online, thinking I could work on it during a brief hiatus, and thought I'd arranged to have it shipped to a store near my rental, but apparently I don't know the geography around here very well, and well, I guess I didn't realize there was more than one location in this area. By the time I noticed I tapped the wrong store on my phone, it was too late to change the order and I figured a drive might be nice."

"Well that's, um, that's really unfortunate. Are you staying in the city?" You checked your watch. "Oof, you're about to hit rush hour traffic. What a nightmare to have to go back in and then do the trip again tomorrow morning."

"Rush hour into the city this time of day?"

"It's rush hour in every direction back that way this time of day. Plus two lane roads most of the way. Dreadful. And you didn’t even get what you came for. Sorry!"

"Well, where are you headed this time of day?" Why was he chatting with you like an old friend? Surely, he had better things to get to.

"Oh, well, we're," nope, not 'we' anymore. "Um, I'm house sitting at another friend's farm for a few weeks. A nice little staycation while I celebrate my birthday and anniver...um, birthday."

"Oh, it's your birthday?"

"Week after next."

"Well happy early birthday."

"Thanks!" You couldn't possibly smile any wider and your cheeks were about to start hurting. Definitely not the feelings you thought you would be experiencing as you read the text messages from your boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, you reminded yourself.

"Alright, well, I guess I should probably hit the road and get the rush hour over with."

You stared a little too long, wheels turning in your head. No. This is dumb. Don't open your mouth.

"Do you have some place you have to be tonight?" Way to go.

"Sorry?"

"Just, um. Okay, this is so awkward and I swear it's not a prank or publicity stunt or anything and I'm not a stalker..."

"Though you are beginning to worry me," he chuckled, with a conspiratorial nod of his head.

"If no one's waiting on you, you could stay the night at the farm with me. There's plenty of room. And that way you don't have to make the trip twice." The words were out of your mouth before you could even consider you might want to clear it with your friend. But who wouldn't want Henry Cavill staying under their roof?

"Oh. That's, um, that's certainly unexpected and not necessary at all."

"It's no trouble, really. I could just make a quick call..."

"Well, if you're sure..."

"One sec." You turned away to phone your friend and, leaving out the part about a text-message breakup, you secured permission to allow Henry Cavill into the house for the night. No arm twisting needed, just promises of a few photos. You were sure he'd oblige, after everything you'd seen and heard about his gentle and considerate way with paparazzi and fans.

"Okay, we're on. Only if you want, of course." Please say yes, please say yes.

"If you're sure?" That eyebrow would definitely be the death of you.

"Positive. Follow me?"

You headed back to your vehicle, loaded with packages of food and alcohol for the next two weeks. When you pulled out of your spot, you saw Henry in what must be a luxury SUV rental fall in behind you and you led him 30 minutes down the winding back country roads to Grouse Ridge Farm.

"I hope the gravel didn't do any damage," you called to him as you exited your very not luxury SUV "I tried to keep the speed low so I didn't kick back any rocks or dust your way."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. Can I give you a hand with your belongings?" he nodded toward the cargo hold.

"That's so kind of you, yes. Thank you."

You each grabbed several items from the back and you noticed Henry look off toward the barn as you headed up the wide front stairs of the wraparound porch.

"Are there horses on this farm?"

"Why, yes there are. Do you...oh, of course you ride! Would you like to see them?" You set your bags down to fish the house key out of your pocket and opened the door.

"I'd love to. Shall we put these groceries away first? And are you feeding an army?" Henry's laugh was so pleasing, not derisive or mean at all. Just genuinely cheery. You led him to the kitchen where he began to hand you items from coolers to place in the fridge while you chatted.

"Not that it's a terrible trek to the store, that's actually the other reason I stopped in town on my way out, and there are a few variety stores nearby as well, but when I'm out here, I love to just ... be out here. So I try to plan for most meals with an occasional night out at a local restaurant or two."

"Surely you can't eat all this by yourself though?"

Here we go.

"No, you're right. I wasn't actually meant to be alone here for two weeks. Along with my birthday, tomorrow was supposed to be my one year anniversary with my boyfriend but he bailed." You could feel tears welling. "Like, it's been a little stressful lately, because he's been away for business for a few months and he's promised to get back to visit on weekends when he can but that hasn't worked out so well and this was going to be like a reset for us and then he texted..."

"He did not break up with you in a text message?"

You nodded slowly, embarrassed at how ridiculous the whole thing sounded, but also at the well of tears still building and threatening to break free.

"What a complete and utter twat. Pardon my French."

That particular curse never failed to make you giggle, and so with relief you let out a cautious laugh and wiped the tears away.

"He really is," you replied. You took a beat. The method of ending the relationship notwithstanding, even the few months before he was sent off to a new city to help build a brand for his company hadn't been the greatest. Petty squabbles, missed dinner dates, shifting priorities. You were so grateful you had held your ground and insisted on not moving in together right away. "You know what? Just nevermind it. I mean, if I'm not important enough to plan a few trips home over several months to continue nurturing our new-ish relationship let alone show up for an anniversary vacation, clearly he's not worth crying over."

"There you go! Absolutely right."

"Should we go meet the horses?"

"Love to."

The bright smile on his face had you weak in the knees again but you somehow managed to lead Henry back outside to the barn, stepping inside the large doors carefully, so you didn't spook the animals.

"They don't spend all their time in here, do they?"

"Oh, no! It's just getting late and dark soon. My friends have a farm hand who comes by in the mornings and evenings to feed and water them, let them out on the property, muck the stalls, wrangle them back in. All the things I'm positively no good at. I can feed the goats," you laughed and nodded to the three animals in an enclosure with a small door leading out to a fenced in paddock.

"Well that's a relief. Do you know their names?"

"Yes! This is Telly," you walked toward a massive brown stallion with a gorgeous black mane. "And next to him is Butterscotch. Her coloring is my favorite. Over here we have Mikka and Sadie, the two Appaloosas. Sadie's pregnant. "

You watched the way Henry cooed and whispered to each horse in turn, taking the time to figure out the exact right spot to pat or rub or scratch at. Was he that meticulous in all his interactions?

“And what kind of dogs do the owners keep?”

“How did you ...?” you trailed off as you realized he must have noticed the dog beds by the fireplace in the great-room off the kitchen, as well as the water bowls scattered throughout the house and barn. “They have two Great Pyrenees.”

“Oh, big floofers then. Excellent!” Did he just say floofers? Could this man get any more adorable?

“Yes,” you laughed. “Um, Leo and Gabs.”

“And where are those two?”

“Oh, well my friends take them along on trips. I wish they’d leave them. I love their couch cuddles. Don’t care how many lint rollers I have to go through.”

“Ha, yes,” Henry laughed. “Lint rollers, a dog owner’s best friend.”

Oh shit.

“Henry? Is Kal with you on this trip? I mean, he’s not suffering alone in a strange hotel room right now is he?” You were close to mortified. Had you forced Henry to abandon Kal?

“In the hotel room, yes. Alone? Decidedly not,” he chuckled. “I rang my assistant on the way out here to let her know she’d need to extend her baby-sitting for the night. Kal’s in good hands. Probably scamming for extra dinner as we speak.”

“Oh, good! Speaking of dinner, are you hungry?”

“I could eat, yes.”

“Good. I have something for that.” Henry cocked his head to the side with an eyebrow raise and you paused for a moment, shocked at how easily the double-entendre slipped out. “I just mean, well, you know, the army stores and ...”

Henry laughed and saved you from further embarrassment. “Yes, what’s on the menu tonight?”

“Okay, well I have sandwich fixings, a few soups, stuff for stew, plenty of pasta options, and oooh, I make a killer bolognese if I do say so myself,” you listed off as you headed back into the house.

“Oh, I don’t want you to go to any trouble. Sandwiches would be fine.”

“It’s literally no trouble. I prepped the sauce this week. Just need to reheat it and toast up some gnocchi. The hardest part for me would probably be opening the wine. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m terribly clumsy and all the bottles I brought are corked instead of screw tops. Jeremy bought them all before he left for work. Would you mind?”

You nodded to the stash of bottles on the counter and Henry set about picking out a pairing for the dinner. “Did he imagine you’d never want a glass without him?”

“Like you said, total twat. Oh, and I don’t mean to keep putting you to work, but it’s going to start getting cold in here now that the sun’s down. I can turn up the thermostat a bit, but how are you at building fires?”

“I’m excellent at it.” He was already turning toward the great room after pouring two glasses of red. You wondered about the title of this Hallmark Holiday movie you suddenly found yourself in.

By the time the fire was roaring, you had plates served up at the long farmhouse table. Henry sat and the two of you chatted throughout the meal, beginning with his amazement at how you were not lying about the sauce.

“Right??? I simply won’t be modest about it. It’s like the one good thing I can do.”

“Oh I highly doubt that. The skill it takes to coax this flavor? You must be able to translate that into other dishes?”

“Well, I try.” There, a return to modesty.

After dinner, Henry suggested drinks by the fire and you were happy to join him, settling into the overstuffed easy chair, lest he feel you were crowding him on the couch. But this way you could stare naturally into his mesmerizing eyes while he spoke a language you didn’t understand about a topic you could tell meant the world to him. You’d asked about the model he was to pick up tomorrow and that opened a floodgate, as if he’d been dying to chat about his hobby for ages.

“I’m sorry, I must be boring you.”

“Not at all! I mean, I don’t know anything about the game, but I love hearing people talk about their passions. It’s enlightening, getting to know what makes people tick, what makes them happy.” You tried to stifle a yawn. “That’s not a commentary!” you laughed.

“Yeah it’s definitely getting late,” Henry glanced at his watch for the first time the entire evening. Other than a quick glance at his phone at dinner to answer a text from his assistant, his attention had been entirely on you and the evening.

“Okay, well let me get you settled in a guest room.”

There were three rooms in the house with private baths, while the rest shared various full and half baths up and downstairs. You felt weird putting him in your friend’s room or the room with two twins, so the king guest room that you normally stayed in would be his for the night. Don’t think about wrapping yourself in the sheets later.

“This is you. Bathroom is through the far door and there are usually extra toiletries stocked under the sink so help yourself. Oh, gosh! Do you want me to grab a pair of pj bottoms or something for you?”

Henry pursed his lips and with a mischievous look stated, “Hmmm, not necessary.”

It took you a moment to catch his drift and your eyes widened as you turned with a squeak of surprise. “Oh! Right, okay.. Well, I’m just down the hall if you need anything. Goodnight, Henry.”

“Goodnight Henry,” he winked when you turned back confused, then waited as you entered your room laughing.

You closed the door and took a deep breath then exhaled as you began imagining him naked in your bed. You grabbed your toiletry bag and prepared for bed trying not to think anymore about it. Sleep was going to come hard tonight.

Chapter 2

Tags: Please let me know if you want on or off or moved.

Anything: @mayloma @fvckinghenrycavill @geralts-yenn @sillyrabbit81 @kittenofdoomage @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @aireraume @kebabgirl67 @marantha @sweetdreamsofgelato @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @dedicated-to-mr-cavill @alexakeyloveloki @feelmyroarrrr @raccoon-eyed-rebel (I put you here based on all our fun times together, but please let me know if this was too presumptuous) @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @kingliam2019

Hall Pass: (askers and likers, though if you liked the teaser post and you aren’t here, Tumblr won’t let me tag you) @anastasia00moon (can’t tag you sorry!) @crymeariversworld @tess-lecter-blog @codykosuckmytoe @casadutti @fefa-la-printcessa @kaylamontaniz @kemillyfreitas @urmom3sposts @alicasalime @florxdexcerezo @lothbrokcore @straightforwardly @fuzzyugly-blog @livesinfantasyland @thereisa8ella @coldmooninthedark @12dilucswife @ms-angiealsina

#henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #hall pass #mine #deandoesthingstome

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ichorai · 3 years

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pearls and pastries ; j.jk

pairing ; pirate!jungkook x baker!reader (gender-neutral)

summary ; a crew of pirates have been pilfering your village for several weeks now and one particularly keen buccaneer has stopped by your bakery practically every visit; whether it be for the delectable pastries or for the sweet baker he's taken an interest to, jungkook couldn’t say. but there’s a catch - the baker doesn’t know that he’s a pirate.

themes ; fantasy, angst, fluff, pining, slight action, pirate au, baker au, medieval au

words ; 3.6k

warnings / includes ; descriptions of weaponry, stealing (from the rich), jungkook being a sad lovesick sap, pirate!bts, poetic sadness but when do i not do angst lmfao everything i touch turns into written sorrow </3

a/n ; written for the @ficscafe fic exchange event for @sunshinerainbowsbts !! i hope you like it <3 i'm definitely considering writing a part two to this :D

Jungkook wasn’t quite fond of parrots. Well, his mislike wasn’t necessarily directed towards the multi-hued rotund bird itself, but the fact that the wretched thing was squawking out a poor rendition of what Jungkook had announced earlier whilst clambering down the crow’s nest.

“I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery!” the winged devil screeched from atop Jimin’s shoulder, ruffling its bright feathers as if taunting him.

Shooting it the nastiest of scowls, Jungkook reached behind his head to untie the vermilion bandana holding his overgrown locks away from his narrowed eyes. “You better shut that bird up before I toss it to the sharks, Jimin.”

“If I let you do that, I’d also have to throw you overboard. The both of you are equally annoying,” the other pirate snorted in contempt, glancing up at his younger friend striding across the ship before moving his gaze back to the knapsack he was emptying for the pilfer. Out fell several empty bottles of rum, a few gold pieces glinting in the harsh midday sun, two jewel-encrusted daggers, and a worn eyepatch that suspiciously looked to be the same as the one Yoongi always wore over his left eye. “You seem to forget that we’re here to steal from the rich, not buy fancy breads! You’re lucky that Namjoon has half the decency not to kick you off the boat. Jin, however fond he is of you, still calls you a moocher.”

Rouge faintly dusted across Jungkook’s cheekbones as he coughed into his fist, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. “I steal stuff sometimes,” he muttered under his breath. It was useless to defend himself against someone who saw straight through him.

“Sometimes, my foot!” Jimin scoffed, hiking the bag over his shoulders. “Bringing back a goblet you found rolling down the street doesn’t count, you know that, right?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes to the cloudless sky, far too stubborn to admit that Jimin was right. With not another word, the young pirate clambered off of the large vessel and onto the rickety docks, grunting upon landing. It didn’t bother him much that Jimin was irked at his lack of contribution. They were rich enough as it is; what was the rush?

The air was tangy with sea salt and damp wood as he inhaled a deep breath, setting off for your bakery. Walking there took exactly three hundred and seventy two steps. Jungkook had memorized the shortest route to your little shop, mumbling the numbers under his breath with a growing grin blossoming across his lips. He subconsciously rolled the sleeves of his white tunic down, the fabric concealing the pirate tattoos inked all over his arms.

When the youthful sea wolf stepped foot into your store, a familiar chiming of the bell hooked atop the door echoed across the cream-walled room. At the reverberating sound, your head peeked out from the kitchen situated in the back. An illuminating beam danced on your features, eyes lighting up with mirth at the sight of Jungkook.

It made the muscle within his chest slam against his ribcage, desperate to be freed from its confines because it belonged to you, and only you. He wasn’t quite sure when the sudden fixation for the village baker his crew was stealing from started, but he had acclimated to his own change of heart by visiting you as often as he could.

“Fancy seeing you here today. Are you coming in or are you now my human door stopper?” Your heavenly voice floated towards Jungkook, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sheepish, he shuffled inside, engulfed by the warm scents of chocolate cakes, powdered pastries, caramelized fruits, and toasted almonds. His stomach gave an impatient snarl at the sight of tempting desserts. You had also walked to the front of the counter, dusting your flour covered hands on an apron. Some of the white powder had managed to smudge on your cheek, and Jungkook had to resist the urge to reach over and thumb it away.

“Hi,” he said with the brightest of grins. “I’ve missed you.”

At his bold statement, you suppressed a chortle. “I think you missed those chocolate cream puffs you like so much, not me. What’ve you been up to while you were gone?”

Jungkook hesitated at that. For the short amount of time he’d been visiting you, not once had he mustered the courage to tell you of his true origins. A savage pirate like him shouldn’t even be around the likes of you. You had no idea that he was part of the crew that was robbing your village, and the very thought of you finding out had him terrified. You were a taste of all the goodness in the world, and Jungkook was afraid you’d crumble into ash if he dared touch you. The sinner had no rights touching an angel, after all.

“Visiting family,” he hummed, quick to move on. If you noticed his strange demeanor, you didn’t say anything. For that, Jungkook was grateful. “I brought something for you.”

There was something about your smile that seemed to expel any and all feelings of gloom in a room. Jungkook was no exception to this feat, his knees almost buckling against the soft pink counters. He righted himself by leaning his elbows on top and propping his chin up with a palm. Gods, he didn’t know he was in this deep.

“Oh?” you set your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side. “To what do I owe such pleasures?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “For those cream cheese tarts you made me last time I visited. Thought I’d repay you.” Whilst saying this, he used his free hand to reach into his back pocket, fishing out a string of authentic pearls, adorned with a glimmering clasp of gold the same hue as the sun.

Your smile melted into a confused pucker, brows knitting together in a muted painting of hesitance, yet you ogled the expensive necklace dangling by one of his spindly fingers nonetheless. Where on earth had he gotten such a valuable treasure? “But you already paid me with money. I really can’t take that, Jungkook.”

Disappointment was easily detected as he slanted his lips to the side. “Alright, then.” He tucked the pearls back into his pocket. It surprised you how easily he had complied.

The worrisome atmosphere was quick to dissolve when the bell jangled once more. A small child meandered in with a toothy beam, holding a small pouch of clattering coins in their palm. They were no taller than Jungkook’s midriff, and he liked it a little more than he should have watching a certain softness adorn your features at the sight of the kid.

“I recommend the cinnamon apple pie. Or maybe the brown sugar crepes if you’re looking for something sweeter,” Jungkook said, gesturing to the treat behind the display glass. The child angled their head to stare at the taller man with wonder. “Anything Y/N makes is to die for, though.”

The child excitedly babbled something in return, but you didn’t quite pick up what they had said. You were far too focused on Jungkook’s animated features when he kneeled down to point at some more desserts. Sure, he was a handsome man, you’ve known that since day one. You’ve never really looked at him in this light. It was as if he were carved from pure luminosity, whittled by the hand of the most skilled sculptor. Everything about him was practically perfect; the gentle slope of his nose, the angles of his raised eyebrows, the dappled rouge of his lips, the beauty marks mottling his dewy skin, the dangerous cuts of his jaw, the twinkle of gaiety you found in his irises. With the sunlight filtering through the windows, it basked Jungkook within a golden radiance, the shadows casted along his face only highlighting his best features, doing nothing to aid your fluttering pulse. Has he always been this beautiful?

“I’ll have a slice of apple pie!”

The sudden clinking of coins being dumped onto the counter snapped you out of your trance, and you kindly wrapped up what the child ordered and handed them the paper bag. Both you and Jungkook watched as they smiled in thanks and trotted out of the bakery. Curse his handsome physique.

A little flustered by your earlier thoughts, you busied your hands by sorting the coins the kid had coughed up. Jungkook, ever the kind soul, merely stood with you as you worked, engaging you in entertaining conversations to keep you occupied while your store was empty. Where did the sun go once it disappeared down the horizon? Why did everybody else seem to enjoy the bitter taste of coffee except him? Why did his heart beat so quickly when around you? The last question he couldn’t muster the courage to ask, and much to his perturbation, he already knew the answer. You enjoyed Jungkook’s company very much; to the point where you couldn’t quite remember what it was like before he had sauntered into your life.

Before the both of you knew it, the sun was already setting. Jungkook noticed the way you deflated just slightly when red kissed the sky. It was a telltale sign that Jungkook was long overdue to go back to his ship. Yoongi would have his ass if he was late again. The whole situation was ridiculous, really. He felt like a fairy tale princess running away from the ball before his clothes grew into tatters. Well, in his case, he supposed it’d be pirate-wear.

Your smile betrayed only the gentlest hint of disappointment as you thrusted a bag of warm cookies into his arms. “Take this for the road,” you had said.

And so Jungkook did, smiling like an idiot the whole way back. A part of him absentmindedly wondered what your face would look like when you noticed that he had left the pearls on the countertop for you.

The ship rocked as the young pirate scampered across the deck at a startling speed, flinging the doors to the cabins open. Six older pirates stared at his panting form, a few looking on with unsurprised indifference, most glaring at him in disappointment. Jimin merely stuck his tongue out, his childish way of saying I told you so. There was expectancy in the captain’s eyes, but it waned away at an instant upon seeing that Jungkook carried nothing of value. Namjoon pinched the space between his brows in mild frustration.

Stiffly, Jungkook jerked his arm to thrust the bag in his hand forward. “Cookie?” he asked. Nobody said anything. Jungkook slowly brought his appendage back down, guilt roiling in his abdomen. “I take it you guys don’t want the cookies?”

With a huff, Namjoon stalked forward. “Of course we want the cookies, give me that.” He snatched the bag out of Jungkook’s hands and tossed it to Taehyung, who caught it with eagerness vividly splayed across his ruffled features. “I do have to admit, we’re getting tired of you bringing back nothing but sweets every time we go on raids, Jungkook. C’mon, kid, this is a team effort here. Look, just today Yoongi managed to steal a dozen coffers from a nobleman. The least you can do is try.” True to the captain’s word, there was a mountain of chests and boxes full to the brim with gold coins and shimmering jewels piled to the side of the cabin.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jungkook nodded in understanding, though not without a miniscule frown twinging his lips. What was a pirate without his treasure, right?

Taking note of his glum demeanor, Namjoon clapped a hand to the younger man’s shoulder. “We’re not mad at you—”

Yoongi snorted at that.

“We just… want to help you help us,” Namjoon finished, ignoring the salty pirate’s quip from behind him.

The youngest man on deck raised his hand to his forehead in an awkward salute. “Yes cap’n!” Shame prowled within his chest; just thinking about the dishonor he brought to the pirate reputation by loitering in a bakery all day, ogling at sugary treats (and the sweet baker, but Jungkook digresses).

A part of him felt even worse knowing that he’d see you less and less, what with the other pirates breathing down his neck. He could only hope that you’d still look forward to his visits, though few and far in between.

Authentic bottles of expensive wines were shoved into his knapsack by Taehyung, lacing chains of aureate crammed into his hands by Hoseok, bars of cold silver wedged into the pits of his arms by Jimin, and more treasures thrown at the youngest pirate to hold as they lithely ran across the village. Being one of the stronger and more agile ones of the group had its downfalls, after all. He was being treated like a pack mule, hauling all the treasure for them. Not that he was going to complain; Jungkook knew that he deserved the rough-housing.

“Hold onto these for me, will you?” Yoongi gruffly uttered as he slid the thick hilts of gem-encrusted daggers into his belt. Jungkook complied hesitantly, but not without a suppressed groan of annoyance. “They’ll sell for more than a pretty penny, so don’t lose them.” The older pirate seemed to be in a grumpier than usual mood, considering he lost his eyepatch and the mottled scar crossing over his eye was on display for anybody to gawk at. It would’ve been worrying to Jungkook if he wasn’t aware of the fact that Jimin was merely prolonging his juvenile game of ‘keep away’, attempting to dance away from Yoongi’s inevitable wrath.

Perhaps being a pirate wasn’t his true calling, because Jungkook found that his mind kept wandering off to the matters at hand—running away from the guards. Though it was a relatively easy task (the guards were quite thick-headed in this village), he thought about the pretty plants dangling from the balconies of a building they jogged by, or the scents of exotic spices carried by the souq market not far from where they were. Most of all, much to his expectancy, his thoughts were centered around you. Had you gotten many customers for lunch rush? Were you lonely without him? How many times have you smiled today? Jungkook was all too fond of your smile.

Blinded by his unsaid affectionate ramblings, he only barely caught on to Namjoon’s quiet, “We shook the guards off for now. Be careful next time, Seokjin. The sun’s about to set soon; we should head back to the ship before it gets dark.”

Jungkook hissed out a small sigh of relief, bending over to catch his breath. Jogging across the village would have been no problem, but running with treasures twice his weight draped all over him was a different story.

When he righted himself back to standing, the sudden pit of shocked trepidation unfurled within his abdomen. There you were, beautiful as ever, but a terrifying sight to see. Normally you’d be the only person he would want to see, but as of this moment, you were the absolute last person he fancied bumping into.

Why now? He had the most rotten of luck.

Today you weren’t wearing your regular apron, but a pair of fitted grey trousers and a soft beige blouse far too large for you, hanging off of one of your shoulders as you cradled a basket of breads and cheeses and other groceries in your arms. It was a simple outfit, but one that made his heart clench nonetheless. The glinting of iridescent pearls draped over your décolletage had his breath stolen away from him as raw sentiment overtook his form. You were wearing the pearls he left for you and you never looked more beautiful. Jungkook, on the other hand, was clad in clothes that practically screamed pirate; a golden-clasped corset tightened about the small of his waist, a tattered white button-up tucked into his dark trousers, worn sea boots covering his feet. A large gun was also slung over the belt cinched around his hips, along with multiple daggers of the like, and not to mention all the riches and jewelry the other boys had thrown at him.

You couldn’t see him. No, it would absolutely ruin Jungkook.

Perhaps dropping everything he was holding in a panicked effort to dash away as quickly as he could was the worst possible thing he could have done to not warrant any attention.

The concerned and confused questions erupting from the other pirates as they whipped their heads towards their youngest comrade went completely ignored. He scampered away from them, lunging towards a shadowed alley and hiding behind a teetering pile of musty boxes. A stray cat nuzzled against his leg, but Jungkook merely shooed it away with a frustrated glare and not-so-subtle shushing gestures.

What a fool I am, the young buccaneer berated himself, pressing a knuckle against his temple in frustration. He waited for another minute, before slinking out from the shadows, peering around the corner to see if you were still there.

No sign of you. Relief seized his chest, but not without the gentlest flower of disappointment staining whatever solace he felt, a weed amongst the roses. Jungkook’s mind was still reeling from the fact that you were wearing his pearls.

Treading carefully, he strode out of the alley, turning the other direction before halting in his tracks completely. A queer, garbled noise tumbled past his lips.

It was you, a confused smile gracing your features, and all Jungkook could think about was how the sunlight was made for you, how you glowed in front of him, how he wanted to cradle you into his chest and murmur confessions of his pure, unadulterated love into your ear. But Jungkook didn’t do any of that. Instead, he merely stood there, as if he was imitating a statue in all of his pirate glory. Terrified, regretful, and ever so angry at himself.

Fate was a cruel game.

The pearls shone prettily on your skin. A reminder of the best mistake he’s ever made.

Your eyes had yet to wander down to fully take in his appearance, for your expression still held fondness for the man that’s visited your bakery so often, still having no idea that he was a filthy pirate, locked into his molten gaze. “I think you dropped something…?” The golden chains dangled loose between your fingers as you held them out to him. Jungkook didn’t take them, frozen on the spot.

It was as if he could pinpoint the exact moment you found out his true origins. Your brows furrowed upon seeing the weaponry strapped onto him, one of his pirate tattoos on display (Jungkook cursed himself for not thinking of rolling his sleeve back down), and the six other men watching in silent despondency behind them. You had always been a sharp one, far too smart for your own good.

Or, perhaps, it's always been obvious. Jungkook was only wishing for the impossible.

“You’re a pirate.”

The statement wedged a stake into his chest, splintering his heart into pieces. When you stepped away from him, confused horror marring your beautiful features, Jungkook knew that it was over.

He lost you.

A flurry of emotions, overwhelming and tumultuous, evidently took over you at his lack of denial. You looked to be just as heartbroken as he was.

“You’re a pirate,” you repeated, dazed. You wanted him to say something, anything. Much to his surprise, you didn’t sound angry. You took several steps back this time. The weight of pearls around your neck suddenly felt choking.

The sudden calling of his name had his head whipping around to look at his captain, watching the brutal exchange with gentle sternness. “We have to go.” The guards’ll be coming soon, no doubt.

Jungkook looked back to you, any and all words lodged in his throat. Despite the fear in your irises, a soft expression of acceptance folded over your visage, for under all his pirate exterior, he was still the same man that you thought so fondly of from your bakery. The look was short-lived however, quick to fade away when Jungkook reached out for you hesitantly. A part of him pondered how a simple baker managed to steal from the stealer. You had robbed him of his heart, and Jungkook didn’t even try to stop you.

Upon seeing you inch away in mortification at your new revelation, Jungkook retracted his arm and pursed his lips. The agony clawing at his stomach was begging to be set free. He wanted nothing more than to get onto his knees and plead for your forgiveness.

I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I’m not the man you thought I was. I’m sorry I fell in love with you.

His name came out again, this time from Yoongi. That meant it was serious.

“I’ll come back,” Jungkook said, tears rimming the bottom of his warm doe eyes. You watched him start to trek backwards. “I promise.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, like he was swallowing down a knot of thorned ivy.

Before you had the chance to say anything back, he was gone, bounding back to his ship with his comrades. Not long after, the distant barks of guards pursuing them rang throughout the village. You took that as your cue to leave. Swallowing down the urge to cry, you forced your eyes away.

You hoped he wouldn’t uphold his promise, for the both of your sakes.

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ditttiii · 4 years

Text

gold rush. || kth {m}

⇢ summary: kim taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. all narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is everyone’s dream. after months of sharing an elevator with the man who makes your heart race until you can scarcely breathe when the chance finally comes; are you willing to risk it all for his touch?

⇢ genre: porn with feelings, soft smut, angst, is unresolved tension and feelings a genre?

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

⇢ word count: 4.4k

⇢ rating: explicit / 18+

⇢ theme: strangers to lovers, s2l!au

⇢warning/s: public/elevator sex, exhibitionism, fingering, cunnilingus/oral (female receiving), lots of kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex? reader’s on the pill, swearing, tension and so much of it, unresolved-repressed feelings, taehyung is a certified dingus & reader is hopelessly smitten.

⇢ a/n: betaed by @yeojaa who owns my heart and is the most precious bean ever.

also have all my virtual, socially distanced cuddles @btsmosphere @papillonsgf @birbdae & @unoriginal-username15432. if it weren’t for their support this wouldn’t be out today. my gratitude knows no bounds ♡ also big thanks to taylor for the fic title.

banner by @chillingkoo & moodboard by @today-we-will-survive their art breathed life into this fic ♡ a belated birthday fic for one mr.kim taehyung & the beautiful @kerikaaria. this fic is also my submission for @thebtswritersclub january monthly project.

lastly, i had a lot of fun writing this so i hope you guys enjoy it x 2021 here v go ♡

You wonder when the shame stopped making you hide behind a curtain of messy bed hair. When the smell of a man's cologne on you and a fruity fragrance on him started to feel normal; routine.

The elevator closes with a 'ping', and your eyes track the numbers as they descend, the warmth of another human, the soft puffs of his breath, warming your shivering, scantily dressed body.

"What happened to ‘she’s too old for me?’ " You grunt, slipping off your six inches of agony inducing footwear and pushing them to a corner.

"What happened to you not being jealous?" You can feel his smirk, oozing of self-assured nonchalance and smugness that would seem ugly on anyone but fits like a well-tailored suit on him. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he leans back, hands resting on the metal railing while his tall, lean body slouches lazily, almost invitingly, and you have to force your eyes away from tracing the curves of his pecs. It's a tempting sight, but you aren't about to give him any more ammo to goad you with. As it is, he already knows too much, is far too keen.

"Of your sugar mama? I don't think so."

Taehyung hums but doesn't refute the statement and the silence between you two stretches on. A burning ball of jealousy in your stomach continues to eat away at your peace, and with a clenched jaw, you allow your head to rest against the cool metal of the elevator and pretend that the proximity doesn't affect you.

It's always the same between you two, a constant game of tug and war, where one pulls too firmly, and then the other comes tumbling close until one of you comes back to your senses and then it's back to square one. Back to bickering and recounting the previous night’s escapades of half-truths and lies told from kiss-swollen lips and hooded gazes as you try your best to rile the other one up.

It's stupid. You are in your twenties and this isn't like you. The lying, the pretence that you are still seeing your ex-boyfriend and biting and sucking your own lip until it swells; until you look properly ravished; none of this is you.

You should have known the day he first stumbled into the elevator with a half-buttoned shirt and bite marks painted over the pale skin of his neck, a satisfied smirk curled on his dark pink lips, that he wasn't good for you. But no, like the absolute fool that you are, you fell for him. Fell knowing full well he wasn't yours to have, that back then you weren't his to have.

The elevator comes to a stop with a shudder. Your eyes, closed sometime during the descent, snap open and your feet pause when the sight of the closed doors grace you.

"You stopped the elevator." It's not a question, not when his hand is still hovering over the stop button, head tilted as his eyes stay trained on you.

"I did." He admits to a question you never asked.

Biting back a hiss at his insistence on being difficult, you twist on your heels, lips pulled into a smile whose edges sting like shards of a broken glass and parry, "And why did you do that, pray tell?"

He doesn't answer, just looks at you with that half-lidded gaze and his silence only infuriates you more, makes the back of your neck feel heated as an angry flush rises from your chest all the way up to your cheeks and with a few angry stomps you’re in Taehyung's space, barely a few inches left between you two.

"God!" You start, and the anger, the jealousy, the ugly ball of insecurity and lust and something you haven't quite found a name for yet all coagulate and rise up your throat, burning your heart in their wake until you are hurting and seething. “I don’t get you, nor do I want to anymore!" The words tumble out, one after another and half thought out but your chest still burns and the ugly ball still feels scorching hot in your throat and you can't bring yourself to stop, to shut up and think. "Stop doing this. Stop flirting with me and stop looking at me with those hooded eyes of yours and for the love of god, do you really need to lick your lip that often? Why don't you carry a lip balm if your lips are that dry, huh?"

The cross of your eyes is almost painful, but you have started and fuelled by anger and unreciprocated feelings there’s no stopping your steam. "And now this! Stopping the elevator! What the hell is this supposed to mean?" His lips part as if to answer but without waiting for his response, you plow on, "What! Do you actually have an answer? Really? Let's face it; you think I’m some sort of challenge that needs to be conquered. Another notch on your bedpost. You and your stupid smirks and half-lidded eyes and that damn mole on your nose and god, can you just not—"

The soft pad of his finger on your lips pauses your rant, leaves them parted and your heart hammering while unsaid words clutter the hollow spaces in your throat, tighten around your vocal cords like a noose until they become their own nemesis.

"I broke up with her last night," Taehyung says, and from where you are standing so close to him, his breath on your neck, cheeks, lips is too enchanting, too much like something you had hoped and begged and prayed for far too long now. Breathing out harshly you blink yourself back to reality because you must be hearing him wrong.

"Huh?"

His hand slowly comes up to hold your chin, thumb running over your lower lip with a feather-like touch, "I broke up with her last night, went home and came back early because I didn't want to miss you." He says, and your chest feels tight, palms numb and it's only when his hand gently settles over the nape of your neck and you inhale painfully that you realise that you had stopped breathing.

"Why?" You rasp out.

Don't hope. This means nothing. Do not hope.

Something twists in your belly, a thread tightens around your heart, and you know, despite it all, that you are hoping.

"Why do you think?" He asks instead, and you stifle the sudden desire to bash his head into a wall.

"Don't play games with me."

A sigh, his breath dancing on your lips and you barely suppress the tingles that burn down your spine, "I'm not. I don't want to, not anymore." The hand resting around your neck curls, fingers caressing the soft skin behind your ear.

"What do you want then?" Your words are quiet, hope and longing laced into every syllable that you desperately hope to hide but fail.

Your heart hammers into your ribs with so much force you are half afraid it will leave them cracked; splintered just like your love for the man who is touching you, holding your entire heart in the palm of his hands while you wait for it to be crushed. Because it will, it's inevitable. Kim Taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. All narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is too good. Too good for the woman he was with and certainly too good for you. You would be happy if you looked half as good on your wedding day as he regularly does because he is that gorgeous. And unreal, and pretty and it hurts.

It hurts because you can never have him and any second now he will push you away and ridicule you for getting flustered so easily and he will never understand, and god it cuts. It tears at you because despite knowing better, you long for him, his touch, his warmth.

Maybe even his love. But that is one hope you refuse to acknowledge out loud.

Your breaths mingle from where you two are standing so close, and part of you aches to reach out, to pull him closer and wrap yourself around him until you can sync the beat of your heart to his, to nestle your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in, drown in the scent of that spicy cologne that you associate with him and nobody else. Because it's tempting, oh so inviting and he is so so close.

You could touch his chest, caress the skin peeking from in between the dip of his low neck shirt and it would be easy, he would let you, you know that too but what about after? How do you come back from holding someone your soul is in love with and then pretend that being with them for one night was enough? How does your hope keep living on in the name of that fragment of love? His arms your shelter for one night and then you are back to being strangers, sharing elevators and bumping into each other at the grocery store, pretending all the while that you do not yearn to visit that one night you spent together whenever your head hits the pillow?

"I..." Taehyung struggles, chews the words before his lips form them because this is his last chance and if he loses you now, it's over; he knows that too. The pair of you are done playing cat and mouse.

"I know my words don't hold a whole lot of value. I could promise you things, but you won't believe me and that's fair. I get it." He admits, another hand coming up until your face is cradled in his open palms, fingers slipping behind the edges of your ears and you will yourself to not drop your gaze, to look into his eyes and search for...love? Honesty? You wish you could say you know what it is that you are hunting for, but held so close all you can think about is the chestnut brown of his eyes, the black that rims them, the high arched brows and the thin, smooth lips and that mole; that mole that you can only see when you are pressed close, a hair's breadth of space between you two.

"But...?" You ask, pray, and yet again, against your better judgement hope.

"But I love you." He confesses, voice forever rich and deep and you feel the hum of his baritone from where your chest is still pulled tight to his. "My love for you is unlike any I have ever known, and it scared me; it still scares me because I don't know. I don't know what I will do if I ever lose you. I care too much, I—" His grip on you tightens and instinctively your hands snake around his waist, clenching the soft cotton of his shirt, nails biting into your skin as his words thread your hopelessly lovesick heart back together; piece by piece.

"I love you too much." Taehyung whispers and the ice around your heart thaws, his raw confession lighting a fire in your nerves until you are left buzzing from the high of his admission. "Trust me. Just this once. Please." He is vulnerable in his plea, and for the first time you wonder if you had characterised him wrong. Boxed and stored him like a gift on a shelf without bothering to look underneath the paper wrapping.

Taehyung doesn't have to beg, he doesn't have to try and persuade anyone, and for all the gibes you threw his way, all the daggered words about him dating only for money, you didn't truly believe any of them. Sure, the woman he had been with for the last few months was older (a voice in your head whispers wiser), but that wasn't because she was, as you would often insist, his 'sugar mama', but instead because their interests aligned. Kim Taehyung is a man of taste, whether it be his fondness for a violin's trill, fascination with modern art, or his love for jazz music. He is an enigma and with no small amount of embarrassment you think back to all the times you have bought a book after he made a passing comment on it, searched the pages and the characters to find some semblance of him.

Maybe you are pathetic, perhaps you are far too infatuated with this man for it to be healthy. Just maybe...

"No," Taehyung commands, his voice so determined you’re snapped back to the present, head thrown out of the haze your wandering thoughts had created.

Seeing your obscure expression and strayed eyes (look away because you can't acknowledge how much he matters), he pushes, one hand sliding down to grip your chin and urge you to look him in the eye. "Don't."

Maybe he sees something in your eyes, spots your hidden insecurities, reads you like an open book and dog-ears the pages that hold your weakness.

"Don't what?" You deflect, gaze drifting away again as you pretend to not know what he means but secretly long for him to keep pushing, to keep trying—your denial’s a facade to hide all your pleas.

"Don't do this to me. To us."

"You'll hurt me." You protest, a half-hearted attempt at trying to protect your already doomed heart even as your fingers clench tighter, pull him closer.

"No, I won't." He speaks with certainty that you don't wholly believe but fuelled by far too much love and longing, you don't protest any further and instead toe closer, rise higher, and breathe in the shaky exhale he lets out when your lips skim the sharp curve of his jaw.

"I've wanted this for so long." Unadulterated desire courses through your veins at his admission. Even if Taehyung is lying, even if he leaves you stranded after today, you'll live. You'll live on the high of this moment, the memory of his skin under your touch, the crisp of the cotton draped over his lean torso.

It's easier to let go and surrender yourself, easier to lay yourself bare because you have already come too far and there is no protecting yourself anymore—your heart is now his to do with.

Your hands twine around his waist, slide over the vast expanse of his back like he is yours; as though if you try hard enough, you'll leave an imprint, a sign that he belongs to you. Mark him for the rest of eternity and brand him with your name on his heart.

Kissing him is easy, the slight ache of staying on your tippy-toes going by unregistered as you get lost in the sensation of his lips, his sighs on your chin, the tickle of his lashes against the high curve of your cheek.

The cradle of his palms around your face is gentle, almost careful, as though you are a porcelain doll and he is afraid one harsh move will leave you splintered. Chest tight, you push down the last remaining traces of hesitation clinging inside your throat and twist to catch his lips instead, licking a long strip from the soft cleft of his chin over to his parted lips, dip into the hollow of his mouth and slide over the soft flesh on the inside before you catch his upper lip in between yours and suck.

His responding groan has you clenching your thighs and you break the kiss, breathing in to replenish the oxygen that doesn't seem as important when his lips are on yours. When your gaze catches his, for once you don't look away, don't force yourself to stop from swimming in the beautiful, clear pool of his eyes.

"I love you too." Your admission is quiet, more a careful whisper than anything else, as though any louder and you'll break this spell and things will go back to the way they were. He will come to his senses and realise he doesn't love you after all and then you'll go back to being a pining, lovesick fool, only this time with a broken heart and no hope to cling to.

His eyes grow soft—gentle in the curve of two crescent moons, and you smile your first real smile, the edges twitching and pulling into a gentle grin before you can bite it down and the answering smile that Taehyung rewards you with has your heart squeezing almost painfully inside your chest.

"Yeah?" He asks as though he already knows the answer but just wants to hear you say it again, profess your love for him again and you do. You say it again and again, press your lips over every inch of his face and emboss the words onto the smooth, unblemished skin.

Taking in a shuddering breath, you answer from around the suspended ball of disbelief and love in your throat. "Yeah."

When the clothes start coming off it’s a gentle, slow affair, the spaces in between filled with tender touches curious to explore the skin that they had desired for so long and open-mouthed kisses pressing promises of forever and happily ever after onto the naked expanse, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Legs twined around his waist like ivy, you arch off the floor. A tug of your hand and his shirt slips low, and then your mouth is pressing warm, wet, kisses, tongue slipping out and desperately tasting his skin, his sweat— him. You lean back and then he's on you, low, low, low until his lips are close enough to skim the edges of your panties and you buckle, arch and push without meaning to as you ache for relief only he can provide.

"You are beautiful. So so beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

His words are rough, less speech and more growl as he pushes his head closer to your soaking heat and inhales. "Fuck."

Breathes turning to hitches, words into gasps, you can scarcely keep your eyes open when he runs a long, slim finger through your folds and circles your wet opening before your walls are pulsing around him, sucking and pulling the finger in as deep as it will go. One and two then three, your cunt can't have enough of his fingers, his heat and him and oh—

His lips are velvet against your clit, your body a molten mass of gold moulding itself around his fingers, your sanity and restraint slipping and dripping down onto the carpeted floor from in between the spaces. With the last left strength, you prop yourself onto your elbows and the sight of Taehyung's mouth on your sex is almost enough to send you slipping back down again. His tongue laves across your folds with the desperation of a man parched, caressing every fold, greedily licking away your dripping arousal and moaning out obscenities too vulgar for how early the day is.

When you come, it's with a cry that sounds too animalistic to be yours. One that comes from your chest and leaves your back arched like the ends of a boomerang. "Good?" He asks with glistening lips, and you wanna scream, hysterical in your pitch— good? Is there anything better that exists in this world than his lips on you making you come? Again and again, until you can no longer stand the sensitivity?

But instead of screaming, or shaking him by his shoulders until it gets through his head, you reply with a spent nod and let your elbows slip. This is what being eaten out by Kim Taehyung feels like. The pleasure coursing through your veins is something far more potent than any you have ever felt before. The blood in your veins thrumming, almost sizzling under the thin layer of your skin.

He presses his forehead to yours, rests to catch his breath and with every shuddery inhale you breathe your arousal in, a swipe of your tongue across his glistening lips, and then you can taste it too. It tastes of nothing and yet everything. Coming from his lips, it tastes of what your dreams are built from, like liquified recklessness and yearning and above all —Taehyung.

It tastes of him and his smirks and all the kisses you couldn't have and all the kisses you now hope for.

His fingers are gentle when they tuck your hair, eyes bright behind the curtain of messy, ink-black strands, "There's a law somewhere that says when you love someone with all your heart, you are unavoidably loved by them as well. Amor ch'a null'amato amar perdona."

Your eyes search his, frantically rove all over his face, search the lines under his eyes, pause at the small mole on his nose, and then stop at the sight of the one on his lower lip, the one that your eyes would always drift to every time he'd smirk or grin in the past. Now he's smiling, lips stretched into a soft boxy curve, the mole evident against the edge and you raise a trembling hand, run your thumb across it. Cup his face with both your hands until your vision blurs and then your lips are on his. Locking and licking and your mouth is a leaking faucet of I love you's, hands working to the back of his head and getting lost in those perfectly long, wavy strands.

You hope this is the real thing when you wildly take off your dress, rip off his shirt unmindful of the last few buttons that clatter to the floor and undress until the both of you are as bare as you were the day you were born.

The steel railing is startlingly cold against your rear but before you can wince Taehyung's large hands are on your waist, pulling you closer until all that's on your mind is the feel of him, hard and hot against your dripping heat. His mouth is on your breast, lips sucking marks into the flesh and tying you to him, leaving traces of his presence behind until you can no longer differentiate the ache in your heart from the burn in your belly.

Somehow through the haze of want and compulsive need, you collect yourself enough to tell him you're on the pill when he remembers the lack of protection in his wallet, and then he's inside you. The thrust inside is fluid, and you are moaning, keening at your wetness, at how long he is, at how unbearably, entirely full you are.

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, like the last words of a man dying an untimely death, desperate and hurried and like if he takes a second too long he might never get the chance again. The scratch of your nails against his back must hurt, the grip of your heels around his sides must be painful, and still you can't bring yourself to let up; to let go.

The air inside becomes humid, reeks of sex and sweat and everything that shouldn't seem so right, and yet does.

You come first, hit your peak and crash through it like a ship in a torrential sea, hot and volatile and like something vital that you'll retain even in the afterlife. Taehyung–sweet, sweet Taehyung – helps you ride it out, makes your body sing with the honed practice of a pianist who has spent more decades playing than he can recall. His tongue is on your neck, stroking that one sensitive spot in the hollow of your clavicle while his hand brushes your clit, builds the pleasure and lets it drift, unhurried and soft until you are crying from the overwhelming rightness of it.

With a shudder, you finally push his hand away from your quivering heat and bring it to your lips, kiss the bony knuckles and let it rest on your thigh from where he wraps it tight around your waist and drives to chase his own high.

Sated you watch Taehyung, catalogue all the features that you had never seen before but up close can. Just in case—just. File them all in a part of your heart where only he resides, a piece you will always come back to, regardless of if the man in your arms chooses to stay or not. You will be selfish with these memories, hoard and treasure them in secrecy until the day you can look back upon them with nothing more than nostalgic fondness.

The appearance of a deep furrow on his forehead, between those long arched brows and the breaking rhythm of his thrusts, alerts you to how close he is and you clench. Clench with all the love and devotion you nurture in your heart and hope that somehow it will be enough. If not forever, then at least until you can have your fill, until you can love him for a life's worth and live off on those memories. Live on them like a late mother's half-finished perfume bottle that you take out and sniff on your sorriest days, a push strong enough to keep you going.

One more day, then one more and then just one more until you can finally meet him in the afterlife, old and having done all that you had been sent to do. Except for love. You doubt you can ever love like this again.

Kissing him after feels like the best kind of heartbreak because you know, somewhere deep in your gut where you house your intuition and insecurities, you know this won't last.

Yet you wouldn't take back anything. Your lips form words on Taehyung's shoulder 'i love you so much. i always will', and you tighten your arms around his waist. Anchor him to the present and pray that the defence will be strong enough to keep him with you for a little while more.

Just a little.

a/n: the end is up to your interpretation, you are free to imagine whatever end you’d have liked to see. If you enjoyed reading this please let me know through comments, reblogs, tags or asks. the feedback makes me insanely happy and i love hearing from you guys ♡

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supernovafics · 3 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇

pairing: dylan o’brien x best friend fem!reader

summary: in which dylan has been your best friend for as long as you could remember. your busy lives and schedules may have pushed both of your lives in vastly different directions as you’d gotten older, but somehow you two would always be led back to your hometown, and each other, during the holidays. however, one moment causes all of that to change.

warnings: angst (what else is new), some fluffiness, mentions of past trauma (the maze runner incident), existential crises, explicit language

word count: 3.6k words

author’s note: idk why i decided to write something christmas related in the summer but it happened lmao (also i feel like it’s slightly important to mention that this takes place in 2016)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The rocks being thrown at your window were not what woke you up. Instead, you had been lying awake for hours; getting little to no sleep was something that you had become used to at this point.

However, on this specific night— or morning, depending on how one looked at it— you were glad that your sleep had been restless once again because it made it easy for you to get out of bed and walk to your window when the rocks began hitting it.

There was really no need for you to push open the curtains and check who was doing the throwing because, of course, it was Dylan. Ever since he moved onto your street in Hermosa Beach in middle school and the two of you easily became friends, he was the only person that would ever wake you up in the middle of the night with the soft pings of rocks, especially on this specific day at this specific time.

You waved at him and gestured that you would be down in a moment. You slipped on a random pair of sweatpants along with a hoodie and then placed the Christmas gift that you bought for him in the pocket. The item was small enough to fit in the not too big pocket of your hoodie; however, it did awkwardly protrude a bit.

All of this was a sort of unspoken tradition that the pair of you had developed over the many years you’d known each other. Meeting at five in the morning on Christmas day, walking to the beach that was only a few blocks away from your respective childhood homes, and exchanging Christmas gifts with each other as you both watched the sunrise. It started when you were in ninth grade, and you hadn't missed a year since, not even when the ending of high school pushed your lives in vastly different directions, especially since Dylan graduated a year before you and was almost immediately thrust into his acting career.

But, it didn't matter that Dylan's career took off, and you eventually decided to go to college in Santa Barbara, because, no matter what, you both would always come back for the holidays.

When you opened your front door and saw Dylan lingering by the sidewalk no more than ten feet away, you were quick to go toward him and pull him in for a tight embrace. It actually hadn't been too long since you’d last seen him, maybe only five or six months, but for some reason, it still felt as if the last time he was in front of you was last December.

"Hey," Dylan breathed out in a short greeting, his arms wounding around your waist.

“Hey to you too," You responded, a small smile gracing your features when you both pulled away, and you looked up at him. "How have you been?"

It was quiet for a few moments as you waited for him to answer the question, but eventually, you were met with no verbal response, and instead, Dylan simply shrugged. The short action made your heart constrict in the most painful way, and it was then that you noticed the light remnants of a scar peeking out from behind his dark hair that covered the majority of his forehead. You were quick to peel your eyes away from the scar and instead cast them down at your Converse-covered feet, but that didn't stop the memories from quickly coming back.

The Maze Runner accident had happened back in March, but to you, and you knew to Dylan as well, it felt as if it was just yesterday, especially considering the fact that he was still dealing with the unavoidable repercussions from it.

"Wanna walk?" You asked, finally looking up at him once again.

Dylan nodded. "Yeah."

A silence that could only be deemed as comfortable lingered between them as the two of you took the five-minute walk to the beach and sat down side by side on one of the random empty benches.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," Dylan said as he handed a present over to you. The present was messily wrapped, something that was not at all uncommon when receiving gifts from Dylan, and the sight of it made you smile.

Before you unwrapped the gift, you pulled out the one you had for him and handed it over. "Merry Christmas, Dyl."

The nostalgic sound of wrapping paper ripping could be heard as you tore into your gift. A simultaneous shocked and happy yelp emitted from your lips when you held up a Harry Potter t-shirt. But, it wasn't just any Harry Potter t-shirt; it was one with a version of the Goblet of Fire movie poster on it, which was your all-time favorite movie in the series.

"Holy shit."

"It's the original merch that was sold when the movie came out," Dylan told you. He hadn't opened his gift yet, and instead, he was playing with the green bow placed on top of it; he always liked to see your reaction first.

You looked at Dylan and then back down at the shirt as you processed his words. "Wow, double holy shit. I would put it on if it wasn't freezing right now."

Dylan laughed a bit. "Very understandable."

“Why haven't you opened yours yet? I'm dying to see what you think of it," You said. You were now holding the t-shirt to your chest, genuinely feeling like a little kid on Christmas morning again.

Dylan finally began unwrapping your gift to him, and when all of the paper was peeled off, there was a square box. "Aw, a plain white box. Thank you so much. This is what I've always wanted."

You rolled your eyes and playfully bumped him with your shoulder. "Ha ha. Please save all of these bad jokes for your stand-up act; I can't wait to boo you off the stage along with everyone else."

"So, what I'm hearing is you don't think that becoming a comedian is going to be the next best career move for me?" Dylan asked. He attempted to make the question sound as serious as possible, but there was a joking undertone to his words.

You bit back your laughter. "Please just open the box already so I don't have to hurt your feelings by truthfully answering that question."

"Okay, we'll circle back to that topic later," Dylan smiled and then finally opened the white box to reveal a slightly faded baseball. When he picked it up, he ran his thumb over the black signature written on it. "Now it's my turn to say holy shit."

You could feel yourself smiling at his awestruck reaction, and you wondered if that was what you looked like when you saw the Harry Potter shirt. The baseball was signed by one of the players of the New York Mets that had been Dylan's favorite player when he was younger, and he'd even caught a ball hit by him when he went to a game before he moved to California.

"I've had this idea for years, but I could never find a baseball signed by him," You began explaining, the excitement clear in your voice. "But, last month, someone named Paul Todd posted this on eBay and I immediately bought it. God bless that old man. It's completely authentic and everything."

Dylan was quiet for a few moments as he simply looked at the baseball in his hands, a small joyful smile on his face, and it made you happy to see him so genuinely elated with the present.

"This just made my gift look like shit," He finally said, a light laugh falling from his lips.

"I have always been the superior gift giver. I think that's my hidden talent," You responded with a playful smirk.

Dylan placed the baseball back in its box and then looked at you. "Next year you will receive the best gift ever from me. It will completely top everything that you have ever given me."

"You're saying that as if I should feel upset about receiving a trip to Italy as a Christmas gift."

"A trip to Italy?"

"In my strong opinion, that would be the best gift ever," You said with a smile and then looked down at the t-shirt, which was now in your lap. "But, anyway, I don't think this gift is shit. I'm in love with this shirt already."

Dylan let out a joking, overexaggerated sigh in relief. "Phew, okay, since you think this gift is great, that means I don't have to do the trip to Italy next year."

"What? Did I say I like this t-shirt? I hate it! Harry Potter actually su— Fuck, I can't say this with a straight face," You laughed, and Dylan was quick to join in with you.

The joking statements leading up to the laughter hadn't even been the funniest things ever, but it didn't matter because this was probably the hardest you had laughed in a while, and you were both glad and unsurprised that it was with one of your favorite people in the entire world.

You missed joking around and laughing with him. You missed simply being with him.

Eventually, the laughter died off, but there was still a smile planted firmly on your face. You looked ahead at the darkness in front of you and the ocean that looked completely black; it was still kind of early, so the sun hadn't begun to rise just yet. Your back pressed against the wooden bench, and you let out a small sigh, your head finding Dylan's shoulder as you leaned against him.

"How have you been?" You asked him, your words coming out both soft and slightly quiet, and before the mood became too serious with your question that was nothing but serious, you attempted to lighten it. "And please no shrugs as a response this time. I don't wanna get a headache due to my head bouncing off your shoulder."

Dylan let out a breath of a laugh at your final statements but refrained from answering the question for a few moments.

After what felt like forever, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I honestly don't know. My mind has felt so fucked lately, thinking about everything. I swear I've been feeling every feeling known to man these past months."

"What are you feeling right now? In this moment?"

"I'm really happy with you. This is probably the only normal and familiar thing I've experienced in a while. But, of course, there's still that confused feeling in the back of my mind revolving around everything else." He paused for a brief moment before continuing, his next words came out quieter. "I don't even know if I want to go back to acting."

You lifted your head off his shoulder and looked at him as you pulled his hand into yours and gave it a light, reassuring squeeze.

"No matter what you decide. I'll be right there to support you," You told him and then added a "bro" at the end of her sentence along with a small smile. Whenever things became too deep in a conversation you two were having, one of you would always throw a "bro" or "dude" in there to bring some playfulness to the mood.

The corners of Dylan's perked up a bit. "So, you'll support me when I decide to become a comedian?"

You were unable to stifle your light laughter. "Yes, fine, fuck it. I'll be the loudest one laughing at all of your shows."

Dylan squeezed your hand back because he knew exactly how reluctantly true your words were. "Don't worry, I promise not to put you through that."

"Thank you."

"So, how have you been?"

"No."

"Oh, come on," Dylan said as he playfully poked your side. "I'm not gonna be the only one exposing my feelings."

You sighed and then hesitantly nodded. "Okay, okay."

The truth was you had been far from good lately. Your life was moving, but for some reason, you felt like you weren’t moving with it.

You felt stuck.

Stuck in a confusing mindset where you had absolutely no idea what you wanted to do with your life. You thought that identity crises usually happened in high school, but apparently, yours had come five years late. But, you knew that this delayed identity crisis had been your own doing because you had convinced herself that you would figure everything out once you were in college; and you were both lucky and smart enough to receive a full ride to UCSB.

And although you were finishing up your Master's degree in Creative Writing and had a TA job at the university with the department, which was the reason behind why you could even pay for the Master's program, something in your "should be great" life simply did not feel right.

However, you felt absolutely terrified to say any of that out loud because admitting it would only finally make that statement a wholehearted truth, instead of just a spiraling thought in your mind. And even though Dylan was your best friend and you knew you could tell him anything and not receive any sort of judgment, it still felt hard to let the words leave your lips.

You thought about the way to perfectly word everything, but nothing felt right. You pulled your hand away from Dylan's and covered your face as you let out an exasperated breath. "I can't figure how to say it all."

Dylan placed an arm around you and then mimicked the same question you had asked him not too long ago. "What are you feeling right now? In this moment?"

You would have both laughed and smiled at the fact that he was using your exact words if the current circumstances were different.

"Scared," You finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what the fuck I wanna do anymore, and actually, I don't think I really ever did. I only went to college because of the scholarship, and I convinced myself that I would figure my life out when I got there. And for a while, things felt right because I found creative writing and genuinely enjoyed it, but something doesn't feel right anymore. And I actually do like school. Because it's stable, and I am doing things, even if it's taking a dumbass test. But, it's about to be over soon, and I have no idea what I'm gonna do."

Your words were coming out like vomit, and nothing could stop it because finally, everything you had been feeling for so long was out of your head and put into the open.

"And don't get me wrong, I do love to write, but I don't know, I just can't see myself doing it for the rest of my life," You admitted and then let your next words come out quietly. "Honestly, I can't see myself doing anything. I'm so unhappy here."

You did not say it aloud, but you didn't think you were ever fully content there. Aside from Dylan and your parents, you never truly liked California. You had grown up there all your life, and although there were millions of people that adored the state, you felt the exact way someone from a state like Wyoming probably felt.

Dylan did not verbally respond to your long confession at first; instead, he simply pulled your confused and stressed self in for a hug, and you let out the simultaneous sigh and breath that you had been metaphorically holding in for years at this point.

"Maybe you should take a break," Dylan finally said; his arms were still around you, an action that made you feel completely comforted. "Right after high school, you went straight to college, and I don't think you've ever really taken a break to really think about what you actually want. Like, maybe, it's becoming a zookeeper."

Your laugh was slightly muffled by the fact that your face was pressed into the warmth of Dylan's chest. "Zookeeper?"

"I don't know," He laughed too. "You said you would support me in whatever the fuck I decide to do, and I'll do the exact same for you."

Somehow a smile found its way on your face. "A zookeeper and a comedian. What a fucking dream team."

Another laugh fell from Dylan's lips. "The best fucking dream team."

"But, honestly, I wish I could've known sooner that this is how you've been feeling. I would've been telling you to slow down so long ago, but you seemed content with everything," Dylan told you and gave you another light squeeze. "Please take a break and don't stress yourself out over the future when your next semester is over. Just relax for the first time. You can even come stay with me in LA for a little bit if that's where you wanna take your break. I'll be here for you, Y/N. Always."

Something about his words hit you hard. The wholehearted honesty and sincerity behind his statement shouldn't have surprised you, but it did. And the worry he had for you resembled the same concern you had for him when the accident happened. You two were best friends, so it should not have been a shock that you would worry about each other, but still, in that moment and for you, it was shocking because it felt like so much more than just that.

"Me too," You whispered, finally responding to his previous statement.

The long embrace came to an end with you being the one to pull away; however, you did not pull away far enough for you both to become completely detached from one another. Dylan's arms were still around your waist, and yours were still around the nape of his neck, and your faces were dangerously close. Your hand somehow took on a mind of its own as it reached around and cupped Dylan's cheek. The miniscule confusion and tickle of panic that began to prick at the back of your mind because of the action were not enough to make you pull away.

The slight way that Dylan leaned into your soft touch was the catalyst for you to take the leap and lean in the tiniest bit to close the small distance between the two of you, your lips almost too easily finding his. The inward sigh of contentment you emitted when Dylan almost immediately kissed you back made you realize that kissing him was the one thing currently happening in your life that actually felt right.

Later, when thinking back to that specific moment, you would wonder if that "rightness" had always been there between you both.

However, that right feeling, which was both comfortable and familiar, was quickly replaced with dread and angst, at least on your part. Your mind was beginning to fully catch up with your actions, and it immediately told you that the current action was both bad and stupid, and there were many, many reasons that proved that.

Maybe there were moments where a younger, and even present-day, you did want more to happen between you and Dylan, but you would always push that thought away because you knew that your and Dylan's friendship was so much more valuable.

And then it was the fact that your lives were nothing alike. Even though you were immensely confused about where your life was going, you could say for certain that it wasn't going in the same direction as Dylan's; an acting career that he genuinely loved and enjoyed too much to truly give up. Something deep down told you that, and you could feel the truthfulness behind the thought. The holidays were the only time your lives would truly intersect.

You abruptly pulled away, not just from the kiss but from Dylan's body entirely, moving to the edge of the bench you were on. Your hands covered your face in nothing but pure embarrassment and regret, and you wished that you could take back the last minute and a half of your life. And you also absolutely hated that you couldn't help but notice how much colder your body felt now that it was away from Dylan's.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. Fuck. That kiss— it was a mistake. I'm really sorry." Your words came out rushed and fumbled, and it probably did not make much sense, but you just hoped that there was at least a little bit of coherency with them.

As much as you wanted to look at Dylan, you refused to do so because you knew that you would only see the regret you were feeling written clear across his face.

"Hey, it's okay, Y/N. Everything's fine. Don't worry," You heard him say but could hear the uncertainty in his voice as if he really didn't know if everything truly was fine. And you knew that it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

The holidays were the only time your lives would truly intersect, and you had just completely ruined that.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know your thoughts <3

((((already potentially thinking about doing a part 2 to this….. but idk…))))

#dylan o’brien #dylan o’brien x reader #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien fanfic #dylan o'brien x y/n #dylan o'brien x fem!reader #dylan o'brien gifs

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

so so many thanks to everyone who read even one of these stories. i am forever grateful for all the support i've received; every comment, every kudos, every reblog, every like - they all mean so much. i'm overwhelmed, honestly, but in the very best way. ily all 🥰

day one: against all odds (we're still here) for @trkstrnd

Carlos will hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused on his task that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

a simple trip to the grocery store quickly turns to disaster for tk and carlos

day two: out, damned spot for anon

TK wakes up gasping, choking on air. The sheets are suffocating him and, when he tries to free himself, they only seem to get tighter. The hands reaching out for him, trying to calm him, are the final straw; TK throws himself from bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him as he collapses against the sink.

On some level, he is aware that the hands were Carlos’s, that the sheets were theirs, that his hands are clean, and that the dream was just a dream.

But they weren't always that way.

day three: the meetings for those in my wake for @freddieholic

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news, and almost always about their son. Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas, which is why she thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Gwyn, it’s TK. He's... They think we should say goodbye."

day four: a friend in me for 📍 anon

Carlos has come to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But, right now, as she sits hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, he's never seen her look so small.

the story of how nancy and carlos become the new champions of 126 games nights

day five: truth is heavier than fiction for anon

Carlos pauses with his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to prepare himself before going inside. TK’s shift finished an hour ago and he’d texted to let Carlos know he was home, which means Carlos is going to be walking right into a conversation he’d rather avoid.

Not that he’d have much choice either way; he might be able to cover his cracked and bruised ribs for a little while, but the arm in a sling will tell on him as soon as the door opens. Carlos doesn’t want to hide his injuries—they’ve had enough conversations in reverse on that theme to make him a hypocrite if he did—but he may have made some choices that he doesn’t particularly want to go into right now. Not while he’s tired and aching and just wants to cuddle with his boyfriend.

He blows out a breath, then opens the door, bracing himself for TK’s reaction.

“Hey— Shit!”

day six: slowly, and then all at once for @pragmaticoptimist34

The realisation that he loves Carlos hits him like a bolt out of the blue.

And at the worst possible moment.

We are getting updates on the active shooter situation at the Four Seasons Hotel. Austin Police Department have closed off the area and officers are currently preparing to enter the building to detain the suspect. It is as yet unknown if there have been any civilian casualties, but—

“Paul, turn the damn TV back on.”

“No.”

five times tk can't admit his feelings about carlos, and one time he finally does

day seven: the promise of tomorrow for anon

Up until five minutes ago, Carlos had been terrified of never having TK in his arms again. Now, the thought of letting him go scares him just as much, and TK seems to feel the same, if the way he’s clutching at Carlos’s jacket and pulling it tight across his back is any indication.

Carlos hugs him close, sinking down to his knees as TK falls into the chair behind him, letting the rest of the room fade away to nothing as he realises that they weren’t too late—that TK is here, with him, alive and mostly whole.

day eight: we'll hold each other soon for @221bsunsettowers

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away.

It's the last good memory Carlos has, and he's going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he's going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK's smile.

day nine: now i am just but the wayward man for anon

Ben is glaring at him again.

Klaus is very familiar with this specific glare—it’s the one Ben breaks out when Klaus is being ‘stubborn’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘a fucking asshole junkie with no self-respect who only cares about the next high and, really, it’s a fucking miracle you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet, Klaus’.

He has to hand it to him. Ben really does have him down to a tee.

winter is approaching and klaus has nowhere to go. his siblings are his only option—meaning he effectively has no options.

day ten: i can't imagine my life without you for 📍 anon

It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

nobody likes to be asked 'trouble in paradise?', particularly when the answer is yes.

day eleven: start again from the beginning for anon

Owen trusts his son. He’s watched TK fight his addiction and stay sober for the last six years, and he has faith that he can handle himself.

But when TK doesn’t show up for work the night after proposing to Alex, Owen knows that something is wrong. After all, they've been here before.

day twelve: let me love you when your heart is tired for anon

TK knows it’s going to be a bad day from the moment he opens his eyes. Slowly, slowly, each twitch like he’s moving mountains, he inches his hand blindly across the bed to reach out for Carlos. If he can just feel his boyfriend, if he can just see him—

But, of course. Carlos has a shift today. TK has a vague recollection of him getting out of bed at five this morning, rousing him with a shift to the mattress and a gentle kiss on the forehead.

If this were a normal day, he might smile at the memory.

day thirteen: couldn't utter my love when it counted for 📍 anon

TK takes his time in the bathroom, stopping to stare at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes and trying to talk himself down from any more-than-friendly feelings towards Carlos.

Later, they’ll tell him that this saved his life.

But that won’t be for a long time, until after the smoke has cleared and the dead have been counted and the statements have been taken. For now, TK steels his resolve and nods at himself, then turns to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle.

That’s when the explosion rips through the building.

after the boba date, tk lets carlos go. they're friends, which is working just fine, until a horrific accident threatens to take even that away from them.

day fourteen: if i walk out the door (a thousand eyes) for anon

TK gets this feeling sometimes, a sort of prickling at his back, like someone’s behind him, breathing down his neck. At first, it was only a once-in-a-while situation, so he thinks nothing of it; when it becomes an everyday occurrence, he starts to wonder, but he’s probably just being paranoid. The shooting, kidnapping, firehouse explosion, and the fire at his and Carlos’s house had all taken their toll, and TK’s just generally more on edge these days.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the feeling, not even Carlos. There’s no reason to fuck up everyone else’s peace with something so stupid. It’ll go away eventually; TK’s sure of it.

That is, until one of the lots just down from the firehouse gets occupied.

day fifteen: find you here inside the dark for @fanfic-corner

Yaz has walked this room too many times to count now; she’s traced her fingertips over the walls, searching for any cracks or crevices to indicate where there might be a door.

If the Doctor were here, she’d have her sonic out by now, spitting out words, only half of which Yaz could understand. She’d find a way out in no time. Or, if not, at least she’d be here. Talking a mile a minute, probably annoying the hell out of their captors. Yaz can almost hear her now—

Wait.

She can hear her now.

day sixteen: accidents happen for @ilovemosss

So, Jason reflects, it may not have been the best idea to take Pythagoras out training while they’re all suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Being the more logical of them, Pythagoras, to his credit, had attempted to talk him out of it, but Jason ignored him.

He very much regrets that decision now.

day seventeen: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team) for @laelipoo

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the little blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

day eighteen: in perfect harmony for @anyotherheartwilldo

Here’s the thing—Carlos doesn’t believe in signs. He used to when he was younger, raised on his abuela’s stories, but as he’d gotten older his father had taught him that what mattered was the choices he made. He’s the only one who has a say in the way his life turns out, and if he wants something, he has to put in the work to get it.

But there comes a point—namely, after his fifth thwarted attempt to propose to TK—when he begins to wonder if the universe really does have something against him.

proposing to tk proves far more complicated than carlos had first thought.

day nineteen: whatever here that's left of me (is yours) for anon

“Are you…” TK leans closer, peering at the hoodie Carlos is wearing, and—yep. “Why are you wearing my hoodie? Was there nothing in your size from the crew? You should have said something. We can fix this, you don’t need to be uncomfortable.”

There’s a beat, and then Carlos, studiously avoiding TK’s gaze, clears his throat. “It smells like you.”

post-2.12, carlos finds comfort in tk's hoodies.

day twenty: can't smile without you for anon

Carlos would be lying to himself if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before. He has always worried for TK’s safety, and the knowledge that a serial killer is on the loose in Austin has sent that worry skyrocketing. Especially because he’s the lead detective on the case; he’s spent hours poring over horrific crime scenes, examining all the facts until they’re burned into his brain.

Admittedly, the killers seem to be mostly indiscriminate in who they take, meaning the chances of it being TK are slim.

But there’s still a chance.

a before, during, and after of tk's kidnapping in a hole where your memory goes

day twenty-one: lately you've been searching for a darker place to hide for @freddieholic

“Can I ask you something else?”

TK stiffens at the sound of Mateo’s voice, a nervous note to it that wasn’t there last time. Something tells him he knows exactly what Mateo wants to ask; still, he turns to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as casually as he can manage. “Sure.”

“Are you…” Mateo trails off, biting his lip and avoiding TK’s gaze. “I mean, do you… I mean—”

“You can say it, you know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “If you want to know if I’m thinking about heading out and getting high, then just ask.”

five times tk turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms when he wants to use + one time he finally asks for help

day twenty-two: know me crazy, soothe me daily for anon

It had freaked Carlos out the first time it happened.

“It was a seizure,” TK explained, after Carlos had finished telling him about it. TK had been disoriented and confused for about ten minutes after, and couldn’t even remember half of their earlier conversation. “I… It’s because of the drugs. They fucked something up in my brain, especially after my first overdose, and now I get seizures occasionally."

in which carlos gets a little over-protective and tk is mildly exasperated

day twenty-three: lover, be good to me for anon

Carlos holds his arms out, and TK comes willingly, setting what Carlos now recognises as a tray of food carefully on the bed. “What’s this?”

TK stares as if it’s obvious. “Date night.”

“What?”

TK pauses, then gasps. “You’re right.” He pats himself down frantically, then pulls an object out of his pocket with a dramatic flourish. It’s a little electric tea light—real candles long since banned from the bedroom—and Carlos watches in bemusement as TK flicks it on and sets it down on the tray. “Now it’s date night.”

his fiancé being bed-bound isn't going to keep tk from date night

day twenty-four: bring you in from the cold for anon

As a cop, Carlos has always been uncomfortably aware of his own mortality. He’s considered his own death more than is probably healthy, but when you’re facing down the barrel of a gun almost every single day, it’s kind of forced on you.

He’s imagined himself being shot, stabbed, strangled, and everything in between.

But he’s not sure he ever pictured dying in a walk-in freezer after getting trapped there by mistake.

day twenty-five: heaving through corrupted lungs for anon

TK is itching to go home and check on Carlos, to make sure he’s still breathing and actually resting like he’s supposed to be. On the other hand, Carlos would probably kill him if he left work, illness be damned. It’s just… Carlos had looked so ill that morning, skin ashen and voice all but gone, and it had taken a lot of convincing for TK to still go to his own shift. He’d insisted on making sure Carlos had all the blankets and water and snacks and anything else he could possibly want, but even so, he’s still uneasy.

His gut is telling him that something’s wrong, and TK doesn’t think he can ignore it for much longer.

when carlos falls ill, they think it's just a bad cold. but when tk goes to check on him, he's in for a nasty shock.

day twenty-six: slowly becoming lovers for @pragmaticoptimist34

Things don’t get fixed overnight. They agree to give them a shot, but that doesn’t change the fact that TK is still reeling from his break-up and overdose, nor that Carlos is still hesitant and afraid of pushing too hard at once.

But, slowly, they get to know each other. And, slowly, they start to fall in love.

tk and carlos, getting to know each other and falling in love

day twenty-seven: and curse the gods for @girlwhowasntthere

Jason knows what it is to be cursed.

day twenty-eight: ignoring every warning for @moviegeek03

TK is fine.

He is absolutely, 100% fine.

And, sure, maybe he’s not supposed to be at work right now, and maybe his hand hasn’t fully healed yet, but it’s nothing. His doctor cleared him to go back to work, which means it’s healed enough, and TK is certainly not going to admit defeat no matter how much he's hurting.

day twenty-nine: can you beat back the night? for @girlwhowasntthere

He misses the bard. Geralt won’t admit it, not even to Roach, but he misses him. After months—years—of Jaskier’s constant chatter and the sound of his lute, the silence, once valued above all else, is too much.

It’s been months since the dragon, since Geralt lost both Yennefer and Jaskier in one fell swoop. He’s cursed himself many times over for the words he said—to both of them—and cursed himself more for the mistakes he made to get in this position in the first place.

this is the lot of witchers, to be alone.

day thirty: ease my mind for @silvarafael

Briefly, Carlos considers calling TK and telling him about the accident. But… He only broke two of his fingers and it barely even classifies as a minor injury in his book, so there’s really no reason to bother his fiancé while he’s still on shift himself. He pockets his phone then looks around to figure out where the exit is.

Only, an all-too familiar laugh distracts him from his task, drawing his attention to the nurses station.

Where TK is standing, smiling as a nurse swats at him for stealing one of their lollipops.

Carlos is, beyond doubt, fucked.

day thirty-one: scars turn to memories for anon

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then, he remembers.

Carlos was off shift tonight. He was here. Alone.

#masterlist #holly's august extravaganza #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing

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clairecrive · 4 years

Text

"Rock my world" - Sirius Black x reader

A/n: I was thinking of making this a series but idk, let me know what you think. The band in the picture, Maneskin, are my inspiration for the marauders' band music and aesthetic. Check them out cause they're really good. They're going to represent Italy at the next Eurovision contest.

Here's their Instagram and Spotify.

Tags: Muggle AU, so ofc no magic, no Hogwarts, Marauders in a rock band, no Peter but Regulus instead, jily

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.2K ish

Summary: When y/n finally agrees to check out this band that her best friend was always talking about, she's in for a pleasant surprise and one hell of a night.

It had all started in the cheesiest and most cliscé of ways, really. Y/n had made a bet which had made you go out of your comfort zone that one night and for your bravery, you were rewarded with the most amazing boyfriend ever. It sounds like a story out of a rom-com or a romance novel, doesn't it? Well, yeah, it felt like a main character moment but, unlike what we see in those stories, it wasn't always fun and games.

But let's start from the beginning, shall we?

Y/n's best friend Jules had been nagging her about this rock band who was apparently the new sensation of the year according to her, for the longest time. So, one Friday night, when Jules had informed her that that very band was playing in a bar not very far from her workplace, she agreed to go for drinks there.

Worst case scenario, she thought, the music will be terrible but at least I get to tease Jules about it.

Still clothed in the floral dress she had chosen this morning, but adding a few glittery touches and graphic eyeliner to make her look more nighty, y/n headed towards said bar where Jules was already waiting for her.

"Finally," she huffed when y/n rounded the corner and entered her field of vision.

"Sorry, it was my turn to close tonight," y/n shot her an apologetic smile before hooking their arms.

They made their way inside looking for a place to sit. The bar was already crowded but not in an unusual way. Maybe it was the hour or the fact that it was a weeknight, y/n didn't know but felt grateful that it wasn't packed. She really wasn't a fan of crowded places.

They got their drinks and caught up as they usually would about their week. They were almost finished when the band walked up the stage and music started playing. Even before the first note, one look at their outfits made clear what kind of music they were going to play.

They had an interesting aesthetic, y/n had to admit. They wore the same colour but each member had their own style. The band was made up of four guys, the bassist had long straight hair and he looked a lot like the singer who instead had curly hair, the drummer had short curly light brown hair and y/n couldn't see what he was wearing past a black vest while the guitarist had black hair that was all over the place and wore glasses.

They had an androgynous aesthetic, each of them with beautiful makeup in tones of black and grey and the ones y/n could see clearly were wearing a sort of body. They looked stunning. Y/n had decided she liked them based on this alone. She had to admire anyone who had the guts to express themselves freely especially when it was in such an open and unapologetic way of going against gender norms.

After half an hour, the music stopped and after the singer wished everyone goodnight and they all climbed down. As she expected, they played rock music ranging from soft rock edging pop to hard rock that made her think a lot of ACDC. Y/n wasn't an expert in music but she had liked what she heard and wouldn't mind listening more from them. She was sure that she was going to catch some of their songs on the radio in the future.

However, Jules picked up the conversation where they had left it before the concert and decided that it was the time where she'd complain about her recent love interest. Each of their weekly meetings had one of this moment. Unfortunately, it looked like Jules didn't have a lot of luck when it came to guys. And as it always would, she wondered if she was the problem asking y/n if the reason every one of her relationships failed because she was unlovable. As if.

"That's not true, I truly believe that you can learn to love anyone. Lest you get to know them, of course."

"Of course you'd say something like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you truly believe that, then you're not going to say no to this." Jules wriggles her eyebrows suggestively and y/n knew that the night is either about to become very interesting or about to go very wrong.

"The expression on your face is telling me that I should definitely say no to what you're about to say."

"Oh c'mon, it's just an innocent dare. Nothing too crazy, I promise."

"Which is?"

"You see that guy leaning on the bar? Long black hair with the black leather jacket?" Y/n turned around indulging her friend and eventually spotted the guy she was talking about. She took her time to look at him until she realized something that made her whip around to face Jules again.

"You mean the singer of the band?" y/n asked incredulously.

"Isn't he handsome?" Jules smiled wide completely ignoring the look y/n was giving her already knowing what was going through her friends' mind. "I want you to go to him and ask him out."

"What?"

"C'mon", Jules complained reaching out to y/n over the table, "didn't you say that it was possible to love anyone? Can't you see yourself loving him?"

"That's not the point," y/n exclaimed still not believing that her friend was suggesting something so outrageous. "Can you see him loving me?" Because that man over there had "heart breaker" spelt all over him. And okay, y/n had to admit that this was a rush judgment she was making and it wasn't exactly fair but there was no way that a guy like him could be interested in a girl like her.

And yes, we could stay here and discuss all the reasons why that statement is wrong but still, if she were to put herself out there -something that was not like her at all- she wasn't going to go over someone so out of reach for her. And that was that.

"Listen, do you remember that video you sent me the other day?" Jules squared her shoulders, now looking fully serious at y/n. Unfortunately, y/n did remember the video Jules was talking about. She would have never guessed it would come back and bit her in the ass otherwise she'd never sent it.

Sighing, y/n looked down at the drink in her hands and thought about it. The video basically encouraged the viewer to go up to what they believed was the most beautiful person in the room and tell them exactly that. It may sound a little silly but at the time y/n had appreciated the sentiment. Going out of one's comfort zone. Challenging yourself. Because, what was the worst that could happen? That person shotting you down? That didn't sound life-threatening. Now though, y/n wasn't so sure.

"Worst case scenario, just tell him I'm calling you and head back here." Jules offered, almost as if she could tell exactly what her best friend was thinking.

Looking at her best friend, something snapped in her. Jules was right. What's the worst that could happen? She already knew that the guy was going to shoot her down. She was prepared. It was a dare, a silly thing that could give her a story to tell to her nephews one day.

What the hell, y/n thought squaring her shoulders.

"You know what?" she downed the rest of her drink and got up from her seat, "I'm doing it." Looking in the reflection of the tissue box on the table to check how she looked, she fixed her smudged lipstick and ruffed her hair before nodding solemnly at Jules and turned around.

As she made her way to the bar, she could hear Jules cheering on her fueling her sudden confidence.

The man of the hour was there where she saw him last. Her steps faltered as she realized that she had no idea how to approach him. What was she going to say? Oh my god, she was totally going to make a fool of herself. If she was not going to die for his rejection, she sure is going to die of embarrassment.

She was almost about to turn around and abort the mission when his eyes met hers.

Well, fuck. There was no way she was going to back down now.

She regained her confidence and smiled at him while closing the distance between them. She smiled at him. Who was she? Did someone drug her drink?

He smiled back at her, turning so that he'd be facing her once she reached him and she almost stopped to pinch herself to see if she was hallucinating or something.

"Hey," she said once she stood in front of him. Good, she thought, let's start with something simple.

"Hi," he smiled back at her.

Okay, okay, it's going good, isn't it? He hasn't ignored me, that must mean something, right? Yes, that he wasn't a rude asshole was her sobering thought.

"So," y/n started trying to take to time while she figured what to say, "I saw a video the other day," was what she ended up with.

The handsome stranger lifted his eyebrows in amusement and took a sip of his beer. Y/n took that as a "go on then".

"There was this woman that basically dared anyone watching to go up to the person who they thought was the most beautiful person in the room and tell them exactly that." Well, let's just get it out of the way, I guess, she thought. "So, here I am," she added as if it wasn't clear enough.

However, as she saw the man's smile widen, y/n suddenly realized how really screwed she was. This man was way out of her league.

"Well, now that I'm here, I should also mention that you've really good at what you do too."

"Not to sound rude or anything," he spoke for the first time that evening and y/n had already decided that he had been the gods' favourite in another life before he opened his mouth but now? as he heard his low and raspy voice? she was sure he had been at least a demi-god, "did you lost a bet or something?" he asked, his grey eyes boring into hers like he was looking into her soul.

Who was this guy? and why was she feeling like this? Get a grip, y/n, she scolded herself.

"Is it that obvious?" y/n's shoulders slouched as some of the tension left them, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth.

"I saw you downing your drink like it was some kind of bravery potion before you came here," he explained with a light scroll of his shoulders. "Not that I mind though," he added with what should be an illegal smirk. Smug.

"Yeah, I'm sure you've heard it countless time only tonight." Let's joke on it, she thought, there's still a chance I can come clean out of this mess.

He chuckled and, not leaving her eyes, he slipped a hand through his loose hair pushing it back. "I meant that if you hadn't come I would probably found an excuse to come up to you too." He leaned back onto the bar looking completely unbothered, not as if he had said something that made her feel on fire.

"Looks like I've to thank your friend for my luck." Looking over your shoulder, he held one of his hands up and lightly waving at Jules, y/n figured.

"Yeah, let's not tell her that or I will never hear the end of it." Rolling her eyes, y/n also leaned on her arm resting on the bar next to him. Whether it was the fact that all the cards were on the table or that what he said meant that he had to somewhat like her, she felt more relaxed than a couple of minutes ago.

"Before I make this solemn oath, I think it would be appropriate to know your name, don't you think?"

"It's y/n," she held her hand up for him to shake. However, he had something else in mind since when he took hold of her hand he turned it and held it up to his lips to leave a soft kiss on it. Y/n almost rolled her eyes at the gesture if it wasn't for his eyes. They didn't move from hers and she found that she didn't want to stop looking at him. Like she was in a trance. Yes, he was handsome, even more so up close, so of course he was nice to look at but that wasn't why. It's the way his eyes glimmered as they watched her, the gentleness with which he was holding her hand, the softness of his lips on her skin. What would they feel like on her lips, she wondered.

"I'm Sirius."

And that's how it all started. A silly video sent almost automatically to her best friend and an outrageous bet made y/n's night definitely interesting. To her luck though, Sirius became a permanent presence and not a one-night sensation.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Tagging: @seldomabsent

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black AU #muggle AU #no hogwarts #no Peter either #the marauders are in a rock band #young!sirius black #marauders #sirius black one shot #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fluff #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines

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trashiewrites · 4 years

Text

Promotion (Soap x Reader)

Word count: 2319

[Notes: I'm so happy to finally have finished this fic! I've been feeling on and off for a while. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also sorry I have really basic grammar so grammar might be shit.]

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Night lurked over the head of the men and women of the camp. You found yourself looking up to the sky for no particular reason. The stars of tonight shined brightly, they seemed almost hypnotic. You were out of it to not hear someone come by behind you. "Sky beautiful tonight ain't it?" You jumped up at the sudden voice, knowing it was the captain "sorry, didn't mean to scare ya!"

"It's fine captain...." you lightly chucked as splashes of red-tinted your cheeks. You've had a small feeling for the Scottish man. You've been denying it till recently. He's your CO but you know... at least shoot your shot. "Would you like to join me, captain?"

"I would love too" he sat down close next to you. A lovely grin from ear to ear as he stared at the stars too. "What do you see or get reminded of when you see the stars?" You hummed, placing a finger upon your chin as you thought. For a split second, you glanced at the captain...

"Well..." your heart raced at the thought of putting the notation of you liking someone out there. In the end, you chicken out of it. " I see possibilities! What about you sir?"

"They remind me of someone I deeply love." He chuckled as his gaze faced downward. "They don't quite know it yet though..."

"Whoever it is, they should count themselves lucky, sir." You nudged his shoulder, attempting to keep your cool, "you're an amazing person after all!"

"You really think so?" Soap laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck. You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. Though your chest showed this pang of jealousy. "Say... how about we head to the mess hall? Grab some dinner."

"Of course!" You yelped a tad too excitedly. Realizing that fact you tensed up and smiled nervously "um... Of course, captain..." the both of you stood and began to walk side to side. The walk itself was sweet and littered with small talk about anything. It could be training, people, or even gossip. Yet throughout the whole time you would glance over to the captain. Noticing small little details about him that made your heart slowly melt. His chiseled jaw, his deep blue eyes, the way he laughed and made others motivated. You loved every single thing about this man.

"I wonder what crap they'll give us today.." He held the tent's drapes open for you. "You first~" he mockingly bowed.

"Why thank you, captain!" You walk in after a small curtsy.

"You know you can call me John right? It's off-hours, so I don't mind." You paused in your tracks, processing the offer. You knew no one who ever called the Captain by his first. If anything you found the idea almost disrespectful to him.

"Are you sure sir?" You look at him with a look of pure confusion. He covered his mouth as a laugh leaked from it. Which by all means makes you even more confused.

"Yes, I'm sure. But just on off-hours, ya hear?" He smiled, lightly pushing your shoulder as he walked past you.

"Y-yes, sir!" You both went up getting your MREs. On the side, they had a package of tea bags, the water next to it respectfully. As well there is a brewer with a sign that reads coffee. You, being much more a tea person, gladly took a plastic cup and had your cup. John, on the other hand, had pure black coffee. As you sat down facing each other you could help but notice the stars in his eyes as he glanced at the coffee. If anything it was drop-dead adorable. As you both waited for the MREs to prepare themselves you decided to push what john told you earlier. "So John..." you coughed, hoping to release some on the nerves. He hummed back glancing down at you as he sipped his cup of dirty beans.

"Something on your mind (y/n)?"

"About that person, you talked about earlier. It-the one you love, can I ask more about them?" You glanced down, waiting to get scolded that it wasn't your place to know.

"Sure!"

"Sir, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked it definitely isn't-" you headshot to look at John as you realized the words that exited his mouth. "W-wait... really?"

"I mean, why not?" He smiled ever so innocently, "do you not want to know anymore?"

"It's not that... I just thought that's not really my place." You flash him a nervous smile as well a shrug of your shoulders. "But go on!" Your tone was almost eager, your heart yearned to hear this.

"Well.. she's a beautiful lass. Very strong-willed and kind." His face began to soften, you assume at the thought of the girl. "She just splendid to be around. She's smart, witty, and exceptional clueless..." he chuckled, facing off to the side.

"Do I know her?" You took a bit of your MRE. Which, by the way, was still piping hot. "Hot hot hot!!" You lightly banged the table as you swallowed through the pain. John smiled as he placed a hand upon his chin, pondering the question.

"I suppose you do, they are on the team." This caught you by surprise. You knew this person, and you trained with this person. The thought plagued your mind. Unaware of it, you were eerily silent as a checklist played through your head. John coughed, having taken bites from his meal, "look, you don't have to look further into it but if you do find out, I'll give you a promotion of sorts."

"A promotion? For something like this?"

"You'll see.." John smiled as he took his final bite. "Now I best be off, good luck." He stood, walking away from the table. Leaving you staring into the distance, dumbfounded. As you finished you knew that the other boys were up much later. Roach, for example, the man stays up all the time. Speed walking over to the barracks to see Roach outside on his phone.

"Gary! I have to ask you something!" He looked up and smiled sweetly.

"Sure! What could you need this late though?"

"Apparently the captain like one of the girls, do you have any idea who?" You spoke quietly as to not draw anyone else's attention. Roach was baffled at first at the weird question. Yet that baffled face soon became one that reads 'you can't be serious'.

"You are blind..."

"What do you mean?" You began to think it should be an obvious answer. But there are plenty of women as John described.

"Look... I don't know the captain personally enough to know for sure. But it's been kinda obvious for a while." Roach chuckled as his eyes returned to his phone, "I don't even think I have the balls to tell ya. How 'bout ask the lieutenant? He knows the captain like the back of his hand."

"Lieutenant Riley? Ghost? Do you know how weird that is? At least me and you, ya know, we are the same rank." You clutched your fist together, chills running down your spine at the thought.

"If I tell you, you probably, no, you WILL go ask the lieutenant anyways."

"Just tell me, Sanderson!" You grabbed the man, who is taller than you, by the collar of his shirt.

"It's you dumbass!" You stood there in silence. Some say your soul exited your body for a minute. Roach slowly moved your hands off his collar. "(Y/n)??"

"You're joking..." Roach shook his head. "Where is the lieutenant?"

"In the living quarter last I checked." Roach meekly voiced out, scared to once again get his collar grabbed. You walked in to see the lieutenant relaxing in the lounge area, his head in a newspaper. You quietly made your way over, as well as thinking of what the hell you would ask him. You found it painfully awkward to ask if your CO has a crush on you.

"You need something (y/n)?" He lowered his newspaper ever so slightly, his brown eyes staring coldly at you.

"Uh... y-yes I-I have a... question." You stared right back to him, the heat on your cheeks making you uncomfortable as hell. He chuckled as he took one last look at his paper, folding it neatly. You could help but think did he already know you were coming here? I mean it wouldn't be surprising, due to the confrontation with Roach.

"Well, go ahead then. Ask away." His voice seemed to mock you, not rudely of course. But it's as if he was teasing you.

"W-well sir, earlier this evening the captain g-gave me a challenge to... to.." you coughed the lump of nervousness in your throat was suffocating. As you once again open your mouth to speak the rest of your statement, Riley's deep voice chimed in.

"He dared you to find out who's he's crushing on, ya?" Your heart sunk down to your stomach. Of course he already knew... you feel the heat on your cheeks.

"Y-yes, sir... gosh this is embarrassing." You faced the ground, glancing up periodically.

"Well I'm assuming you want me to tell you who?"

"W-well sir, I originally asked Roach and well..." you coughed, trying your hardest to grow some balls, "He said it was me. I was just wonder if it t-true."

"I'll tell you two things alright?" You nodded as you took a seat across from him "one, he does. It's been quite obvious for a while. Two, he never shuts the fuck up about you.. god it comes to the point I hate being in a room alone with him."

"O-oh I-I"

"Just hurry up and get together already, that way he stops fucking going on about ya" you nodded did a 180 headed straight off.

"Y-Yes sir!!"

Just after, you sat at your bunk... you couldnt bring yourself to do it. Your mind was still processing it all in. Lieutenant Riley's word echoed in your ears. You yourself felt like you were floating, yet scared. "This must all be a dream, it too good to be true..." you pinched you arm, almost to the point of drawing blood. Eyes squint from the pain, and open to the same scenery as before. "What am I doing?" You stood and went to the mirror, slapping your cheeks. Squeezing your face together ever so slightly, "get yourself together (y/n), this could be the once chance!" You confidently went to the door. "Captain quarters are far... it shouldnt be difficult at all." You walked out briskly, closing the door quietly behind you.

You made steady pace to the captain quarters. You tried your hardest to keep your cool, you werent sure if it was working. Then again, it's rather late there really isnt many people around. You stood in front of the door. You have never been more scared of a door before. You took a step forward, a deep breath, curling your hand to knock of the door. Before you could even knock the door opened and there stood the captain. "Oh (y/n), what got you out here so late at night?"

"I-I just N-needed..." your body shivered of nervousness, of course he would open the door right before you were ready!

"Look at you..." he spoke softly, grasping lightly at your shoulder. Placing another hand in the open air. "You're shivering like a you've been in the cold for awhile, come in." He slowly leads you in, even if you were at all cold (which you weren't) the heat from your face could probably keep you alive. You look up to him offering a cup of hot tea.

"Captain... I-im not cold..." you took the cup, taking in the aroma of the tea. "but I do appreciate the drink." It was calming actually.

"If you ain't cold, does that mean you're nervous? By what in god name has god cha nervous?" You place the tea upon the coffee table. You knew he was staring at you, yet you could stare back. Rubbing your arm shyly, a small cough to clear your throat. "Oh.... it's that challenge ain't it?"

You nodded, slowly lifting your head to see him. His expression was almost eager, perhaps hopeful? He held his own hands, twiddling with his own thumb. "C-Captain..."

"Please... Call me John." It was almost as he was begging just like a puppy. It took you by surprise but it's what you could atleast do.

"Okay, John," you chuckled. Cracking a small little smirk, butterflies already flying everywhere within you. "I-I like you too, I have for a while. Gosh, saying "like" is just an understatement. I've loved you for a while." You exhaled deeply, the weight in your chest seemingly lifted. John stood, sitting next to you. Wrapping you into a tight embrace.

"Congrats, (y/n). Are you ready for that promotion?" He spoke softly into your ear. Hunger, yearning plagued the tones of his voice.

"J-John what exactly is this promotion?" You moved his head back, cupping his cheeks. He smirked devilishly, slowly moving to cover your own cheeks.

"Well, of course. You're gonna be promoted to my girlfriend~" as he finished his sentence in a deep husky voice. He planted his lips upon yours, holding you close. It was heavenly, you didnt want it to end. His taste was hypnotic, sweet, hungry and full of passion and love. Time seemed to slow down and you couldnt care. Yet reality hit back always too soon. You two separate panting, staring longingly into eachothers eyes. "G-God I waited so long to do that..."

You panted quietly, holding your hand to his cheek. You sat and admired this moment, this moment will never happen again. "Well... I hope the wait was worth it." You laughed, pulling his head closer. Gifting him a small peck upon his nose.

"Oh definitely princess, definitely."

#my scottish hubby #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare #cod #captain Mactavish #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #fanfiction #fluffy

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urlocalfrogmammy · 4 years

Text

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have, but i have it—ronald speirs

inspired by

(and my 12-1am contemplation)

@yeahcurrahee : Hey! I was wondering if you could do a Ronald Speirs imagine with the prompt “you can’t keep avoiding your problems!” “i avoid you well enough!”? Thank you!

when your feeling utterly lost, speirs shows you a side you're not used to seeing.

literally started writing this as sOON as i got the request because i was listening to the song and i was like 👀. not re-read it, not cut it down. my pure, unfiltered 12am thoughts. word count 2k because i don't know where to stop at this time. i hope u enjoy it <3 thank u for the request

there was a soft breeze that blew the sheer curtains. the doors to the balcony had been left open the night before, you couldn't be bothered closing them before slipping into your silk sheets. now, the rays of sunshine cast a heavenly glow on the marble floor of your room, and believing in a god no longer felt foolish to you. you, however, were not exactly feeling like you belonged in the paradise of that austrian hotel room. you'd spent your night tossing and turning, stripping layers of clothes off in cold sweats between nightmares. you now lay wearily in your bed, wondering why you couldn't sleep as well as everyone else. you were a lieutenant, for christ's sake. you were supposed to be training the men to go to war once again. but you were haunted by the images of the war. you'd seen almost all your friends injured or dead. chuck grant with his head shot, bill and joe with their legs missing, gordon paralysed, hoobler bleeding out, jackson in that dingy basement, skip and penkala being blown up—

breathe, you told yourself.

now you could barely look your men in the face without feeling guilty for sending them off to the hell you'd experienced. you had the points. you could go home. but you knew in your heart you'd forever feel ashamed if you left now. your head, being wiser, knew that you'd forever feel guilty for leading these men back into combat, after they'd earned long and happy lives.

instead of worrying about your inner conflict, you lay and stared up at the lighting fixture. there were three lightbulbs, surrounded by tulip-shaped lampshades. they were edged with gold, and they reflected in the light. you stared and stared, until your eyes began to drop. a bang on your door startled you, and you called: "i'm naked!"

ron speirs came barging into the room. "lieutenant what the hell are you playing at?"

see, the awkward thing was that you really were naked. you grasped the sheets to pull over your bare chest and a small squeak cane out of your throat. "i told you i was naked sir!" speirs awkwardly stood in your room like he was lost in the middle of a jungle and had stumbled into a foreign camp. he slowly prowled towards the dresser, lifting up a jewel encrusted brush you'd snagged and holding it up to the light. the reflection was cast on the wall opposite, leaving a glowing pattern on the cream walls. you sat up onto your elbow and stared at your captain. you weren't blind, you knew he was handsome in a sort of rugged way, but the delicate light from those french doors radiated a celestial glow onto him, making his appear angelic. you watched as speirs fumbled with the silver box of pins, trying to figure out how to open it. a soft click confirmed he'd succeeded and he peered inside, unimpressed at the contents of the box.

you wanted to scream. you wanted to tell the man to get out your room. but instead, you just observed him as a glint from your bedside table caught his eye. slowly approaching both you and the bedside table, he lifted up the best thing you'd snagged. a diamond necklace, four diamonds thick, with tendrils of diamonds hanging down from it. you knew it was worth a small fortune, because it was one of the most luxurious pieces of jewellery you'd ever seen. looking down on you, ron leaned down and held it up to your bare neck. "it's pretty."

"thank you." your voice was breathless, ron had taken that away. standing back up and letting the necklace clatter on the glass tabletop, ron's demeanour returned to normal. "are you going to get dressed?" you simply pointed to behind the door.

ron's footfalls were the only thing heard in the room as he grabbed the silk robe from the back of the door and chucked it at you. you caught it with one hand, and ron turned around to give you some privacy. he heard you place yourself back on the bed before telling him you were decent. as he turned back around to look at you, he swore he'd never seen anyone as ethereal as you in that moment. your hair was down, something he had never seen before, and it caught the light. your eyes gleamed as the looked at him, sparkling with something he couldn't recognise. your cheeks were flushed and your lips looked soft. “you’re not sleeping.”

“of cour—”

“you’ve got dark circles.”

he watched as you scoffed, walking over to the dressing table mirror and peering into it. “maybe i’d get less stressed if i was tested less.”

picking up the hairbrush, you slowly began to pull it through your hair. ron watched your reflection in the mirror. “why are you here, captain speirs?”

“why aren’t you with your men?” you paused, hissing as you got to a knot in your hair you couldn’t untangle, right at the back of your head. ron felt an insatiable urge, and indulged himself in it. taking the brush from your hands, your hair was like silk in between his fingers. he dragged the hairbrush through your hair slowly, and your head tilted back towards the movement of the brush.

“you never answered my question, lieutenant.” you hummed in content at the soothing feeling of having your hair brushed, and looked up at him in the mirror. “just let me enjoy this. this is the best things that’s happened to me since nixon brought me that bacon sandwich.” ron chuckled at the statement, and continued to brush your hair with a softness you hadn’t expected from him. the gesture was very out of character, but you accepted it with open arms. maybe you just didn’t know your captain as well as you thought you did. there was a clank as ron set the brush back down and you turned on your stool to look at him. he looked down on you with a look you couldn’t decipher, so you stood and padded over to the bed again.

"the men need someone else." ron stared at you from across the room. arms crossed. "i can't do it."

"why?"

"because..." you couldn't articulate what you were feeling. "i... i can't watch another boy die. screaming for the medic, or their mother, with blood coming out of their mouth and—" you cut yourself off abruptly in order to stop yourself from crying in front of the captain. he approached you, crouching down until he was at your eye level. "aren't you just happy that the war's over in europe?"

you scoffed again. "don't ask if i'm happy."

"why?"

"you know that i'm not." your traced your fingers along the silk of the creamy sheets, stained with your sweat and a reminder of all the images you'd had in your dreams. "at best i can say i'm not sad." you glanced fleetingly at him, with a half smile on your face. you wondered how your captain would ever understand how you were feeling. ronald was ruthless, to the point. he acted as every solider should, no second thoughts, no remorse.you wondered if he ever understand the guilt that hung heavy on your conscience, like a plaque that read i've murdered more people than i can count.

ron sat on the bed next to you. "you're a good leader, y/n."

"yeah?" you tucked your hair behind your ear.

“yeah.” he smiled, something you hadn’t seen properly before. ron had always been stern faced or shouting, but it was worth it for the smile. his eyes crinkled, twinkling like the constellations in the sky. you looked away from him and shrugged. “i don’t know. maybe.” you stood back up, collecting your clothes off the floor, and dumping them on the bed. “y/n.” you ignored him, picking up your army pants and folding them leg to leg. “y/n, you can’t keep avoiding your problems.”

“really? because i avoid you well enough.” a neatly folded shirt now joined the pants. speirs walked behind you, and you could feel the warmth he radiated on your back. his hands captured your wrists. “stop.” you turned your head to look at him, and his lips met yours.

at first you froze, and then you jumped back. ron felt a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. had he read the signs wrong? “y/n, i’m sorry i—”

“no. i’m sorry. i panicked, i...” you turned around properly, “spilling my guts with... drunkards who don’t care about me... is the only love i’ve ever known.” he felt a pang if guilt, that someone as beautiful as you had never experienced what love really was. he looked down on you and murmured: “let me look after you.” you wrapped your arms around his neck. ron’s hands found your waist, and he pulled you back in for another kiss. this time, it was reciprocated. softly, gently, and with feeling. lifting you up and sitting on the bed with you in his lap, the kiss continued with more compassion and care. you pulled away.

"wow." your laugh was breathy and shaking. ron just grinned, hair ruffled and chest heaving under you. easing yourself off him, you could feel your legs trembling. "i should... probably get ready." a sudden wave of guilt slammed into you. you were enjoying yourself, and you should have been out there training your men. the men you were responsible for. your chin wobbled and you turned away from your captain, unable to stop the tears welling in your eyes. "hey, y/n look at me." ron lifted you chin up to look at him. "everything is fine. you have done your very best. just..." his voice softened, "hope for the best." you sniffled, and he told you he'd leave you to get dressed. as he was about to open the door, when you answered him. "hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have," you said softly. he turned to look at you, "but i have it."

he left you alone to your thoughts as you got dressed. your ike jacket was a little loose, you didn't have the broad figure expected, and your hair could barely stay in its pins, but you looked a lot better than you had done for a while. your face wore a smile. going down the luxurious stairs of cream marble to meet the other officers, you were greeted by a slightly drunken lewis nixon at the bottom of them. "captain nixon."

"lieutenant y/n. nice lie in?"

"shut up." you shoved him with an elbow and he just giggled that dumb giggle. he held his hands up in mock surrender, "i'm serious, y/n. you're looking a lot better than when we got here." wrapping an arm around your shoulder, nix guided you into the glass room with the huge wooden table and sat you down on it. ron was stood at one corner, drinking coffee and consulting his map. you smiled shyly at you, and he smirked back. lewis seemed to pick this up, and he handed you a teacup and saucer and winked at you. you couldn't help but smile at the gesture, shaking your head and glaring. you sipped your tea and almost gagged on it. “christ nixon! stop drowning everything in alcohol!”

“sorry! thought it would be a good pick me up!” you stood up, leaving the teacup where it sat.

“i’m going sorting third platoon.”

“alright kid. have fun.”

speirs smiled and nodded as you lit up a cigarette. you felt pride swelling up in your chest. he was proud of you. and you were proud of you too.

#band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #hbo war #band of brothers fanfic #ronald speirs #ron speirs #ronald speirs x reader #ron speirs x reader #speirs x reader

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toomanyfandoms02 · 4 years

Text

Tap Tap Tap // Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary ~ Three little taps becomes something much more when his best friend is in the clutches of an unsub.

Spencer Reid × Reader

Word Count ~ 2.4K

SPENCER

Y/n had discussed with me many times that she knew what she was getting into with this kind of job. She had been used as a human shield by unsubs, along as a sedutive measure for many male unsubs (and one female). But she had yet to go through something unmatchable to the rest, more traumatic.

But I guess it had to happen sometime, huh?

Y/n was an amazing profiler and agent. She always wanted the best for people. This also meant she was often getting in trouble for trying to take things into her own hands.

We had a few suspects for this particular case, but it was clear y/n wasn't convinced that any of them were the right ones. She was very smart and stubborn, and she definitely wasn't going to stand for convicting an innocent. Since this was all going on in Vorginia, she had told me that she felt responsible to keep everyone here safe, she didn't want any more people in our home state being murdered or injured because "She couldn't figure out a seemingly simple case."

Wednesday morning was pretty normal. I had come in early and was sitting at the round table, reading 'War and Peace.' For the twelfth time. The rest of the team began piling in. I looked up from my book, peering around the table. I wasn't being teased for reading War and Peace, where was y/n?

"Has anyone spoken to y/n this morning?" Hotch asked, leaning further onto the table. Everyone shook their heads. My heart dropped into my stomach, where is she? I immediately scrambled to my feet, exiting the room and calling her.

It went straight to voicemail.

I ran my hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together, calmly walking back to the room.

"I'm going to her house to check on her. Is anyone coming with me?" JJ grabbed my jacket, throwing it to me. Hotch nodded at me as we began to leave.

I was always a careful driver, speeding actually killed around 10,000 people last year. But this was important, I had to know she was okay. I could tell JJ was on edge by the way she was gripping the seat and looking out the window.

Once we arrived I knocked softly on her door. JJ was going to all the windows to see if she could see inside, any sign of struggle. Once she came back around the house, I fished the spare key that I have from my pocket, I carried it with me everywhere.

"Do you, have a key to her house?" She smiled, clearly trying to lighten the situation.

"She gave it to me a few months ago, she said I could come over any time."

"If you wanted to come over any time, you could just knock."

"She was also worried something like this would happen, and she wanted me be the one to quote on quote 'save her' if the situation had risen. She trusts me." She smiled and shrugged, pushing me into the house.

It didn't take much searching before we found a file on a man named 'Carl Desmond'.

"Here. It says that he had 3 siblings. All three have restraining orders against him, but it's not listed why. That's probably why she was so suspicious of him. He could be taking these kids and reliving a childhood life with them. Three kids at a time. I'm not seeing anything on his address." I quickly dialed Garcia. "Garcia can you look for an address on Carl Desmond and send someone there? JJ and I are going to keep looking around the house."

"Yes of course." Cue the sound of vigorous typing. "It looks like he currently resides on 162 Bradbury Lane. I'll let Morgan know."

"Thank you Garcia." As soon as I set my phone down it began to ring again. "Reid."

"It's Morgan. I really think you guys should come back, you need to see something." I grabbed the file and left the house.

I let JJ drive back this time, I was a little out of focus and I didn't want to put us both in danger.

Once we arrived I rushed into the conference room, where I saw everyone but Hotch sitting patiently.

"We sent Hotch to Carl's address." Morgan began fiddling with the projector. "This was sent to Penelopes computer a bit ago. She's really trying to figure out where it came from but it's proving to be pretty difficult." He clicked a button and a distraught, and tied up y/n was presented on the screen. There was a deep voice that came from behind the camera.

"You have five minutes. Say your goodbyes."

"He has sympathy." I said, tapping my foot.

"Hi guys. I'm alright." She was shaking, and clearly not alright. I stepped closer to the screen. "I just wanted tell you guys some things. Garcia, please never stop being a ball of sunshine, I don't know what I would do if you changed. You make everyones day better. And tell Kevin that if he breaks your heart, I'll haunt him." My I could feel the air caught in my throat, I knew she meant that as a funny morbid joke, typical of her. But I didn't even want to open my mind to the possiblity of her death. She doesn't believe she is getting out of this.

Penelope began to cry, "Of course baby."

"Morgan, I admire you so much. You have so much drive and motivation, it's inspiring. Whoever replaces me, make sure you inspire them just as much as you do me." Morgan sat down slowly, nodding.

"Hotch. I couldn't have asked for a better leader. I knew I could come to you with anything and you will help me with it. Thank you for everything." He tried to remain unphased, but I could see the hurt in his eyes.

"Emily, I'm sorry that I had to leave right as you got back. I never got to tell you how much I missed you, because I missed you so much. Can you take care of bink bink? Her and Sergio can have kittens together." Emily was now laughing through her tears.

"Rossi you have been an amazing mentor. I have learned so much from you, and I wish I could cram my brain with more cases you were willing to tell me about." Even Rossi looked emotional.

"JJ, please make sure Spence is ok when I'm gone." JJ close dher eyes, squeezing her fists shut. "Don't let him do something stupid. I can't watch him struggle again."

"And Spence. God, I don't even know what to say. You are my best friend, I never wanted this to happen. I wish that yesterday when I stopped you mid-fact telling, because I was looking over a case, I wish I would have let you tell me about the wonders of mountain goats for the rest of the 7 hour flight. You never fail to amaze me. I know, and everyone knows, that you're a genius. But it still baffles me how much you can fit in that head of yours. Never stop rambling about what makes you happy. It's your best trait." I felt a tear slip from my eye, I was now sitting. Listening closely to every word she said.

"I love you all so so much. You are the best family I could have ever asked for. Thank you for everything." I looked down at her hand, she tapped three times on the arm of the chair. That sent me into a fit of sobs.

*"Ok, so how do you feel about I love you's?"*

*"The three-word phrase is laden with all sorts of meaning; saying it signals that we're officially committed, we prioritize one relationship over the rest."*

*"Of course you would know so much about the phrase." She playfully rolled her eyes, shifting into her other foot. "Listen I say I love you, or love you, a lot. And a lot of times it is to my friends. Now, the whole team already thinks that we are dating or something." My cheeks flushed at the statement. "But I do love you Spence, and I thought we could make up a silent code thing for me to say it!" She smiled giddily. "So, if I tap you three times like this." She tapped my shoulder rhythmically, "It means. I. Love. You."*

*"I actually think that's very creative. Ancient scripts and languages have been understood using decoding and deciphering techniques, most famously the Rosetta Stone of Ancient Egypt. In fact, codes and ciphers have determined the outcome of politics and wars throughout history. There are thousands of types of hidden messages." I rambled a little, having just read about some kinds of codes last week.*

*"Well look at us, making history." She smiled, tapping my hand three times playfully*

After that, y/n would tap me three times before going into any dangerous situation. Or whenever we would hug. She even made me a little keychain that read *tap,tap,tap*.

"I'm sorry." Was the last thing she said before the video ended.

"The guy who has y/n is the unsub. She was onto him, and he took her. She probably went to find him and he took her." I was trying to pull myself out of the state I was in. I knew they wouldn't let me help.

"We sent SWAT to Carl's house and no one is there. They are investigating further now." Hotch relayed his information to us. I slid the file from y/n's house over to him.

"This is what she had on him."

"Garcia, search for relatives of Mr. Desmond. They may know any alternate locations he visits."

We had gathered many family members numbers, the last one we were calling was his aunt.

"Hello?"

"Hi is this Miss Melanie Desmond? My name is Spencer Reid, I'm with the FBI."

"What's this about?"

"I'm calling to speak to you about your nephew Carl. We believe he may be involved in a string of kidnappings. We cannot locate him at his home. Does he stay at any other place?" I had just a hint of hope in my voice.

"He sometimes tidys things up at his parents farm. My sister died 2 months ago, so he's been taking care of it. I can give you the address." That must have been the stressor.

"Yes please."

Once jotting the address down. I texted it to the team and began on my route to the farm.

It was only about 25 minutes away. 15 minutes in, Morgan and JJ were caught up with me, driving right behind me.

Once we hit the driveway, my nerves were through the roof. I didn't want to walk in on my best friend dead. I just wanted to hug her ~and kiss her~ and tell her everything was going to be ok.

I nearly stumbled out of the car, heading into the house with Morgan while JJ and Emily started off to the barn.

Morgan kicked the door down, announcing that the FBI was here. I immediately noticed blood on the white tile floor of the house. My stomach churned at the sight.

"Carl Desmond?" I called into the house. I heard light footsteps coming from a room over. Once I turned the corner I could see y/n laying sideways on the floor, still tied to her chair. Morgan motioned me in there as he continued to search the house.

"I'm going to need a medic in the house, but don't send anyone yet, I'm not sure if it's safe." I spoke into my mic. I shook her shoulder a bit.

Nothing.

I put my finger against her neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there, and stronger than I had expected. I began cutting the ropes around her wrists and ankles. I scooped my arms under her weak frame and pulled her into my lap.

"Y/n? Please be okay." I shook her shoulder a little, trying to lightly wake her and not scare her.

"Spence?" She looked up at me with squinting eyes. She sat up quickly, wincing and holding her head.

"Woah woah slow down, you probably have a concussion, don't move too fast." I held my hand behind her head. She pushed forward, throwing her arms around me.

"I knew you would find me, I just wasn't sure I would be here for it." I could feel her tears on my shirt. She tapped my back three times.

"I love you too." She pulled back, looking at me with a crooked smile. "I don't care who hears it anymore. Everyone can know I love you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You always want to her me talk about random facts, even if you have no idea what I'm talking about. When I'm sick of people asking me if I 'can actually read that fast' you tell them everything about me, proudly. I love you, so much." She leaned her forehead on mine.

"Thank god." She leaned forward a bit and connected our lips. I could taste the tears that she had shed for hours and even in the past few minutes. Some tears were even sliding down my cheeks. Even though I didn't have much to cry about now. My everything was back in my arms.

"I knew it! Pretty boy and y/n! Get it man! Hey y/n remember that dream you told me about?" Morgan winked, coming around the corner with a cuffed Carl Desmond. Trailing along with the three missing children. I almost jumped away but y/n kept a tight hold on me.

"Shut up Derek." She growled, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

"What dream?"

"Nope, we aren't talking about this right now. Can you carry me to the medics?" She flashed me a cheesy smile.

I shook my head at her with a smile. I leaned down and kissed her one more time. "You really are lucky I love you." I picked her up bridal style, taking her to the ambulance where there was a medic waiting to help her. I noticed multiple smirks from the team. I set down, wrapping a blanket around her.

"So, a dream, huh?"

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg

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incarnateirony · 5 years

Note

Hey dude! Do you have any recommendations for LGBTQ+ movies in the romance genre that have like a happy ending. I really don't care how old they are. I'm feeling the Gay™ hence I need the Gay™. You feel me?

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII NONNIE

First sorry for taking so long, not only did I have to timeline this :) but :) my computer :) froze :) after writing like :) 2 pages :) and I had to do it again :)

So anyway let it be said, the LGBT dialogue is one of osmosis and shared growth and awareness. Some of these films will be very poorly dated, but as you (thankfully) mentioned that them being old wasn’t a *problem*, expect a lot of old stuff. Because one of the most important things to have under your belt when talking about the LGBT media representation battle is the actual journey from A to B – be that incrementalization, subtextual inclusion, text-breeching features, outright evocative and groundbreaking films at the time (which is what MOST of this list will be) and an improvement in our dialogue; let us never forget that while tr*nss*xual is considered a slur and transgender is proper, tr*nss*xual was at one point the politically correct way to speak it – things like that breach in our growing understanding of the spectrum of human sexuality.

I *WILL* disclaimer these aren’t all romance, so if you explicitly want romance, google them and take a look if it sounds to appeal, but I’m taking this as a general cinema history plug considering what a confused mess fandom conversation about LGBT history in film or modern text as applicable, accepted or not.

Wonder Bar (1936) (I wouldn’t really call this queer cinema, but if you have the time to watch it too, I think it was the first explicit mention of homosexual engagement even if it was fleetingly brief. You might even call it Last Call style. A blink and you’ll miss it plug that was still decades ahead of its time)

Sylvia Scarlet (1936) (Again, I wouldn’t call this queer cinema, but a lot of the community takes it as the first potential trans representation on TV due to the lead literally swapping gender presentation, even if the presentation is… not what we would modernly call representation IMO)

Un Chant d'Amour (1950) (Worth it for the sheer fact that it pissed off fundies so bad they took it all the way to the US supreme court to get it declared obscene.)

The Children’s Hour (1961) (also known as the 1961 lesson to “don’t be a gossipy, outting bitch”)

Victim (1961) (The first english film to use the word “homosexual” and to focus explicitly on gay sexuality. People might look on it disdainfully from modern lenses, but it really helped progress british understanding of homosexuality)

Scorpio Rising (1964) (Lmao this one deadass got taken to court when it pissed people off and California had to rule that it didn’t count as obscene bc it had social value, worth it for the history if nothing else)

Theorem (1968) (Because who doesn’t wanna watch a 60s flick about a bisexual angel, modern issues and associations be damned)

The Killing of Sister George (1968) (by the makers of What Ever Happened To Baby Jane)

Midnight Cowboy (1969) (…have I had sassy contagonists in RP make a Dean joke off of this more than once, maybe)

Fellini-Satyricon (1969) (AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS)

The Boys in the Band (1970) (This… this… this made a lot of fuss. Just remember leather)

Pink Narcissus (1971) (a labor of love shot on someone’s personal camera)

Death in Venice (1971) (This is basically a T&S prequel but whatever, based on a much older book)

Cabaret (1972)

Pink Flamingos (1972) (SHIT’S WILD)

The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (1972) (The title doesn’t lie, be warned)

The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) [god I hope you’ve at least seen this]

Fox and His Friends (1975) (some really hard lessons that are still viable today, that just because someone acknowledges your sexuality doesn’t mean they give a shit about you as a person, and that some will even abuse the knowledge for gain)

The Terence Davies Trilogy (1983) (REALLY interesting history look it up, it’s sort of one of those “drawn from own experience” story short sets)

The Times of Harvey Milk (1984) (Documentary)

Desert Hearts (1985) (Pretty much the first film to put lesbianism into a good light as a true focus based on a novel from the sixties)

Parting Glances (1986) (the only film its creator got out before his death from the aids epidemic)

Law of Desire (1987) (two men and a trans woman in a love triangle, kinda ahead of its time)

Maurice (1987) (This one’s really interesting, cuz it was based on a book made about 15 years before it, but the book itself had been written half a century earlier and wasn’t published until after the guy died, he just thought it’d never get published Cuz Gay, so basically it’s based on a story written in like, the 20s finally getting screen time. It has a bittersweet but positive-leaning-ish ending without disregarding the cost that can come with it and even addresses class issues at the same time 100% DO RECOMMEND)

Tongues Untied (1989) (a documentary to give voices to LGBT black men)

Longtime Companion (1990) (This one’s title alone is history, based on a NYT phrasing for how they talked about people’s partners dying, eg longtime companion, during the AIDS epidemic)

Paris Is Burning (1990) (Drag culture and related sexual and gender identity exploration as it intersected with class issues and other privileges explored in a documentary)

The Crying Game (1992)( I should correct this that I guess it’s more, 1992 considered, “SURPRISE, DIL HAS A DILL!” – I guess I really didn’t do that summary justice by modern language and dialogue as much as how people in the 90s were talking about that and that’s a my bad. LIKE. SEE, EVEN I CAN FUCK UP MY LANGUAGE I’M SORRY CAN I BLAME THE STRAIGHTS T_T) #90skidproblems – I guess I should call it a trans film. And this alone tells me I should go watch it again to recode it in my brain modernly rather than like circa de la 2000 understanding.

The Bird Cage (1996) (So you mix drag culture, otherwise heterosexually connected lovebirds, and then realize the girl comes from an alt-rightish house and the guy comes from a Two Dads Home and does cabaret, how to deal with the issues OF this conflict when it’s between you and your happiness, even if the fight isn’t even your own as much as it is that of the person you love. The answer is PROBABLY NOT to dress in drag and pretend to be straight, but what are you going to do? – while played for laughs we’d consider modernly crude, the fact that they even dared to approach this narrative was pretty loud)

The Celluloid Closet (1996) (Ever heard of the Vito Russo test for LGBT representation? This is based on a book by Vito Russo.)

Happy Together (1997) (Ain’t this shit an ironic name; a mutual narrative, via chinese flick, of hong kong ceding to china and an irrevocably tangled MLM pairing as a giant mirrored metaphor)

Boys Don’t Cry (1999) (one of the most groundbreaking films about trans identity at the time)

Stranger Inside (2001) (As easy as it is to recoil to the idea of “black gays in jail”, the film makers actually went and consulted prisoners and put a great deal of focus into intersectional african american issues that really weren’t around even in straight films at the time)

Transamerica (2005) (While it made a bit of a fuss for not casting an actual trans actor, it was one of the first times a big budget studio really tried to tackle it which really pushed us forward)

Call Me by Your Name (2017) (since I’ve apparently leaned really heavy old cinema throw in a modern one lmaooooo)

Also honorable The Kids Are All Right (2010) mention for the sake of the fucking title alone.

And to any incarnation of “On the Road” by Kerouac, which

Was originally a book

Released a sanitized de-gayed edition because of the times

Later released the full homo manuscript

had a few film adaptations

Was one of Kripke’s founding inspirations for Supernatural once he left behind “Some reporter guy chases stories” and took the formula of Sal and Dean (and tbh later, Carlo) in a beat generation vibe gone modern as we know it today.

Reading both versions of this can actually help some folks currently understand that when you get confused over some shit (WHY IS CARLO SO UPSET? WHY IS HE ACTING LIKE AN UPSET GIRLFRIEND??? WHY IS HE SO JEALOUS AND SAD WHEN DEAN IS AROUND GIRLS???? WE JUST DONT KNOWWWWWWWWWWWWW) it’s because some big money asshat bleached the content, and sometimes, it takes a while for the full script to come out and again, surprise, it’s been GAY, they just didn’t want to OFFEND anybody. *jazz hands*

Now if you wanna go WAY WAY BACK, during 191X years, a bunch of gender role flicks came out like Charley’s Aunt, Mabel’s Blunder and the Florida Enchantment.

Also where is @thecoffeebrain-blog to yell about the necessity of watching Oz, for the next few hours? But no, seriously, just look into the entire LGBT *HISTORY* of Oz.

Beyond that though I’m gonna stop here cuz hi that’s a lot. I really don’t know how much counts as “happy ending” but if I had to give an LGBT cinema rec list, that’s it as a sum. I don’t really have like, a big portfolio of UWU HAPPY ENDING GAYS because 1. there aren’t a lot of those but 2. to me, it’s not about the ending, it’s about the journey. Be that in flick or through culture and history itself.

If you want more happy ending stuff, you definitely have to look at 2010+, but it’s not like we’re in a rich and fertile landscape yet so honestly just googling that would probably serve you better since I don’t explicitly explore romance genre or happy endings to really have a collection. LGBT life is hard and film often reflects that if we’re making genuine statements about it and really representing it, and we’re just now getting to a point of reliably having the chance at a happy ending. That or maybe someone can add like “Explicit happy endings” lists after this that has more experience in that subgenre.

Also, I can’t emphasize ENOUGH to remember what was progressive then is not what is progressive now, and frankly, what some people think is progressive now they’ll probably look back on what they said and feel really fuckin’ embarrassed. See: “It’s not text because by alt right homophobic dialogue, M/M sex isn’t gay if you do the secret handshake” MGTOW kinda crazy ass dialogue or parallel narratives they inspire that encourage self-closeting and denial based on the pure idea that being gay makes you somehow lesser, so It’s Not That. Like. I am. 99% sure. At least half of the people talking in this fandom. Are going to regret that the internet is forever. And maybe hope hosting servers end in the inevitable nuclear war that will annihilate this planet.

Also, edit: Speaking of mistaken dialogues and words aging poorly, I’d like to apologize from the poor description I rendered “The Crying Game” with, but that really goes to show how deep-seated the issue is we can so casually fuck up identifying a trans narrative as SURPRISE DICK IS GAY when we were all absorbing the content like 20+ years ago and HOW HARD it can be to de-code yourself from that kind of programming because here I am, writing a giant assed rep post and fucking it up because my brain hadn’t soaked that movie since Y2K. Guess what, time for me to go watch the Crying Game again.

#lgbtqia #representation #media #cinema history

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ladyjaneasher-blog · 7 years

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Wait I'm sorry for being misinformed, but the info about Paul calling Yoko a jap tart is not true? From what i read he sent a letter to john (i think) saying this. So it's not true? (because thank god if it's not true)

it’s okay, anon. let me reiterate:

the full message – if you believe francie, that is – was “you and your jap tart think you’re hot shit” and the full quote reads:

“John obviously loved Paul enough to let him run wild if it would help ease the tension Paul was creating in the studio and at home. Yoko could see it too.

But Paul was treating them like shit too. He even sent them a hate letter once, unsigned, typed. I brought it in with the morning mail. Paul put most of his fan mail in a big basket and let it sit for weeks, but John and Yoko opened every piece. When they go to the anonymous note, they looked puzzled, looking at each other with genuine pain in their eyes.

‘You and your Jap tart think you’re hot shit’, it said. John put it on the mantle, and in the afternoon, Paul hopped in, prancing much the same self-conscious way he did when we met.

‘Oh I just did that for a lark…’ he said in his most sugar-coated accent.

It was embarrassing. The three of us swiveled around, staring at him. You could see the pain in John. Yoko simply rose above it, feeling only sympathy for John. I was sad to see the Lennons go, even though it took the pressure off of Paul.”

putting aside that you can already read the clear bias between the lines, sometimes in other retellings of the story, it’s said to be a postcard and other times it’s a typewritten message left in an envelope. the discrepancies here alone should tell you something.

now, where does the claim come from? it comes from an ex-girlfriend of paul’s from the late 60s, who he has parted not on the best terms with: francie schwartz. francie wrote a book about her relationship with paul where francie claims that while john and yoko stayed at cavendish, they received a note saying “you and your jap tart think you’re hot shit”.

why is it bullshit? i have several points to make:

francie schwartz is one of the most unreliable sources in beatles history. ask any beatles researcher worth their salt on their opinion about francie and her book. what’s more important in this particular case: she relies almost exclusively on sensational claims to make her book body count (1972) more palatable and exciting to a general and broad public instead of actual proof. other such claims include paul having been sent love letters from brian; a claim just as insubstantial and without any actual tangible proof.

first off, to get a more personal picture of francie during the time she wrote and published her book you have to ackowledge her agenda as the scorned ex-lover as is evidenced by the book itself as it displays a great deal of vindictiveness towards paul. read body count and you’ll know what i mean. it’s absolutely vile in places.

second, the book was published in 1972 – when paul’s critical reputation was possibly at one of its lowest points – and it was published by none other than jann wenner’s rolling stone press, which very obviously chose john’s side in the john versus paul breakup era split and which back in the day had a lot of sway in the music industry. the magazine wasn’t yet the joke it was to become. something else that is interesting and slightly related: jann wenner. paul’s critical acclaim wasn’t at it lowest point because mccartney (the album) was years ahead in its day and the press just didn’t get it, but because wenner directly influenced his reviewers to slam paul for – as wenner saw it – breaking up the beatles. here’s the relevant quote:

“When I became record reviews editor, I made it clear to him after a few months — nobody had done the job before me — that the record review section was an independent republic within the country of Rolling Stone. That meant that nobody else could tell me what to review or what a writer could say. They could argue with me, but ultimately it was my decision. And that worked well. There was one incident where Paul McCartney makes his first solo record and people thought it was wonderful: this rough, homemade one-man-band album. It was accompanied by a press release, a self-interview, about why he no longer needed the Beatles and how little he thought of them … this real obnoxious statement, you know? I assigned it to a friend of mine, Langdon Winner, and Jann saw the piece and said: “We can’t run it this way — he’s just reviewing it as if it’s this nice little record. It’s not just a nice little record, it’s a statement and it’s taking place in a context that we know: it’s one person breaking up the band. This is what needs to be talked about.” I said I didn’t agree and “in any case it’s up to Langdon to say what he wants to say.” Jann said, “We have to talk about this.” So we went to dinner that night and spent three fucking hours arguing about this record review. Finally he convinced me. So I went over to Langdon’s and sat down with him and spent three more hours arguing with him until I convinced him! Now to me this was the essence of great editing, of how you put out a publication that is utterly honest. All that time spent over one 750 word review! And it was worth it.”

—Greil Marcus in conversation with Simon Reynolds,

Los Angeles Review of Books

there are other instances where wenner displays his clear bias against paul, which was especially rampant in the time where paul was hailed as the talentless and flighty hack who did nothing more than book the studio for the beatles and john as the deeply misunderstood true lyrical and musical genius behind the beatles. a narrative that was formed then and persists to this day.

third, a number of writers – including, disappointingly, doggett and carlin – have recounted the “jap tart” episode from paul to john and yoko as fact, but it’s NOT. it’s the unverified retrospective eyewitness testimony years after it happened of a very much biased, secondhand source. we’ve never seen evidence from anyone else that this event occurred. no picture, no copy, nothing. just like any other event francie “remembers”, if i might add. and since other private notes and copies from letters and even journals exist from other and more deeply involved with the beatles people, it is suspicious.

even during “lennon remembers” – also done with involvement from wenner – john himself admits that his examples of the others treating yoko badly in the studio or elsewhere come off as him being paranoid. if he had indeed a clear and very much damning example, such as this “jap tart” postcard or typewritten message or handwritten note, why didn’t he bring it up? or, more glaringly, yoko herself? when discussing why she and john left cavendish in philip norman’s paul bio, she doesn’t mention this incident at all. why didn’t either of them ever bring up this incident in all the years after it supposedly occurred?

it’s also important to point out that the narrative that paul was an absolute and continuous horror to john and yoko during the let it be era is just that: a narrative. let’s see what yoko has to say:

“After the initial embarrassment, then – um, now Paul is being very nice to me. He’s nice, and a – a very, um, str– on the level, straight sense. Like, um, whenever there’s something happening at Apple, he explains to me, as if I should know, [inaudible] and things like that. And also whenever there’s something like they need a light man or something like that, he asks me if I know of anybody in the art world, and things like that.

And like, um, I can see that he’s just now suddenly changing his attitude, like he’s being – he’s treating me with respect. Not because it’s me – but because I belong to John. I hope that’s what it is, because that would be nice. And I feel like he’s my younger brother or something like that. I’m sure that if he had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat – because there’s something definitely very strong between John and Paul.

And, um – and probably among those three people of George and Ringo and Paul, Paul is the only one that I can sort of feel the vibration [from]. Like, sort of sense it, you know, that something is among that. ‘Cause Ringo and George, I just can’t communicate. I mean, I’m sure that George and – I’m really sure that they’re both very nice people, but that’s not the point… I think that’s because being, uh, [because of John, Paul, and me] being air signs, like Libra, Gemini, and Aquarius.”

[x]

another point is the nature of the source itself: francie didn’t – at least as far as we know – write any of these instances down, be it in her diary, or even in a letter to her mother, with whom she stayed in contact during that time. all of which would have made the claim more credible, as those would have been never intended for public view and subsequent consumption as her book was.

she wrote them in her memoir, something she wanted people to buy, and there has been discussion that wenner encouraged her to promote the “sex and dissension” between paul and her and paul and the beatles in her work, because that’s what would sell and ensure publicity.

lasty, i’ve seen another valid point brought up: linguistics. “hot shit” is something that is more an americanism – francie is american – than something used in the late 60s by someone of liverpool descent.

tl;dr: francie’s claim is unfounded and to this very day has zero (0) proof to it.

i’ll include another good quote about the issue under a read more should you be interested.

While Erin toils in academia with an unusually heavy workload, I thought I would share another unpublished excerpt from The Historian And The Beatles regarding this now infamous statement attributed to Paul by his erstwhile lover, Francie Schwartz:

One example of Doggett’s occasional acceptance of unverified testimony as fact is his use of Francie Schwartz’s claim that the reason Lennon and Ono left McCartney’s London house (where they were temporarily staying) in Summer 1968 is because McCartney left the couple a postcard with the words “You and Your Jap Tart Think You’re Hot Shit” on it. Schwartz, McCartney’s girlfriend at the time, is the only source for this scene, (Body Count, 220) which, Doggett argues in both You Never Give Me Your Money and in a later interview with Oomska, initiated an irreparable wedge between Lennon and McCartney.

However, neither Lennon nor Ono ever mentioned this incident, even during Lennon Remembers, in which Lennon accuses the other Beatles of seriously mistreating Ono but also acknowledges that their offered examples of mistreatment are unconvincing: “Even when it’s written down, it’ll just look like I’m paranoid.” (Lennon Remembers, 44) Given that Schwartz portrays this incident as an extremely painful moment in Lennon’s relationship with McCartney, and that it directly led to Lennon and Ono departing Cavendish, it would presumably have been, for both Lennon and Ono, a particularly memorable moment. More, describing this incident would have heavily reinforced Lennon’s Lennon Remembers interview agenda to portray himself and Ono as victims of McCartney and the other Beatles. His failure to remember and recount the incident in this particular instance casts suspicions on the accuracy of Schwartz’s account.

While Garraghan declares that “the testimony of a single witness whose competence in every respect is above suspicion may be accepted as true,” (Garraghan, A Guide to Historical Method, 244) Schwartz does not qualify as a competent witness. Her brief relationship with McCartney ended badly when he told her to move out and Schwartz quickly sold articles about her time with McCartney to Rolling Stone and later produced a book, Body Count, in which Schwartz details the postcard scene. The Beatles Bibliography (which repeatedly discredits those pro-Lennon sources promoting the “Lennon Remembers” and Shout! versions of Beatles history) describes Body Count as “a travesty of a memoir,” in part because of its “self-serving and non-reflexive tone.” In credibility terms, Schwartz’s unverified eyewitness testimony is equal to that of the Apple Scruff claiming that Lennon once attempted to hit a pregnant Linda McCartney. While both Schwartz and the Apple Scruff’s claims are generally reinforced by circumstantial evidence (Schwartz by Beatles insider Derek Taylor’s claims that McCartney was sending him anonymous but ominous postcards in that same time period, the Scruff’s by Lennon’s admitted acts of occasional violence against women) Beatles writers who recount both scenes should explain that they are unverified testimony presented by an unreliable source.

Anyone still questioning whether Francie Schwartz is being truthful about the “jap tart” comment need only consider the point which Erin makes here: that J&Y would have been been screaming about this to the press to bolster their position that the rest of the band mistreated them/Yoko, had it been true. I would also add that the vernacular–calling something or someone “hot shit”– sounds far more American than late 60’s British. I think Schwartz gave herself away with that one.

I’m shocked that Doggett didn’t come up with those same, very simple observations.

What say ye, commentators?

(source)

i’ve also incorporated a lot of the points from the beatlesbible here.

#paul mccartney #yoko ono #john lennon #francie schwartz #text: asks #p: paul mccartney #p: francie schwartz #slurs cw #Anonymous

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royaltyjunk · 7 years

Text

Brighter - Ch. 4 [T, Perceval/Cecilia]

Author's Ideas: WOW THIS ONE ACTUALLY TOOK REALLY LONG I'M SORRY I WAS WORKING ON OTHER WIPs AND I DIDN'T REALIZE I HADN'T FINISHED THIS CHAPTER orz

I need to get better at setting deadlines holy moly

Also… is it just me or is it taking me a lot longer to write something these days?

:thinking:

Eh, probably just me

Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem

Brighter

IV: Light

~ / . / . / ~

A year after Roy and Lilina's engagement, and a few weeks after their (in his opinion, somewhat extravagant) wedding, Perceval asks her to move in with him. He stumbles over his words a bit, and Cecilia has to stop him multiple times to chase off people trying to record them or snap pictures of them, but he gets his point across, and of course Cecilia agrees.

"Why did you even bother asking her?" Mildain asks, pushing Perceval his wrapped sandwich over the café counter. "She basically lives with you anyways. And you know that her mother is supportive of you two no matter what. Well, unless you cheat on her."

Perceval rolls his eyes, handing Mildain his work ID. "I just don't know if Miss Alessandra would have been okay with taking over Cecilia's house again. I know she almost went crazy last time because Cecilia's father did such a poor job of keeping Miss Alessandra's house clean."

Mildain frowns, pausing his tapping on the cash register. "Wait, what?"

"Miss Alessandra had to go live in Cecilia's house, so she got Cecilia's father to look over her house. When Miss Alessandra got back to her own house, it was in all sorts of disarray. The only people she trusts to look over the house now are Cecilia and I. And only if we're together."

To that last statement, Mildain makes such a suggestive noise that Perceval wonders how he ever became friends with him (he knows how, though - but only because it was also the time he became friends with Cecilia).

Perceval takes a few days to get a copy of his keys though, so they're constantly trading hands even before Cecilia officially moves in. At one point, Cath nabs them as a joke, but causes them so much stress that everyone learns never to mess with either of them when on a frantic search for something vital - or else they'll get threatened by both the Head of Economic Enterprises and the Head of Security.

Or course, Miss Alessandra agrees to their moving in together, and she takes a good chunk of Perceval's time making him promise not to do anything Cecilia wouldn't want, or not to break any of her possessions on purpose, and especially to respect her boundaries. He vehemently agrees, and Miss Alessandra believes him when he says he'll uphold them. He hears that Cecilia gets the same treatment from his mother, but knowing how much Amber Eques absolutely dotes on her potential daughter-in-law, she's probably prepared a list of Perceval's weaknesses for her.

(Unfortunately he's proven right when, while he has his back turned to Cecilia while unpacking her belongings, she drapes her arms around him and uses her foot to tickle the sole of his. What results is the worst tickle fight in the history of tickle fights.)

Still, the moving in goes well, and the busy Saturday afternoon turns into a calm Saturday night, where Klein, Clarine, Lalum, and Mildain crash their house without announcement. After apologizing to Perceval and Cecilia for the heart attack, they promise to cook dinner. Cecilia quickly declines Clarine access to the kitchen, but lets the other three in.

"Why won't you let me in the kitchen?" Clarine complains, pouting.

"Because you almost set our house on fire last time you tried to bake a pizza," Klein yells from the kitchen.

"But now I'm the third wheel," Clarine counters, staring with mock anger over at the other side of the couch, where Perceval and Cecilia are cuddled against each other.

"You should have brought Rutger then," Perceval replies.

"He's in Sacae!"

"Oh well," Cecilia grins, and Clarine crosses her arms.

"Meanies."

"You're welcome, Clarine. I just don't want you burning down my house."

"Who said that? You two moving in together is going to make it a lot harder for me to distinguish who's saying what while I'm trying to read everything I wrote down while eavesdropping."

"Good gods, Klein. You can't even tell the difference between Perceval's voice and Cecilia's voice?"

"Wait, what do you mean by eavesdropping!?" An indignant sputter from the living room sends Klein into hysterical laughter, and they end up losing their best chef from the laughing fit he's having.

Eventually, they all settle down for a comfortable dinner, and spend the rest of the night flipping through old photo albums Cecilia and Perceval dug out that afternoon. At one point, Klein points out that Perceval was wearing nail polish all throughout his elementary school years, and all Perceval can do is point to Cecilia. Another time, they count all the times Mildain had actually smiled for a picture outside of class photos. The answer was, unsurprisingly, zero.

Cecilia and Perceval chase them out of their house when it's close to midnight, laughing when Clarine makes a face and threatens Perceval loudly from the car about doing "unsavory things to Cecilia when they slept" as they drive away. Perceval rolls his eyes, but he obviously takes Clarine's words to heart because he doesn't do anything unless Cecilia agrees. He even asks if he can hug her, and Cecilia looks at him so incredulously that he just shrugs and says, "They're scary."

"I don't care if they're scary," she smiles, patting Perceval's cheek. He squawks in protest, and Cecilia laughs. "Whoops. I forgot."

"You know my skin doesn't react well to that lotion…" he mutters, wetting his hand towel and wiping off his cheek. Cecilia just flashes him her picture perfect smile, and it's hard to be mad at her after that.

The night that follows doesn't seem like any other night since they've spent so much time together, except when Cecilia wins, she's struck with sunlight, and the other side of the bed is empty. She sits up, rubbing her eyes and stretching.

"Perceval?" she calls.

"In the office," his voice comes from a distant part of the house, and she slips out of bed, pulling on actual clothes and tossing her pajamas on the bed. She makes her way across the hallway to the propped open door of Perceval's office.

"You're working this early? On a Sunday?" she frowns.

He shrugs. "It's not really work. It's more legal paperwork about your move."

"Oh. Do you need anything?"

"I'm… actually pretty hungry," he admits, sifting through the piles of paperwork in his office.

"Why didn't you say so?" she grins and skips downstairs, opening cabinets and pantries to collect the ingredients to prepare for breakfast.

It's then that she finds a green box in his kitchen cabinets, tucked away under the boxes and bottles of spices and dried herbs. What's suspicious is that the box is the same shade of green as her hair, an iridescent green that would catch his eye from anywhere.

She's still trying to figure out what could be inside it (ignoring the nagging thought in the back of her mind) when he walks into the kitchen, a wad of paperwork in his hand.

"Cecilia-" he pauses, his eyes wide when he sees the box in her hand.

"Oh, Perceval," Cecilia smiles, setting the box down. "Is that more legal paperwork?"

"Yes," he croaks, his gaze not leaving the box on the counter. She takes the papers he's holding, and he snags the box, tucking it into his pocket. Cecilia gives him a strange look as he slips out of the kitchen, and he gives her a nervous smile over his shoulder.

"So? What is that box all about?" Cecilia asks him eventually, when she goes into his study to return the bundle of papers. He's standing in front of his desk, and when she asks the question, he freezes up. With an annoyed pulse behind his movements, he takes the papers and sets them down on his desk, sighing as he turns and looks at her.

"Cecilia… what do you think it is about?"

"...I thought so." Cecilia closes her eyes. A smile spreads across her lips, and Perceval touches her shoulder.

"Yes," Cecilia murmurs, breaking the silence.

Perceval blinks, and it takes him a moment to realize what she's trying to say. "...Really?"

Cecilia opens her eyes, staring at into his brown eyes. "I've loved you for as long as I can remember, and I probably will keep loving you. Why wouldn't I marry you?"

He runs his hands through his hair, a distant yet joyful look on his face. "I… to think, I had a whole speech written out."

"Was that what you were annoyed about?"

"Yes," he admits sheepishly. "I was annoyed I didn't get to say my speech. I had it all memorized too."

Cecilia gives him a gentle shove. "I love you. Did you really think you needed a speech to convince me to marry you?"

Perceval rolls his eyes, and she smiles. He leans his forehead against hers, and her smile grows wider. Cecilia's fingers find the edge of his shirt, and she clenches his sweater. He cups her cheeks, and she leans forward a little, their noses touching. "I love you too," he breathes, and Cecilia laughs at the smell of mint in his breath.

"Can I have my ring now?" Cecilia questions, smiling. "I'm curious to see what you picked out."

He kisses her gently, his lips lingering against hers. "As you say," he murmurs, his lips brushing against hers.

Cecilia grins, detaching herself from Perceval when he pulls away and walks around his desk, pulling open a small drawer. He withdraws the bright green box, flicking open the box and taking the ring. He places the green box down on his desk and walks back to Cecilia. She folds her hands behind her back.

Perceval opens his fist, revealing a thin silver ring decorated with one emerald.

"Lalum and Lilina both agreed that getting something simple was better for you," he states, and Cecilia smiles.

"I think it's perfect."

She stretches out her hand, and Perceval takes it. He slips the thin ring onto her finger, and she grabs his cheeks, kissing him as hard as she can. His lips curve into a smile, and his hands rest against her waist. He pulls her closer, and she savors the gentle touch he has, the unspoken words behind his actions.

Cecilia's eyes are bright and her cheeks are rosy, and Perceval can't help but let his smile grow bigger.

"What is it?" she asks softly, brushing her fingers against his cheek.

"Nothing. Just… thinking."

"About what?"

"About how I love you."

Her only response is to pull him in and kiss him again.

#fire emblem #fire emblem 6 #fe6 #fire emblem: binding blade #Perceval #Cecilia #Roy #Lilina #Elffin #Klein #Clarine #Lalum #Elibe #avietta writes #avietta writes fire emblem

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