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lilyfrogisnotneurotypical · 9 months ago

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His Story (keep in mind I wrote this in 8th grade)

“Olive come on you’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Hi. My name is Olive. Olive Williams. I am 17 years old, and I am a senior in high school. I dab on a bit more blush and quickly start to pack up my stuff. I open the mirror cabinet to put my makeup bag away, and when I close it I see a boy staring back at me. Jumping and rubbing my eyes I look again, but all I see is my own reflection looking back at me. It was just a shadow or something. I tell myself. I’m just tired, that's it.

“Olive! How many times do I need to tell you! You’re going to be late, let's go!

“I know mom, sorry!” I run downstairs, grab my backpack, and try to catch the bus.

“I love you!”

“I love you too!” I say. That was my mom. Ever since dad left, she's said she loved me everyday. I think she's afraid I’ll leave too. I try to show her I won’t, but anxiety will find a way. I get to school and look at the building. Just one more year. I tell myself that because high school hasn’t been the best. I know that everyone says that, but I’m being serious. There’s this girl, Jessica, and her boyfriend Chad. Jessica is captain of the cheer team, and Chad is the quarterback for the football team. So your basic high school couple. Jessica has a hobby that involves targeting people and making fun of anything she can find wrong with them. Hair, clothes, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, money, a lot of the usual things, but I've also seen her bully a freshman for their school binder. She smells like Bath & Body Works too, but not the good kind the obnoxious kind. Unfortunately, I tend to be the target of her so-called hobby.

When I walk in I try to keep my head down, but Jessica finds me anyway, and soon I’m surrounded by most of the cheer team. Why me? That's what I’m asking myself while sitting on the couch with a bar of chocolate and ice packs. After the cheer team got to me, they warned me of what would happen after school. At first I thought it would be the usual verbal abuse, but this time she ordered Chad to beat me up. Good thing I’m on the track and the cross country team or I would be dead. Now I’m home and I have to cover up the bruises before mom asks any questions. I get up and walk to the bathroom. But once I get in I see him again. Like any level headed girl, I immediately put my fists up to defend myself.

“Oh darling, you’re not going to be able to use those.”

“Who are you! And what are you doing in my… mirror?” Once I stopped freaking out, I realized that he wasn’t actually standing there, HE WAS IN THE MIRROR.

“H-how, why..?” My life was crazy enough with having a boy in my mirror.

“Let me explain,” He said. “My name is Oliver Williams, and I am your mirror doppelganger.” Once I truly looked at him, he did look pretty familiar. Pale skin, green eyes, midnight black hair. He looked like me!

Clearing his throat, he said to me, “Let me tell you a few things.”

~~~~~~~

So apparently there's an entire other world in the mirror with genderbent versions of ourselves. Not sure how to take that, but ok! And Oliver also said he’d help me with my bully problems! He hasn’t told me how yet though. I end up talking to him almost every day before and after school. I can’t let my mom know though; she has enough on her plate. The bullying has only gotten worse. I hope Oliver tells me how to get rid of them soon. When I get home, I notice that my books weren’t on the table. That's weird, I left them there this morning. Maybe mom moved them into my room. I also notice that the bathroom light is on.

“Mom?” I call out.

“Hello.” I jump and spin around, but when I see who’s there I stop.

“Who- Oliver?”

“But I thought you couldn’t get through the mir-”

He stops me then says, “Well once I heard about your bully problems, I immediately decided to find a way through.”

“Oh! Thank you? But you barely know me.” Why would he help me? Maybe he has a life like mine and is being bullied too.

“Well I’ve been watching you for a while, trying to decide the best way to reveal myself.”

Little bit suspicious, but you do you boo!, I think.

“Now let me tell you the plan.” The plan was that we would scare them. Oliver said he had a gun with fake bullets, and we would just threaten them with it. I asked if they would tell and get me in jail, however Oliver said that we would also threaten them if they told on me. I was skeptical at first, but I really think this is gonna work!

~~~~~~~

After hiding Oliver in my room for a few days so my mom doesn't find him, we sneak out around 9:00 and go to the park I knew Jessica and Chad would be at at this time. When we get there, I see Jessica sitting on top of the play equipment like it's her castle and she's the queen.

She probably does think that, I thought.

Well that ends now.

“Go on,” Oliver whispers. “Go up to her.”

Handing me the gun, he pushes me into the light.

“Why are you here!” Jessica’s facial expression immediately gives away the fact that she did not expect me to be here.

“I’m done with you bullying me!” I yell. “I hate it, and there’s no reason for you to!” When I hold up the gun, that's what really does it. The look on Chad’s face is of pure terror.

“Jessica I don’t want to die!” he pleads.

“Oh be quiet you wimp! It’s obviously not a real gun, she’d never be able to find one, the goody-two-shoes she is.”

“Try me.” I mutter, and then I shoot at Chad and Jessica.

“Yes!” Yells Oliver from the shadows, and when I look back at the pair, I see them on the ground, red stains on their clothes.

“W-what? I thought it was fake! How could I do this? I’m a good kid I-” Panicking, I realize who's fault this truly is.

“Why would you put real bullets in!” I look in Oliver's eyes, searching for answers.

“Well if I told you they were real you wouldn’t do it. Now you don’t have to worry about them ever again.” Looking over at the bodies he smirks.

“I just wanted to scare them, not- And what if the police come? I can’t go to jail!” I start to go into a panic, hysterically laughing, tears coming out of my eyes while crouching to my knees. The only thing I hear before I pass out is Oliver saying, “Come on, let's get you home.”

~~~~~~~

I wake up to the sound of my alarm just like any other day, but I know it isn’t any other day. Oliver is nowhere to be seen (no surprise there) and so I get ready like normal and head to school. When I get there, I half expect Jessica to come out of nowhere and start making fun of my clothes or something, but then I remember she's dead. And I killed her. I try to push the thought out of my head but I can still feel it burning back there. I go to my class and another day starts.

When I get home I start looking for Oliver. I look through every mirror in the house, but all I see is my own reflection looking back at me. Then I look in all the hiding places I know; finding nothing.

“You killed them.” I hear the whisper echo through the house.

“Oliver?!” I hurry out of my room and look in the mirrors. No one is there. Now, that makes me wonder. Why haven’t I seen my mom's doppelganger? Or why Oliver never talks about his world. Should I have ever trusted him? I was so hopeful for a friend, that I always believed what he said. Was anything he told me true? These realizations make me panic. How could I let this happen? What if this is someone trying to mess with my mind? Well it's working, I think. With the death of Jessica and Chad, it's only a matter of time before the police show up, asking for answers. I have to run. Yes, that's it! Racing back to my room, I grab my school bag and start shoving my phone, extra clothes, blankets, money, and anything else I can think of. I’m about to go downstairs to grab food, when I hear the door open and my mom yells,

“I’m home!” Well there goes my plan. I’ll just sneak out tonight like when Oliver and I- No! I can’t think of that. Not now.

“Hi mom” I say after I hide the bag in my closet and tromp downstairs. “How was your day?”

“Oh you know, the usual.” Going around me, she sets her bags on the counter and opens the pantry.

“Hey mom?”

“Yes honey?”

“You know I love you, right?” Now she’s listening. She turns around to look at me and says,

“Of course honey, and I love you too. Are you alright?”

“Oh yeah, just letting you know!”

“Ok..” This will make me feel ten times more guilty when I leave.

~~~~~~~

My alarm is set to 2:00 am. I quickly turn it off after I wake up and get the bag from my closet. Making sure I have everything, I sneak downstairs and start putting food in it.

“Killer. How could you?” Spinning around I whisper,“Who’s there?”

But of course no one answers. He never does, no matter how much I call out to him. I grab my car keys and try to keep the door quiet as I close it. Also, yes I have a car, and am just as liable to cause an accident when I’m tired as when I’m awake, so that's why I don’t drive it to school. Why am I driving it at 2 am then you ask? Well I don't know man, I’m not really thinking about what I do anymore. Thankfully the car is parked outside, so I don’t have to deal with the noisy garage. Starting the car I drive off. I’m not really sure where I’m driving, but somewhere out of the state.

It’s been four days now. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I don’t know what to do. I’ve been hearing the whispers even more often now, even though I’m out of the house and out of the state. I feel so alone, and I know nothing can save me from this. When I look in a puddle I see him, when I see reflections in the light I see him, I’ve even seen him in an old shiny spoon I saw. I had always heard of people being driven out of their homes by “ghosts”, but I had never believed it before. I sure do now. I found an empty field to stay in, and I’ve just been sleeping in my car. I found a well for a water source, but I’m going to run out of food soon. I’ll need to go into the city to buy more supplies, however I’m dreading it. Whenever I see Oliver I jump and scream, so if I see him while in the city who knows what might happen.

Gathering my courage, I start the car. The closest place is a gas station, so I’m going there. I park in the parking lot, and walk into the gas station, bearing in mind what could happen. The clerk shouts out a lazy hello, however I ignore her. I have a mission, and I must complete it before it's too late.

Protein first, I think.

That and carbs will keep me going. Once I get that, I move back to the fridges to get energy drinks. When I try to open the door, I look up up and see-

“Hello there, Olive.” He leans toward me and the next thing I know, he reaches out and touches my face.

“I’ve missed you.”

“No. No!” I fall and scramble back.

This can’t happen. I know I was wary of it, but I thought I could control myself. And yet here I am, scrambling on the floor like a crazy person. I’m not crazy! What would ever make you think that!? The store clerk comes running and asks if I’m ok.

“Oh I’m fine” I say. “I just saw my mirror doppleganger and he gave me a fright is all!”

“Oh, ok! You stay right here, and I’ll be back with some ice” She says with a smile.

That's so nice of her! I’m glad she doesn't think I’m crazy. I sit there for a while, And after a bit, I’m wondering when she’ll come back. I get up and walk to the counter. But before I can reach it, I’m suddenly grabbed from behind.

“Hey!” I shout. I struggle, but whoever is behind me is very strong, and soon enough I’ve been wrestled into handcuffs.

“Hey, why am I being arrested!” When I twist my neck to see who's behind me, I see a police officer with a gruff face.

“I’m sorry ma'am” He says. “All patients must be temporarily restrained before they get to the hospital, not my choice, but that's how it is.”

“Hospital! I'm not crazy! Just look, he's there, right there!”

But when I look, Oliver isn’t there anymore. The officer drags me out the door and puts me in the back of his car. When I look out, I see they’re towing mine.

“Why am I going to a hospital! I don’t need it, please you have to believe me, he’s real!” I plead.

But he’s not talking to me anymore. If I'm going to a hospital, then will they call my mom? It would be nice to see her again. I don’t know if they’d let me though. We start driving, and I notice how dark it is outside. Didn’t I come in daylight? I think.

“Can’t you at least tell me what time it is?” I say.

“It’s 4:00 am” He says.

Woah. Was I there for that long, or did I just not notice it was dark? When we get to the hospital, nurses come out and take me. When we get inside, they immediately put me into different clothes and whisk me away to an all white room with a simple bed and a reflective surface that's almost like a mirror. Wait, a mirror! Before I can say anything, they leave me and lock the door.

“No! You can’t leave me in here with the mirror! Please, no!” I scream and punch the wall, but no one comes.

“No, please, no” I sink to the floor with sudden exhaustion, however before I can fall asleep I hear,

“Welcome back darling.”

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Yeah so that was terrible but have it anyway.

#original character #original story #writing #creative writing #doppleganger #mirror #creepy #scary stories #cringe #8th grade

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darkysilverwing · 1 year ago

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So imagine Groundhog Day, the movie with Bill Murray in it where he's stuck in a time loop. He can be shot, stabbed, burned to death, and he wakes up just fine. That's the scenario I'm kinda living in, only time keeps going for me.

I don't know what happened when I turned 20, but when I turned 25 I was walking down the stairs in socks, carrying a big plate of mashed potatoes. I ended up slipping down the stairs and breaking my neck, next thing I know I'm sitting at the bottom of the stairs, perfectly fine, as a matter of fact i'm feeling better than fine! All the way until I turn around and see my own dead body, head twisted at a sickening angle, a bit of blood dribbling out of the mouth, it was... intense...

I'm honest enough to admit that I threw up, I still can't look at creamed corn the same way, but shortly thereafter one of my friends popped by unanounced for a visit, only to find me standing over my own corpse.

Cue about an hour of us both freaking out, Followed by a little bit of a struggle as they assumed I was just a lookalike trying to steal their life or something cause they were a bit of a conspiracy theoriest, it took one sharp blow against the coffee table to disprove their point as I apparently appeared right next to them in a flash of light.

A few more questions later they decided to help me bury the bodies in the back yard cause there is no way in hell the police were going to be called for this, what would I even say? what would happen if I got the death sentence and then just appeared next to my dead body? No it was just seen as a lot simpler to just bury the bodies and never let anyone see.

That was almost 150 years ago.

I did manage to die of old age once, back in the 60's, my grandson had just returned from the war missing a few fingers and an eye, but otherwise alive and well, he held my hand and cried as I slipped into the abyss, only to instantly become furious when turning in the hospital to see some 20 year old kid standing behind him. He instantly assumed that I was some long lost grandkid from some sorted affair, which was easy enough to spin as true, just had to fake a letter, which was easy since I had the same handwriting.

Only downside being the fact that I also ended up the perfect age to get drafted.

I'll be honest, I don't remember too much of what happened in the war, spent too much of it dead, my platoon called me Catboy cause they assumed I had 9 lives. So many stories floated around of them me stepping on a landmine and getting lucky by jumping into a nearby, hidden ditch, or falling into a punji pit and missing every spike.

Soon enough they took it for granted that I was somehow just lucky, which was great cause they never questioned when i got shot, or poisoned or burned or whatever else was thrown at us, I'd always end up back at camp without a single scratch on me.

Granted there were a few days where I hated my abilites, watching my best friend get stabbed and slowly bleed out with no way of me to stop it wasn't great, and I've never actually figured out what caused my abilities to manifest. It wasn't genetic cause none of my family seemed to have it, and it wasn't chemical cause I've done my fair share of studying the physical sciences and I've found no deviation from the norm in my body. Only thing I can think of is either it's fucking magic or science hasn't caught up to what I am yet.

I think the worst part is thinking of the implications though, like back when everyone was afraid that russia was going to nuke us I was worried about how being the only human left alive would affect me, how much succumbing to radiation sickness over and over again would suck, how the entire earth could be covered in a thick layer of my corpses before I stay alive enough to foster a bit of a life.

I even asked one particularly confused butcher on the best types of dishes that could be make just using the body parts of an animal, with no herbs or spices, and I did learn how to make bone bread so I guess I could always just eat my own dead body over and over again if it really came down to it.

Thankfully things did seem to clear up around the turn of the century. Tech started innovating like crazy, people started becoming much more connected, and sure, things ended up being a lot more visible so the world seemed to start getting worse but in all honesty crime's been dropping for decades, you just see more of what's actually happening.

And that's where we reach today, where once again I was carrying a plate of mashed potatoes down the stairs in socks. You'd think I'd learn my lesson after all these years but I guess not.

Looks like I gotta find the shovel again.

#immortal

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j-j-ehlby-writes · 4 years ago

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Dodger Knows Best

Pairing: Chris Evans x Wife!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Summary: Dodger’s been acting strange since quarantine started. Does he know something that we don’t?

Warning: Fluff, of course

A/N: Inspired by Chris’s reading of “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” at the beginning of COVID. Only took me a year to write 🙄

My Masterlist

I couldn’t stop giggling as I hear my husband reading aloud in the other room. I try my best not to make too much noise though, I don’t want to ruin the video. When he was asked to read a children’s book during this trying time we’re currently in, he couldn’t have said yes fast enough. Being the big kid he is, I know how excited he was to do it.

Every day he finds new ways to give back to those who have lost their jobs and those who are missing school. He knows how important education is, especially right now. So he made it his goal to do at least one thing to help people per day during this quarantine.

Oh, what a wonderful world we live in right now...

This time spent at home has been much needed, but equally frustrating. I haven’t felt well for a few months now, prior to this pandemic. Getting to stay home, sleep in, not put on a bra or real clothes, cuddling my husband and our boy Dodger has been comforting. It’s frustrating that I’ve been stuck in the house, not able to leave for almost two weeks. The small amount of freedom that I get from walking Dodger is going to be taken away sooner rather than later in order to try and stop this pandemic.

Chris has enjoyed being home as much as I’ve loved having him home. However, I know he wants to get back to work. There are some projects he’s been most anxious to work on that are now on hold.

He’s been super protective of me since he’s been home. He’s insisted on doing anything that has to do with possibly interacting with another human being- getting groceries, take-out, other necessities. Dodger also hasn’t left my side since I’ve been home. Chris was insulted at first, claiming I stole his buddy. I just figured he was happy I was home.

“And chances are if he gets some apple juice, he’ll want a donut to go with it.”

I giggle again, unable to contain it. I hear the amusement in his tone as he concludes his video. I finish making lunch and join him in the living room, Dodger following at my feet. “How was it?”

“A little weird reading to my phone, but,” he smiles up at me, “I enjoyed it.”

“Are you going to read to our kids someday?” I set down his plate before sitting next to him.

“Abso-freaking-lutely! I can’t wait.” An even bigger smile took over his entire face as the thought crosses his mind. We’ve talked about having kids since before we got married. He loves being around his niece and nephews and it shows just how much he yearns for a family of his own. When we officially became a family of two plus Dodger, we immediately started trying. We’ve had some close calls, but all false alarms.

Until yesterday morning.

“How were those top secret errands you just had to do alone this morning?” He asks after taking a bite of his sandwich.

“That reminds me!” I get back up and head to the bedroom, where I hid a present in my side of the closet. I pull the plastic bag out from behind some of my maxi dresses, taking the contents out before bending down to Dodger.

I struggle to put him in the small t-shirt I bought him. He’s a wiggle worm and wouldn’t stop trying to lick my face. Once it’s secure, I take my phone out, open the camera app and snap a few pictures before switching to video mode.

After hitting the red record button, I stand up again. “Alright Dodger, let’s go get Daddy!” As I start walking, he’s just barely ahead of me. We head back into the living room.

He immediately cracks up when he sees Dodger with his new shirt. He asks how I even managed to get it on him, giving him some love and multiple kisses on his muzzle. I command for Dodger to sit, which he obeys. Chris kneels down to try and read what the shirt says. Dodger makes it hard since all he wants to do is lick Chris’s face. It takes a few tries before Dodger finally sits still enough for him to read it.

I wait with bated breath, biting my lips trying to hide the biggest smile. We’ve waited so long for this moment. I’ve imagined how I was going to tell him about a hundred times when it was finally confirmed and we were passed the safe mark.

He looks up at me with his mouth agape. “Are you serious?”

I peek from behind my phone and nod. “That’s what the errand was.”

“Wait, really?”

“I wanted to confirm it before telling you.” I hoped he wouldn’t be mad that I didn’t bring him to the first doctor’s appointment. With how many close calls we’ve had, I wanted to be doubly sure that it was happening before even getting remotely excited about the prospect.

“So, you’re sure?” He stands up and comes closer to me. “You’re pregnant?” The biggest smile I’ve ever seen on my husbands face takes over. I nod. “We’re having a baby?” I see the tears building in his eyes. He scoops me up in his arms. He spins around, exclaiming “We’re having a baby!”

“Now it all makes sense why Dodge hasn’t left my side.” Dogs have that kind of intuition. He must have sensed the change in me before even I knew what was happening.

“Of course he knew.” He rolls his eyes before turning his gaze down to the all-knowing pup. He sits there in his “Baby’s First Bodyguard” t-shirt, smiling up at us as if confirming that yes, he is the all-knowing.

I guess Chris and I learned an important lesson: always listen to Dodger for he knows best.

~*~

Taglist: @the-marvel-wars @elusive-beauty @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @fantasy-is-my-reality @princess-evans-addict

#dodger knows best #Chris Evans #christopher robert evans #christopher evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans drabble #chris evans oneshot #dodger #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x pregnant!reader #chris evans x wife!reader

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elvish-sky · 4 years ago

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How Gandalf and Pippin Put Aside Their Differences for the Greater Good {Faramir x Reader}

A.N: OK GUYS- i literally tied my hand to my sister’s to figure out some of the logistics of movement for this. She thinks I’m crazy now. But I loved this request! I’m currently catching up on requests and also dealing with some personal issues, and I haven’t been happy with anything I’ve written in a really long time, but I’m really happy with this! It would mean so much to me if you guys liked it too, I put so much work into this and I’m so proud of it!

also- a thousand thank you’s to @gossip-girl-of-middle-earth for giving me an idea for this fic. i appreciate you letting me use it so so much. thank you.

Requested by @raineeace on Tumblr: Your recent request you wrote was beyond cute! You’re an amazing writer, so catch me reading the rest of your LOTR content !! I also wanted to request something as well! Can you do a Faramir x Fem!Reader and Gandalf and/or Pippin try to get them together? I loved the how you wrote Aragorn as cupid, and I wanted to ask if you could make these two matchmakers as well? Lots of fluff please and I can’t wait to see what you come up with! :)

Word Count: 2,334

Pairing: Faramir x Reader

Summary: You and Faramir have been mooning over each other for months, but nothing has come of Pippin’s efforts to get you together. What happens when Pippin enlists the help of a certain wizard?

Warnings: Fluff, Humor

****

How Gandalf and Pippin Put Aside Their Differences for the Greater Good {Faramir x Reader}

Pippin leaned over the banister, watching you and Faramir walk together below. You smiled at something the man said, then nodding your head goodbye and walking away. The hobbit watched as Faramir stood there, watching you go, looking oddly lonely.

Pippin had been watching/trying to get you and Faramir together for a while now. He had first noticed the chemistry and romantic tension between you when everyone was gathered waiting for Frodo to heal, and decided to do something about it. Now, months later, nothing had happened. Pippin thought that at this point neither of you was ever going to confess your very obvious feelings for the other.

At least, not without some extra help.

“Come on, Gandalf, please?”

The wizard shook his head, “I cannot believe you are still going on about this.”

“They need the help,” Pippin told him, “Plus, getting them to admit their feelings to each other would help them, and ease your exasperation with the two of them for walking in circles around each other!”

The wizard shook his head. “I’m not going to help you with this!”

“It’s for the greater good! Can you really stand to see the two of them mooning over each other all the time?”

“That’s true. It’s getting ridiculous,” Gandalf sighed, “Fine. I’ll help. Where do we start?”

Back in your room, you lifted your head from your desk as a loud, hobbitish whoop rand through the air. You chalked it up to Pippin hitting another elf, probably Legolas, with an apple, and returned to your work. You hoped that it wasn’t Legolas that Pippin had hit, because the last time that happened Legolas had promptly eaten the apple, and Pippin had bemoaned the loss of his snack for weeks.

That night, you left your room, closing the door behind you and setting off down the hallway. You’d barely made it fifteen feet when another door opened right in front of you and Faramir came rushing out, crashing into you.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there, I feel terrible!”

“It’s okay!”

You shuffled your feet, nervous to be so close to the person you’d been in love with for months.

It was also weird how close your rooms were- Aragorn had given everyone from the Fellowship and friends special quarters after his coronation. You could understand why the hobbits’ rooms were so close together, but wondered why Aragorn had placed you and Faramir almost directly across from each other. Probably because the two of you worked together the closest on negotiations with the other kingdoms.

Eventually, Faramir broke the silence with an awkward laugh.

“So, late to dinner?”

You smiled, glad he’d spoken first.

“Yeah. I got so focused on drafting that new trade agreement with the Iron Hills that I didn’t realize how low the sun was.”

He nodded. “I completely understand, I’ve done that far too many times, working on something like that or staying outside the city for far too long.”

Laughing, you looped your arm through his. “We should get to dinner before Aragorn yells at us.”

You entered the hall together, pushing open the doors to see your friends all seated around the high table. Dinners with the group had started when everyone was waiting for Frodo to heal and wake up and had just continued on, everyone reluctant to give up the time spent together.

Letting go of Faramir’s arm, you took your usual seat between him and his brother.

“What prompted you two to arrive together?” Boromir winked at you as he whispered.

“Huh? Oh, we just bumped into each other in the hall.”

“Sure, sure,” he smirked as he spoke.

“Pass the potatoes, please, Boromir.” You were determined to change the subject, and, happily, it seemed to have worked.

What you didn’t notice was Gandalf staring intently at you and Faramir, muttering something under his breath as Pippin watched gleefully.

You yawned, pushing your empty plate away with a groan.

“I’m stuffed. And tired. I think I’ll head to my rooms.”

Everyone said goodbye, and you pushed back your chair and went to stand.

But you couldn’t.

There were handcuffs on, one on your wrist, and the other on Faramir’s. And they hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Who handcuffed us?” You were bewildered.

“Gandalf…” Faramir glared at the wizard.

Gandalf glanced behind himself, and, seeing no one, turned back around with an innocent expression.

“What could I have done to make this happen?” He gestured to your hands, still handcuffed together.

Faramir said, “I don’t know, but it had to have been you!”

“Ask yourself this, Faramir. What motivation could I have possibly had? I think one you probably just ran astray of something else?”

You sucked in a deep breath.

“Okay, then, how do we make it stop?”

“Only time will tell,” the wizard nodded sagely.

“What are we supposed to do until then?” You exclaimed.

“Just stay together? Do everything together?” Pippin looked all too pleased by this.

“Fine. C’mon Faramir.”

The man rose, and together you marched out of the hall, handcuffs clanking, never moving further than five inches apart.

Once in the hallway, you turned to Faramir, panicked.

“What do we do? We’re stuck five inches, or less, apart from each other for Eru knows how long, we both have important duties.”

“And there’s going to the bathroom, and sleeping, and eating..” he was just as freaked out as you.

You turned to each other.

“What are we going to do?!”

“Y/N, Faramir, chill.”

You tried to turn, but the clanking and tug on your wrist stopped you as you spun the wrong way, twisting yourself with Faramir.

“Ok, no wait,” he backed up, accidentally taking you with him.

“Here, go this way, move your hand left.”

“No, no, my left, my left.”

“Spin this way?”

“You go under, I go over?”

“Aha! Yes, that worked!” You high-fived each other clunkily, and turned, making sure to bring your arms over your heads so that your hands fell back again.

“Oh, Pippin! What were you saying?”

Pippin smiled at Faramir. “I can help.”

“Would you mind telling us how?”

“You just have to accept it!”

“WHAT?” You screamed in unison.

Back in the hall, Aragorn winced at the echo of the yell.

“Are you sure this was a good idea?” He questioned the wizard.

“Of course not,” Gandalf replied, “but it was not mine. It was all Pippin, and if anything goes wrong that’s who we’ll blame.”

Legolas chuckled. “Alright then. We’ll leave it all on Pippin.”

Boromir raised a mug of ale. “TO-”

He was cut off by a resounding shush, and, chastened, began again.

“To Y/N and Faramir”

Everyone echoed the sentiment, quietly, and clinked their mugs.

Back in the hallway, you and Faramir were glaring at Pippin.

“You want us to just live like this?”

“Yes! You’ll be fine, maybe it’ll wear off soon, and maybe you’ll learn something.”

“Ughhhhhh,” you stormed away, dragging Faramir behind you.

Approaching your door, you were suddenly stopped when Faramir halted behind you.

“What?”

He shuffled his feet. “Whose room are we staying in?”

You considered. “Which one is bigger? We’ll need all the maneuvering space we can get.”

You walked together over to your doorway, poking your heads inside before moving back to his.

“Yours.”

“Mine?” He asked.

“Yeah. You have more space and a bigger bed. Let’s just go back to my room so that I can grab a few things if I’ll be staying with you indefinitely.”

“How are we going to do this?”

You stared at Faramir’s bed.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

You hadn’t thought this situation could get any more awkward, but there it was. The crown jewel of awkwardness, coming out to torment you. It had been bad enough attempting to change into your nightclothes, which you’d managed by turning your backs to each other to put them on, and only wearing one sleeve. But this was worse.

You decided to just go for it, and climbed into the bed, sliding under the sheets. Your movement pulled the handcuffs so that Faramir went with you, and you ended up on one side of the bed, him on the other, hands cuffed together in the center.

“This is not very comfortable,” Faramir observed.

That was true. You were lying flat on your back when you always slept on your side, and you were literally handcuffed to another person. Unable to stand the absurdity of it all, you broke out into laughter.

Faramir joined in, and you laughed together until you had tears in your eyes. His smile was so bright in the dimly lit room, and you could listen to his laugh for a thousand years without getting sick of it.

When the laughter subsided, you decided nothing could be more uncomfortable than the position your body was currently stuck in.

“Do you usually sleep on your side?”

Faramir nodded, looking a little confused.

“Ok. I’m going to try something, it’s going to be really awkward, but we might actually be able to sleep.”

“I trust you, Y/N. Whatever you’re going to do will be fine.”

You smiled at him, internally still freaking out that you were sharing a bed with Faramir. But there was no time to panic, your shoulder was killing you.

Taking a deep breath, you flipped so that the handcuffed arm was now underneath you, chain stretching up to where Faramir’s arm hovered.

“Would you be alright with putting your arm over my waist?” You wanted to make sure he was comfortable with all this.

Craning your neck, you saw a faint blush creeping up his face in the dusky light.

“Only if it’s ok with you,” he seemed nervous.

You were too, but you nodded and felt him slowly settle his arm around your waist.

Once it was there, his hand gently hanging near your stomach, you both relaxed, letting out sighs as the tension left your bodies simultaneously.

And then you giggled. Again, because this was just too ridiculous.

He laughed too. “You alright?”

You nodded, the movement of your head bumping into his chest as he sucked in a breath.

“I’m good.”

It took a while for each of you to fall asleep, brains spinning with thoughts of the person next to you. But eventually, you did.

It was the best you had slept in years.

The next day, the two of you began to figure out how to go around with your hands stuck together. You ate by spooning the food into each other’s mouths one at a time, which you were pretty sure Boromir was sketching to memorialize forever.

You blinked your eyes open the next day to sunlight streaming through the windows, and soft breathing behind you. Carefully, you turned around so that your hands now rested between your bodies.

Faramir’s face was glowing with the light of the morning sun, hair spread on the pillow. You’d never seen him so peaceful, and he looked gorgeous like some Vala come across the world to Gondor.

Unable to resist the impulse, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

You quickly moved back, only to notice that the weight on your hand was gone.

You looked down.

The handcuffs were gone.

“Faramir! Faramir!” You shook him awake.

“What, Y/N?” He asked groggily.

His morning voice was perfection itself, and you had to bring yourself back to reality.

“The handcuffs are gone. Look!”

He shot up at this, looking down at his now-free hand.

“Wow! We should probably go let Gandalf know.”

You nodded. “Meet you in the hall in ten minutes?”

He gave you a thumbs up, and the last thing you saw as you closed the door was Faramir marveling at his now-free wrist.

Later, in the room that Gandalf had claimed as his office right next to the large hall where you usually ate, you sat together.

The wizard inquired, “What exactly happened?”

“The handcuffs were gone when I woke up,” Faramir told him.

“That shouldn’t have just happened. They were supposed to disappear when a physical manifestation of your affection for each other happened.”

“You did this?” You were outraged.

“Yes, Y/N, I did.”

Sensing that you were about to interrupt in outrage again, he added on.

“It should have been a physical manifestation of affection that was not circumstantial because of the handcuffs.”

You sighed, knowing what it was.

Faramir turned to you. “Do you know what it could have been?”

You stared straight at the floor.

“I… kissed your cheek when I woke up this morning.”

He blinked at you, shocked. Gandalf discreetly slipped out the door.

“You just looked so handsome in the sunlight with your hair glowing and I couldn’t resist and I’m so sorry and I’ll leave Gondor right now and never come back and what you must think of me no-”

“Y/N.”

You stopped rambling, looking at Faramir. He leaned closer to you, and in the depths of his eyes, you saw nothing but love. He paused for a moment, head tilted as if asking for your permission.

You nodded your head.

Faramir moved closer, tilting your chin up so that his lips met yours, kissing you oh-so-gently. Then somehow you were standing, lips still touching his as he surged closer and kissed you harder, like all the passion and feeling in the world was just pouring out of him and into you.

Finally, you broke apart, smiles on both your faces.

“I think I love you.,” you said, then clapped a hand over your mouth.

Faramir smirked. “It’s okay, Y/N.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you too.”

You gazed at each other for a few moments, before you grabbed his hand.

“Now, let’s go kill a wizard.”

Opening the doors to the hallway, you saw said wizard suddenly disappear.

You corrected yourself.

“Let’s go kill that wizard once he returns from wherever he’s hidden himself.”

Faramir laughed. “Let’s kill Gandalf later. For now, would you like to go for a walk?”

You smiled at him, looping your arm through his and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Lead on, my love.”

Everything tag❤️: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @kumqu4t @katbby16 @thewhiteladyofrohan @kirstenscaffeinateddisaster @beenovel @shethereadinghobbit @guardianofrivendell @hey-its-nonny

Fic tag: @eru-vande @annkdarar @lust4crust @the-reformed-ringwraith @ethereal-earendil

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nebulus-frd · 3 years ago

Note

Jealous and protective Rowan and oblivious Aelin in a modern established relationship au

Hi!!!

Thank u so much for the request. I loved your prompt and also love Rowaelin deeply. Hope u enjoy it ♡

If you liked it or not, let me know. Leave a comment, compliments and especially, constructive critics, are always welcomed.

Wanna request your story? Come ⋆⭒ here ⋆⭒, tell me everything. ----------

The beach. The sea. Them.

Synopsis: Modern AU where Rowan and Aelin finally get a deserved vacation. But he isn't enjoying all the attention given to his wife during the first day of it.

Rated: T

Warnings: implied sexual content. If I forgot anything, let me know.

Words: 1700+ (oneshot).

1/1

It was their first time back at the beach after being married.

The life of a military couple was hectic, to say the least, but Rowan and Aelin were rather used to the chaos. This explained why Rowan found himself alone in bed on the first morning of their vacation. Although his wife had always been a late riser, he knew better than anyone how hard it was to break their routine and if he himself hadn’t take medicine to fall asleep, he wouldn’t probably have slept at all.

Not bothering to properly dress, Rowan moved to the kitchen only to find it empty. Did she go grocery shop? But to his surprise not only was the fridge completely packed, but three sandwiches also topple each other on a plate next to a note.

Good morning princess, did you sleep well? Not even a true love kiss was able to break from the evil medicine spell. I’m training on the beach. Join me… Or not, if you feel like sleeping throughout the entirety of our vacation.

Love,

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.

Rowan didn’t even feel the smile that broke through him. God, I love her. Of course, she was training. His wife always called him a workaholic and a military freak, only to always prove herself one. The food was warm enough for her not to have left for too long. And in half an hour Rowan found himself heading to their hotel gym.

Where was Aelin?

He had circulated the gym area twice without success in the mission of joining his wife. Could she be at the beach? It wouldn’t be a surprise. Aelin loves the sea, the sunny weather, and the heat on her skin.

Eight years ago, if someone said to Rowan that there were people who loved those things, he would have straight-out laughed in their faces. He couldn’t anymore. He had learned to appreciate each of these unlike anyone else.

Rowan loved the smile Aelin would have while watching the sea, loved the glow her eyes would reflect under the sun’s light, loved the heat from Aelin’s heart.

His wife had changed each perspective he had in his life.

And while at the beach, once again he asked himself how the hell, he was deserving of the woman he married to?

Aelin was coming out of the sea, dressed in a swimsuit that covered a lot more of what he was used to seeing, looking like the sea god herself had descended in the mortal world to bestow her beauty upon mortals. Thus, Rowan was hindered breathless and as soon as their eyes locked up, he could listen to her thoughts through them.

“Are you delight with the view?”

And the smile that broke in her lips made his knees go weak. She pointed to a small pile of clothes at his right and he could recognize the tennis beside it. As soon as they met Rowan girdled his arm around her hips and kissed her.

“Missed me much?” Aelin asked holding a smirk while still in his arms. Her turquoise eyes nailed on his green-forest ones. The only answer she received was a grunt and a heavy head dropping in her shoulder. “You know you could use words, rather than growling like a beast”, which made Aelin feel the smile coming from her husband, she could picture it too: the perfect set of teeth accompanied by two fangs that were borderline not-human, which had left so many marks on last night's activities, she had almost come to the beach in a diver suit.

“I can’t be bothered. There are a lot of more interesting things to do with my mouth… And my tong…”, Rowan’s impure statement was interrupted by the sound of Aelin’s phone ring, it took a moment for the woman to snap out of the mood her husband had put them in. Poor object, it earned a glare that, if possible, would have transformed it into ashes.

“Oh hi!... Yes, of course, I’m coming… Right, next to the bar… Yes, be there in a few”, she said on the phone friendly. With whom she could have made prior appointments?

“Where are you going?”, Rowan asked confused, involuntarily holding her tighter, Aelin didn’t hide the smile at her husband's unwillingness.

“WE are going to a functional training, apparently the hotel holds them every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday”, she said while putting on a pair of shorts and her tennis, Rowan just nodded in answer.

Once they were in the central area, the closer location between the hotel’s pools and the beach, the equipment could already be seen as well as 10 people roaming around it. Soon enough a man came up to them greeting Aelin, too friendly to Rowan’s likeness, although he could only spot the top of his head.

“Miss Galathnyius, it’s good to have you with us today”, the strange said while avoiding looking at Rowan’s side but he did not miss a beat.

“It’s Mrs.” his accented and low voice seemed to reverberate, earning him an alarmed glance from the instructor, as he had taken from his clothes and name tag.

“Yes, of course. Mr. and Mrs. Galathnyius it’s a pleasure to have both of you here”, the smaller man seemed ready to bolt as he alternated his looks from Rowan’s face tattoo and Aelin’s mirth-filled eyes, she just nodded and that was very well what he did. She knew it wasn’t jealousy from her husband, more like his inability to not correct a mistaken person.

Oh, how wrong she was.

…

Half an hour throughout the class, Rowan was calculating how much trouble would he be if he were to beat three civilians. As the training was open to anyone at the beach, around fifteen more people had come to enjoy the activities. Including a group of four men, who seem too inclined to help Aelin with her training.

Which had made Rowan seeing red since he heard the first suggestion in correcting Aelin’s posture during a core exercise. Whilst his wife seemed completed oblivious as not only agreed to a few suggestions and gave tips of her own. Rowan didn’t mind that both were right.

Nonetheless, at each suggestion made by a stranger, Rowan would casually assert his territory. Moving closer to Aelin, helping her with the weights and holding her during an exercise that required it. Of course, there was the possibility that none of the people participating held any second intentions towards his wife and were only trying to be helpful. He seriously doubted it, even though that was what Aelin seem to think.

Usually, Rowan had never been one to bluntly be jealous and if he found it necessary to discuss attitude with someone, he wouldn’t do it in front of Aelin. But he’d gone apeshit when one of the guys from before made a move to touch her while he went to grab for water. Fuck this. He had been by her side every single moment. What’s with these disrespectful motherfuckers?

The man whose hands extended to help Aelin in moving the piece on her waist only caught a movement in corner of his eyes before a mountain of a man was before him. His eyes caught a glimpse of a wicked tattoo on the man’s face, which had been hidden by the cap he was using.

Rowan’s intimidating demeanor and the fucking gold ring in his and hers left hands were more than enough for assholes to grasp the situation.

She is mine, I’m hers. Fuck off.

Either it was the rings or himself didn’t matter. Apparently, with one look everybody understood his warning.

…

However, nine hours later, he’d been left baffled as his wife complained how, after he glued himself to her side, nobody had talked or interacted with her anymore.

“Well, if you weren’t such a territorial bastard today, we could have made some friends that could introduce us to the town”, she said as they had clearly lost themselves while looking for a Japanese restaurant.

“I beg your pardon?”, Rowan answered seeing red all over again just from remembering the previous event.

“Oh, come on, you thought I did notice? You were just asserting your territory for the heck of it”, she said not bothering with more than an eye roll, still searching the street’s name on their map.

“For the heck of it?”, Rowan was bewildered. Aelin thought he was doing that out of leisure?

“You couldn’t possibly be jealous of those guys from the beach, right?”, she said finally dropping the stupid map that had put them in their current predicament and looking straight into his eyes. Whatever she saw there gave Rowan his favorite smile. “You were….”, she laughed, loud and uncaring. Beautiful. “You are unbelievable”.

Like the viper his wife was, she stealthy approached him in that dark alley. “My cranky husband was jealous of some gym dudes?”, her voice was surrounded by arrogance and seductiveness. Reminding Rowan just who he had married with. The most confident, assertive, dazzling woman he had ever met.

Their eyes were locked on each other as she stalked him like a snake ready to consume her prey. His response to her provocation was nothing more than a grunt. “You know what you should have done?... You could have kissed me right there, ravished me, really… And I would’ve said thank you”.

After many years into their relationship, one would think that Rowan had become numb to Aelin’s advances. However, it was very much the opposite of it. He would be scandalized, shocked… And excited, she burned him with bold words and even bolder actions that made his head spin. His calloused hand didn’t miss one second into holding Aelin’s by her backside and his mouth went to her neck.

“Ditch dinner, Fireheart, I will show you what I would like to have done”, Rowan could feel Aelin’s thundering heartbeat, like his own due to their proximity. It would never lie to him, he affected her just as she did him.

“Oh, why, when you say with such gentleness. I suppose we could make something at home”, she smoothed her hand at Rowan’s ringed finger each word, handing him a bright smile by the end. “I love you”, albeit the sentence was said in a soft tone, it swept bothering feelings between the two, such as sea waves that accompanied their evening.

“To whatever end”, he said holding her left hand and as they walked toward the ocean. Free, unrestricted, and vast. Much like their love.

#rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin #aelin ashryver #fanfic request #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin au #modern setting #they are powerful military couple fight me #jealous rowan #oblivious aelin #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #tog #love them so much #rowaelin oneshot #oneshot

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years ago

Text

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible.

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims.

Whatever, really.

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies.

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though.

She’s positive about that, at least.

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie.

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect.

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers.

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate.

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why.

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does.

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too.

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really.

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so.

She’s happy for Scarlet, really.

They won the game.

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks.

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier.

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse.

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times.

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers.

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five.

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold.

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day.

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face.

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go.

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously.

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person.

And yet.

He sticks his hand out.

It’s disarmingly earnest.

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date.

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind.

She takes his hand.

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later.

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work.

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably.

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason.

When the Yankees make the postseason.

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face.

Much like the goddamn fireworks.

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault.

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either.

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened.

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions.

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off.

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them.

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand.

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information.

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that.

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter.

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart.

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least.

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs.

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted. An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,�� Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open.

They both jump.

So, that’s something.

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume.

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there.

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works.

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of.

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being.

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her.

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be.

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby.

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected.

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed.

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead.

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together.

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first.

She does her very best to memorize the movement.

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable.

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself.

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division.

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate.

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him.

Emma included. Emma, especially.

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins.

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then.

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now.

Got drafted, technically.

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back.

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #do not ask me why this is so full of ferngully references #i do not have an answer for you #the google doc title for this was: BaseballCuresWritersBlock #thanks baseball

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neonponders · 3 years ago

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I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself @hoegrove your Bond!au is just too strong.

Based on their post here ~

I hope you like it 🥺 🌹 it’s on ao3, if that’s easier for anyone to read 🌹

• • • • • • •

013.

Fucking 013. Not 00.

Which meant he’d have to wait for whoever got the 00 status he deserved to either die or become incompetent.

“Congratulations, Hargrove. Report to HQ for briefing.”

He’d rather be headed for the private plane that would take him to some tropical location, where capitalist monsters waited for his bullet.

Hargrove stepped out of the elevator onto the spacious floor. He really wished HQ would renovate. The concrete floors, glass walls, and metal beams were urban but not chic.

He found the corresponding desk of his... “partner” of sorts. Every number had a letter. The computer and the muscle. As Hargrove removed his outer garment, though, only the computer desk was present, while the person -

“Could you not dump your nasty jacket on my work station?”

Hargrove sighed and found the loon - on a bicycle. He frowned. “What the hell are you doing on a bike inside?”

“It helps me think,” Q said, riding slow laps in between the cubicles. Granted, there weren’t many of them, and Hargrove was pretty sure he’d only ever seen Q and maybe three other people on this entire floor, unless there was a crisis.

Maybe that’s why he had yet to be promoted to 00. Too much peace.

“Take your jacket off my seat!”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy cursed. He balled up the ruined jacket and threw at the bastard’s head. To his credit, he didn’t crash into anything. “Clean freak.”

“That’s Q to you,” he barked, dumping the raggedy garment into the nearest bin.

“Sure, Steve,” he purred, knowing his partner loathed the fact that he had figured out his real name. Hargrove wouldn’t work for just anybody, after all. And he was a detective first. Hired gun second.

He didn’t actually need Q. So he told himself. But Steve sure came in handy.

“So help me god, Billy. Did you at least keep my pen intact?”

“Your what?” He landed in Steve’s spinning chair, forcing the guy to lean his bike against his cubicle and stand with his hands on his hips.

“My pen, dip shit. You know, the one that’s basically a Swiss army knife. The one sanctioned by HQ to one Asshole Hargrove - ”

“Oh, that,” he said distantly, gazing out at the city around them. “It broke.”

Not surprised, nor impressed, Steve remarked, “You realize that if some nerd civilian reverse-engineers half the shit you lose, we might be genuinely compromised, right?”

“Then make better stuff.”

“Stop losing it, and you might actually be 00 one day.”

Billy glared with all the menace a man could while having his chair rolled out of the way. Steve shoved him aside with his foot and entered his computer password before navigating to the corresponding case briefs. Billy let his head recline on the seat while Steve went through the list.

“Target?”

“Deceased.”

“Car?”

“Totaled, but returned.”

“Pen: lost in action. Suspect?”

“Null. Excellent in bed, though.”

“You’re a cliche.” Steve glared from behind his glasses.

“Stop giving me cases with attractive people, then,” Billy smirked. “Who’s my next target? Tell me they live somewhere expensive and sunny.”

“Like a desert?”

“No, like Marseilles.”

“Oh, Marseilles is nice,” Steve chirped distractedly. “If you like French people.”

Billy snorted, but it evolved into laughter. “What’s wrong with French people?”

“They’re French.”

“Wow. Picky.”

Steve giggled under his breath and said, “I’m sorry I don’t have a gig for you in France.”

“I’m sure I’ll managed,” Billy sighed. “What do you have?”

“Something more domestic.”

Billy exhaled through his nose, warranting a curious peek from Steve. “Yeah, that’s what I’m stuck with. One zero and domestic jobs.”

“You’ll get there,” Steve reassured. Softly. Which was...odd.

Billy’s head rolled over the back of the chair to stare at him. Steve quickly added, “If you stop breaking the shit I loan you.”

Billy looked toward the ceiling, pressing his lips into an impertinent line...

“Q.”

“Hm?” he asked while typing away.

“There’s a bird in here.”

Steve looked at him. “What?” and followed his gaze up to the metal rafters. A grey bird gazed right back at them. “Oh shit - ”

Billy already had his pistol out. One shot knocked the bird off its perch. It landed with a loud, metallic clatter.

Steve's body doubled over when Billy wrenched his arm in the direction away from the device, and not a second too soon. The force of the explosion knocked them both over one cubicle and roughly onto the concrete floor.

"Q," Billy growled when the guy scrambled to his feet and back to his desk. He reached underneath it, uncovering a baseball bat of all things, and swung right over his hard drive. Metal and plastic debris rained over the floor, and then he ran to the router standing on a low piece of furniture along the wall. He wrenched its cables out and smashed the thing too.

Then he looked up at Agent Hargrove. "We're compromised."

Billy was already moving toward the scattered carcass of the spy bird. They didn't have a lot of time. Already, another explosive rumble sounded beneath their feet, on another floor. Billy quickly found the piece he was looking for, and pocketed it before yanking Steve in the direction of the stairs.

"I need a car."

"You know where the garage is."

"You're coming with me. That thing heard both of our names."

Steve defended, "We both lost our original identities when we signed up for this bullshit."

"We don't know what we're dealing with yet," Billy reasoned. "Until then, you're safest with me."

"Well that's pathetic." His words might've landed better if they didn't rattle out of him while they did their best to sprint down several dozen flights of stairs.

"You're really sassing me right now? What are you gonna do with that bat?"

Steve ignored that to proclaim, "We need to get to my place. I have a backup computer connected to the system."

"And how do we know it's not compromised too?"

"Because it's mine. Not the system's."

Billy could only frown at him ever so briefly, but he pocketed that information away for another time. For now, they descended into the belly of their organization, where the garage of vehicles rested beneath the city. There, another argument awaited him.

"You're not taking the goddamn Camaro."

"I'm taking the goddamn Camaro," Billy retorted, already ripping the keys out of the cabinet Steve unlocked for him.

"It's loud as all hell!"

"So are you. Get in the car."

Another explosion shook the concrete columns of the garage. Steve ducked his head and coughed on the dust while he threw himself into the car a millisecond before Billy left tire tracks on the floor. "What are you doing?"

Steve was pressing buttons on the dash. Somewhere behind them, a mechanical part was moving in the car. "We don't know how many birds infiltrated the building. I'm rotating the license plates - egh!"

He collapsed against his seat when the car angled up to speed onto the city streets. Billy mused, "And what can you do for speed trap cameras?" and held up a middle finger to the camera angled over the four-way intersection.

"Nothing yet. We'll have to trade cars eventually."

"Not soon enough."

"What?" Steve all but screeched, and turned around to see behind them. "At least you're not the only stereotype in this business."

He got the words out a moment before the large, black SUV rammed into the back of the Camaro. "Put your seatbelt on."

"IT IS ON!"

Steve provided his own chorus of swears and exclamations while Billy navigated through the city, tossing his partner left and right in his seat, avoiding another collision with the SUV that would spin them out of control. When Steve began digging through the glove box and lowering his window, Billy bellowed, "What are you doing?"

"A PEN!" he yelled before throwing something behind them. A second later, the SUV's front lifted off the road so the whole thing fell onto its side.

It was Billy's turn to exclaim, "Those things explode?"

"YES THEY EXPLODE!"

"YOU NEVER TOLD ME THEY EXPLODE!"

"WHY DO YOU THINK I TOLD YOU NOT TO TAP THE PEN THREE TIMES?"

"YOU ARE SO GODDAMN LUCKY MY DICK HASN'T BEEN BLOWN OFF."

Steve pointed out the front windshield. "BILLY!"

Another SUV narrowly rammed them from the side, but Billy pulled on the brake and swung the car into a 180. Some civilian took the brunt of that particular attack, but Billy officially needed to get them the hell out of here. Whoever wanted their heads for trophies didn't care about national news.

Which was possibly the most dangerous piece of this mess. Arguably the most powerful component of a country was its press, and these assholes didn't care if they earned the media's or internet's attention.

It was another aspect in itself that Billy had ridden in one too many black SUV's. That would also account for someone's ability to install too many explosive birds in the building.

"Billy?" Steve piped when he drove down the stairs leading to the boardwalk along the river. Billy focused on the new car behind them. He looked across the river at the opposite riverbank, where the walls sloped up. He needed to get over there.

The car rattled as he sped up a flight of stairs to the street once more, but did a hard left onto the bridge that crossed the river.

Down the stairs again, this time slaloming over the ramped wall, keeping an eye on his rearview to see how tunnel-visioned the SUV behaved.

A hand gripped the wide bell of his forearm. "Billy," Steve rasped. There wasn't a stairwell at the end of this riverbank. Just a concrete wall.

Billy went up the ramp, and braked with a hard turn on the steering wheel. The SUV tried to brake in time, but the Camaro clipped the back tire, and it spun right over the side into the river.

Billy k-turned back in the direction of the stairs. He drove seamlessly into the midday, traffic, turning on his windshield wipers against the heavy drizzle. He glanced at Steve, who had not let go of his arm. At a stoplight, Billy's other hand overlapped his, earning a pale, ghostly stare.

"We need to get to the subway. Then your place."

Despite his shock, Steve nodded and said, "Two blocks down."

Billy found the station, lodged their car in a back alley between a Polish restaurant and a laundromat, and circled the car to help Steve out. "I'm fine," he said even as his knees gave out and he hung between his arms on the car door and roof.

"I see that," Billy replied. He nestled in close to wrap an arm around Steve's softer waist. "Put your weight on me."

He did, and Billy kicked the door shut behind them. "Do you have a metro card?"

"Do I have a metro card?" Billy snorted on their way to the entrance.

"You can't jump the turnstiles."

"I'm not leaving a paper trail. I don't know if my cards are compromised too. That bird sat right over your desk, pretty boy. Someone wanted a real close eye on you. Maybe even kill you. We can try and figure out who else was under surveillance later."

They did not earn approving looks from vaulting the turnstiles, but they made it to the train, and then forty minutes or so later, Steve's apartment. By then, his color had returned to his face, and Billy couldn't help but tease, "Do you always bring colleagues home?"

Steve sighed and didn't grace that with a response. He unlocked his door, and Billy perused the living room and its bay window. The place was nice. White walls. Light wooded floors. Colorful dish ware. A bedroom off to the right with an unmade bed, and a dining room to the left with an array of folders and a laptop on it.

Billy placed the broken bird piece beside the laptop. "I don't know how much you can get out of this. But it's a start."

Steve maneuvered around him and sank into the chair. "Help yourself to the kitchen."

Billy did exactly that, and only found a few hints at the neurosis of a tech genius: Steve's pantry was entirely filled with bags of chips and hot sauce. His apartment also wielded the same characteristic Steve used at work: cleanliness. There wasn't so much as a lingering cereal dish in the sink.

Billy went about scrambling some eggs, frying up some bacon, and heating up a box of leftover diner hash browns. He poured a bottle of white and brought the dishes to the table. He set the glass of wine in view of the laptop. "For your nerves. Try to eat something."

"Thanks," Steve murmured. He didn't touch his food, but Billy sat opposite him and plunged his fork into his eggs.

After he cleaned his plate, he started tapping the back of the laptop screen, causing whatever Steve was reading to bounce. As if tossed out of a reverie, Steve inhaled sharply and took his glasses off to scrub his face. Naturally, Billy chuckled and plucked up the glasses to see how the other half lived...

"Steve."

"Hmm?" he mumbled from inside his hands.

"Explain to me why your glasses are asking for 004 authentication?"

His hands lowered so he could see Billy wearing his glasses and the nearly invisible screens layered inside the glass. The muscles of his jaw ticked as he reached across the table. Billy let him remove the glasses, but his stare did not waver until Steve relented, "I'm not 004 anymore."

Billy blinked, hard, as he absorbed that. "When were you an agent?"

Steve pushed his fork around his plate. "Right as you joined."

"Am I really going to have to pull your teeth for this? Because someone must know who you are, or were. Knows enough to keep an eye on you. How many other 00s are retired into office work?"

"My whole team," he heaved. Surrendered. "It all happened too fast. I was elevated to 00 status and just as quickly flunked out of it. Then they gave me you."

Steve exhaled as if there was a whole lot more there. Then he added, "Consider this a mentorship."

Billy huffed and relaxed against his chair. "So my guardian angel is the one keeping me from my promotion."

It took a second, but Steve processed that and lifted his head. "What?"

"You. I don't get to be a 00 until a 00 gives me the okay."

Something shy of a grimace flitted across Steve's features. "Maybe you'd be one, if you learned how to say thank you. You're not god. I've saved your ass at least twice without even being in the same country as you."

"You're a P.T.S.D. case with a laptop. That's all."

"And you're a gun with childhood trauma and abandonment issues. Welcome to the fucking club. We have special glasses."

He stabbed his hash browns and started eating. Billy crossed his arms and brooded in silence.

Abandonment issues, my ass, he mused, but could not help but watch the man opposite him eat. He'd never actually seen Steve eat. He'd certainly always been available whenever Hargrove called, regardless of timezone or courtesy of sleep.

It's hypocritical to call him an angel and treat him as disposable...after you hauled him around like precious luggage.

Billy didn't like that thought one bit.

This job wasn't actually a business. It was a lifestyle. One that didn't grant angels or precious items. And the same voice that called Steve, Angel, kept whispering in Billy's mind.

Compromised.

Something moved in his periphery and he had his gun out before he even thought twice. "What the hell is that?"

Steve, to his credit, hadn't flinched. "The cartoons refer to it as a pussy cat. She wants your bacon."

The fluffy ginger that had jumped onto the table stared Billy down until he relinquished his last piece of bacon. "Why am I not surprised that you have a cat?"

"Considering your reaction, I'd say you were petrified."

"Shut up, Steve."

"No guns on the table."

Billy groaned and set the device on the console table behind him. "Yes, dear."

It was going to be a long case.

#they're married already #harringrove #007!au #hoegrove #neonponders #pondermoniums

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7-wonders · 4 years ago

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For a little over a month now, you had been dating Duncan Shepherd, and it was...surprisingly low-key considering how high-profile he was. That's not to say that this is a bad thing. In fact, it's been really nice. Dinner dates at the backs of restaurants, movie nights at your place, even just driving aimlessly and talking with each other. Over the past month, you've gotten to really know the man that many magazines refer to as "untouchable," finding out that those assumptions are all lies. In fact, you've never been so comfortable in the beginning stages of a relationship with someone before.

Which is why you're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You're not used to things going so good for you. Work, personal life, relationships--all manage to end up going in the opposite direction of where you wanted them to go. This is probably the reason that it took three weeks of Duncan chasing after you after meeting at a work conference (you'll never forget watching this 30-something man who had been covered in Forbes walk up to a group of late Millenials/early Gen Zs and look entirely out of his element) before you agreed to go out with him. You're just naturally guarded, and there's nothing wrong with that. But, you'll admit, it is nice to be vulnerable sometimes. Especially when that results in an extremely beautiful man taking out out and showering you with attention.

Said beautiful man is who makes your phone buzz on your desk. It's 3:30 on a Friday, and you're really not doing much work anyways.

"It's a beautiful day out, are you up for ditching work and going for a walk through the park?"

You feel yourself flush, as you always do whenever Duncan texts you. Before you can respond, another text comes in.

"Too late, I'm already outside your office."

Sure enough, you look up and see him chatting to your coworker. His eyes flick towards you, and he grins when he sees that you're shrugging your coat on. "Hi," you say shyly, a little flustered that he's here in your office right now.

"Hi. Hope I didn't interrupt any work."

"You did. I was very busy staring at my blank computer screen."

Duncan chuckles, wrapping his arm around you and leading you out of the office. you turn to wave goodbye to your coworker, who is currently fanning herself with her hand and mouthing "oh my god!"

"So what are you doing out of your office on a Friday afternoon?"

"Ah, they didn't have much use for me anyways." You laugh, knowing that's an obvious lie. His uncle would make him live at the office if he had the chance. "No, I figured I could take off a couple of hours early. Lord knows I've worked enough lately."

"You sure the world won't stop spinning because you're gone?"

Duncan grabs your hand, swinging it lightly as you cross a crosswalk. "If it does, at least I'm with you." You look up at him in pleased surprise, and he steals a kiss. "There is something I've been wanting to discuss with you, though. Figured this would be a good time to do it."

Oh god. The other shoe. "You're not married or something, are you?"

"No, I'm not married."

"Thank god," you breathe a literal sigh of relief.

"Was that really what you were worried about? That you were an unknowing mistress?"

"That, and that you might be a serial killer." You side-eye him. "Verdict's still out on that one."

He laughs. "I can promise you that neither of those are true."

"So what did you want to tell me? If you're not a married serial killer."

You come to a stop when Duncan does, staring at him as he nervously rubs the back of his neck. "Um, I...I have a child."

"A child?" He nods. "Like, a tiny human that shares your DNA?" Another nod.

"I understand that this might be a shock to you."

"No! No, it's not a shock. I'm just surprised, is all."

"I've never told any of the previous women I've dated about her, because typically the fling ends as just a fling, and her safety is something that I'm very protective of."

"Your daughter?"

"Yes, Elizabeth. She's three."

You smile, the mental image of Duncan as a dad something intensely heartwarming.

"As I was saying, I don't typically tell my dates about her, but you and I are getting fairly serious and I don't want to hide such an important part of my life from you."

"We're getting serious, huh?" Duncan laughs lightly. "Can I call you my boyfriend?"

"As long as I can call you my girlfriend."

"Is your daughter's mother...around?"

"No. She stuck around for two months after Elizabeth was born, and then she left. We weren't dating for very long before she got pregnant. I told her that I wanted the baby, even if she didn't." Duncan shrugs. "I guess she didn't."

"I'm so sorry that you had to deal with that, Duncan."

"I'd rather raise my daughter to know she has one parent that loves her so much instead of one parent that loves her and one parent that doesn't care." Though he hasn't revealed much about his past, you do know that he has a complicated relationship with his family, which is probably where those feelings come from.

"Thank you for telling me. I'm glad that you trust me enough to talk about someone so precious to you."

"I want you in my life, (Y/N), hopefully for a long time, but I need you to know that she'll always come first."

Well, if you didn't think you were head over heels for him before, this solidifies it.

"If you're okay with it, I want you to meet her."

You look up in surprise. "You do?"

"Of course. I'm not going to tell you all of this just for you to not meet her."

"I'd love to!" you say quickly, not wanting him to think you're hesitant. "Would she be okay with it?"

Duncan nods. "I'll talk to her about it, but I don't see why not. Do you want to come over tonight? I can cook dinner, and you can actually see where I live."

You try not to show it, but your eyes widen. Not only would you be meeting his daughter, but now you'd be visiting his place for the first time. "Um, sure!"

"I'll text you, but does five work? That gives me some time after the nanny leaves."

"Five is great."

"You sure?" He smirks. "You look a little nervous."

"I'm sure." Duncan kisses you once more before bidding you farewell, leaving you to walk home and try not to internally freak out.

///

After spending way too much time figuring out what to wear before realizing you're meeting your boyfriend's three-year-old and not the Queen of England, you're at the address Duncan had texted you at approximately 5:05 (not too late, but also not punctual or, even worse, early). You shift from foot to foot nervously after knocking on the door of the townhouse, not quite sure if you should let yourself in.

Before you can make that decision, it's made for you when the door is opened by Duncan. He's grinning, barefoot and casual, with a tiny pair of arms wrapped around his neck and big blue eyes shyly gazing up at you from where a head is hidden against his shoulder. Instantly, your nerves melt away when you see that she's truly Duncan's carbon copy, from the eyes to the brown curls to the way she looks at you as if she's trying to figure you out.

"Hi, come in." Duncan ushers you in, kissing you on the cheek as he takes your coat. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Wine?" you ask before wondering if you can even drink wine when there's a small child around.

"Perfect, I already opened a bottle." Duncan looks at his daughter, brushing her curls back before whispering something in her ear. "(Y/N), this is my daughter, Elizabeth. Lizzie, this is Daddy's special friend, (Y/N), remember?"

"Hi Elizabeth, it's very nice to meet you," you say with a smile.

She looks up at you. "Hi," she says before burying her face in Duncan's shoulder again, making both you and him chuckle.

"The, uh, food's probably almost ready. It's chicken and rice, if you're okay with that."

"Definitely!"

"I wanted chicken nuggets, but Daddy said that's not 'date food,'" Elizabeth pipes up. You laugh as Duncan blushes.

"That's where your dad and I disagree, because I would eat chicken nuggets every night if I could."

She grins, and you feel like you just won the lottery. "Me too."

"Can I set you down, sweetie? I have to check the stove," Duncan explains. He speaks to her so softly, which is such a change from the demanding man you see when he's on work calls, or the romantic who loves to make you flustered. Once she agrees, he puts her on the floor and she immediately runs off, presumably to the living room or her bedroom.

"She's so cute," you gush once she's out of earshot.

"Yeah, she is," he says fondly, moving something off of the stove before kissing you properly. "I think she likes you."

"You can tell?"

He shrugs. "Father's intuition."

"I wasn't sure if I should have brought her a gift, like a toy or something?"

"I'm glad you didn't. My mom spoils her rotten with toys, she has way more than she needs."

"Can I help you with anything?"

"Would you mind setting the table, actually?" He points to a cupboard. "Dishes are up there."

Everywhere you look, there's signs of the little girl that lives here, whether it be crayon artwork on the fridge or the kid plastic plates in the cupboard. You smile at a picture of Duncan pushing Elizabeth on a swing as you set down the plates and cutlery, Duncan putting dishes of food on the middle of the table.

"Elizabeth!" he calls. "Dinner's ready!" You can hear the pattering of her little feet before you see her sprinting into the dining room like she's racing Usain Bolt.

"Daddy, can I sit with (Y/N)?" she asks, making your heart almost explode.

"I don't know, you'd have to ask (Y/N)," he says, hiding a grin as he looks at you.

"(Y/N), can I sit with you?"

"Yeah." Your voice comes out as little more than a whisper due to how choked up you are, so you clear your throat and try again. "Yeah," you say, louder.

You sit down on the chair closest to Duncan, and Elizabeth clambers up onto your lap. Once she's comfy, she makes grabby hands at the plate that Duncan is making for her. Your hands hover awkwardly at your sides, not sure what to do. What if you move too fast and scare her off? No, that's with wild animals, not toddlers. Yet again, the decision of what to do is made for you when she gets her plate and begins to talk to you.

Throughout dinner, Duncan can hardly eat, so wrapped up in watching you interact with his daughter as you listen to every word she says and chat with her about whatever she's deemed more important than her food. He's not sure of the last time that he was ever this happy; maybe the day Elizabeth was born? Listening to you laugh at one of the jokes she learned at nursery school and has told at least a hundred times by now, he's sure that he made the right choice in saying that he wants you around for a while.

IDK who even would want to read this so I'm just tagging a couple of people @sojournmichael @michaellangdon @xavierplympton @blakescoven @mrslangdonn @michaellangdonstanaccount

#duncan shepherd #house of cards #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd imagines #duncan shepherd x reader

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airi-p4 · 3 years ago

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Love in the sky

I wrote this for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers LBSC Sprint challenge - Meet cute week event and, once again, I got carried away and broke all the rules. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Prompt: Sitting next to each other on the plane.

Summary: Marinette is going to NY on an international flight for the first time. What she doesn’t know is that the one seated next to her is the popular new band Kitty Section’s guitarist: Luka Couffaine.

Thank you @livrever for checking it for me 💙

AO3

______________________________________

Marinette rushed through the aisle of the plane. She couldn’t believe she almost missed it! her first international trip to the US! Stupid alarm! Of course she was tired. She was so nervous she couldn’t sleep all night… until 5AM… and the plane departed at 10AM… and obviously she had to oversleep. *sigh*

Running, tripping and spinning on her feet, she finally searched for her seat. 38B - aisle seat. Her pink polka dotted suitcase was heavy, but thanks to the cabin attendant she could finally put it inside the overhead bin, while her backpack rested under the seat in front of her. All set, she let her weight fall on the seat at last and let out a deep breath as she fastened her seatbelt.

The doors of the plane closed, and the PA message started: Welcome on board… Security instructions… Marinette wasn’t listening. Her legs were uncontrollably shaking, and her fingers were fidgeting with the laces of her hoodie.

Those nerves and stress couldn’t be healthy.

She examined her surroundings, and, next to her, someone was sleeping. Someone, who appeared to be a young man, with a sleeping eye mask and a face mask on, messy blue hair showing under a knit hat and a blanket covering his body. Overall, it didn't give much more information about her plane's seat neighbor. Not wanting to wake him up, she focused on the rest of the passengers instead. Why were all of them so quiet when she felt her heart could burst out of her chest anytime?

The plane started its runaway and Marinette closed her eyes tightly when it raised from the lane. Once in the air, she started breathing again, but her heart was still beating fast.

"First time on a plane?" a masculine voice beside her asked.

She turned to her side, and looked at the person seated next to her. His eye mask was over his head now, and she could see his blue eyes clearly, while his blue bangs partly covered his eyebrows.

“Y- yes!” she squeaked.

“You’re making me nervous too. Calm down, it’s going to be ok” he assured.

“I- I know!" She said, but her body wasn’t obeying. “I’m sorry...”

The young man sighed. “Look, I’ve been on a plane many times. It’s safe. Why don’t you try to sleep? It’s going to be a long flight.”

“I- I can’t! I’m too nervous! I’ve never traveled alone before, plus my career depends on this trip! I can’t stay calm!”

“Why don’t you try listening to some music, then? It always helps me relax” the young man offered her a sympathetic look.

“Music…?” she blinked. ‘It could work’.

She plugged the earphones and put them in her ears. Then, she scrolled through the music programs on the touch screen in front of her. Classical music? For some reason, it only made it worse. Country music? Not her style. XY? Hell, no. Her eyes stopped at the name of a fairly new band: “Kitty Section”. She played the video called: “Kitty Section's Paris Live Concert”.

“Good choice” the man next to her said when the title started showing on the screen.

Marinette had heard about the band called Kitty Section. They had featured in most of her favorite magazines after they won Eurovision several months ago, but she wasn't familiar with their music. In less than a minute, she was hooked and forgot completely about her surroundings or her nerves.

“Wow!” she mumbled, mesmerized, and the man next to her let out a snicker.

The music was amazing- the rock vibes, their stage presence, the vocalists’ cuteness and high ranged voice, the accurate and insane drums, the gorgeous purple haired bassist… all of them sounded incredible. But the guitarist… the blue haired guitarist was extraordinary- unbelievably good. Not only talented, but also powerful, charismatic and incredibly handsome.

“They’re good, huh?” The man beside her commented and she nodded. She could tell he was smiling under his face mask. She nodded in agreement.

“I had never heard them properly before but damn- they are incredible” Marinette answered, and he laughed. Her fingers tapped rhythmically, following the beat of the song. “But…" she continued, observing. "I think they could do better. There’s a margin of improvement,” she said with judging eyes.

“Oh, really? How?” The blue-eyed man asked, curious, resting his elbow on the arm rest to get a closer look.

“The costumes,” Marinette pointed out. Then, she reached her backpack under her feet and took out a sketchbook and a pen and started drawing. “The outfits could be improved if they added this, and this” she signaled. “And this-” She kept scribbling while the blue-haired man observed and listened to her suggestions. “And ta-da! Wouldn’t they look even better if they were like this?” She proudly showed him her designs, only to realize she was being embarrassing towards a stranger. “Ah, sorry- I got carried away…” She apologized. But the man took the sketchbook in his hands.

“Let me see,” he said, and she saw how his eyes examined every detail of her drawings. She gulped nervously. It felt like her skills were being tested. But the man took his face mask off and smiled. “Wow, that’s impressive. Fresh, charismatic, unique- and perfectly according to the band's style. I love them" he returned her the sketchbook. "You’re very talented. Are you famous? Do you take commissions?” He asked, and she looked at him speechless.

“I- I’m still a no-one… Is it really impressive?” She looked at him and blushed at the compliment.

“Yes, I think so. What would you do with this outfit?” He asked, showing him a photo of the same band on his smartphone. Her inspiration overflowed as she kept drawing and explaining her ideas. They kept discussing costumes and visual aspects of the band and chatted comfortably for a long time.

"I think Rose should go with something more… daring, bolder. She looks innocent but she's fierce inside. Of course, cuteness is her main trait, so I think she should combine both" she explained, coloring her design with colored pencils. "I think something like this would be perfect for her" she showed him her sketchbook and he was impressed. “As for Juleka-” She continued, turning to a blank page. “She’s so beautiful. I wish she didn’t cover her face so much, even if the mystery look is really attractive too…" She stopped drawing for a moment to admire the bassist on the screen. "Gosh- She's so gorgeous! I wish I was that beautiful” she commented.

“I think you’re even more beautiful than her, you know?” The blue-haired man casually said, and she shyly blushed with a 'no way' frantic arms movements. “What about the guitarist?” he asked, raising an eyebrow with a smug smile.

“Luka Couffaine? OH LORD SHOW MERCY- Have you seen him? And his eyeliner? It should be ILLEGAL to be this HOT” She said, convinced.

“Hmmm… So you like him, huh?” He teased, his smile widening.

“Who doesn’t, really?” She shrugged. “He’s literally the SEXIEST man alive. His eye contact with the camera could kill! Oh, and whenever he gets shirtless on stage or photoshoots? GOD- I almost get a nosebleed EVERY FREAKING TIME! He's TOO DAMN HOT" She fanned herself at the image. "Don’t you agree?" She asked and he blinked twice. "You like him too, right? You have so many photos of them in your phone! I bet he’s making you question your sexuality too, like he does with all my friends! How could anyone resist those blue eyes and his manly features, his soft looking blue hair and- his tattoos..." She looked away from her seat neighbor's blue piercing eyes, and focused at the smartphone screen again, to a close-up photo of Kitty Section’s guitarist. "How did you get these close-up casual photos...?” she asked, and then she noticed the tattoo on his neck. She looked back and forth at the man seated next to her and the one in the picture. ‘It couldn't be, right…?’ And at that moment, when he had a knowing smile on his face- one she knew too well-, she realized who he was seated next to on the plane. Her eyes opened as big as plates and she overheated. He was smirking amusingly at her reaction. “You- You- You are-? Lu-Lu-Luk- It can’t be…”

He nodded to confirm her suspicions and her jaw fell to the floor. “Hi. I think I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Luka. But I think you already know that. It’s nice to meet you.” He chuckled, straightening his hand for a handshake.

“Oh God, kill me now...” She mumbled, sinking on the table. Luka snickered.

“What’s your name?”

“Ma-Ma-Marinette… I mean- Marinette!” She felt his eyes on her and panicked. “Excuse me- I- I need a moment... This- This is too much- Oh My God...” She stood up and rushed to the end of the plane, not without tripping twice on her way there.

________________________

While Marinette was gone, the two ladies in front of Luka and Marinette’s seats turned to Luka. “Having fun?” They smirked, knowingly. He was chuckling, having real trouble to keep his laugh from escaping.

“Oh, God, Yes. This is so much fun." He wiped the tears that were forming on his eyes. "I think I’ve found our potential new costume designer” he continued laughing under his nose.

“Only that? I think there’s more...” Juleka smirked, and Rose giggled in agreement by her side. He couldn't deny it: his sister was totally right.

Behind Luka's seat, Kitty Section's drummer, Ivan and his girlfriend Mylene had been enjoying the show the blue-eyed pair had been giving. It was definitely more entertaining than any movie. It would have been perfect if they had popcorn to accompany their fortunate first row seats to the hilarious show. They also approved Marinette's designs.

Luka took the chance Marinette wasn't there to freely stand up, go talk to their managers and stretch his legs for a bit.

_________________________

Back at the end of the plane, Marinette drank some juice and moved to the bathroom. She was panicking in front of the mirror, talking to herself.

“OH. MY. GOD. I’m seated next to Luka Couffaine! For at least… 5 hours more!? And I just called him hot! And- And- he said I’m beautiful and talented! And- Oh my God, he asked me for commissions, right? This can’t be real- I-" her feet wiggled uncontrollably and she let out a long squeak. "Ahh… Calm down, Marinette! He’s human- A sexy human, but still human! He’s famous but very friendly, kind and nice. And fun! It’s going to be alright. Just- Avoid his eyes. That’s it. It’s dangerous. Don’t fall in love. You’re not a teenager anymore, you’re over that stage, right? Only a few hours more. You can do it. I CAN DO IT!” She convinced herself with a confident nod and returned to her seat, only to find Luka was gone.

She looked for him from her seat, at her surroundings, but he was nowhere to be found. She sighed in both relief and sadness as she seated.

For some reason, she was missing him. Which was stupid, considering they had just met! But his company was certainly enjoyable... And, moreover, it was FUN. More than she ever remembered having. And not only because she was passionate about fashion or music. It had to do with his aura, his personality, his gentle manners- just... Luka.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back in a moment” A voice said from in front of her. “My brother is stupid, but he’s a decent person. Treat him well” The purple haired lady winked, beside a petit blond lady.

“Jul-!” She covered her mouth with her hands to stop herself from yelling her name. “And Rose-!?” 'Oh, no! They might have heard what I said too!' She panicked again and the ladies giggled amused.

“Ignore my sister and her girlfriend” Luka returned, and her face flustered when she noticed how tall and well built he was (not that she didn't know that, but it hit differently in first person). “Can I get back to my seat?” He politely asked, pointing at the window seat.

“Ah-! Yes! Of course!” She stood up so suddenly she tripped and fell on Luka’s chest. She immediately moved away in embarrassment, falling back instead, and Luka had to hold her again to avoid her imminent fall. “I’m sorry!”

“Are you ok?” He asked in concern, and she shyly nodded. Luka reluctantly let go of her and returned to his seat and Marinette settled back to hers.

Wait- Was that a blush on his face?

“Here” Luka offered her an envelope. “I don’t know what your plans in NY are but, here’s a VIP pass to our concert next Sunday. There’s also our contact card inside. I want you to consider the idea of working for us. Your costumes are impressive. We discussed it, and we want you in our team” Marinette had no words- totally speechless. Could she be this lucky? “What do you say?” Luka asked with a hopeful tender smile that made her weak.

“I- I’ll think about it. And- Oh God- I’ll totally be there for your concert” She blushed and Luka smiled kindly at her. Suddenly, she started searching inside her backpack, and took out a business card she offered him. “This is my contact. I- I have a fashion event next Monday. I would love you to come, if you can make it. Send me an email and I’ll get you some passes”

“Wow! That's impressive. I'll try to make it. Thank you, Marinette”

Marinette could hear her heart beating faster. No looking in his eyes, dammit. They kept talking for a while, enjoying their time together until they fell asleep out of exhaustion, Marinette’s head resting on Luka’s shoulder. He woke up earlier than her, but didn’t have the heart to wake her up until lunchtime. She looked like she really needed that rest.

When he left half of his lunch untouched, Marinette scolded him. “You have to eat! You’re too thin! Those abs and arms need consistency! Proteins!” She pointed at a photo of him shirtless and flustered again in embarrassment in realization. “Ah-”

Gosh- it really was fun, Luka thought, chucking. It was hard not to laugh out loud. Everything flowed so naturally it was unbelievable.

Damn. He didn’t want the plane to ever land.

“Marinette” he called, during their coffee time, and she looked back at him, redness still on her cheeks. “The plane will land soon but- Even if you don’t accept our offer… Is it possible for us to meet again? Out of business? Like this?”

Marinette flustered at his implications. “Do- Do you mean-?”

“A date. Would you go on a date with me, Marinette? Or just as friends, if you prefer. I like you, and I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun with anyone else” He took Marinette’s pen and one of his ‘Kitty Section’ contact cards and wrote something behind it. “These are my personal telephone number and email. We'll be in NY until Friday next week. It would make me very happy if you contact me, whenever you prefer, anytime” He said, securing the card in her hands.

Marinette blushed, looked at the card with glowing eyes, and then at his honest loving stare. Was it even possible that the man everyone was gushing about was asking her out? But this had nothing to do with his stage persona. Luka was someone she more than enjoyed spending time with. Naturally, quietly, assuring… She had no doubts about her answer.

“I want to meet you again, too” she stated, and wrote her personal number under his wristband. “I’m free on Wednesday” she shyly smiled, and his smile widened.

“Wednesday is it, then. I'll manage to find the time. Just for you." He smiled happily and only then she realized how deep she had fallen.

Ah- she hadn't wanted to fall in love. What a way to fail her own determination… But she couldn't complain, not at all.

And he felt the same way.

Luka and Marinette's hands locked together, and they lost themselves in each other’s eyes, smiling at each other.

“Why don’t you kiss her already, dumbass?” Juleka called, and Marinette blushed. “He won’t kiss you if you don’t give him proper permission, you know? He’s very considerate despite his looks. Tell him already”

“Jules… Why don’t you mind your business and make out with Rose instead?” He shushed his sister and Rose giggled, embracing Juleka. Luka returned his attention to Marinette. “Sorry about that”

“It’s ok… I-” She started, looking at his thin lips. “Will you kiss me if I want to? Because I think I do...”

“You do?” he asked, and she shyly nodded and he smiled softly, making her heart flutter.

She closed her eyes and he leaned closer to give her a sweet kiss on her cheek. She pouted a little, in disappointment, but he told her that, if she really wanted to kiss him, that would be the perfect excuse to meet him again and make it more special, like a beautiful lady like her deserved. Marinette understood his reasoning and agreed with it, despite the slight disappointment she felt she would have to wait a few days to get the chance to kiss him. Nevertheless, both of them happily smiled while their fingers remained interlaced, chatting and enjoying their time together the rest of the flight, until the plane landed and they had to unavoidably say their farewells.

“Thank you for everything, Luka. I forgot how scared I was of planes thanks to you and- I’ll see you soon?”

“I really hope so. I still owe you something, right?" He winked and she blushed happily. Luka gave her a final discreet and quick kiss on her knuckles. "Gosh- I miss you already...” He added, and Marinette felt the urge to cry. She dropped her bag to hold him in a needed embrace. He gladly reciprocated her gesture. Despite neither wanting to separate, they forced themselves to. "I hope I see you soon, Marinette"

"Me too, Luka…" she wiped her tears and waved, as the band started walking away.

When the arrivals doors opened and all the camera flashes blinded her, she understood why Kitty Section members always wore sunglasses in airports. They were more popular than she could have expected. She understood why he had refused to kiss her outside of the plane, but he still saluted her before disappearing in the multitude of fans and paparazzis.

On the other side, Sabrina, Audrey Bourgeois’ assistant, waited for her. She had almost forgotten about her own business. But now, she found the motivation she had lacked. If she was willing to be with Luka, she had to become the best. She wanted to make a name of herself, more than ever. And her meeting with Luka certainly boosted her confidence.

Unexpectedly, her trip to NY had already become one of her most memorable experiences yet. And it had just started! She couldn't wait to spend the rest of the week in the city.

#my fic #airipyon #airip4 #lbsc sprint fic #lbsc sprint fic challenge #LBSC sprint challenge #lukanette fic #Pro LukaMari #endgame lukanette #nevermind the title- i'm super bad at them #I kinda want to write part 2 #but I don't need more WIPs ;v;#I need to finish them instead Dammit XD

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blossom-hwa · 4 years ago

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Sunflowers |Summer| - JUYEON

Can’t believe it’s already Juyeon’s birthday!!! Hope deobiblr enjoys my contribution for the birthday of one of the best dancers in the kpop industry <3

I will be doing a taglist for Sunflowers, so if you’d like to be notified when the next part goes up, send me a dm or an ask! Post dates are also on my posting schedule :)

Pairing: Juyeon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, high school!au

Triggers: cursing

Word Count: 2.3k

Juyeon is just a sunflower, following the light of your smile.

Summer | Fall | Winter | Spring | Summer, Once More

TBZ Masterlist | Interwoven

~ in summer, a stranger comes home

. . . . .

It’s the middle of summer when your mom delivers you a little piece of seemingly innocuous news, a piece of glittering information wrapped in old magazines and tied with cheap string to disguise its sparkle. Her voice literally vibrates with excitement when she tells you, which probably should serve as a warning or a signal of some sort, but in your defense, you’re tired from a day of classes and research programs and just want to eat and die.

“Our old neighbors are coming back!” she bursts, a spring in her step that you haven’t seen since the day you were accepted to your current prestigious research camp. “You know, the Lees who used to live next door?”

You blink once, then twice before the information sinks in. A memory settles at the front of your mind. “The Lees?”

“Yes!” She smiles widely. “I missed Yuna so much, I can’t believe she and her family are actually moving back. Don’t you remember, you used to be such good friends with Juyeon?”

More blurry memories of playing in the grass and dancing in the living room with a chubby little boy flash through your mind. You remember playdates that turned into study sessions in middle school, study sessions that disappeared when Juyeon moved away. And though you’d like to forget it, you remember sobbing your eyes out the day he left at the end of summer, the weather turning to fall. Sunflowers were blooming that day, wreathing your lawn in an unfairly bright ring of yellow as you wrapped him in one last hug before his father started the car and the family drove away.

“Mhm,” you only say, taking a box of cookies out of the cupboard. “I remember.”

“Won’t it be so much fun for you two to meet again?” Your mother’s smile turns suggestive as she side-eyes you. “You two were always so adorable together. Didn’t you once say he was your boyfriend in kindergarten?”

That memory makes you cringe. “Thanks, Mom, I was doing a really good job of forgetting that before you mentioned it.”

“Oh, hush.” She shoos you out of the kitchen. “You two were so cute together. I have no doubt you’ll be the best of friends again when they come back.”

“I haven’t seen him in four years, Mom,” you remind her. “People change.”

A glint comes into your mom’s eye. “Maybe so,” she replies cryptically, “but some feelings remain.”

Okay, so in hindsight, you should’ve taken a lot of what she said as a warning that your life was about to get flipped upside down by Juyeon’s homecoming. But with everything already on your mind, you more or less forget about the news until one day towards the end of summer, when your dad tells you to come straight home after your classes.

You stare up at him over your bowl of cereal. “Why?” you ask, mouth full.

“You don’t remember?” Your mom sits down just across from you. “The Lees are moving back in today, and we’ve invited them to dinner!”

Your brain buffers for a good few minutes before you finally recall your dad saying something about “dinner with the Lees when they come back” a couple weeks ago. “I didn’t know they already came back.”

“Well, they are.” Your mom’s fingers tap on the table with excitement. “You have your research, but we’ll be helping them move back in today, and then they’re coming over for dinner. We’ll probably already be home before you get back, so try not to look too messy, okay?”

Wincing, you remember the several still-recovering formic acid burns on your forearms from several days ago. You can’t hide those. “I’ll do my best,” is all you promise.

So that afternoon, instead of staying behind and chatting with a few friends, you find yourself walking down the sidewalk to the front of your house much earlier than usual. There are new cars in the driveway next door.

With the sunflowers beginning to bloom on your and your neighbors’ lawns, it feels eerily similar to the day Juyeon and his family left.

A slight wave of nervousness roils in your stomach. Quickly, as you walk up the pathway to your house, you try to untangle your hair with your fingers, straightening out your shirt as best as you can. As tired as you are, you don’t want to make a bad impression on your parents’ good friends. You don’t exactly want to look horrible in front of Juyeon, either. Even though he probably doesn’t have any idea what you look like anymore.

With a deep breath, you grip the doorknob and twist. It’s locked.

Frowning, you look down at the unmoving handle. Your parents must’ve locked it by force of habit when they came back.

So you knock.

Literally nothing could have prepared you for the boy who opens the door several seconds later to your pounding. He’s tall, muscled, with fine features and a curious look in his eyes, and he looks vaguely familiar.

For several seconds, the two of you just stare at each other, neither saying a word. As you’re trying to figure out why a really hot guy is at your house right now, a much more familiar woman appears in your line of vision, smiling widely as she holds out her arms to you. “Oh, my!” she cries, pushing past the boy to wrap you up in a hug. “I haven’t seen you in so long! You’ve grown so much!”

“Hi, Mrs. Lee,” you reply, still trying to figure out who the tall boy is. It isn’t until she starts pulling away that you realize he has her nose and her eyes.

Huh?

Then –

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You nearly stumble back into the door from shock. “JUYEON?”

. . .

Juyeon thought his feelings for you had disappeared, he really did. When he moved away and thought he was never coming back, he took the love he’d held for you for so long, put it into a box at the back of his heart, locked it, and threw the key away. And as the years slowly passed, one after another, the box slowly disappeared from the forefront of Juyeon’s mind. He never forgot about it, but memories of you eventually stopped plaguing his mind day and night.

But that box never disappeared, not really. He thought it did, thought it dissolved into nothing over the years. Instead, it stayed, small but there, waiting for the right moment to burst and flood his body with the feelings he’d so carefully packed away so long ago.

That right moment is apparently when he opens the door to see a face he really never thought he’d ever see again.

Juyeon doesn’t recognize you, not at first. At second glance, he can pick out some distinct features that stayed the same (namely the sparkle in your eyes that hasn’t changed, even after all this time away). But during those first moments when he opens the door, he just stands there, trying to figure out who this person in front of him is.

Then it hits him, and the box of feelings explodes just as his mom starts pushing him away to wrap you in a hug.

You clearly don’t recognize him, judging by the curious looks you keep giving him over his mom’s shoulder. That makes Juyeon self-conscious – he hasn’t changed that much from when he left, has he? – and the embarrassment only compounds when you stumble back into the door, eyes widening as you yell his name in shock.

So, suffice to say, the conversation between you two at dinner is almost nonexistent. You look like you want the ground to eat you alive in your seat across from Juyeon, eyes barely looking up throughout the whole meal, talking only when someone asks you a direct question. Meanwhile, Juyeon’s stuck in his head.

Why, he despairs, didn’t these feelings actually disappear? Why does he still want to look into your eyes, get lost in your gaze like he used to so many years ago? Thoughts spin in circles in his head, thoughts of how you’ve changed and how you’ve stayed the same and how, oh God, his heart still races like no tomorrow when you meet his eyes for the briefest second before looking away out of embarrassment.

Juyeon needs a moment. He needs a moment to breathe, to think, to reason himself through this whole situation, which is why he volunteers to wash the dishes after dinner. Your mom starts praising him for being a perfect son and he dutifully lowers his head in embarrassed acknowledgment, thanking the heavens that he’ll have a moment to actually think, before she then looks at you to ask, “Why don’t you help Juyeon too?” and the world starts crumbling around his feet.

In perfect tandem, the two of you start picking up empty plates and bowls and carrying them to the kitchen sink. The adults make their way to the living room, laughing and chattering loudly, which only makes the potent silence between you two more prominent.

“I can wash,” you offer awkwardly, still barely able to look Juyeon in the eye (which is perfectly fine, because he thinks he might combust if you do just that). “You can dry? If you’re all right with that.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Juyeon tries to flash a smile, hoping it isn’t too shaky (the thumping in his heart makes it feel like the world is trembling around his feet). As the water runs and you start passing plates over to him, he does his best to ignore how close you are, how easy it would be to accidentally brush your arm with his.

Silence reigns until half the dishes are dry, and then you open your mouth. “Sorry about earlier,” you blurt, embarrassment and shame visible on your face. “I, uh, didn’t recognize you at first. Freaked out for a second.”

It’s surprisingly easy to laugh at that, to laugh at a statement that’s so blatantly you. You still haven’t changed, Juyeon thinks – you’re still the same bluntly apologetic friend he was in love with four years ago. It cheers him when your lips begin to turn up at his burst of laughter, face still embarrassed but beginning to warm with some happiness. “It’s okay,” he says, drying the next plate. “I didn’t recognize you either, not at first.”

“Well, I guess we can say that we’ve both changed,” you acknowledge, finally looking up fully.

Your smile could bring legions to their knees, Juyeon thinks. It certainly stops his hands from drying the next dish – in fact, he almost drops it. Even though the curve of your lips is small and he can’t see all of your teeth, the sparkle in your eye more than makes up for it. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah.”

The two of you scrub dishes for the next few minutes in quiet again. Juyeon has no idea what you’re thinking, but he’s just trying to calm the beating in his heart.

This is not how he expected to feel when he moved back. Not at all. What he’s feeling isn’t even just everything he locked away at the end of seventh grade – somehow, the emotions have multiplied, compounded over years of neglect, and now he’s getting the full force of it.

“My mom wants us to be friends again,” you say, breaking the silence once again. “What do you think about that?”

Um, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Juyeon thinks. Do you want to be his friend again? Or are you only trying to be nice to him for the sake of your parents?

“Well.” Juyeon bites his lip. “If you want to be friends again, I’d like that. But if it’s, um, just because of your mom, we don’t have to.”

At that, you smack a rubber-gloved, soapy hand against your head, shrieking slightly when you realize there are suds in your hair. Juyeon laughs, really laughs as he hands you a towel from a nearby rack. “God, I’m a fucking mess,” you groan, wiping the bubbles from your forehead. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I don’t want to be your friend again just because of our parents, that was just the only way I could think of to bring up the topic and yeah, I should’ve thought this out, I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Didn’t you get into one of the most prestigious research camps in the country?” Juyeon counters, hands moving automatically to take the towel from you and wiping off the suds himself. “You’re not an idiot.”

“Yes, I am.” You sigh. “I think it’d be nice to be friends again. If that’s fine with you.”

With your words fluttering in his heart, it takes Juyeon a good moment to realize he’s been standing with the towel pressed against your head for a full few seconds. Heat rising to his ears (he hopes you don’t see that), he quickly wipes off the last of the bubbles and returns the towel to the rack. “That’d be nice,” he echoes softly. “I’d like that.”

The smile you give him, tentative but much wider than before, makes Juyeon feel like he’s flying. He’s so far gone, he thinks, drying the last dish. He’s only seen you again for a few hours, and already your smile has him feeling some kind of way.

He’d follow that smile, he thinks. He’d follow that smile anywhere, just like one of the sunflowers on your lawn outside chasing the sun from dawn to dusk. That’s all he is, after all. A sunflower, following the light of your smile.

And as you look up, eyes scrunched as he says something to make you laugh, Juyeon doesn’t think he minds.

Not in the slightest.

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todourouki · 4 years ago

Note

congrats on 1k+!! can i request for sfw #14 (domestic life w/ them 🥺) with aizawa, todoroki, bakugou, and shinsou? thank you sm!! i love your works :>

AHHH! thank you so much for this, it means a lot! and ugh this is so cuteeee!

Want to celebrate prompt night with me? Click Here.

SFW PROMPT #14: What would living with them be like?

including aizawa, todoroki, bakugou, & shinsou

living with aizawa would be so nice

he’s not a high-maintenance guy

he’s more of a “as long as nothing looks like a piece of shit, we’re good”

matching sleeping bags

the man adores his sleep, i’m sure we all see that

so there’s soft blankets spread over every single couch/lounge-chair incase the two of you decide to nap

every day off, you guys have a tradition on waking up the latest time you possibly could, cooking breakfast together and eating it in bed with a show the two of you are currently binge watching on the tv

aizawa isn’t a bathroom hogger honestly he probably doesn’t even look in the mirror as much as he should

he’s pretty tidy when it comes to leaving his shit where it’s supposed to be

mostly because if he loses it, he knows he’ll be too lazy to look for it and he probably doesn’t have time

the furniture is all monochromatic

i don’t see him as a guy having brightly covered couches in his living room

everything is neutral, black, or white

minimalistic king

due to pure exhaustion all the time, color is out of the question, it reminds him of his students and he hates it but secretly loves it so all of his plates are multicolored

honestly living with aizawa sounds amazing

“Shouta,” you groan, eyes snapped harshly shut die to the light tracing into the room from the now open shades, “close the freaking things.”

Aizawa mumbles right after you, leg kicking the shade he once accidentally lifted with his foot back to where it once was. With the harsh tugs done by his feet, the light in the room finally fleeted away and allowed the comfortable dimness takeover once again.

The Pro-Hero’s arms gripped onto you tighter, nose nuzzled into your neck and bringing your body the kind of warmth necessary within the cold room. “S’go back to sleep, kitten.”

You mustered a smile, eyes still closed and hands running through the silky black hair resting underneath your neck. Mornings with Shouta were always the same— waking up once because of his leg obnoxiously releasing the shades, and both of you falling asleep once again in each other’s embrace.

You felt Aizawa begin to rub your back, fingers twinkling against your bare back soothing you beyond explanation. Within minutes, you felt yourself losing conscience, and you finally drifted back to sleep with the man you loved cradling you with unconscious admiration.

living with todoroki is exactly what you’d think it would be

i don’t mean to say it

but ima say it

this rich bitch has a ton of antique and expensive furniture lying around

mostly because he loves using his dad’s money

you and todoroki are a weird match

because you both love the exact same things

so all the furniture in your home

whether the living room be one color and bedroom be another

it all weirdly goes together because you’re both so good and coordinating shit

like your couch could be fucking orange

and the blue throw-pillows and decorations you cover your living room with just make sense

just like the two of you

living with todoroki means you figure out just how funny he actually is

also just how dense the boy could be

like he’s so sweet but also a little ✨dumb✨

he doesn’t know how to use the laundry machine and he never will don’t change my mind about this

todoroki loved cold soba we all know that

so there is a specific cabinet underneath the sink filled with all the ingredients for making it

that cabinet has to be restocked a lot

usually on days off, shouto would like to sleep in but he knows he just can’t

so if you like to sleep in, he already went out for a run, took a shower, and made you breakfast by the time you wake up

if you like to wake up early/with him, you find yourself either joining his workout or making him a hearty breakfast by the time he gets back

living with todoroki is really sweet bye i’m gonna go cry

“I just don’t understand why I’d have to press so many obnoxious buttons to get it to wash clothes,” he began, his stoic voice staring harshly at the machine infront of him as you stared at him in disbelief, “it isn’t my fault.”

“Shou, you froze the entire machine..” You repeated, a deadpanned expression on your face as you tried your hardest not to laugh.

You knew your boyfriend wasn’t the best at figuring things like this out, he hated to admit it but his family had done a lot for him back home. And sure, he wasn’t a little boy anymore and should probably know how to work a laundry machine, but he was convinced it acted up with him and him only.

“It was giving me a hard time, I didn’t even realize I froze it until I realized the clothes weren’t spinning anymore..” The frown on his face was one you couldn’t help but smile at, the grin taking over your face as you chortled a laugh.

With your empty hand, you gave the boy a kiss on the forehead, his calculating expression trying to decipher the reason certain clothes needed a certain temperature of water. Moments like this made you realize just why you loved Todoroki so much.

bakugou

is a handful

that’s clear to everyone

but living with him, oddly enough, is not

you both have a specific cleaning day

every single sunday morning

and that same night included the two of you watching a movie and having loud in-depth character analysis debate every single time

you both have special cooking days (he has more but it’s ok bc he won’t say it but he absolutely loves cooking for you)

bakugou has been through a lot, my baby

so consistency is something he depends on

he nearly breathes for it

routine is everything in your household, being something you grew accustomed to as well even if it’s not what you’re used to

every day you’d wait for him to get back home on the plush couch in the living room

so that way you’re the first thing he sees when he gets home, as well as a platter of his favorite food for the night and his fav tv show on the tv

he feels like he’s walking into heaven every single day

and depending on your schedules, you get the same thing when you get home if he beats you to it

a show/anime you’re trying to finish, the food you’ve begged him to make, and your loving boyfriend/husband lounged against the couch waiting for your arrival

you both wake up early— sorry, even if you don’t want to

bakugou doesn’t give a single fuck, he will wake you up and force you to either workout with him or start your day with him

on his days off though, you both sleep in until the afternoon

there’s literally no inbetween with your schedules

you’re both either up and ready to go by 8am or finally getting up to brush your teeth at 3pm

“How many times do I have to tell you— the real villain was not Sharpay, but Gabriella!” Your voice boomed, staring at your boyfriend who looked at you as if you had four heads.

“Babe, with all due respect, you’re a fucking idiot!” He retaliated just as aggressive and firm as you. “How can you say that when she’s such a bitch?!”

The credits of the movie you just watched played in the background, popcorn kernels pushing into the skin you had sprawled against your boyfriend. The pink reflected across your shirtless boyfriend, his ears beginning to redden due to the volume of his voice.

“Gabriella walked into that high school and literally stole everything Sharpay worked for,” you retorted, the straw you were drinking from entering your lips as you took a quick sip of the soda, “that’s being a bitch!”

He opened his mouth, signaling you to throw one of the Swedish Fish candies into his mouth and you did. With a laugh, you continued to throw food into one another’s mouth over and over throughout the argument.

“Maybe you resonate with Sharpay so much because you’re both bitches.” He snickered, dodging a pillow that fleeted your side of the couch and into his side by your right hand.

A gasp slipped your lips, narrowing your eyes at his tall figure and shoving a candy down your throat after his words, “maybe that’s why you love me, cause you’re a bitch too.”

living with shinsou >>>> breathing

shinsou is a gamer idc

there’s a playstation in both your room and your living room for game nights

yes

you guys had a game night

every single friday you guys would sit in nothing but (shinsou’s) t-shirt, and underwear and play nothing but video games all day

you usually end up falling asleep when the sun begins to come up, always taking saturday’s off no matter what for the occasion

you both are clean

being too lazy just like aizawa to have to find it if it’s misplaced

the bedroom look the best bc shinsou gets tired of monochromatic things and you hate living in a boring setting

so the two of you’s aesthetic shines through the room

if you cook, then please know food us up to you

if you can’t cook

money is spent 90% of the time on take out

because shinsou can’t cook for shit i don’t care

sometimes people wonder how it is you both manage to go to work and have a coherent sleeping schedule

and the reason is

aside from shinsou’s clinical insomnia )-:

that the two of you are absolute dumbasses

you spend all day doing homework if one of you is in college

or doing the work that needs to be done if you have just a job

and after that?

it’s just cuddling, gaming, struggling to cook, ordering take out, and eventual sleeping when you both realize you’re both past a point of ni return

most of the time though, you both manage to sleep

it’s more surprising for shinsou though bc he could never sleep properly if he’s alone

the two of you live together in GTA

also, I canon that Shinsou loves watching The Office so you guys binge watch the fuck out of that

living with shinsou is living with a bestfriend that is a civilized adult at certain times that you can cuddle and make out with

a girl can only dream <3

The sound of the console played through the room, your focused face watching the screen in front of you intently. The feeling of the bed moving along side every tap of the controller in your boyfriend’s hands trembled your limbs, your eyes being too locked on the screen to even maintain a balance.

“Go to the left, the left!” You pointed out, your legs sprawled across your boyfriend’s chest as he rested his body horizontally underneath yours.

“I know..” His voice was enough to show you he was focused, his eyes barely blinking as he followed your command and moved the character closer towards the left.

As gun shots erupted through the room, all you could see were flashes of red across the screen and players who had been attacked in Shinsou’s frenzy dead against the floor.

Exhilaration ran through your veins as finally killed the last person, the feeling of his body tending under you making you smile in happiness. You had both been trying to beat this level for weeks and you finally did it, exciting you to no limit.

The phrase “victory” strobed against the screen, making the two of you cheer in happiness at the time being well spent. He landed a big fat kiss on your cheek, pulling you in by the string in your hoodie and pressing you against him.

“Let’s beat some more ass in this next round, huh doll?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, pretty boy.”

#headcanons #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #aizawa x reafer #aizawa x reader #todoroki x reader #aizawa #shinsou #todoroki #1kfollowersnight #heillysreqs

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seacottons · 4 years ago

Text

uni!au with ateez — [ part one ]

—[ san - performing arts ]

ironically, you met when you helped him after a taller male shoved him down whilst in a heated argument.

he burst out laughing when you asked if he was okay.

“don’t worry, we’re just practicing our lines!”

you quickly glanced up at the building and grimaced once taking sight of the gleaming silver ‘performing arts building’ plaque.

of course.

to say you were embarrassed was only scratching the surface.

you had no regrets, because the incident was the catalyst that formed your friendship and eventual relationship.

will never let you live that moment down.

“remember when you tried to save me from mingi?”

“i thought we promised not to bring that up again-”

“why can’t i? i was saved by an angel that day?”

san invites you to both his dance and theatre shows.

will appear to be very professional on stage, but you catch his eyes frantically darting to the crowd to try and spot you.

and once he does, he will repeatedly smile and wink in your direction.

you’re always early, so you manage to snag a seat in either front two rows.

likes when you bring him bouquets as a congratulation gift after his performances.

gets very loud backstage just to let everyone know you bought him a gift.

a huge show-off.

is very good at facial expressions.

you fall for every time he pretends he’s crying or hurt when you don’t give him attention.

he will imitate different characters and repeat after actors while you two watch movies together.

“it sounded sexier when i said it, right (y/n)?”

is a very clingy cuddle bug.

and a leech.

will always have his arms around you while walking at campus.

loves to give you back hugs.

is the type to wait outside for you until you finish class.

and takes you to the cafeteria afterwards for lunch.

embarrasses you in said cafeteria by spinning the lunch tray while waiting in line.

also likes to spin your phone just to freak you out.

also the type to excitedly text you about the donuts and coffee they’re giving away at the library’s breezeway.

likes to refer to you as ‘angel’.

will beg you join the different clubs he’s in.

and then brag about you to the others once you do.

will hype your choice of attire even if he’s already seen you earlier that day.

the type to also sneak you a latte in the middle of your class.

also the type to sneak in with you during your auditorium classes.

you regret it sometimes because he leaves no room for you to pay attention to your professor.

often times, so much so that you have to lightly pinch his side in protest.

“do you want me to fail this class?”

he likes to participate in the many events held at campus.

everyone knows him.

challenges you to dance offs in the middle of campus.

you refuse and push forward a startled mingi instead.

“mingi wants to have a turn this time!”

also likes to lay in your arms whilst you play with his hair.

“were you a cat in your previous life?”

he will then proceed to meow in your ear.

“i’ll take that as a yes.”

—[ hongjoong - fashion design ]

dating him would consist of always admiring his new projects.

supplying him with unhealthy amounts of coffee.

trying out new pieces he made.

offering to carry his overly large portfolio binder sometimes.

sitting down and listening to him rant about how his roomates fail to wash clothes properly.

he has a guide taped to the washing machine with the different symbols of clothing labels.

“no, san, you can’t use shampoo as detergent.”

“but seonghwa finished all the detergent!”

using seonghwa’s lint rollers to remove all the fabric fibers stuck on hongjoong’s clothes.

you scold him while cleaning the bleeding scratches on his fingers from his sewing needles and pins.

“don’t worry, it’s nothing i can’t handle.”

“but i don’t like seeing you get hurt, you bum.”

you bought him strawberry bandaids because he thought they were cute.

sometimes, when he has time, he’ll custom make clothes just for you.

he insists on having multiple matching outfits.

will ask you to model his work for his social media page.

thinks you look best in skirts.

you’ll be the source of comfort during presentation week.

he’ll be a wreck whilst making a new collection.

but you’re always there to pick him back up.

most of the time, you’re the source of his inspiration as well.

you insist he shouldn’t sit for hours writing essays or sketching numerous ideas for future work.

but he’s stubborn as a mule.

nights with him include binge watching fashion shows or cute cartoons.

or painting your nails.

you both enjoy coffee dates when you have time.

he tells you he wants to open a fashion line one day.

you’re trying to stand still as he plucks numerous pins into the dress you’re trying on.

“what do you think i should call it?”

“hj couture? does that sound too basic?”

he pauses momentarily before spooling the leftover red thread.

“(y/n). i’ll call the line (y/n).”

—[ wooyoung - culinary arts ]

invites you to his dorm and cooks for you.

his apartment always smells of warm spices and comforting meals.

pretends his roommates’ teasing doesn’t affect him, but the tips of ears always glow red.

will always bring over leftovers he made in class.

“i just thought you wanted to try this mille feuille.”

“which one is better? the salted rosemary loaf or the oregano and olive oil one?”

loves to bake and cook with you.

will make your birthday cake from scratch and will go all out decorating it.

has an annoying habit of taking pictures of you mid-bite.

“delete that right now.”

“but babe, you look so cute.”

“jung wooyoung!”

will wrestle with you as you attempt to take his phone away.

“okay, look! i swear i’ll delete it!”

he saves it in a hidden folder.

calls you his ‘cupcake’ or ‘sugarplum’.

teases you nonstop when you fail at something in the kitchen.

“babe! no! gentle folds! you pulverized those poor blueberries!”

“but the instructions say to mix!”

“the dough isn’t supposed to be blue!”

he’ll whine nonstop about how much he hates baking bread in class.

“do you know how abnoxiously long the fermentation process is!? i’m losing my mind.”

will wave and yell your name to catch your attention if he spots you nearby at campus.

you hear him every time.

he’s just that loud.

drags you to new restaurants just so you can rate them with him.

also drags you to go cutlery shopping.

accidentally dropped a plate in the store.

and when the employee came sauntering in the aisle suspiciously-

“(y/n) did it.”

once gave you food poisoning by accident.

you never wanted to eat scallops again.

you don’t mind his hands smelling like garlic or ginger most of the time.

or stained with spices.

“turmeric is a bitch.”

“woo, who wears white while cooking with turmeric anyway?”

will show off and brag about his knife skills.

demands to race with you to see who can chop the vegetables the quickest.

“you’re going down, (y/n).”

“uh- i don’t think i ever stood a chance to begin with.”

he lets you win sometimes though.

will beg you to visit him at his part time job at the cute cafe not too far by.

you always try to when you have the time.

and when he finds out you went to the rival cafe across the street one day..

“on a scale of 10 to 10, how bad is kang yeosang’s cooking?”

“what?”

“answer the question, (y/n).”

“woo, it’s 3 a.m.”

the next day, you explained that you were merely invited by your classmates to that particular cafe because one of them was a former employee there.

he childishly ignored you with crossed arms and a subtle pout.

“your jajangmyeon is much better. they didn’t even like the food there!”

he finally perks up with a large smile.

“wait, really?”

you think he looks endearing with his apron and chef’s hat.

will post cheesy captioned pictures of you after serving you delicately decorated plates of food.

‘two delicious meals for tonight, hehe.’

“gross. did you really have to say that?”

—[ jongho - kinesiology ]

you met him at the university gym and instantly clicked.

found yourself months later agreeing to go out with him.

a giant goofball.

sometimes makes faces at you while you exercise across the gym.

makes sure you watch him when he deadlifts.

loves when you hype him up.

opens all the jars for you.

and cuts all the fruit for you.

“why use a knife when you have my hands, love?”

you nearly choked on your saliva when he punched open the watermelon.

“can we ever just have a perfectly sliced watermelon!?”

“no- unless i break my arm one day.”

insists you jog with him around campus early in the morning.

likes to practice wrapping elastic tape on you.

you own half of his hoodies.

takes you to watch basketball matches.

then challenges you to a match when you go on dates to the park.

will persistently tease you about your poor aim.

and will absolutely not let you have the ball for more than a few seconds.

“stop cheating!”

“i’m not cheating! you just suck!”

joined you in some of your elective classes.

will also wear sleeveless shirts because he knows how flustered you get while his sculpted muscles are on display.

“what did professor kim just say?”

“what?” you tore your gaze from his biceps to glance at his face.

“are you staring at my arms again?” he snickers.

“no,” you say too quickly, face heating quite considerably.

despite his teasing, he’ll always baby you and take care of your needs.

has the cutest gummy smile.

you like to call him your gummy bear.

he hated the name at first, but grew to accept it over time.

likes to randomly pick you up.

sometimes will throw you over his shoulder.

has a habit of patting your thighs.

sometimes asks you to sit on his back while he does push-ups.

your eye bulged at the sight of a mop of ruby hair.

“don’t say anything.”

“you like apples so much you dyed your hair red?”

“i lost a bet.”

“you look cute though.”

you tugged at his tresses, smiling as you admired the shade against his tanned skin.

“baby?” you brushed his bangs away to display his forehead.

“hm?”

“you’re the apple of my eye.”

“i’m-,” he sucked on his teeth and pursed his lips, face scrunching in a mock grimace, “i’m going to throw up.”

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quicksilversquared · 4 years ago

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Move to Safety

After Adrien just happens to spy Nooroo in his father's office, he's sent into an panic. His father is Hawkmoth, which means that Adrien is in serious danger.

Thankfully the Dupain-Chengs are more than willing to step up to the plate and lend a helping hand.

links in the reblog

Adrien didn't know what he was going to do. He paced, he grabbed at his hair, he made a couple stabs at making plans to run away but found big, gaping holes in his plans almost immediately when he actually managed to take a half-step back and look at them again.

His father was Hawkmoth, and Adrien Was Not Dealing.

"I can't sleep here, what if he finds out about me?" Adrien asked frantically for the twenty-fifth time, carding his fingers through his hair. "Or what if he already knows? What if he suspects something and decides to put up a camera on my window? What if-"

"Okay, first of all, I do check for things like cameras and hidden microphones all the time," Plagg said loudly, cutting through Adrien's panicked fog for the first time in- well, for the first time in however many minutes it had been that Adrien had been freaking out. "There aren't any over here or any even pointed in this direction, which is a bit odd considering how often you sneak out but maybe it's because people can't really sneak in this way. Second of all- can't you move out? You were planning on doing that when you went to university anyway, right?"

Adrien nodded, then shook his head. "I'm too young to move out yet, I still have a few months before I'll even be able to sign a lease. And if I move out right away- then he'll know that something is up. It's better not to arouse any suspicions, but I don't want to be close enough for him to get any suspicions about me."

"He's had years to get suspicious about you, though," Plagg countered. "It's not like you just started being Chat Noir."

"Yeah, well, I've had years to get suspicious about him, too, and look at where we are now!"

Plagg looked. His usually picture-perfect Chosen was a frazzled mess in the middle of his room, hair sticking up oddly from him pulling at it so much. He could see where Adrien had been pacing in the carpet, the little loops scuffed more than the ones around them. Scattered pages of notes from his half-baked plans covered the top of the desk, some things circled and others crossed out (and some circled and then crossed out).

It was a somewhat unsettling picture.

"Okay, so first of all, don't let on that anything is different," Plagg said, because apparently he had to be the cool-headed thinker between the two of them now. "If you do, your father will investigate. Second of all, you have locks on your doors, right? Lock them at night."

Adrien shook his head. "It won't make a difference. Father has the keys to all of the rooms. At best, I could set an alarm so that I would wake up if someone came in, but that would be hard to do without anyone noticing. What if I set it at night, had to go out for a morning akuma attack and forgot about it, and one of the maids tried to come in? Then the alarm would go off and Father would be so confused and annoyed and would investigate and-"

Plagg watched, unimpressed. "I think pigtails is wearing off on you with the over-the-top unrealistic panic scenarios."

"They aren't unrealistic! You've seen what Father is like. Paranoid and controlling and- he's a supervillain, Plagg, it's not unrealistic for him to notice something off in the room and wonder about it and then he would try to lock me down even more while he tries to figure out what's going on and why I have an alarm system set up on the interior doors of my room."

...his Chosen had a good point. So Plagg sighed, floated down to desk level, and actually gave it some more thought.

Tikki would be so proud of him right now.

"Okay, so you'll definitely have to tell Ladybug sooner rather than later," Plagg started, because while the discovery was earth-shattering for Adrien, he still had to think like a superhero. "And then, uh..."

Yeah, so maybe he was coming up a little blank.

"Yeah, that was about as far as I got, too," Adrien said moodily, flopping down in his desk chair and spinning around. "I mean, once I turn eighteen and can rent a place, I could just escape at night and run over there to sleep. As long as I set an alarm every night, I should be able to get back here before anyone notices that I'm gone. And I would only need to buy a mattress to keep over there, at least until I move out for good. And at least I can afford it," he added. "All of the money from my modeling and commercials and all the other stuff that I've done- that's in my account, and no one can take it from me. I made sure that the account was entirely in my name last year, when I started thinking about moving out. Neither Father nor Nathalie can touch the money in there, I made sure of that."

That still left several months between now and then which- well, again, not ideal. Maybe they would defeat his father before then, since they knew where to find him now, but if they didn't...

"Lots of sleepovers with friends, maybe?" Plagg suggested weakly. Adrien laughed, then sighed.

"Yeah, I wish. I think Nino might start to wonder if I showed up at his house every night for three and a half months, though. And his parents might call Father, and I don't want that." Adrien slumped in his chair again, then straightened with a yelp when he caught sight of the time. "Oh! Crud, I'm meant to be going over to Marinette's house today so we can all hang out today. I don't want to be late for that. C'mon, Plagg, let's go!"

Adrien was undeniably, irrefutably, most definitely feeling off. And it was showing. He had lost the last three games of Mecha Strike to Nino, of all people- and he had lost badly. Thankfully his friends seemed willing enough to write it off to exhaustion from too many photoshoots instead of interrogating him on his distraction, and so Adrien got off scot-free.

That wasn't good if he was so obviously distracted, though. Nathalie would see through his squirrely behavior in an instant. She knew that he didn't have an overly loaded schedule- well, no more loaded than it usually was, at least- and she would be more likely to ask question.

He wondered if she knew about his father. She had to, right? There was no way that she could miss it when she was working in the same room as him day in and day out-

-she was Mayura, wasn't she. The thought hit Adrien like a brick wall, and he swallowed hard, feeling a little ill. His father was his family and Nathalie had been like family and they were the supervillains terrorizing Paris, the ones that he had to fight against almost every other day.

He was going to be sick.

How Adrien made it through the rest of his get-together with his friends, he didn't know. It seemed like time flashed by in an instant and then Nino and Alya were leaving, headed out the door together arm-in-arm and without a care in the world. Adrien was about to follow them- now that he was nearly eighteen, he was actually allowed to walk between Marinette's house and his own instead of having the Gorilla drive him for the few short blocks- when a slender hand slid around his wrist, stopping him before he could get more than a couple steps. Confused, Adrien blinked and turned around to see Marinette staring up at him, concern written across her face.

"Something is bothering you, isn't it?" Marinette asked, tugging Adrien gently away from the door and letting it close. "You've been off the entire time that you've been here."

Adrien tried for a smile. "It's nothing, just photoshoots-"

"You haven't had a photoshoot in three days, and you were just fine after the last one," Marinette shot back, and belatedly Adrien remembered that oh, right, Marinette had an open invitation to all of his photoshoots and knew when they were. "And if you were tired, you would have passed out on the couch while we were playing games. Instead, you were almost fidgeting out of your skin. And you suddenly got more distracted partway through- you looked like you were about to be sick."

"Start-of-summer cold?" Adrien offered up weakly. Marinette looked even less convinced, brow furrowed with concern as she gazed up at him. All of a sudden, Adrien couldn't do it anymore.

"My father is Hawkmoth," Adrien confessed in a rush, practically collapsing in on himself. "I was passing by his office today and I saw him talking to Noor- to his kwami, and it was a butterfly, and then he pulled off his necktie and was rubbing this brooch underneath it and why would he hide any jewelry if it weren't the Miraculous? And Nathalie knows, she has to, she's in the same office all day and she has to be Mayura and I'm living in the same house as two supervillains and I can't move out for a year without them getting suspicious and what am I meant to do?"

Marinette looked rather as though she had been hit by a truck, she was so surprised. Adrien winced.

...he definitely could have broken the news better. Maybe she wouldn't want to be near him now, because it would be dangerous to be near the son of a supervillain even though he wasn't a supervillain, he was a superhero, and wasn't that ironic? He had to fight against his own father.

That was really, really messed up.

Marinette's expression shifted from startled to confused, and Adrien heard her mumble "But how does he know what-?" before her grip suddenly tightened around his wrist and she turned his hand, just enough to see his ring glinting in the sun. She let a tiny oh, and suddenly Adrien knew without question that somehow she had just figured out his secret identity.

A soft thud behind them caught Adrien's attention next, and both he and Marinette swung around in time to see Mr. Dupain startle, righting his tray before another loaf of bread could fall off. His gaze returned to Adrien as soon as he had ensured that all of the bread was safe, and- okay, apparently Marinette's dad had overheard him.

He hadn't planned on letting people know, let alone this many. Marinette's family was perfectly normal and completely functional and he shouldn't be burdening them with his family's problems. But now Mr. Dupain was setting down his tray to come over and wrap Adrien up in a hug, and when had Marinette started hugging him? Adrien couldn't help but stiffen up in surprise at first, before practically collapsing into the hug.

Adrien hadn't been hugged like this for so long. Two sets of arms wrapped around him, and Marinette's hands were rubbing up and down his back. It was absolute unquestioning acceptance, and Adrien couldn't even manage to be embarrassed about the tears that he could definitely feel starting to leak down his cheeks. Marinette's cheek was pressed against his, and she clearly had no reservations about holding him close.

"Does your father know that you found out about him?" Mr. Dupain asked, pulling back but only enough so that he could see Adrien. "Or doesn't he know?"

"He doesn't know," Adrien said at once. After all, he hadn't lingered much in the atrium once he saw the kwami- Nooroo, Plagg had called him- before making a hasty (and quiet) escape to his room. In fact, he wouldn't be 100% sure of what he had seen if it weren't for the fact that Plagg had seen it, too, and had even zipped back to try to eavesdrop for a bit. "I left right away, and he wasn't facing the door. But I just- I can't believe that I've been sleeping under the same roof as a supervillain. Two supervillains, if you count Nathalie."

"You don't feel safe sleeping there anymore, do you?" Mr. Dupain asked at once. He was frowning. "I know that I wouldn't."

Adrien nodded, burying his face in Marinette's hair and trying not to sound like he was about to cry. He was pretty certain that he wasn't succeeding. Also, he was definitely getting snot all over her hair, and he would have to apologize for that later. "Yeah. I was planning on moving out once I started university, and of course I can get an apartment once I reach my birthday and then just sneak out to sleep there, but I would have to wait for that."

"And it's very possible that your landlord would still reach out to your father," Mr. Dupain said, and Adrien's head flew up in alarm to stare at him in alarm. He had only done a little research on apartments, enough to figure out that he had to legally be an adult to rent without a guardian's signature, but he had a source of income and a savings account of his own and surely that would be enough, right?

Marinette was frowning, too. "But surely if he asked the landlord not to say anything, they wouldn't?"

Her dad shook his head. "Not necessarily. I assume that you would pick something small and relatively cheap, at least for the time being," he said to Adrien, and Adrien nodded in confirmation. He didn't want to spend too much money right away, after all. "Right. Some of those landlords- well, they're not the best, to say the least. They would know that you come from money and they might try to exploit that. It's not legal, and all you would have to do to get them to back off if they were trying to push for more than what's in the lease is report it, but if something like that happens or you forget to pay on time they might go to your father, and once is all you need for him to find out."

Adrien nodded, his heart sinking.

"And frankly- Adrien, you're still a teenager. You're still a kid. You shouldn't have to be spending your money on essentials yet, and I'm not comfortable with letting you do that." Mr. Dupain glanced towards the bakery, where Mrs. Cheng was still working the front counter. "I'd have to discuss it with Sabine, of course, but- Adrien, we do have a guest room that rarely ever gets used."

Adrien's jaw was practically on the floor at the implied offer as soon as it sunk in. "I- I mean, that would be- are you sure?"

Mr. Dupain smiled, clapping Adrien on the shoulder. "You're a kind young man, Adrien. If you don't feel safe at home, we'd be more than happy to help. I will have to tell Sabine about your father, though, to convince her that we're actually helping and not just trying to steal you away from your family. Not that she would be entirely opposed to that, of course."

If it would get him a place to stay at night, that was fine. He would just have to trust that the Dupain-Chengs wouldn't get akumatized before he and Ladybug could take Hawkmoth down. "Of course."

"Good, good." Mr. Dupain gave Adrien's shoulder a squeeze before stepping back and picking up his tray of bread again. "Why don't you two head back upstairs then? If you can stay for dinner, Adrien, then maybe we can discuss how this is all going to work out?"

Adrien nodded obediently, glancing back towards Marinette. He certainly wouldn't mind staying longer- the Dupain-Cheng home was so warm and friendly, so very unlike his own- and he also had a few things that he needed to discuss with Marinette. Namely, the fact that she had figured out that he was Chat Noir.

Somehow.

Adrien's mind was racing as he and Marinette headed back upstairs. He was trying to figure out where to start. Should he try to deny her discovery? Would she even believe him if he tried? Something told him no.

"We're going to have to figure out how to time things so that your father doesn't catch on," Marinette said as she ushered Adrien back upstairs towards their living room. She sent him a sharp look. "Though I suppose that you being able to just slip in and out from your window makes things easier."

...yeah, he wasn't even going to try to deny his secret identity. Marinette hadn't phrased it as a question. She knew.

Adrien sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Ladybug wasn't going to be happy about someone finding out his secret identity, but at least- well, at least they knew Hawkmoth's identity, too, so an end to this whole fight was in sight. Hopefully. "Yeah, it makes things a lot easier. But speaking of that..."

Marinette glanced up at him. "Yes?"

"We really need to talk."

#Miraculous Ladybug #my writing #Move to Safety #adrien agreste

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maybeimamuppet · 3 years ago

Text

in her pride

happy Wednesday and happy pride, friends! this is a request fill for @jusanotherconfusedfangirl who requested our art freaks and Elijah attending pride!

trigger warnings for:

homophobia

one use of d-slur

panic attacks

I think that's everything, but as always please let me know if I've missed something and I will add it in.

enjoy!

“Hey, Peanut,” Janis greets as Cady leaps into her arms. “You look cute!”

“Thanks!” Cady chirps happily. She does look rather adorable in her shorts and tank top combo, complete with bi flag suspenders and a matching headband. She also found bi flag socks and stole a pair of Janis’ boots. Cady pulls back to see Janis’ outfit too. “Wow. You look… really good.”

“Why thank you,” Janis purrs. She’s in her usual shorts and tights, but this time has a lesbian flag t-shirt and matching socks poking out from her own boots. She does a spin to show off her outfit, revealing that one the pockets of her shorts has also been painted with the many orange and pink stripes of her flag, and her infamous ‘female power’ painting done in miniature on the other. “Come on.”

Cady follows her into the house and up to her room. Julie waves as they pass her open door. She’s got on a rainbow shirt in solidarity, but wouldn’t be joining them on their little excursion.

“Do you want your flag painted on your face?” Janis asks, pointing to her own cheek decorated with yet another lesbian flag. Cady nods excitedly, so Janis gestures for her to sit across from her on the bed and grabs her paints and a brush.

“What’s it going to be like?” Cady asks as Janis tenderly brushes a thick stripe of blue onto her cheek.

“Loud,” Janis replies immediately. “In a lot of ways. There’s gonna be a lot of bright colors, obviously, and a lot of noise. And probably a few weird smells.”

“Okay,” Cady chuckles gently so she doesn’t mess Janis up.

“It’s a lot of fun, though. You’ll get to see and meet all sorts of people who’ve been through and experienced all sorts of things,” Janis says. “You’ll love it.”

“I’m so excited,” Cady says happily as Janis finishes brushing magenta on top of her purple stripe. “When did you start going?”

“Ninth grade,” Janis says quietly. “Damian and I went with our moms.”

“Aww,” Cady coos. “You sound sad.”

“I’m… I don’t know,” Janis says. “It was a great thing overall that year, but I had an… ordeal, let’s say, with a group of protestors there. I’m still not sure how I feel about that Pride as a whole.”

“Oh,” Cady frowns. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now,” Janis says. “It’s your first pride, let’s just focus on that for today. I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Okay,” Cady says. “You look good in warm colors, you should wear them more often.”

“You think?” Janis chuckles, putting her hands on her hips and striking a pose. “Haven’t worn this much pink since I was a Plastic.”

“Love, you wore that pink shirt so many times during our junior year,” Cady says. “And last year, too.”

“What pink shirt?” Janis asks in confusion. “I don’t have any pink clothes.”

Cady heads over to her closet and pulls out the two-toned pink striped shirt, a dress with pink flowers, and a pink sweater.

“Then what color are these?” She asks, holding them up to show off.

Janis goes very quiet and purses her lips. “Diet red. I don’t wear pink.”

Cady bursts out laughing and comes to kiss her cheek. “You’re allowed to wear pink if you want, lovey. It suits you.”

“Humph,” Janis grumbles. “Do you have everything you need?”

“I think so,” Cady says. “Sunscreen and sunglasses, ear defenders, hats, water, snacks, phone, ponchos, flags.”

“Sounds good to me,” Janis says. “Dame and Elijah should be here in a few minutes and then we can go.”

“Yay,” Cady says happily, coming to straddle her girlfriend for cuddles.

Sure enough, Damian and Elijah come quite literally parading into the room about ten minutes later, having let themselves into Janis’ house. Cady and Janis are more than a little concerned when they hear Julie yell “Oh my god!”

Until they see what she’s on about. Damian is looking… colorful in a full rainbow outfit, complete with cloud hat, bright red lipstick and wearing a trans pride flag as a cape. Elijah is entirely topless but in a rainbow skirt, long and made of tulle. He’s also wearing a flag cape, but his is the demisexual flag. He has a fan in each hand. One says ‘Oh honey’ with a bee pattern on it and the other appears to say ‘Power bottom’. Janis gags a little as he hands the latter back to Damian.

“Jesus Christ, guys,” Janis laughs. “Looking good.”

“Whoa,” Cady blinks. “I want a cape!”

“Do you have a flag?” Damian asks. Cady nods and grabs her larger bi flag that she’d impulse-bought a while ago out of her bag. He takes it and ties it loosely around her neck to match them. Once she has her cape, Cady does a superhero pose with her hands on her hips and her chin jutted out proudly.

“Bi-der girl,” Janis mumbles under her breath. Cady hears her and laughs, nodding in agreement.

“Can we go now pleeeease? I’m so excited,” Cady begs, tugging on Janis’ hand to get her to stand up.

“Yes, we can, easy,” Janis laughs. “Save your energy.”

“She’s got plenty,” Damian chuckles. “Let’s go, E can drive us there.”

—————

“Whoa,” Cady says in awe, looking around at all the bright rainbows and fun outfits surrounding them. They got a spot near the start of the parade, to get the best goodies. “Is that person-“

“Naked? Probably,” Janis finishes as Cady trails off. “There’s a lot of different things people are here for, some are a little ‘out there’ even for me.”

“Hm,” Cady hums thoughtfully. “Fun!”

“Just wait ‘til it starts, Butterfly,” Janis says, kissing her cheek. Cady flinches a little when the screaming begins along with the parade, and Janis quickly realizes she can’t see much. Cady accepts the offered perch on Janis’ back and watches like that, waving at people passing by and catching them a few of whatever is flung their way.

By the time the last few floats and groups have gone by, Janis is almost totally covered in all sorts of rainbow and pride accoutrements. Necklaces, other beads, candy, flags, and even some condoms.

“That was awesome!” Cady squeals in her ear. “What now?”

“Now we get to walk around and enjoy it,” Janis responds, following Damian and Elijah down the street. “Ooh, cupcakes.”

Cady is glad Janis seems to have forgotten she’s still on her back, since it means she doesn’t have to walk around. Janis buys them each a cupcake with their respective pride flag frosted on top, and Cady climbs down to dig in happily.

“Ooh, mine is funfetti!” She says around a mouthful, showing Janis her cupcake with the bite missing.

“I think mine is strawberry,” Janis says around some of her own, showing off the pink center to hers. Cady cheekily leans in and takes a bite of it. “Hey!” Janis leans in and takes a bite of Cady’s. “You got frosting on your nose.”

Cady crosses her eyes to see, and sure enough, there is a little bit of purple frosting from her cupcake on her nose. She pokes her tongue out to try to get it, but Janis kisses it away instead. Cady grins and clambers back onto her girlfriend’s back, peppering a few kisses over her cheeks.

“What’s that?” She asks, pointing to a group of people who seem to be doing some sort of craft as they listen to a local band on a stage nearby.

“I dunno, sometimes they have art stuff here. Do you want to go see? I think we’ve officially lost Dame and Elijah,” Janis says.

“How did we manage that? Damian is literally dressed as a whole rainbow,” Cady mutters confusedly.

“Exactly, it’s perfect camouflage,” Janis chuckles. “They’ll find us eventually, come on.”

Cady clings to her shoulders contently as she’s carried over to the area. A lady is running a booth there and explains they’re painting rocks to go in a garden outside the local LGBTQ+ youth shelter. People are painting anything from pride flags, to animals and other random things, to supportive messages on some of the larger ones. It’s free, so Janis grabs a few rocks for each of them and a paper plate with all sorts of colors of acrylic paint.

“So what do you think so far, Butterfly?” Janis asks as she gets to work painting a bee on one of her rocks.

“It’s fun! You were right, it’s loud, but it’s… safe feeling. A good loud,” Cady responds, deciding to do a rainbow lion, as a little nod to her pride of lions from Kenya. “And everything is so interesting, there’s so much here.”

“Good,” Janis replies, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Someone from one of the other blankets yells over that they make a cute couple, and they both call back a thank you with a giggle.

“And everyone is so nice, too,” Cady chuckles, brushing a streak of purple into her lion’s mane.

Once all their rocks have been thoroughly decorated with all sorts of flags and rainbows and messages, they return them to the booth to dry and be placed, and then head off to find another thing to do.

“Oh, there’s Damian,” Cady says, having been on her tippy toes and scanning the local area.

“Of course he found the food trucks,” Janis mumbles under her breath. She yelps slightly as Cady grabs her hand and starts running them in that direction.

By the time they make it to him, she’s thoroughly out of breath. Damian turns around at the sound of her panting and chuckles.

“Hey guys!” He greets. “I found tacos. You good, Jan?”

“Gimme,” Janis puffs, reaching for his slushee. He hands it over begrudgingly and lets her have a few gulps. “Ooh, blue raspberry. Thanks.”

“Get your own,” Damian whines. “They’re, like, two bucks.”

“And you owe me ten,” Janis shrugs. “Mine now.”

“Why does Damian owe you money?” Cady asks worriedly.

“I bet him ten bucks I could steal a sheep without being noticed,” Janis responds. “And then I did.”

“You-you-“ Cady stutters. “Wh-what-why- why did you-“

“Good job, Janis, you broke your girlfriend,” Elijah chuckles.

“I put it back after,” Janis says, as if that makes anything better. Cady is still stuttering over several questions. “I named him Walter.”

Cady just blinks and then sighs, leaning her head against Janis’ shoulder. “Stop stealing livestock. Just leave them alone.”

“I didn’t steal the cows! Or the chickens,” Janis defends quickly. “And the sheep was fine. I just borrowed him for a second. Also, did you know sheep are not as soft as you would think? They’re very scratchy.”

“There’s a reason I can’t wear wool,” Cady chuckles in response. “Now get us some tacos, you heathen.”

Janis pouts, but does head up to the window to order them some food. Cady takes hers and leads them all over to a picnic table nearby, trying to navigate around the sticky soda spills and leftover gum.

Elijah tells them about the clothing and accessory booths set up a ways away, showing them all the cool pride necklaces he had purchased along with a few t-shirts. In return, Cady points out the cupcake place back closer to the beginning. Damian suddenly looks much more excited than he did a second ago.

“They’re really good! Mine was funfetti, and Janis let me try some of her strawberry one,” Cady says.

“I didn’t let you, you stole a bite,” Janis retaliates. “Don’t twist this story.”

“And you took some of mine,” Cady argues jokingly. “You would’ve given me a bite anyway.”

“No I wouldn’t! You’re a thief,” Janis says. Damian and Elijah both shoot her a look. “What?”

To prove her point, Cady juts out her bottom lip and blinks at her pleadingly. “Jayjay, can I pleeeease have a bite of your taco?”

“This is a trap, this is a trap,” Janis whispers to herself, trying her hardest to resist. Cady takes it up a notch and leans into her shoulder, blinking those long eyelashes at her adorably. “Fine!”

Cady laughs victoriously and steals her bite. “I told you. I have the power.”

“Outside the bedroom, maybe,” Janis mutters crankily. “Ow!”

“Janis Sarkisian,” Cady scolds, whacking her arm once more. “We just got a whole intervention a couple weeks ago, did you not learn your lesson about keeping things private?”

“I was joking, ow!” Janis laughs. “Stop hitting me, I’m sorry. I gave you my taco.”

Cady chuckles. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have hit you. I love you.”

Janis grins again as Cady cuddles back into her shoulder. “I love you too.”

Damian shoots them a warning look, so Janis restrains herself to one kiss against Cady’s hair and less aggressive cuddling than she wants.

They finish their food and sit there chatting for a while before Cady pipes up again. “I’m bored, can we go find something else to do?”

“Sure, Cads,” Damian chuckles. “Come on, there’s some photo booth thingies this way.”

Cady says, “Ooh!” excitedly at the same time Janis gives a groan, but they both follow Damian and Elijah regardless. “Jayjay, it’ll be fun! Oh, look at all the backdrops, they’re huge!”

Janis can’t help but smile at her excitement, remembering the joy she felt at her own first pride. Cady takes all sorts of selfies and pictures with her little squad at every flag backdrop, even the ones nobody in their group belong to. They are all very pretty and do make excellent photo backdrops.

Janis takes some of just Cady in front of the bi flag pasted to the side of a building. Cady smiles happily at her and does a few poses. Damian cheers her on from the sidelines before joining her for a few more. Janis smiles even more. She and Damian are and always will be platonic soulmates, but he and Cady have something special too.

Cady eventually comes back to her girlfriend after no fewer than fifty pictures. Some Plastic habits have taken longer to fade than others. “Do you want any of you?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, Peanut,” Janis says. She’s perfectly content to peruse their group shots or the photos of Cady, she’s never been one to enjoy taking pictures of just herself. “I’m in plenty of the group ones.”

“Okay,” Cady says. “What do you want to do? You’ve just been following me around so far.”

“No, I got the cupcakes,” Janis reminds her. “And you’ve picked good stuff to do. Let’s go check out the shopping stands, though, they usually have good stuff.”

Cady nods and takes her hand. Damian and Elijah realize they’re leaving and follow after them at a slight distance. Cady looks around curiously at all the rainbows and other color schemes in various forms around them. “I’ve never felt so… safe. Or secure in my sexuality,” she says quietly as they pass under a rainbow balloon structure.

“Good. That’s how it’s supposed to feel,” Janis says back with a smile. It quickly fades. “Too good to last.”

“What?” Cady asks. Janis points to a crowd of religious protestors nearby, holding signs with all sorts of cruel phrasing on them. “Oh.”

“Just ignore them for now, unless they start getting physical or go after someone young,” Janis shrugs, turning to browse some pride earrings. Cady nods and follows.

She notices Janis tense up as they’re forced to get closer to keep browsing, so she squeezes her hand gently to comfort her. Janis squeezes back thankfully.

Cady and Janis manage to ignore them and continue browsing. Cady buys everyone scrunchies patterned with their respective flags. Elijah puts his on his wrist, but Damian goes the extra mile and manages to get a little ponytail together on top of his head.

He and Elijah continue walking around for a while, but Cady and Janis stay and find a place to sit. It’s quiet and peaceful as Cady braids Janis’ hair down her back and ties the end with her new scrunchie.

So quiet that Janis forgets where they are and who’s nearby, and leans in to kiss her. All she knows is Damian and Elijah aren’t particularly close by, so she has free reign to kiss her girlfriend as much as she wants.

She’s violently brought back to reality when she hears some yelling. All she can make out is the word ‘dykes’. And to make matters worse, her hand suddenly feels warm and wet. One of them spat on her.

Damian and Elijah make a return as they hear the slurs being yelled, and Janis runs to cuddle into Damian. Cady, however, is fuming.

Cady knows she’s not supposed to engage these people. It won’t change anything, and puts her at risk. But, as she sees Janis being led away by Damian apparently in tears, she can’t hold herself back. Elijah is waiting for her, and there’s plenty of safe people around.

“Listen up, you fucks!” She snaps, getting the mob’s attention. “You know damn well you don’t belong here. This is an event for us, to give us a safe space. You’re entitled to your opinions, but attacking my girlfriend is where I draw the fucking line. Fun fact, pride actually has two meanings. This, and a family of lions. I grew up surrounded by several prides. I know how they fight, how they protect each other. The same applies here. If you even think about doing anything to anyone here again, I’ll show you how a whole pride of lions fights. Now fuck off.”

Surprisingly, they listen and back down a little bit. They don’t leave like she had hoped, but deep down she knew they wouldn’t. They’re suddenly swarmed by other pride-goers, congratulating her on her speech and going to try to cover the signs of the protestors.

“Damn, Cady,” Elijah says lowly. “Nice.”

“They hurt Janis,” Cady growls furiously. “Where did they go?”

Elijah points to an alleyway and leads them to it, quickly revealing a sobbing Janis being cradled by Damian. Cady’s seen her like this a few times before. She’s having a panic attack.

“Oh, darling,” Cady breathes sadly, any trace of anger gone once she sees the state Janis is in. “I’m so sorry.”

Janis reaches for her, so Cady cuddles in by Damian and squishes Janis between them. Elijah waits a little bit away, but in earshot if they need him. Janis doesn’t know him as well and his presence seemed to be making her more upset.

Cady pulls her bag off her back and roots through it, pulling out a water bottle and one of the snacks she brought, Janis’ sunglasses, and her own ear defenders.

“Mpenzi, do you want to try these? You don’t have to, but they help me when I’m overwhelmed,” Cady says lowly, tenderly stroking over Janis’ braid. Janis nods with another burst of sobs, so Cady helps her get the sunglasses on without poking her eyes and gently pops on the headphones. “Deep breaths, love, everything’s okay.”

Janis continues weeping in their embrace, sniffling anxiously every once in a while and clinging to both of her comfort people. Cady usually would offer a calming strategy, but she gets a sense that this time it’s important for Janis to just get it out.

A few people pass by the alley and ask if she’s okay, but Elijah plays bodyguard and sends them on their way again with the assurance that they’re handling it.

Very, very gradually, Janis does calm down. She pulls the headphones down around her neck and tucks the sunglasses into her shirt, reaching for the water and snack.

Cady unscrews the lid and hands it over, but helps her hold it when she sees how violently Janis is still shaking. Janis downs a couple gulps and continues clutching it as she shifts off of Damian and closer to Cady.

“Can I kiss you? Here?” Cady asks, tapping Janis’ forehead. She doesn’t know what triggered this, yet, and she doesn’t want to overstep. But Janis nods, so she pulls her close and peppers kisses against her temple. “You’re okay now, they’re gone.”

Elijah gets a little closer now that Janis is no longer in tears, sitting across the alley against the other wall.

“Did they-did they do anything? To you?” Janis chokes quietly, checking over Cady for any injuries and her face for any hint of sadness. Elijah snorts. “What?”

“Cady cussed their asses out,” Elijah responds. “She went off, even I was scared. They didn’t have a chance to get anything in edgewise.”

“That’s not- not safe,” Janis whispers anxiously. “Wh-why?”

“Shh, darling, I know it was a bad idea,” Cady says, blushing slightly at Elijah’s summation of the events. She just said whatever came to her. “But they hurt you. I’m not gonna let anyone get away with that. Nothing happened, and I won’t do that again.”

Janis looks warily to Damian, who gives her a sad nod. Cady gives a weak grin watching their apparent psychic connection.

“When I was-well. The first-the first time,” Janis begins shakily. “I was-was fourteen. Stupid. I-I made f-fun of them. And-and-and…”

She breaks down again, crying into Cady’s shoulder gently. Damian asks her if he can tell the story for her, and she nods.

“She kind of taunted them. I did too, it was funny for a while,” he says quietly. “But then one of them got really angry. He got them all to yell at us a lot louder, and Janis was obviously still kind of sensitive to the whole d-slur thing. Which they noticed, so they yelled that over and over. And then he threw a rock, and it hit her. She had a bruise for almost a month, it almost broke her arm.”

“Oh god, love,” Cady whispers in sad shock. “I’m so sorry.”

“That guy was arrested, but the rest of them weren’t. And he got out pretty quickly, unfortunately. His church paid his bail,” Damian growls. “We’ve tried to avoid them since.”

“Was he there?” Cady asks him quietly.

“No,” Damian says with a shake of his head. “But it was similar enough to what happened last time. She wasn’t right for a long time after it happened. And it makes sense she’s traumatized a little.”

Cady nods sadly and cuddles her girlfriend closer. It’s so hot, but Janis is crying so hard into her shoulder that she can’t think about anything else.

“Shh, darling, I’m so sorry,” Cady says quietly, rocking her girlfriend from side to side. “You’re safe, I’m safe. All of us are safe, nobody got hurt this time. Everything’s okay, I promise.”

Janis nods gently against her and tries to calm down, matching Cady’s slow, deep breathing as best she can and inhaling her comforting scent of rosewater, cherries, and books. They all mingle in an enchanting aroma around Cady, and Janis can’t get enough.

After another few minutes she stops crying again, and is just sniffling quietly in Cady’s hold.

“Okay?” Cady asks quietly. Janis nods gently again. “Good. Do you want to go fix your makeup or stay here a while longer?”

“You could do both,” Damian shrugs, pulling out a pack of makeup wipes and a few basic products. “What? You never know what you might need.”

“Gay,” Elijah teases. Damian pokes his tongue out at him.

Cady takes a few of the wipes and tenderly swipes the mascara and streaky remnants of a pride flag from Janis’ face. Her lipstick survived, so she leaves that. “Look up, dearest.”

Janis does, so she gently swipes on a new coat of eyeliner and several layers of mascara, as Janis likes it to be. “Thank you.” She says quietly, blinking a few times to get everything in place once Cady finishes.

“You’re welcome,” Cady responds with a kiss to her cheek. “Do you want to go home? You’ve been through it today.”

“No,” Janis replies instantly. “I-I went home last time. I let them get to me. I can’t do it again.”

“Okay,” Cady says. “If you’re sure you’re okay.”

Janis nods and stands up, brushing over her cheeks to try and help any remaining tear tracks fade. Cady, Damian, and Elijah stand as well.

“Oh, hang on a second,” Cady says hastily, taking her bag off again and rooting through it. She pulls out Janis’ pride flag and ties it gently around her neck so she has a cape like the rest of them. “It came off your face. You need another one.”

Janis grins weakly and squeezes her hand, leading them out of the alley and back to the festival.

“Hey,” Cady says quietly as they follow Damian and Elijah back closer to the entrance. Janis looks at her with a questioning hum, still not really in a mood to speak. Cady holds their intertwined hands up. “I love you.” She squeezes Janis’ hand three times, one squeeze for each word.

Janis smiles and leans in for a quick kiss. She looks around anxiously before she does, but the fact that she’s even willing to do so at all is frankly a miracle. “I love you too.” She squeezes Cady back four times, following the same pattern.

Eventually they get close to the area where they had painted the rocks earlier. And Cady gets an idea.

“Darling, will you be okay if I leave for a few minutes? I think I left something back that way,” she says to throw Janis off slightly. Janis pouts but nods and picks up a bit of speed to catch up with Damian. He screams and whirls around when she taps him on the shoulder, and Cady muffles laughter into her hand as she loops around a building and runs over to the booth.

“Oh, hello! Welcome back, are you here to do some more?” The kind lady asks.

“Um, yes, do you have any that are like that one?” Cady asks, pointing to one of the ones she decorated earlier. “And could I maybe keep this one?”

“I’m really not supposed to, but I don’t see why not. Our gardens aren’t that big,” the lady shrugs, handing over a rock of a similar size and shape.

“Thank you!” Cady calls, squeezing out all the colors she’ll need and running to hide from her little group. She copies the design she wants, and grins when it turns out even better this time. The paint dries within ten minutes, so she holds it carefully as she returns her supplies and takes her time returning to Janis.

Once it’s dry enough, she tucks it into her backpack and rejoins her friends and girlfriend.

She finds them by the cupcakes again. Damian seems very pleased with his lemon transgender pride flag one, Elijah got a cookies and cream demisexual one, and Janis seems content with another lesbian pride one since she gets this one all to herself.

“Hey, love,” Cady greets, once again leaning in and taking a small nibble of her cupcake. Janis whines in defeat, but turns to greet her with a smile.

“You’re a thief,” she gripes jokingly, kissing Cady’s cheek.

“A cute thief,” Cady responds.

“You got me there,” Janis chuckles. “Did you find your thing?”

“Yep! All good,” Cady says. “Now you have frosting on your nose.”

Janis scrunches her face up to see, making Cady giggle. She leans in to kiss it off, returning the favor Janis gave earlier.

“Jan, are you done?” Damian asks around the last mouthful of his cupcake. Janis takes the last bite of hers and nods, standing up to throw the wrappers in the nearby bin. Cady sneakily puts their backpack on Janis’ shoulders. She looks at her oddly, but puts her arms through to carry it around.

“Should we leave? I think we’ve done all there is to do,” Elijah says. “And I want ice cream.”

Janis perks up at the mention of ice cream. She’s lactose intolerant, but will be damned if it keeps her from enjoying her favorite cold treat.

“Janis, no,” Cady says. “You get sorbet.” Janis pouts, pulling her own puppy eyes pleadingly. Resist, Cady. “Fine, we’ll stop somewhere and get you your lactose pills.”

Janis thinks for a second before giving a begrudging nod. She’d rather not deal with a stomachache on top of everything else today, maybe her lactose pills are a good compromise.

“Good, come on,” Cady says. Janis shrieks in surprise as she picks her up piggyback style and starts following Damian and Elijah to the gates. “What?”

“When did you get so strong, babe?” Janis asks, clinging to her shoulders as Cady grips her thighs.

“You’re not that heavy, Jay,” Cady chuckles, adjusting her grip slightly. “And I did grow up in Africa. I carried a lot of water around.”

“Are you from Africa, baby, really? I had no idea,” Janis teases.

“I will drop you,” Cady threatens in retaliation. “If you don’t appreciate my services.”

“No, I appreciate them,” Janis says hastily, clinging to her tighter. She rests her chin on Cady’s shoulder and squishes their cheeks together. The rhythm of their steps nearly lulls her to sleep. “‘S nice.”

“Good,” Cady giggles. “You’re so cute.”

“No,” Janis whines, turning her head away to hide her blush. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.”

Cady laughs again. “Well, it’s how it’s going, so I suggest you learn to live with it. I think you’re absolutely adorable.”

“Why?” Janis pouts. “I spent so much time trying to make myself not cute.”

“Because you just are. Your eyes are so big, and you care so much about the people you can be bothered to give a shit about, and the way you stick your tongue out when you try to focus just… hurts me, almost,” Cady says, listing a few things. “And you love cuddles and when I hold you, and you still blush every time I call you Jellybean, and you pout when you get tired, and-“

“Okay, okay,” Janis says desperately, cutting her off so she can calm down. Her face is bright red by this point. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Cady says, depositing her safely just outside the car. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Janis says, leaning in for a kiss.

“Oh my god, get in, losers!” Damian yells far too loudly. Janis and Cady both laugh and slide into the backseat.

————-

“You have an ice cream mustache,” Janis chuckles at her girlfriend once their tasty snack is finished. “Come here.”

Cady reaches for her, and Janis presses their lips together contently, the flavors of chocolate and strawberry mingling on their tongues.

“There,” Janis says once they finally pull back. Damian and Elijah went inside to browse the candy for sale, so she doesn’t have to worry about being scolded for kissing Cady so aggressively.

“Thanks,” Cady giggles. “Oh, I have something for you.”

“Huh?” Janis says confusedly as Cady takes the backpack back from her and starts rooting through it. Cady pulls out her rock and holds it behind her back.

“You have to promise not to laugh at it, I did my best,” Cady demands. Janis nods in confusion and holds her hands out for her gift. Her brows furrow for a split second when Cady drops the stone in them, but she smiles widely when she turns it over to see what it’s been decorated with.

“The rainbow lion,” she says happily, tracing a tender finger over a piece of his mane.

“I went back and made another one for you, the lady let me keep it,” Cady says. “Do you get it?”

“No, I didn’t know there was something to get,” Janis says. Cady sits next to her on the bench and smiles as Janis leans onto her shoulder.

“A group of lions is called a pride,” Cady says quietly. “And you’re in my pride. In more ways than one. I love you, so you’re in my group. And I’m so, so proud of you. For just… being you. And being here. And letting me love you.”

Janis pulls back, and Cady notices her eyes brimming with tears as she suddenly tackles Cady in a tight hug. Cady squeezes her back just as tightly.

“I love you so much,” Janis sniffles. “Thank you.”

“I love you too,” Cady says, stroking down Janis’ braid. “Oh, darling, don’t cry, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Janis chuckles through her tears. “Good cry this time.”

“Ah, okay,” Cady says, gently rubbing up and down Janis’ back as her girlfriend moves to sit on her lap. The sun is finishing its journey for the day, the stars are just barely visible and the horizon is still bathed in varying shades of pink and orange and purple. “Happy Pride, darling.”

“Happy Pride, Peanut.”

I’m glad I’m in yours.

well i’ve had quite a bit of excitement trying to get this posted, so i hope you enjoyed!

requests are still paused, but i am hoping to get them re-opened in the next few weeks. nearly there.

thanks for reading!

lots of love,

ezzy

#cadnis #paint by numbers #space safari #cady heron x janis sarkisian #cady x janis #cady heron #janis sarkisian #damian hubbard #mean girls #mean girls broadway #mean girls musical

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