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aspoonofsugar · 3 years

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Jaune: Zero to Hero

Pyrrha: It's not about why; it's about knowing. Understanding dark and light helps us manifest our Aura. Everyone has some of both.

Knowledge, Creation and Destruction all lead up to Aura. This is just another way to say that they lead up to individuality, which is something Grimms lack:

Pyrrha: They are creatures of Grimm, the manifestation of anonymity.

Individuality is conveyed through Choice. This is why Choice is the most important and final gift. It is symbolic of self-actualization, which is what our characters are pursuing in their coming of age story.

Jaune’s personal arc comments the group’s collective journey and marks each stage very clearly.

In which way does it happen? And what do these stages mean for Jaune’s growth as an individual?

THE IGNORANT WARRIOR

Pyrrha: Jaune, do you... know what Aura is?

Jaune: Psch! Of course I do! Do you know what Aura is?

Jaune is introduced as inexperienced and ignorant. He lacks combat experience and knows nothing about key concepts like Aura, Landing Strategy or Semblances.

His journey starts because Pyrrha shares her knowledge with him:

She awakens his aura, his very soul and later on trains him, so she helps his body get stronger:

In other words, Pyrrha is the one who puts Jaune on the right path to become a true “hero” and a “warrior”.

This is Jaune’s objective since the beginning, but he initially pursues it in the wrong way:

Jaune: I don't want help! I don't want to be the damsel in distress! I want to be the hero!

He is fixated on an idea of hero which is outdated and has its root in toxic masculinity:

Jaune: Cause this is always what I've wanted to be! My father, my grandfather, and his father before him were all warriors! They were all heroes! I wanted to be one, too. I was just never good enough.

This is why symbolically Jaune wants to be like his male ancestors. He wants to grow into “a real man”:

Cardin: Let's see how much of a man you really are...

And this is conveyed also through his Weapon:

Jaune: It's a hand-me-down. My great-great-grandfather used it to fight in the war.

Jaune did not forge his own Weapon, but he inherited it. Crocea Mors initially represents the legacy he wants to live up to. However, this legacy, instead of driving him, slows him down because he can’t grow until he remains in his ancestors’ shadow. Jaune needs to develop his own individuality instead.

In order to do so, he needs to grow not only as a figther, but as a person too.

As a matter of fact, Jaune’s ignorance is not only limited to the world he has stepped into, but also to the people around him:

Jaune: That's easy for you to say. You've probably got guys clamoring over each other just to ask you out.

Pyrrha: You'd be surprised.

He is so self-focused that he does not notice others’ feelings and hurts them unintentionally.

However, Pyrrha teaches him once again:

Pyrrha:Tell her exactly what you said. No ridiculous schemes, no pick-up lines. Just... be honest.

It is thanks to her that Jaune manages to become a better man:

He is even able to call Neptune out the way Pyrrha did with him:

Jaune: Then just go talk to her. No pickup lines, no suave moves, just be yourself. I've heard that's the way to go.

And as a result, even Jaune’s relationship with Weiss gets better:

Weiss: You said you were embarrassed at first. What made you come talk to me?

Neptune: You're looking at him. You got some good friends looking out for ya.

Because the girl realizes Jaune is not only after her money or her romantic attention:

Weiss: All my life, boys have only cared about the perks of my last name.

But wants to genuinely be a good friend to her.

In short, Jaune starts the story as immature both as a fighter and as a person to the point that he is considered unfit and annoying by other characters:

Glynda: I don't care what his transcripts say. That Jaune fellow is not ready for this level of combat.

However, thanks to Pyrrha, he is given the chance to mature.

Not only that, but while other characters see a weakness and a nuisance in Jaune’s ignorance and inexperience, Pyrrha sees it as a possibility:

Weiss: Jaune, is it? Do you have any idea who you're talking to?

Jaune: Not in the slightest, snow angel.

Weiss: This is Pyrrha.

It is specifically because Jaune is new to Pyrrha’s world that he is free from bias:

Pyrrha: That's what I like about you. When we met, you didn't even know my name. You treated me just like anyone else. And thanks to you, I've made friendships that will last a lifetime. I guess, you're the kind of guy I wish I was here with. Someone who just saw me for me.

This is why Pyrrha feels she can forge a genuine bond with Jaune. What is more, the girl has faith in his potential:

Pyrrha: It's all right. I used my Aura to unlock yours, but the energy that protects you now is your own. You have a lot of it.

She sees in him what others do not and helps him develop both as a man and as a warrior.

This is well highlighted by the metal motif the two characters share.

As @hamliet explains here Rwby has several characters linked to the seven metals of alchemy.

The goal of alchemy is to create gold thanks to a process of refiniment that purifies the metal and has it go through several transformations.

The seven metals are nothing, but a scale that goes from the heaviest and most raw metal (lead) to the most purified (gold) passing through the others (tin, iron, copper, mercury, silver).

For a story, it simply means that a character goes through a process of change that leads to self-actualization.

In Rwby this idea is conveyed through specific characters embodying a metal (Ironwood, Penny, Mercury) or even thanks to metal motifs commenting a specific part of a character arc.

For example, Yang is associated with gold:

I am the golden one Who burns just like the sun

But Adam takes her arm away and has her regress in the scale of metals to iron. This regression is not simply physical, but psychological as well:

However, Yang re-affirms herself and moves forward. The first step of this process is to symbolically make her new arm “gold” again:

When it comes to Jaune, I think that he may be the character associated with lead aka the “prima materia” that needs to be molded into gold. Even if this is not true, metal is at least definately still a motif in his arc, as it is in Pyrrha’s. This is why both characters wear metal armors, differently from others.

Pyrrha is already close to her self-actualization and she reaches it in the climax of the Vale arc, where she completes her (tragic) arc and dies a Maiden.

This is why her armor is gold, while Jaune’s is white and gray. Pyrrha is at the top of the metal scale and close to the end of her journey, while Jaune is respectively at the very bottom and at the very beginning.

He is the embodyment of the prima materia that has potential for greatness, but only if he is rightly guided and if he himself works hard.

Pyrrha takes over herself the duty to help Jaune mold himself.

This is underlined also by Pyrrha’s semblance:

Pyrrha: Well, Ruby has her speed, you have your glyphs. My Semblance is polarity.

Pyrrha can control and bend metals and she shows her power for the first time when she helps Jaune against the Ursa, so that he can overcome his self-issues.

So, Jaune starts the story as the lead and is going through a path of self-refinement which will lead him to become gold, so more similar to Pyrrha herself.

Pyrrha offers him the basic knowledge to start this journey, but unluckily leaves him too soon and now Jaune has to move forward on his own.

THE CREATIVE AVENGER

Pyrrha: I want you to know that I'm just happy to be a part of your life. I'll always be here for you, Jaune.

Even after Pyrrha’s death, this stays true:

Blacksmith: That was some fine metal you brought me. Accents the white nicely. Where'd you get it from?

Pyrrha has become a part of Jaune.

This is a recurring motif in Rwby:

Penny: I won’t be gone, I’ll be part of you.

It is the idea that grieving is a process that leads to acceptance, but also to integration with a lost one. It is a way to have the deceased keep on living through the survivors.

In Jaune and Pyrrha’s case, this is conveyed through Pyrrha’s metal being used to enrich Jaune’s Weapon.

As stated by Ruby:

Ruby: Just weapons? They're an extension of ourselves! They're a part of us! Oh, they're so cool.

Weapons are symbolic of the self, just like Semblances.

What is more, Weapons and Semblances are also a declination of the dychotomy of body and soul, presented by the series.

Weapons are wielded by bodies, while Semblances are a materialization of the soul.

In other words, Pyrrha’s gold becoming a part of Jaune’s Weapon is symbolic of Jaune’s first step in a painful process that will lead him to overcome his partner’s death and to inherit Pyrrha’s legacy.

Jaune must keep on learning from Pyrrha and become more like her. As noted by @hamliet, this is symbolized also by Jaune’s design aquiring more golden details as he goes on in his journey:

Jaune: Guess I was going to grow out of it eventually.

Ren: A sign of progress.

Jaune: Progress.

That said, grieving is not easy and Jaune must struggle with much pain and negative feelings.

This is why the changes he makes to Crocea Mors are finalized to increase its attack power:

It is because Jaune feels anger over Pyrrha’s death and wants revenge.

In the Battle of Haven he gives in to his fury and tries to kill Cinder. He is trying to superficially imitate Pyrrha’s sacrifice:

Jaune: If I die buying them time, then it's worth it. They're the ones that matter.

However, he is not doing it out of bravery or necessity, but out of recklessness and self-hate. This is why his actions lead to this:

Once again, Jaune risks to lose another loved one:

Jaune: No, no, no, no, not again! Weiss, c'mon, please!!

However, this time he is able to save Weiss thanks to his Semblance:

Jaune: My Semblance?

Nora: How else do you think you're healing her, dummy?

Jaune gives up on using his Weapon to fight and chooses to use his Semblance to cure. He chooses soul over body and Creation over Destruction.

At the same time, Jaune’s activation of his Semblance is meaningful on two levels:

Jaune: No. I don't think I'm healing her. Our Aura heals our bodies. It feels... it feels more like I'm using my Aura to amplify hers!

Nora: Wait, aren't you worried about running out?

Jaune: Pyrrha once told me I've got a lot of it. I still believe her.

First of all, Jaune’s Semblance is rooted in the idea that people heal themselves. His power is not to cure others, but to amplify others’ auras, so that they can become stronger and can heal. It is about bringing out the best in others. It is a power fit for a leader, but also an ability symbolic of Jaune’s own process of healing. He can heal himself through helping others to heal.

Secondly, Jaune’s Semblance is in itself a nod to Pyrrha. Pyrrha used her own aura to awake his and Aura Amp is simply an evolution of this idea. It is not about activating others’ auras, but it is a power that lets Jaune share his. It also makes good use of something Pyrrha noticed immediately aka Jaune’s huge quantity of aura.

In other words, Jaune ends up acting like Pyrrha in the Battle of Haven, but not because he fights Cinder, but because he shares his gift with others, just like Pyrrha did with hers.

Pyrrha is a part of Jaune both in body (Crocea Mors) and soul (Aura Amp), but Jaune must still truly understand what this means.

He makes progress in Lost:

Red-Haired Woman: She understood that she had a responsibility... to try. I don't think she would regret her choice, because a Huntress would understand that there really wasn't a choice to make. And a Huntress is what she always wanted to be.

This is the essence of Pyrrha’s sacrifice. Jaune comes to understand it and chooses to make a similar choice together with his team:

Jaune: I think... I think she knew she wasn't going to win. That she might not come out alive. But... she also knew she was the only one that could try.

Ren: So she did.

Nora: Maybe we should too.

Jaune: Yeah, we should.

In this way, it will be as if Pyrrha were fighting together with them:

Nora: Pyrrha may not be by our side anymore, but we can fight like she is.

Jaune: And in a way... she will be.

Jaune tries to overcome his anger and his sadness for Pyrrha’s death in order to keep fighting like she did.

So, once again he chooses this:

Ruby: I wanted to protect my friends.

Maria: Precisely! It is the desire to preserve life which fuels the light inside you. And to make no mistake, it is light. Preservation is an extension of creation, or, at the very least, an enemy of destruction. The Creatures of Grimm were made by the God of Darkness, but your light comes from his brother.

He chooses to protect life and this is the essence of Creation.

Once he confirms this choice, he is free to explore Creation’s potential and he does so in the land of Creation itself, Atlas.

He strengthens his shield instead of his sword:

And he trains his Semblance:

Oscar: Nice, your recovery is getting faster.

This all leads him to become stronger psychologically:

Ren: Him on the other hand... There's no fear at all. I can see it, he believes we're going to get this done.

That said, Jaune starts meeting limits to his new found strength rooted in Creation:

Jaune: Ah, sorry. No matter how much I boost you, they won’t go away.

Jaune: Did... I stop the virus?

Penny: No. It’s still there.

Jaune’s way to move forward is to heal himself through healing others. Still, what to do when this is not possible?

THE DESTRUCTIVE HEALER

Penny: No… there’s not enough time to heal me…

Penny: But there is something you can do…

What happens in Atlas is an inversion of Haven.

Penny pushes Jaune’s Semblance away and touches Crocea Mors.

Jaune is asked to give up on healing her and to speed up her death instead. He is asked to choose his Weapon (body) over his Semblance (soul) and Destruction over Creation.

This marks the characters entering the Destruction phase:

Leaving Creation (Penny) behind.

For Jaune, this means that his own self image that he has worked so much to build and to make his own:

And that has been enriched in Anima thanks to Pyrrha...is shattered:

At the same time, he is once again put in a similar spot as Pyrrha:

They both become unwilling agents of Penny’s death because of Cinder (and Emerald and Mercury in the first case):

Pyrrha: Ruby, I... I'm so sorry.

Ruby: Me too. But it wasn't your fault.

Jaune: She's right. Whoever was on that microphone... they're the ones that did this. And we have to make sure they don't take anyone else.

So Jaune’s journey to integrate with Pyrrha, to understand her and her struggle continues.

What now?

It is too soon to say because we have yet to properly start our journey through Destruction and what it is about.

That said, there are two things that are worth highlighting. The first is a motif Rwby is following, while the second is a general theme found in many stories.

1) As @hamliet has stated in many metas and as I have written here, Rwby is an alchemical story. Alchemical stories are usually marked by three important deaths. Each death is symbolically linked to a color. They are usually black, white and red. However, sometimes there can be yellow instead of the white or the red. This is the case here, where a resonant death is the yellow death aka Penny’s.

It is a death that happens while the characters are surrounded by yellow:

And it happens through a weapon called “Yellow Death” (Crocea Mors’s meaning). So, it is really not subtle. Penny’s death is meant to mark an important passage for our protagonists, just like Pyrrha’s one (the black death).

2) It is common in stories that deal with healers to explore the concept of death as well.

The basic idea is that a healer is a person meant to cure. That said, they will meet people impossible to cure and that will die on their watch. This is an unescapable truth a true healer must live with.

Let’s highlight this theme is found in works very different for genre and culture.

Let’s have two examples.

Scrubs aka an American comedy about doctors deals with this theme multiple times. In many episodes the characters must simply accept they can’t save a life, but must still not lose hope and keep on living themselves.

Yosano from the manga BSD says so:

Her backstory explores the link bewteen life and death further since it is shown that a power that cures fatal wounds can be used to cheapen life itself:

It is too soon to say if Rwby will explore a similar theme, but the fact that Jaune, (the healer) is the one that has to speed up Penny’s death might be a very powerful and poignant choice. This is true especially because Rwby does not refuse Destruction (and so does not refuse death), but presents it as a principle equal to Creation (so as a part of life).

THE CHOOSING HERO

Jaune’s arc is about living Pyrrha’s death over and over again with different scenarios and outcomes. This happens so that in the end he can finally overcome it.

So far, it has happened three times and each time has been in the climax of an important battle.

The Battle of Beacon has him witness powerlessly to Pyrrha’s death (lack of knowledge and passivity).

The Battle of Haven has him saving Weiss (creation).

The Battle of Atlas has him killing Penny (destruction).

What is more, every time Jaune becomes more proactive and conscious of what he is doing.

In Beacon he has no idea of what is happening. He works with little information and things happen to him without him being able to do anything.

In Haven his actions lead to Weiss being in danger, but he manages to save her. That said, he does not do it consciously. He unlocks his Semblance because of emotional stress. It is an unconscious choice and not a conscious one.

In Atlas he makes a specific conscious choice, but it is a choice that is forced on him because of external circumstances. It is also a choice that is meant to challenge and temporally break him.

In other words, he is slowly and painfully approaching Choice aka self-actualization. Right now, he has to face the consequences of Penny’s death, but this will probably lead him to finally enter the Choice stage and to complete his arc by becoming a “hero” aka gold (probably).

At the same time, this final choice will also be about healing and overcoming grief. It will be the final integration with Pyrrha and him being able to honor her legacy.

After all, we have been told from the beginning what Pyrrha’s fate would have been. We’ve just failed to notice:

Pyrrha: For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death. I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee.

June and Pyrrha’s bond is eternal and she is meant to be the key character in Jaune’s arc. It is only through confronting and finally overcoming her loss that Jaune can finally self actualize and become the person Pyrrha has always known he could be. Pyrrha will symbolically be with him in this struggle. Her memory will protect and inspire him.

#rwby #rwby meta #jaune arc #arkos #rwby arkos #pyrrha nikos #tw: penny's death #jaune x pyrrha #my meta

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cjsinkythoughts · 3 years

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FATWS One Shot #4 - Best Girls, Good Guys, Hand Art, Joy Rides

Word Count: 1922

Warnings: Cursing, Implied PTSD, Mention of IED, Motorcycle Ride Without Helmets

Setting/Characters: Captain America: The Winter Soldier in 2014; Reader, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Sam’s therapy group, Lady at the Front Desk, Mentions of Peggy Carter and Riley

A/N: Here’s number 4! Like I said in the previous One Shot, I’m hoping to get TWS One Shots done today and tomorrow. Um, I don’t have a lot to say this time since I unloaded pretty much everything in the last One Shot. So, I guess that’s all!

This isn’t beta’d, as usual, so please excuse any mistakes! Be kind to yourselves and others! Enjoy this part, thank you for reading, and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

(PICTURE DOESN’T REPRESENT READER, JUST WHAT THE ART STEVE DREW LOOKS LIKE!)

“How is she?”

Steve nodded, taking the helmet he insisted on keeping for you in the compartment under his seat out and handing it over. What a hypocrite. “She’s fine. I guess. She…forgot. We were in the middle of a conversation and she…forgot I was alive.”

You gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Alzheimer’s is a scary thing. I’m sorry. It must be hard seeing your best girl go through that.” He froze, his wide eyes scanning you. You ignored his gaze, giving him the helmet back. You really hoped it didn’t come out as sad and spiteful as you meant it. You didn’t want to despise her, you really didn’t. You couldn’t. You had too much respect for her. She did help build the organization you worked for. You just hated the position you found yourself in. “We’re just going to the VA. It’s not too far. I’ll be fine.”

“No, honey. I don’t want you getting hurt-”

“I won’t, Steve.” You pushed back. “I’ve done it before in a lot more dangerous places than the streets of DC. Plus, I trust you. You wouldn’t let me get hurt, would you?”

His lips turned up slightly, his head shaking just enough. “No. No, I wouldn’t. Hop on, then.” He jerked his head to his bike, putting the helmet away before sitting down with you following his lead. You pressed against him, an arm around his waist, thighs squeezing his hips lightly. “Ready?”

“Mhmm.” You hummed, setting your chin on his shoulder.

The bike roared to life underneath you before you took off. You were never worried when Steve drove. Sometimes he liked going fast when you two go for a drive through backroads of Virginia for a weekend, camping underneath the stars. But when you were in DC, he cruised, fast enough that you could get pulled over for doing ten over, but slow enough that you didn’t have to shout over the rush of the wind combing through your hair.

He usually talked to you while driving, but he was quiet this time. You turned your head to study him. His jaw ticked ever so often, his eyebrows furrowed and those pink lips turned down.

You didn’t want to distract him, but you couldn’t help but lift your free hand, tracing his jaw from his chin to his ear before pressing soft circles into the hinge of his jaw with your thumb. “Are you okay? Did I upset you?”

“No. No, you’re perfect, honey.” He reassured quickly, moving around a car, side eyeing you for just a second. “I’ve just…there’s a lot on my mind. A lot I need to figure out.”

You nodded. “If you ever need me. I’m here.”

He grinned, taking your hand in one of his to press a kiss to the knuckles, eyes not leaving the road. “I know.”

“Tell me more about this Sam Wilson guy.”

Steve chuckled before telling you about his run the day prior and how he lapped Wilson a few times and their conversation afterwards. He was just finishing up when he parked in the parking garage of the VA, “and then Natasha drove up saying she was looking for a fossil she was supposed to pick up.”

“A fossil.” You snorted. “I’m gonna have to use that.”

He gave you a playful glare as you swung your leg around and stood up. Catching your jaw between his fingers, he chuckled when he squished your cheeks together. “Call me a fossil, honey, and I’ll tell Fury the only way I’m doing missions is if you don’t.”

You gasped, shaking your head. “You ‘ouldn’!” You slurred out, trying to talk with your lips pursed.

He gave a little giggle, gently making your head move up and down in a nod. “Oh yes I would.” He pecked your nose, letting go of your cheeks. “C’mon, dame.” You blinked after him as he started towards the elevators with long strides.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

He smirked at you over his shoulder as you jogged to catch up, holding his hand out behind him. “C’mon. You know I’d never do that to ya.”

Narrowing your eyes, you snatched his hand and huffed. “Well…yeah. But still.”

Another chuckle left his lips, pulling you closer to his side as you pressed the button for the elevator, leaving a kiss on your head. You fell into comfortable silence after that, Steve’s thumb tracing patterns on your hand while you waited for the elevator to ding.

When it finally did, Steve had a pen pulled out and, as you entered the elevator, he pulled your hand up closer to his face, lifting the writing utensil to the back of your palm.

You didn’t say anything, merely looking around the elevator after pushing the level you were going to. It was something you found that calmed Steve; drawing. So whenever he was bored or anxious, you let him draw on your hand. He used to ask, but he stopped after you told him you’d never say no.

The elevator dinged and the doors open, causing Steve to stop inking up your skin and drop your still linked hands down to your sides, shoving his pen in his pocket. You looked down at the partial flower and leaves wrapping around your wrist, smiling affectionately. He really was a good artist.

The lady at the front desk told you where to go when you asked for Sam Wilson, which Steve did rather eagerly, making you laugh. He had told you about Sam’s want to impress her when he came in. Apparently he was with a group, but she said it was okay for you to go in as long as you didn’t disrupt anything. Steve thanked her, before following her directions down the hall and around the corner.

You heard them before you saw them. A woman was talking, telling a story of how she got pulled over the previous week. Steve leaned against a column to the side of the room, out of the way, putting his hands in his pockets. You let his hand go to allow him to do so, linking your arm with his and holding his wrist with your free hand.

“I swerved…to miss a plastic bag. I thought it was an IED.”

You watched Steve’s reactions through the rest of the session. It wasn’t much longer - maybe ten minutes - before it ended. You had tried to convince him to go to one of these when he first got out of the ice, but he refused.

“I’ve already got you, honey. That’s all I need.”

And, yes, he did have you; your assignment was literally helping him with that stuff. But you still thought he’d benefit from it. Especially now since you had started going back on your own assignments. Maybe he’d start going to Wilson’s.

After the meeting, you and Steve walked up to the veteran who had just finished his farewells and started cleaning up the table at the front with brochures and things. “Look who it is. The running man. And who’s this pretty lady?”

You smiled, sticking out your hand, your name leaving your lips in an introduction. “Sam Wilson.” He shook your hand with a grin of his own. “Nice to meet you, cher.”

“You too, Sam.”

“We caught the last few minutes.” Steve stated, leaning on the wall again, keeping his arm linked with yours. “It’s pretty intense.”

You listened sadly as Sam told you two about his wingman, Riley, but you didn’t pity him. You knew what it was like to lose people and you hated the pity you received from others. You were glad to see he wasn’t beating himself up over it, even allowing himself to smile as the conversation shifted to his retirement. Steve was right; he did seem like a good guy.

“Are you thinking about getting out?”

You glanced up at Steve as he answered “no.” You saw the hesitation in his eyes that flickered to you, before he met Sam’s again. “I don’t know.” Hearing Steve admit that he didn’t know what he wanted made your heartache. You wanted him to be happy, and the fact that he didn’t know what made him happy caused you to grip his arm tighter.

You, Sam, and Steve talked a bit longer, getting to know each other a little better. You even did the unthinkable and told him you worked for SHIELD when he asked how you two knew each other. Steve raised an amused eyebrow as your eyes widened, your hand slapping over your mouth.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe I just told you that. You can’t tell anyone.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

You finally said bye when Sam mentioned needing to get back to work. Walking back towards the elevators, Steve chuckled and nudged you. “You warmed up to him quickly.”

“Ha ha.” You rolled your eyes, your face landing in your hands. “Oh my God. I’ve never told anyone that. Ever.”

“I told you. He’s a good person. Easy to talk to.”

“Yeah…speaking of,” you tilted your head up to him as you stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind you. “Do you want to get out?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly. “That’s not what I said. I just…I don’t really know…what to do.”

You pouted a little, tilting your head. “What would you’ve done in the 40’s? After the war?”

“I dunno.” He shuffled on his feet. “Be a lab rat.”

“Steven-”

“Forget it. Forget I said anything.” Your frown deepened, your arms crossing over your chest. “Please don’t.” He said softly, hands coming up to cup your cheeks, one thumb smoothing out your forehead while the other ran over your pouty lips. “Don’t be upset.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I’m not. I, just…worry.”

He placed his lips to your forehead, hands slipping to your waist to pull you closer. “Well don’t.”

Your hands mimicked his previous position, holding his face, thumb brushing under his eyes. Your eyes caught sight of the barely started design on your hand, and your lips pursed thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Drawing makes you happy.” He blinked at your words, confusion in those ocean eyes of his. “You said you don’t know what makes you happy. Drawing does. And you’re really good at it. You could be an artist or something. Like a tattoo artist. I’d go to you. I mean, look at this!” You showed him your hand. “It’s not even halfway done and you did it with a crappy dollar store pen”

He gave you a small smile. “I appreciate that, honey, but I don’t think I could do that day in and day out.”

“Even with new customers coming in every day, asking for different designs in different places?”

Giving a chuckle, he leaned into your palm, kissing it. “You really want me to think about this don’t you?”

You scoffed. “Duh!”

He shook his head, ducking down to press his lips to your cheek, before laying his forehead on your shoulder. “I’m okay right now.”

“Are you?”

“Mhmm.” He hummed, arms wrapping around you. “Because I have you. And you make me happy, honey.”

You hugged him back, face pressing into his neck. You were glad you made him happy. And as long as you made him happy, you’d keep this relationship the way it was. Even if that meant you’d never be his best girl. “You make me happy too, bubs.”

**************

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 12

Masterlist

Winding down from the frenzy of the last chapter... Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤

Word Count: 5.9k

Recommended song: "I Don't Care" by Fall Out Boy

“Mon amour, wake up.”

Pierre’s sleep-heavy voice rouses you from the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You’d fallen asleep to the sounds of his even breathing under the soothing touch of his thumb tracing patterns on your side.

You crack your eyes open to see him silhouetted by the white light of the waning moon, his bare chest left uncovered by the blanket slung low over his hips. The sight alone has your mind instantly jumping into overdrive, fighting the need to sleep with the need to continue ogling the bare skin a foot from your face.

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” he says softly, reaching behind him for his phone. “We have to be on the M1 in about half an hour.”

“Mmmph,” you groan, snuggling back under the blanket and closer to him, chasing the warmth radiating from him. “The sun isn’t even out.”

His chuckle shakes the bed. “I figured you would say that which is why I made you breakfast and picked out your clothes. All you have to do is brush your teeth and get dressed.”

You hum appreciatively and press a kiss to his bare sternum. “Is this how you’re going out today? Because I won’t complain but you might cause a few heart attacks.” A kiss to your temple is a small reward for your comment, as well as a concession.

"Don't worry, this is reserved only for you." He stretches an arm above his head, grinning when your eyes immediately are drawn to the way the muscles ripple and pull under his skin. You stare shamelessly as he flexes a little for your benefit, the action going straight to your head.

"As it should be." You bite your lip and let your fingertips dance over his chest, memorizing the way it rises and falls so predictably with each deep breath. Against your better judgement you trail kisses up over his pectoral and spot them along his shoulder, dragging another light chuckle from him.

"My love," he warns, voice tinted with mischief, "we don't have time."

"Oh I think we do." You continue your path over his collarbone and to the hollow of his throat. Taking advantage of his biggest weakness, you flick your tongue over his prominent adam’s apple. The move has his hand engulfing your upper arm, giving you a warning squeeze.

"As wonderful as this is" -he sucks in a sharp breath when your teeth graze his neck- "if I'm late Horner will kill me."

"What's new?" You say, but draw back. The mere mention of his name made you see red and shattered the moment. "Do you really want to go back to Red Bull after how they treated you?"

"No," he admits, slipping an arm around you and tugging you up and into a sitting position, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of lust. "But if I want a shot with a top team when my contract is up, I don’t have much choice."

"Where do you see yourself going?"

Pierre studies you as you slip into the clothes he had selected for you. Nothing fancy, just an AlphaTauri branded navy and white hoodie and some light wash jeans. You don't miss the way his lips twitch upward when you notice it's his hoodie, his last name embroidered in block font on the cuff a dead giveaway even if the hoodie hadn't been ridiculously oversized on you.

Cheeky bastard.

"I think I would look good in sunshine yellow," he remarks. You make a show of looking him up and down under the pretense of imagining him in a Renault branded hoodie or their signature black race suit. Truthfully it was just another excuse to drink him in like the fine wine he was and recall how he had tasted on your tongue last night.

He would look good in any color on the grid but you don't grant him the satisfaction of pointing that out. Instead, you lean forward to toy with the waistband of the jeans he had hastily buttoned seconds earlier. "You and Daniel get along just fine." You snag him by the belt loops and yank him forward back onto the bed. "I think you should go to McLaren.”

“I’d still look good in orange.”

You wind your fingers under his waistband. “I think you’d look best wearing nothing at all, actually.”

“The time,” Pierre protests lightly when you pop open the button and undo the zipper. He groans when you yank the denim down around his thighs, finally submitting to your touch and lacing his fingers in your hair. Your lips explore the planes of his abdomen, any and all thoughts of speed abandoned on your end. "If you don't hurry up we're gonna be late."

"Maybe you'll just have to drive fast. I hear you’re good at that."

**********

"So how is it that they got your car all the way to London?"

"It's got its own private jet."

You roll your eyes and smack the hand resting on your thigh. His response is a light squeeze and a chuckle before he continues, "They've got a few spares they keep around for when drivers come to town. I can't be seen in a Mini or it would cause a scandal."

"Oh yes it would be quite tragic." His hand charts a dangerous path along your thigh. He knows exactly what he's doing as he slots a thumb between your legs and presses it tight to the apex of your thighs.

You snap your knees shut, effectively trapping his hand "Now you're just being cruel."

"Only dishing out what you did this morning," he points out and wiggles his hand free to rest on your knee instead. The message was clear: he had shaken you well enough for his liking and was perfectly content to leave you frustrated until he could get you home.

“So catch me up on what I’ve missed,” you say, determined to distract yourself from Pierre’s slight teasing. “What’s new in the life of the rising star in Formula 1?”

“Rising star,” Pierre mumbles and rolls his eyes. “Not yet, my love. Getting there, but not yet.”

“Please, you’re too modest. Last night when you fell asleep- you were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow, don't give me that look!” Pierre picks his jaw up off the floor and shakes his head as you continue, “I read plenty of articles that called you the next big thing, right up there with Max.”

The comparison didn't seem to sit right with him. He shifts in his seat, rolling words over on his tongue. “I’m sure you’re caught up then. I haven’t done anything really besides train and race.”

“I did notice you’ve beefed up a bit.”

“Yet another reason to thank Pyry.”

“At this point I should send him a fruit basket for his trouble.”

“Maybe you should.” Pierre grins, hand leaving your thigh for a split second to upshift. “What about you? How’s year four treating you?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” you groan. “My senior project is already killing me and I’ve only just started it. We have to design a building from the ground up- I mean I like architecture but I’m trying to be an engineer, not an architect. I dunno why I have to be the one to design a building! At this point it’s just a brick box.”

“Sounds challenging,” Pierre notes, flooring it when he merges onto the highway. Though the speed makes your stomach flip, you don’t miss a beat.

“My team doesn’t do much either, I’ve been doing most of it. I could rant for hours about it.”

Pierre glances at the clock, then back to you. The blue of his eyes is blocked by his signature purple tinted sunglasses, shielding them from the rising sun that casts him in a warm orange glow. “Humor me. We’ve got time.”

The hour and a half drive was by no means dull with Pierre's teasing touches and endless string of questioning along the way. He asked after every aspect of your life that had transpired in the last four months, only stopping you once in a while to interject with an opinion or anecdote. He didn't stop at your life either, even asking after Ben's relationship. You'd been happy to report that he had indeed wooed his crush and had officially asked him to be his boyfriend.

"Those secret French lessons paid off," Pierre jokes as he pulls up to the imposing glass fronted building that served as Red Bull Racing's headquarters. The sweeping curve of the entrance was flanked on either side by two-story red and yellow bulls; proof that the team's dramatics extended far past the track. Anyone approaching for the first time would have been intimidated by the sheer size of them that suggested they were ready to stomp on their competition at a moment’s notice.

“Guess it’s time.” You sigh and undo your seatbelt and fiddle with the buckle, doing your best to stall. There was no reason to be this nervous. You were no one to these people; the focus would be entirely on Pierre. You would be an afterthought, not that you minded because it made it easier to fade into the background.

Pierre picks up on your hesitation in a heartbeat. “I’ll keep them off your back,” he promises and you nod, the single sentence taking the edge off. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You reach for the door handle but Pierre tsks and you pause.

"You know better." You bite your lip to keep back the grin fighting its way to the surface as he comes around to open your door. He offers you his hand and you gladly take it and are pleasantly surprised when he threads his fingers through yours and heads for the entrance.

The atrium serving as the lobby is breathtakingly gorgeous. You had to hand it to the interior designer; they knew what they were doing. Sleek white marble floors are accented by red and yellow leather chairs scattered in small groups throughout the grand space. A tiered circular modern interpretation of a chandelier hangs above to offer guidance to the accountants, engineers and artists that weave through the lobby on their way to their respective wings or offices.

A waist high, glass front cabinet of drivers helmets serves as the reception desk. The unmistakable scent of a fresh cup of coffee hits you as you approach and the secretary hands a steaming paper cup to someone before they scurry off, presumably to a private office if they were important enough to warrant special attention. The first rays of morning sunlight glint off the silver Red Bull logo inlaid in the black marble behind the woman at the counter, making you squint.

"Bonjour Monsieur Gasly," she says in perfect French. "Ça va?"

"Bien," he says simply and switches to English for your benefit. "Has Christian come through yet?"

"He has," the woman says, glancing sidelong at you. Whatever conclusions she draws about you are insignificant enough that she writes you off immediately, angling her body towards Pierre and resting her chin in her hand. The posturing puts her ample chest on display, nearly spilling out of her billowing blouse, but Pierre's eyes don't wander. "He's not expecting you yet. Voulez-vous un cafe?"

"I'm good." The woman may have been determined to alienate you but Pierre was having none of it. Pierre turns to you, a grin playing on his face. This was your first test as an official couple and he intended to see how you handled it. "How about you, my love? Coffee?"

The woman's eyes slip to where your hand remains clasped in his. She cocks her head so slightly you think you might be imagining it until Pierre's grip tightens, a silent encouragement. Your confidence soars. If this was how Daniel's girlfriend felt when the two of them were out, you finally understood why they didn't hide. It was a rush knowing that everyone wanted Pierre but he only wanted you. No matter how blatantly women threw themselves at him, there was no doubt in your mind that he would never give a single one of them the light of day.

It was about damn time you afforded him the same unwavering commitment as he had shown you.

"No thank you," you reply sweetly with a mocking smile directed to the woman. You lean in and drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might want to fix your shirt though, it’s… slipped. I know I'd hate for that to happen to me and no one tell me, especially at work. I don't think I'd ever recover from it."

Her face immediately turns scarlet as she stands straight and folds her arms over her chest. "If I were you-"

"Let Horner know I'm here," Pierre interrupts and it's somehow the hottest thing he's ever said. His purely commanding tone leaves no room for argument.

"Of course," she replies with a sharp smile in your direction that makes your spine stiffen. "Good luck. Christian is in rare form this morning."

"Just ignore it," Pierre murmurs and sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand as he leads you across the cold marble and down a carpeted hall. "You handled that well.”

“I may have gotten a few pointers from Daniel’s lover.” Your soft smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The short interaction had sapped most of your confidence, leaving you on uneven footing. “I would rather not have to deal with that again soon though.”

“I can handle the women easy enough when I know I’ve got you to come home to.”

The tightness in your chest eases further when the hall opens into another startlingly white space, this time packed with rows and rows of navy cubicles. But that's not where your attention is drawn- instead, your gaze is immediately snagged by the case of trophies towering high along the back wall. Cups of every shape and size shine within, each one representing a different podium for the team achieved in various years and tracks.

"There must be over a hundred," you breathe, mesmerized by the glinting silver and intricate craftsmanship. The case was easily thirty feet tall and you had to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the ones in the top row. Each one told a story of blood, sweat and tears, each one earned by a driver who had made countless sacrifices to be where they were and finish on a podium.

"A hundred and eighty five to be exact," he counters, laughing at your amusement. "Your inner architect is screaming isn't it?"

"Only a little."

Pierre laughs outright at your white lie and tugs you along. "You can stare on the way out. I'll even show you which ones were Max's."

"Did you memorize what all his trophies look like?"

"Hey, meetings with engineers get boring. It's one of the more interesting ways to occupy your time when they are going on and on about fluid mechanics and thermodynamics- you know, stuff you understand but not me."

"Oh whatever, you enjoy those meetings and you know it."

"Only a little," he quotes.

People recognize him as you pass and some nod or give a simple greeting as they go about their morning but no one stops him to chat. The air feels a bit hostile, like no one knows what to do with him now that he's walking through the building after a nearly two year absence.

"Do you miss it?" You ask after he smiles at someone for the millionth time.

"I miss the team," he admits, "but not the management culture. My team was great- they supported me any way they could but it didn't help that Horner didn't exactly encourage them to believe in me. It's hard to crank out results when there's no one on your side."

"I'm on your side," you point out, nudging him with your hip. "You've got me forever, no takesies backsies."

"I'm grateful for it," he murmurs and gives your hand a squeeze. He hadn't let go once; not when he had to open a door or the two of you had to walk single file to let people pass.

The building was a labyrinth and if it wasn't for Pierre you'd have been lost the moment you set foot inside. He navigates the twisting halls with ease, having no need for the countless signs posted along the way.

He leads you up a set of steel stairs after what seems like ages. When he knocks on a heavy oak door, his grip on your hand turns possessive like he suspects the office’s occupant would try to rip you away from him.

“Morning.”

God, even the one word makes rage simmer in your veins. The voice precedes the man and Christian Horner swings open the door, a plastic smile splitting his face. He doesn't bother acknowledging you with a greeting, instead addressing his driver directly.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring a guest.”

“A pretty face was needed around here,” Pierre snaps back without missing a beat. You bristle, free hand curling into a fist. If there was one person you didn’t mind teaching a lesson to, it was Horner. He had little respect for anyone he viewed as disposable- up to and including “underperforming” drivers.

Christian raises an eyebrow. “Sure. She can wait out here- you and I have terms to discuss.”

Fine, Horner wanted to play dirty? So could you. When it came to staring him down, you became fearless. He was the one person you refused to let intimidate you.

Drawing on your newly minted confidence you smile up at Pierre and silence the protest forming on his tongue with a grin. “Gimme a kiss, race winner.”

Pierre doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to yours. Cupping a hand to the back of his neck you draw him in and nip at his lower lip. The hand on your hip tightens at Christian's scoff but Pierre makes no move to break away. You linger a moment longer than necessary to drive your point home: you didn’t care what Horner had to say about you, you were here to stay and he would have to get used to it.

Pierre gives you a small, blissed out smile before dropping your hand and following Horner inside. The door clicks but doesn't shut all the way, Pierre leaving it cracked for your benefit.

Uninterested in eavesdropping on small talk, you lean on the metal railing to observe the research and development garage coming to life on the floor below. Hybrid engines in various stages of disassembly dot the space, small teams of mechanics and engineers tweaking components to reduce weight or increase horsepower. Pistons and valves are scrutinized and exchanged before being placed under stress to test their strength.

An FIA official in a red jacket wove through the garage to observe and jot notes down on a clipboard. He looks over the shoulder of an engineer pouring over formulas on a whiteboard, startling him when the official asks a question. Someone calls your name from below and you search for the origin, finally spotting the woman and waving back at her.

Management may have their qualms with Pierre but it was clear there were still some within the team that had his back. They were likely the same ones that knew he would have to leave the Red Bull umbrella to find any semblance of success. They may not have possessed the guts to stick their necks out for him when Horner had cut him but they were at least happy to see him back around headquarters.

"You sure you'll rise to the challenge?" Horner's question drags you back to the mezzanine.

"I'll take seventh. I'm only a few points away and we have plenty of races left."

He had five races to catch up to be exact. Pierre currently was comfortably ahead of the pack in ninth, Sainz was only three points ahead in eighth, and Norris ten points beyond in seventh. It would only take a DNF or two from his rivals and a few podiums to pass them up.

"Right," Horner starts. "There's a reason you've done so well this season and it's not luck. You've been racing exceptionally well and I don't want that to change."

"If there's something on your mind just get on with it." Pierre's voice is calm and collected in a way yours wouldn't be if you had been in his shoes. You've been dying to rip into Horner since the day he wrote Pierre off.

"There's been a fire in you the past few months since she has been gone-"

"Leave her out of this."

The tone sends a chill down your spine. It maintains the same level headedness that Pierre had perfected over the years and you had come to expect when he was backed against a wall, but it was laced with an unspoken threat. The intent was clear: he would walk out and abandon his chance for a seat at Red Bull if it meant protecting you.

You creep to the door to peer through the crack. Horner crosses his arms, a sly smile on his face. "You would sacrifice your chance at a championship winning seat for her? Everything you've worked so hard for, gone in a flash, because of her?"

"Without question," Pierre answers immediately. The conviction and commitment behind it nearly makes you stumble. "I'm sure there's plenty of other teams that would love to have me after the season I've had. She’s not going anywhere, so either you stop disrespecting her or I walk out."

You clench your fists, ready to burst in and demand Pierre stop being a fucking idiot. His long term plan saw him at another top team that would take care of him and nurture his skill- a long stint at Red Bull Racing was never in the cards. It wasn't an environment for everyone. Some people like Max thrived in it, letting the toxicity roll off their backs but for Pierre it was a cruel form of punishment. However, a seat at Red Bull for the 2022 season could mean the difference between an offer from Alpine and an offer from Haas when his contract was up for renewal.

The idea of seeing his number stickered to the floor in a Red Bull garage excites and intimidates you. Last time he hadn't been given the chance to prove himself. Would they still hold that against him? Knowing Christian, he probably would. On the other hand, it meant that they admitted their mistake in cutting him mid-season, whether they said it outright or not.

Pierre's redemption day was on the horizon and you couldn't wait to see the look on Horner's face when he finally won. And the longer Christian stays silent, the more potent the urge to throttle him grows.

Christian gives a slow clap. "Now there's the unwavering commitment that was missing during round one."

Your heart hammers in the dead silence as papers are shuffled. "Here's the contract. Terms are as discussed, you secure seventh in the world championship in 2021 and the second seat at Red Bull Racing is yours for the entire calendar in 2022. No demotions, substitutions, or shuffling of drivers unless medically necessary or mutually agreed upon by all affected parties."

"And the same spec car as the number one seat," Pierre insists, spine straight. "Same strategy."

Christian waves a hand. "Yes, that's in there too. Feel free to take a moment and read it over."

He does, allowing Christian time to pour a knuckle of whiskey and set the glass before Pierre. He pours himself an identical glass and waits until Pierre signs and initials all the boxes before raising it in acknowledgement.

"Congratulations. Welcome back to Red Bull- conditionally."

Pierre leaves the glass untouched and remains silent, staring his potential future team principal down. He gives the man no margin to question his abilities further, conveying all he needs to with a look that would have had you shaking at the knees. Even if you can't see his face, wrath radiates from him in waves and you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it when it explodes.

"Right then." Christian lowers the glass, his fake smile vanishing. "I look forward to seeing what you can do."

"Don't worry. I'll deliver."

You step back and allow him to set the mood as he exits the office and slams the door behind him. Pierre sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You heard all of that right?"

You nod. "You wouldn't have really walked out, right?"

"I almost did."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like you should know that he would choose you over all of this, that all of his dreams and everything he had sacrificed to achieve them thus far meant less to him than you did. How many times did he have to prove his unwavering commitment before you realized it was true?

Pierre laces his fingers through yours, the heat welcomed by your ice cold skin. It was as much a comfort to you as it was to him. "I just have to grab some things from Max's office and then we can head out."

His jaw is still set after his stand off with Christian and you want nothing more than to ease his mind. Publicly comforting him with a touch to his chest or a kiss to his neck was out of the question so you settle on temporary distraction.

"Hey, you know what I want to see?"

"What's that?"

"That room full of all the old chassis. You know, the one that they hold all the fancy virtual events in? I wanna see those."

"I think I should be able to get you back there." He veers down a hall and you yelp, pulled along by his momentum. His attitude brightens a little at your laugh. The grin he throws your way is your own personal sun, warming your soul.

"Hey- hold on." You pull him to a stop and lead him into an alcove. The inch of space between your chests is charged with electricity, begging to jump from one to the other.

"Can I help you?" He asks and grins down at you.

"No," you say nonchalantly. "Just wanted to be selfish for a second."

You rise up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He melts into you, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while the other finds the small of your back. You side your tongue over his lower lip and he presses you against the door leading to who knew where and opens his mouth to you. You sigh into the kiss, arms winding around his neck and losing yourself in him.

Now that you had gotten over your anxiety, everything was so much easier. You know there's press roaming about the building and any number of them could pass by at any moment but you genuinely couldn't care less. Let them talk; you were over caring what anyone thought or said.

All that mattered was the man beneath your fingertips. You would endure a lifetime of insults if he was the one to soothe the wounds afterwards. As long as you both were happy, no one could come between you ever again.

Pierre pulls away when someone passes by and coughs quietly. "You're trouble," he murmurs, leaving an arm propped next to your head and effectively caging you in.

"And you're dangerous," you tease, tugging on his hair and exposing his throat enough to nip at it once. "Together we're the perfect pair."

He groans and leans away. "Keep that up and I might have to stay in London an extra week."

You slip out of his grasp and give him an unrestrained grin. "Don't threaten me with a good time." You spin on your heel and set off down the hall, swaying your hips a little more than necessary.

"You know where you're going?" He calls after you.

"Someone will point me in the right direction, I'm sure."

"Someone like me." He catches up to you and once again takes your hand in his. He was enjoying showing you off almost as much as you enjoyed hanging on him.

"Maybe we should head right to Max's office and hurry home, huh?"

"Maybe-"

"Pierre, there you are."

You both turn to a woman hustling up the hall after you. She’s slight and her brown curls bounce as she jogs to where the two of you pause at a bend. You glance up to Pierre to see if he's just as confused as you are.

"Hey Mary," he says cheerily. "How are you? Sorry I didn't check in with you when I got here."

"Oh it's fine- why aren't you in the Alpha samples I sent?” The woman props a fist on her hip and tips her head to the side. “I think I got your size right now that I’ve laid eyes on you. I was hoping for a shoot today since you've finally come by."

It takes you a moment to register that she's addressing you. You shoot Pierre a look and he offers you a tentative, closed off smile. "Um, what Alpha gear?"

The woman's chocolate brown eyes go wide. "The ones I've been sending to Pierre. Hoodies, dresses, jackets. All the stuff from the new line. They have been sending the samples to you, right?"

"Um, yeah I've gotten them," Pierre says, rubbing his neck. "I haven't given them to her though."

"Oh, I see!” Pink tinges Mary’s cheeks. “I must have missed a memo. I just thought that you'd want to do a shoot with her today, since we already had a quick one planned for you. After all, you talk about her all the time."

"He does?"

Mary nods. "Oh yes, we've all heard plenty about you. You're lucky to have someone so enamored with you. I just dropped off some more samples in Max's office as a little thank you for letting us steal him so often-"

"Okay, thank you Mary," Pierre says abruptly. "I'll get back to you on that."

Pierre steers you away and down the hall. "What was she talking about? Why would they want me to come by for a photo shoot?"

Pierre runs a hand through his hair and pauses outside Max's office. The Dutchman must have been away because Pierre pulls out his key and fits it in the lock. "I just- come on."

He waves you inside and you obey, letting him close the door and grant you some semblance of privacy before continuing.

"I never formally told anyone that we broke up. Most people came to their own conclusions once they didn't see you around for a while. Some people didn't get the message. Obviously Mary was one of them. I would still talk about you, I couldn't help myself. There was one shoot where Yuki and I were together and he mentioned off hand that you'd be a good brand ambassador. I tried to explain that it wouldn't work but Mary wouldn't hear it and she just kept sending me more and more samples.”

You draw a breath and interrupt his rambling. “But where-”

"I had it all in a box in my office but I struggled to concentrate with a reminder of you hanging over my head. I sent it over here to Max and that's where it's sat ever since. I used the excuse that Max was in town more often than I was and no one read too far into it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You whisper. "I would've taken them. I'm sure you got an earful from Mary."

"Would you have?” Pierre pauses, your silence in the face of his frustration speaking volumes. “I waited four months to hear from you. Tell me that sending you thousands of dollars in unreleased merch wouldn't have made you even more hesitant to come back to me."

Not knowing what else to say, you let your gaze fall to the carpet. Sending you expensive things would have felt something like a bribe, like he was trying to influence you with fancy clothes.

Pierre shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past now. We can take it home today and you can wear it when I take you for dinner and Alpha will get the press they’re after. Everyone will be happy.”

He wasn’t happy. That much was plain to see. He hadn’t been able to stomach seeing something intended for you, even that minute of a reminder had been too much for him to bear. God, you had thoroughly wrecked him. You were lucky that there were still enough pieces of him left to heal.

“I didn’t realize you were hurting so bad,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you cross the cramped space to him, stepping over piles of strewn paperwork carefully so as to not disturb whatever random order they were placed in. You don’t dare reach out to touch him as his shoulders slump, any and all forward momentum he’d gathered suddenly sapped.

“It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever gone through.”

Unable to let him suffer alone with his thoughts, you wrap your arms around his middle and let your cheek rest between his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to alienate you. I was waiting for you, too.”

“You needed space and I gave it to you.” His hand rests on your arm with a gentleness you’ve come to expect when he lays himself bare like this. “There were so many times I almost gave in to the impulse and just messaged you but I made myself wait. I didn’t want to rush it and make things worse. You always need time to think things through- I knew you would come around eventually. It didn’t make it any easier though.”

You rub soothing circles on his side as you blink back the tears that spring to your eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry I took so long and I’m sorry I made you wait. It had to have been torture-”

He turns in your embrace and cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The pad of his thumb sweeps across your cheek, the metal of the ring on his middle finger biting into your flushed skin. “It’s alright. You had a lot to sort through and I had to respect that.”

“We lost so much time-”

“Hey,” he says softly, ducking his head to meet your eyes. “We’re together now. If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that you can’t let missed opportunities control you or else you’ll never be happy.”

You nod, swiping your sleeve under your eyes. “What did they send?” you ask, nodding towards the box overflowing with tan and navy threads.

“Pull up a chair,” Pierre suggests, “there’s a lot.”

You roll over Max’s desk chair and tug on Pierre’s arm. Once he gets the picture and sits, you settle in his lap. He winds an arm around your middle, the close contact already soothing your frazzled nerves.

“That better?” he murmurs.

“Much better.”

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pokelec · 3 years

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A Dead By Daylight Novice Reviews All the Killers' Trailers (and makes suggestions for what they'd change)

Reveal trailers are paramount for an audience's first look at new characters. First impressions are everything, so your trailer for your shiny new character needs to be perfect for what's in store for the video game! I started playing DBD a month-ish ago but watched all the trailers for the killers before I started playing, and watching some of them got me to thinking about how I would have changes some of the trailers. Some require no changes, while others I think need an overhaul.

Disclaimer: This is in my personal opinion, is not objective at all, and I'm only doing this because this is something I've been thinking about for a month and need some sort of release or else my brain will implode.

Under a read more bc this gets long.

The Trapper - The first trailer! For a first trailer, I think this one is pretty spot on. It follows a lot of beats of slasher movies, in terms of following a survivor that's gonna be killed, her encountering dead bodies, and the suspense of the killer looking for her. Considering Dead by Daylight is effectively a playable horror movie, I think this is a perfect intro to the game. As for what this means for the Trapper, aka our Jason substitute, I think it showed him off alright! We saw his bear traps and got a good look at him doing this thing. Pretty good, all things considered!

The Wraith - The Wraith, Hillbilly, and Nurse all features gameplay as the means of showing off what the killers can do. The Wraith's isn't too bad, since it does show off his Wailing Bell power enough for people to understand "This is a killer that can turn invisible, and you may not know he's right next to you until it's too late". I wish it has a more cinematic style, but I'll be forgiving here because DBD was still young when this was made. I also thing it showed the new map, Autohaven, pretty well. I'm not too big of a fan of ending the trailer with his mori, but that could be because I don't find his mori exciting.

The Hillbilly - Next is our Leatherface expy! This one feels shorter, still using gameplay to introduce our new killer but at least shows off his chainsaw wielding and hints at the map associated with him. I like the shot of him revving his chainsaw underneath the tree with the animal carcasses! I don't mind the ending with his mori here because even if it's off screen, getting cut with a chainsaw is brutal enough to leave a lasting impression. Again, I wish it had the cinematic style, but it's fine.

The Nurse - I think the Nurse's trailer is the weakest of the three gameplay-focused trailers. The text intro is... fine, but I honestly think it fits the Doctor more. It does an okay job of showing us her Blinking mechanics, but it also doesn't? Like we see her teleporting to Nea, but it feels lackluster. I do like the ending shot of dead Nea as the Nurse just blinks away. I'm not quite sure how to change this trailer to be more effective in my opinion, if I'm being honest.

The Shape/Michael Myers - Our first franchise killer, and a perfect trailer. The first second in, we hear John Carpenter's legendary Halloween score. Even non-horror fans will quickly pick up which killer this is. The suspense of Laurie see Michael, Michael coming up the stairs, and especially the shot of Laurie and Michael being on opposite sides of a door is *chef's kiss*. We see enough of the Shape to be satisfied and eager for his release. It's the perfect trailer for him AND Laurie imo.

The Huntress - Ah, the Huntress. She is my favorite killer to play as, and I probably have the majority of my playtime on her. Unfortunately, I think her trailer leaves a lot to be desired. It's the start of the 'let's look at the killer from different angles, have them turn around to the camera, and then attack the viewer' trend of DBD trailers. I call for a complete rewrite! Here's what I would have done:

The map is Mother's Dwelling. Two survivors (David aaaand idk Dwight?) are running and hides behind some trees. We hear the Huntress's lullaby get louder, and we see the bottom half of her and her axe as she walks past the survivors. The lullaby gets quieter, and the survivors take a sigh of relief. Then, a hatchet is thrown and lodged into Dwight's head! David screams and runs. We then see our full look at the Huntress as she picks up the body. Her signature lullaby continues as the trailer ends.

The Hag - The Hag's trailer also follows a similar formula to the Huntress' trailer. There is an animation bump, so we get to see the Hag's emaciated appearance in full detail. I'm not too mad about that, since the Hag's appearance is unsettling enough to cause viewer distress and curiosity more than the Huntress' would. However, because this is a DBD original killer, we need to see what her deal is with her trailer. Thus, I propose this:

On the swamp, Ace is repairing a generator but hears another survivor (Dwight?) get hooked. Ace goes to rescue him, but we see as he steps on a rune in front of the poor survivor. The illusion of the Hag pops up, jumpscaring poor Ace (and the audience) but disappears. Ace then rescues Dwight for real, but Dwight quickly runs away. Why? Because the real Hag is behind Ace and lunges at him, biting his neck. Trailer ends.

The Doctor - I now realize that my taste in writing DBD trailers is 'have the survivor do a thing, they think the killer is near, they then relax, and only then are they attacked by the killer'. It's a bit stereotypical, but again, we're dealing with a game centered on the horror genre, so that's why I'm okay with it.

I mention this because that's effectively the story beats the the Doctor's trailer follows. Instead of attacking Feng, however, the Doctor just looks at her run and stares menacingly. Even though we don't see the Doctor's shock therapy powers here, I think the long look at the killer is still effective because of his design. A first reaction I (and other reactors) experienced went from the initial "OMG the killer is here, run girl!" to "Why tf are his own eyes and mouth held open like that A Clockwork Orange scene?!". We also don't linger for too long on him either, so I think this trailer works well enough.

The Cannibal/Leatherface - Another franchise killer, this time good ol Leatherface! This trailer is a little different, using text to draw up suspense. I do like the reveal of "What is his mask made of? YOU.", but I would've loved to have seen some actual Cannibal action, or at least his in-game model doing his Texas chainsaw massacring thing.

The Nightmare/Freddy Kruger - Oh, c'mon, we got one of the most well known characters in horror in this little video game, and all we get for his trailer is some scratch marks and a 'killer does nothing but stand there menacingly and attack the camera' trailer?! I do like the detail that when we see him, it's DBD's version of the dream world, but we could've at least featured a survivor falling asleep and then seeing him for themselves.

(Also kinda sad it's the reboot version of Freddy instead of the Wes Craven version and the survivor is Quentin instead of Nancy Freaking Thompson, but I guess we should be happy he's in the game at all)

The Pig - Largely, I think this trailer is pretty good. I'm not too big of a fan of Amanda just standing there menacingly near Dwight, but I do like everything else. I especially love the security camera shot of the famous Saw bathroom and the cutaway when Dwight's reverse bear trap activates (but we still see a good bit of gore!). It feels very Saw-like.

The Clown - This trailer is pretty good! Even though we don't see the Clown in much action, we get a lot of visual storytelling with the bottles, the circus, and the ring of fingers, all leading up to the reveal of his face. The diagetic music from Kate is a nice touch, too.

The Spirit - This one is alright. There is a lot of focus on Adam, but it does build up tension to when the Spirit reveals herself. My biggest problem with it is the ending card that is used for her. Yes, I know that's traditional for the end of these trailers, but her pose and expression is kinda meh after the face she makes when she's about to attack Adam. Seriously, that couple of seconds haunts me (sorry) otherwise.

The Legion - My other favorite killer to play! It's so funny how I didn't like Legion when I first heard of them but now they're my favorites. I love how the trailer emphasizes that the new killer(s) looks similar to survivors and the brutality of when Frank reveals himself and stabs Jeff. However, the trailer does a disservice to the other members of the Legion. C'mon, that's their whole shtick!

My recommendation would be to end with a shot of Julie, Joey, and Suzie joining Frank (and obviously getting a good look at them) and surrounding Jeff right before they all stab him. This is a little disingenuous since you can't play as all four of them at once (unless you count that one Blighted skin...), but you also can't disguise yourself as a survivor, so... Yeah. They are The Legion! They act as one! Treat them as such in their trailer, dammit!

The Plague - The Plague's trailer is interesting. Even though we don't see her in action, I think it's fine because seeing her puke on people during her trailer might be a bit off-putting. Just a bit. We still get some storytelling with her whispered prayers, the candles and incense thingy, and, of course, her face. I think because the Plague's design is inherently unique among all the killers so far, she can get away with the 'let's just tease the audience by looking at the killer and nothing else' trend.

The Ghost Face - Not too much I can complain about with this one. I do like the wtf factor of 'wait, why is a DBD trailer at a modern day warehouse???', especially if you're watching a trailer playlist like I first did. It all makes sense when you learn it's Ghost Face, though! Also, justice for that poor cashier.

The Demogorgon - RIP Stranger Things DLC. I don't watch this series, but I really like the Hawkins Lab map and I'm going to be sad when it's gone. :(

I love this trailer! When I hear the Stranger Things music, it actually gives me chills. I'm legitimately so sad the DLC will be gone from the stores, but I do own them myself. I need to actually sit down and play Demo, Steve, and Nancy one of these days. Why am I crying? No, I'm not kidding, why is this trailer making me cry? Renew the contract, Netflix, please! I don't want this stuff to disappear forever!

(Is it weird that I've been nagged on for years to watch Stranger Things but it's Dead By Daylight that's actually convincing me to watch it?)

The Oni - This is an interesting case. The "main" theme of this trailer is the contrast of modern day Japan's Yui and her motorcycle vs the literal ancient samurai Oni. I think it works out, and again, I think the presentation makes up for us not seeing too much of the new killer.

The Deathslinger - Oh boy, do I love my cowboys! This trailer is nearly perfect. We establish the western setting quickly over the sounds of some poor bastard in pain. The reeling in of the chains and the closeup of The Redeemer is so great. My biggest complaint with this trailer is that we linger a bit too long on the Deathslinger's face at the end. Yeah, he's creepy with his eyes and his disjointed jaw, but you can only look at a horror for so long before you want to move on.

The Executioner/Pyramid Head - I like this trailer! I haven't played Silent Hills, but I'm at least somewhat familiar with the premise and Pyramid Head. I love the shot of him passing the classroom door window and the sword cutting a rift through the ground. Yeah, my lack of SH knowledge makes me unable to recommend any changes here.

The Blight - I have no changes to suggest. The Blight's transformation is super horrific, reminding me of the typical depiction of Jekyll and Hyde. Honestly, he is so much more terrifying in his trailer and in lore than in gameplay.

The Twins - No changes needed. BHVR is really starting to hit their stride with these trailers! Seeing Victor come out of Charlotte's body is amazing.

The Trickster - We depart from all of the other trailers by using an K-POP music video style. It does a good job at referencing some of his story beats (namely torturing/killing people, recording their screams, and using them in his music), but it doesn't really make me afraid of the Trickster. Sure, it fits with his theme, but I would have preferred seeing more of him, y'know, instead of just looking pretty and making faces? I still wouldn't change the art style of the trailer, though. It's fitting enough for him and a breath of fresh air from the doom and gloom.

The Nemesis - No change needed, mostly because I'm not too familiar with the Resident Evil series, but seeing Jill, the twink Leon, and Nemesis on-screen is a very cool moment. Also can we get an F in chat for Meg?

The Cenobite/Pinhead - This is a perfect trailer. We got the Lament Configuration, we got the chains pinning up Dwight, we got Pinhead himself! What more can I ask for?

If you actually made it this far, thank for reading? I don't think I really contribute anything to the fandom with this analysis, but DBD has been living rent free in my brain for the past month, so I may as well write something, eh?

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wonder-womans-ex · 4 years

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‘Cause Boy I was Made for You

By wonder-womans-ex for @inloveoknutzy Sweater Weather secret santa exchange 2020

When Remus Lupin was eleven years old, he learned about soulmates.

“Almost everyone gets a soulmark on their nineteenth birthday,” Mr. Holliday, his fifth-grade teacher, had explained. “A design, like a tattoo, on their left wrist. And out there, somewhere, someone will have a matching one.

“Some people don’t get them until later—no one knows why. Some don’t get them at all. It’s rare, but some people have more than one soulmate, or their soulmate changes.

“Can anyone tell me why this might be?”

Trust a teacher to turn this into a lesson, Remus thought, and put up his hand.

“Because people change, and the person who your soul matches could change, too?”

“Very good, Mr. Lupin.”

***

When Sirius Black was eleven years old, his parents kept him home from school. Instead, they sat him down at the dining room table—which was only ever used for special occasions; he couldn’t fathom why this might be considered one—and told him three things.

“One,” Walburga said, bony fingers and long nails that reminded Sirius of talons drumming on the centuries-old wood, “your career comes first. Always. No matter who your soulmate turns out to be or how you feel about it, you are expected to make the choice that benefits yourself and your role in this family.”

“Two,” Orion put in, “you are the only person who can prove who your soulmate is. If the reality is something that puts your future or your reputation at risk, lying is the best option. Remember, listen to your head, not your wrist.”

“Three—” this was Walburga again, “—your soulmark, when you get it, will remain covered at all times. No one else is permitted to see it. Are we clear?”

Sirius nodded.

“Speak up!”

“Yes, Mother. Yes, Father.”

***

When Remus Lupin was thirteen years old, he had his first kiss. It was with a girl from his first aid course to whom he’d never really talked before, and it was wet and clumsy and didn’t taste very nice. In six years when he got his soulmark, he probably wouldn’t even remember her name.

***

When Sirius Black was thirteen years old, he fell asleep in math class twice. He’d spent the entire night practicing—under his father’s instructions, of course—and the words in the textbook began to swim in front of his eyes.

His mother slapped him across the cheek when she found out. Though he told no one for a very long time, that was when he started drinking coffee.

***

When Remus Lupin was fifteen years old, he googled what if your soulmate doesn’t love you.

***

When Sirius Black was fifteen years old, he found out what it was like to be famous. He enjoyed it, at first. There was so much to enjoy: the attention from his parents, the people who recognized him in public and smiled, and the hockey.

The hockey was everything.

He wouldn’t have thought so, but it was freeing, really, to be on the ice, doing what he loved, and know that the whole world was watching. It showed him he was enough—better than enough. He was the best. He’d been working towards being best his whole life, and now he finally got to feel good about it. What wasn’t to like about that?

Amycus Carrow, apparently. The first guy on his team to notice he was different. “Queer,” he whispered, as Sirius packed his gear up.

Sirius wasn’t sure who he was trying to prove something to by sleeping with Janie Clearwater—Amycus or himself.

***

When Remus Lupin was seventeen years old, he and his mom picked his little brother Julian up from daycare. Jules had a crude drawing of a star on his wrist in green washable marker.

“My teacher has one! So I wanted one too!”

Remus smiled, ruffling Julian’s hair.

That night, he locked his bedroom door and looked up Sirius Black. Video after video of slapshots, passes, interviews, until he finally drifted off to sleep thinking that’s the sort of person I want to be loved by.

***

When Sirius Black was seventeen years old, he had his first panic attack. He wasn’t sure what triggered it; he wasn’t sure how he pulled himself out, but he ran a thumb over the red marks where his fingernails had dug into his skin and tried not to cry.

***

When Remus Lupin was nineteen years old, everything went wrong. He woke up on his birthday to his wrist itching, and it took all his willpower not to look at it. He wasn’t quite ready yet.

It was like Schrödinger’s cat, he reasoned—if he didn’t look, he couldn’t confirm what had been nagging at the back of his head for a while now. He couldn’t deny it, either, but it was better than nothing.

Julian ran to hug him when he got downstairs, grinning to show off his gap-toothed smile. “I got you a present! Wanna know what it is?”

“I think,” Remus told him, “I’m about to find out anyway.”

Two weeks later, Fenrir Greyback approached him in the locker room.

***

When Sirius Black was nineteen years old, he found himself signed to an NHL team he wasn’t supposed to be on and with a soulmark he could make neither head nor tail of: a silver wolf and black dog, intertwined like yin and yang, two crossed hockey sticks behind them. He remembered, distantly, being told that soulmarks were meant to make sense.

The black dog was probably meant to represent him—black dog, dog black (he still hadn’t forgiven his parents for that one)—and the hockey sticks almost definitely had something to do with, well, hockey, but the wolf he had no idea about.

***

It is now that these two stories meet. There is a split second, a fraction of time, and it seems as though the whole world is holding its breath. Will their paths cross, only to continue on their separate ways? Will they travel together for a time, before they are destined to part once more?

“Hello,” says Remus, and when Sirius holds his hand out coldly, their fate is decided.

***

“Pots, c’mere a second!”

Sirius is happy, almost. He’s got the team—he’s one of them, now, really and truly, but there’s something still off. He knows what it is, but he doesn’t want to.

“I’m coming, Captain! Keep your head on!”

James comes to a stop in front of him. “Hi. What do you need?”

“Please poke Dumo.” A few of the guys chuckle, and this makes Sirius smile. He likes making other people laugh.

“What, and you needed me for that? You couldn't do it yourself?”

Finn walks into the room, then, jersey half on. “Why do it at all? What did poor old Dumo do to you, anyway?”

“Yeah,” Pascal says from where he’s sitting by his locker. “Respect your elders!”

“Elder, you say? Edging on retirement, are you?”

“Tais-toi!”

Glancing over to Remus, Sirius allows the barest flicker of a smile to pass over his face. He gets one in return.

“Alright, everyone get moving,” Coach tells them, opening the door and surveying where they’re all arranged, faces like guilty puppies. “You’re paid to play hockey, not sit on your asses and gossip. Practice starts in five minutes, or you run laps around the outside of the rink. In skates.”

Most of them groan, and Kasey downs a Powerade. “Well, boys, that’s my cue.”

James is the next to go, then Finn, then Logan. Leo and Talker continue their argument—something about George Harrison; Sirius isn’t really listening—out onto the ice, and Adam follows them with Olli and Nado close behind. Dumo winks at Sirius before he goes, too, and then it’s just the two of them.

“What did he do?” Remus asks, after Sirius has laced and relaced his left skate three times. “Dumo, I mean.”

“Nothing much. Just… well, if you must know, he put shaving cream in the fridge, once. Guess what I had on my waffles that morning.”

“Waffles aren’t on your diet plan.”

“It was last year.”

“And you waited until now to get James to poke him?”

He knows Remus can see right through him. He always can. “Never question the methods of a hockey player, Loops.”

He meant it as a joke, but Remus stiffens for some reason, jaw clenching and eyes darting away. There’s an awkward pause before Sirius says, “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.”

“Right.” He clears his throat, trying in vain to find something else to say. He would be lying if he said Remus didn’t mean something to him—he knows it. But, after all, knowing something and acknowledging it are two very different things.

Sirius runs the laps.

***

That night, after practice, Remus is about to head for the bus station when Sirius steps in front of him. He’s walking backwards, even with his hockey bag slung over his shoulder, and Remus isn’t ashamed to say he’s a little impressed. (From a purely objective point of view, of course. It has nothing to do with Sirius and everything to do with the skill it would take, hypothetically, to do such a thing.) (He’s not fooling anyone, least of all himself.)

“Want a lift?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“Well, we’ll just have to fix that.”

Remus rolls his eyes; he pretends to think about it. “All right,” he says, finally. “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I get to choose the music.”

Sirius lets out one loud ‘ha!’ It’s the most beautiful thing Remus has heard in a long time. (That would go well: “Oh, I’ve changed my mind. No need to put on the radio, I’ll be content if you just keep laughing.”) (There’s a reason people like him are off to the side, out of sight, instead of right in the spotlight with a microphone.)

Remus is glad that Sirius waits until he’s parked outside Remus’s apartment building to bring up their earlier conversation. It says something that they say “So, about this evening—” in unison, but Remus isn’t going to think about that.

“You go first,” Sirius tells him, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Please.”

“I suppose,” Remus says, slowly, “That I haven’t quite been honest with you. Any of you. I wasn’t always a PT.”

“Of course not. You’re my age. You can’t have always worked for the Lions—before that you were a teenager. A student.”

Remus shakes his head. “No. Before that I was a player.”

“You played? Why’d you stop?”

“Bad hit,” he says, shrugging. “I’m over it. But I… I know what it’s like. The pressure. The rules. So, if you need someone to talk to… just remember—I know what the game does to a guy. You’re not the only one who’s been told to be something you aren’t by someone who forgets you’re a person off the ice, too.

“See you tomorrow, Cap. Thanks for the ride.”

***

Sirius is probably the one person in history who has managed to burn eggs without even turning the stove on.

“How on earth did that happen?” James asks when Sirius phones him.

“I dropped them into the toaster—hey! Stop laughing! It could happen to anyone!”

“Yes,” he hears from the other end of the line, “But it didn’t. It happened to you.”

It takes exactly two minutes and thirty-seven seconds after hanging up on James for Sirius to decide to call Remus. Cooking failures might not have been quite what Remus meant when he said Sirius could talk to him, but it’s the problem at hand right now.

(Remus laughs just as hard as James, but at least he has the decency to apologize for it afterwards.)

“Well,” he says, once he’s calmed down, “What are you going to eat now?”

“I’m not sure. Cereal?”

“Practice is in two and a half hours. You need more than that.”

“I’ll be—”

“If you end that sentence with ‘fine,’ I’ll take the laces out of your skates and strangle you with them. Do you want me to walk you through, I dunno, a pancake?”

“Sure. What do I need?”

“Flour, butter, eggs, milk…”

Twenty minutes later Sirius is left with milk on his shirt, flour in his hair, butter practically everywhere else, and a microwave that won’t start.

“I think,” he tells Remus, “I should have cereal.”

“You are going to eat a pancake if it’s the last thing I do—”

“Why don’t you just come over here and make it for me, then? I’m sure you’ll have more success.”

He holds his breath for a moment, hoping this wasn’t a step too far, before Remus responds. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll be over in… half an hour?”

“Sounds good.”

Click.

The instant the call is over, Sirius opens the freezer and grabs one of the popsicles he secretly has stashed there. They’re not part of his diet plan, but he needs one. Then he takes a sponge and starts trying to get the butter out of the sole of his shoe.

***

The first thought that crosses Remus’s mind is that Sirius’s tongue is purple from one of the popsicles he thinks no one knows about. If Remus kissed him, he’d probably taste like grapes. (The thought is banished from his mind the moment it enters.)

“So,” he says, surveying the damage. “I am going to teach you how to make a pancake.”

Sirius, it turns out, is infinitely better at following instructions when they’re simple, and the two of them work out a system quickly. Remus makes the pancake, Sirius gets the ingredients. It works.

“That’s salt, not sugar. Try again.”

(Most of the time, at least.)

“Really?” Sirius is squinting at the package. “Why doesn’t it say so?”

“It does. Right there.”

“How am I supposed to read that?”

“You need glasses, Cap.”

“I have glasses. I just never wear them.”

“What?” This is news to Remus. Visions of Sirius with glasses and bed hair are swimming in front of his eyes. “Why?”

A shrug. “I look stupid.”

“I’m pretty sure you’d be drop-dead gorgeous in anything.”

There’s a beat of silence. Remus realizes that, yes, he said that out loud. “I mean, all those fangirls certainly seem to think so.”

“Right. Yeah.” Sirius clears his throat.

“Anyway, pancakes! I think these are almost ready to cook—can you turn on the element?”

“The what now?”

“The element? The coil on the stove?”

“Should’ve just said that in the first place,” Sirius grumbles. “Fucking Americans.”

“Fucking French.”

Suddenly, Remus has a spatula pointed at his nose. He has to cross his eyes to see it properly. “Say that again; I dare you.”

“Fucking French?”

“Awright, that’s it! En garde, bitch!”

And so begins the great whisk-vs-spatula duel of 2020. There is very little batter left once they’re done—in the bowl, at least. Most of it is on their clothes.

They look at each other. “Cereal?”

“...Cereal.”

***

Kasey’s eyes go wide—almost comically so—when they show up to practice together.

“Cap giving rides?” He says, and Sirius isn’t sure what accent he’s trying to fake but he ends up sounding like a scandalized duchess from the movie adaptation of an Austen knockoff. (Maybe that is what he was going for. It’s hard to know, with Kasey.) “I thought the day would never come.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Remus’s elbow digs into Sirius’s rib cage. “You don’t want to say that. He tried to make me shut up this morning—it’s something I’ll never recover from.”

Sirius almost laughs at the expression Remus makes when he realizes exactly how that sounds.

“He dumped pancake batter down my shirt!”

“You didn’t!” The look on James’s face is aghast. “First the eggs, now this—what will people think?”

Finn looks up from his phone. “Eggs?”

“Sirius here dropped the eggs he was going to eat for breakfast into his—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Dumo slings an arm around his shoulders. “The price you must pay for telling James to poke me yesterday. Learn from this, mon fils. Learn.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, old man.”

“Treachery!”

Shrugging him off, Sirius grins. “I am the kitchen monster. Cross me and I will slaughter you in a food war.”

“Try me.” This is Logan speaking; Sirius hadn’t even realized he was there.

“You’ve been warned!”

***

“Look, there are twenty-two hockey players in this arena, and I ain’t one of them,” Moody says, and Remus can’t be sure, but he thinks Sirius looks at him.

***

“You’re favouring your right leg,” Remus comments as soon as Sirius is off the ice. “Want me to take a look?”

“It’s fine, really—”

“I’ll try again. Want me to take a look?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Loops.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

They walk into the PT room in businesslike silence, Sirius hoping all the way that one of them will break it. Neither does, and it isn’t until Remus has taken off both his skates for him, now expertly examining his left ankle, that he realizes what he should say.

“You mentioned you played, last night.”

The finger tracing his Achilles tendon stills. “I did.”

“Were you any good?” He knows, somewhere, that he’s entering forbidden territory. He can’t bring himself to care.

“I’d like to believe so.”

“Be honest.” Sirens are blaring in his head. He keeps going.

“There were rumours…” Remus bites his lip, glances away. “People said I was set for first.”

“What? How come you never said anything? C’mon, you need to play with us sometime, just scrimmage or something—”

“Maybe. That hit…”

“Right. God, I’m sorry, Rem.”

If Remus’s Adam’s apple bobs at the nickname, Sirius doesn’t notice. He certainly doesn’t try his best not to jump to conclusions. (Double negative; that’s a yes, a voice that sounds suspiciously like James’s says in his head. Shut up, he tells it.)

“It’s fine. Really. I just don’t like talking about it. And besides, I like this. Working with the team, even if I can’t be a part of it.”

“You are. A part of the team, I mean. Just as much as I am.”

“Sure.”

There’s another awkward pause before Remus clears his throat. “So, I’m gonna put on some anti-inflammatory gel because it’s a little swollen, but don’t get used to it. I want you to keep doing some stretches, not too much pressure. Capeesh?”

“What the fuck is a capeesh?”

“Just say it.”

“...Capeesh?”

“Awesome.”

Remus leans forward towards him, their foreheads almost touching. Sirius’s breath catches.

It’s over just as suddenly. The tube of extra-strength Voltaren is in Remus’s hand, and Sirius feels stupid for thinking he was going to—

Nope. Not thinking about that.

When he feels tears start to prick at his eyes, he glances up at the fluorescent lights overhead; at least then he’ll have an excuse. There’s a moth resting on one. Its wings flutter once, twice, then go still. Fragile things, moths are—maybe it’s died, maybe it hasn’t. He could read into that, but he won’t.

He jumps when the cool of the gel on Remus’s hands touches his foot. “Hey!” He yelps, looking quickly down.

Sirius hates to succumb to cliches, but he would be lying if he was to say his heart doesn’t still.

Because Remus has pulled the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows, and his wrist is turned to the sky—to Sirius, who has seen that mark before somewhere.

Somewhere. He’s kidding himself. He’s seen it every day whenever he bothers to look at his own soulmark, and he’s seeing it again now.

“You know what, I’m fine,” he blurts out, shaking his ankle out of Remus’s grasp. “Thanks, though. See you later, Loops.”

***

Remus stays there for a second, watching Sirius leave. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, and he’s not sure he wants to.

When he gets up to leave, tossing the container towards the first aid kit on the bench and allowing himself a small smile when it lands perfectly inside, blood rushes to his head. He closes his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

And then he crashes into Finn.

“Whoa, sorry,” Remus says, stumbling backwards.

“Nah, don’t stress it. There’s just something I want you to check on.”

Remus is hit by a sense of deja vu. He wonders if Finn, too, is going to leave without explanation. He follows him back into the PT room, Finn gesturing for him to lock the door.

Though he may be the shorter of the two, Remus knows it’s his job to be the bigger person. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Finn waits another moment before yanking one sleeve up to reveal three paw prints, each no bigger than a thumbnail, clustered together—one forest green, one golden, and one a deep navy blue.

“Your soulmark.” Remus doesn’t understand. “What? Is something wrong?”

“There’s three of them,” Finn says. “Which means there’s three of us.”

“You have two soulmates?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fine, Finn. It may not be common, but it’s not unheard of. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

“It’s not that. It’s… hey, you can’t tell anyone this, okay?”

“I know. Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember?”

“Right.” Finn takes a breath, squeezing his eyes closed. “What if I told you I know who they are? Or I think I do?”

“Hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Well, I’d ask you if they knew.”

“And I’d say I don’t think so. One of them’s pretty stubborn—wouldn’t see love if it stood up on the ice and sang the national anthem—and the other isn’t nineteen yet, so he doesn’t—I mean wouldn’t—have his mark yet.”

“His?”

Finn’s eyes widen. There is a pause before he nods, slowly. “Yeah. Got a problem?”

“Trust me, I’m the last person on earth who’d have a problem with something like that. Hypothetically.”

This, at least, earns Remus a smile. “Are you…?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Another pause. “What if I told you, still hypothetically, that they were both on the team?”

“Then I’d say get the fuck out of here and win them over before they start thinking you’ve forgotten about them.”

Finn, smiling ear to ear, starts to leave. “Wait,” he says, hand on the doorknob. “You said you were…”

“Gay.”

“Yeah. Do—do you know who your soulmate is?”

Remus opens his mouth to say ‘no.’ He really does. But what comes out—when he takes into account the look of recognition on Sirius’s face when Remus had his sleeves rolled up; the understanding that had passed between them outside Remus’s building (god, that was just last night); the way they’ve always just clicked—is most certainly not ‘no.’

“Oh, fuck, I think I do,” he says, and he and Finn run out into the hallway together.

Sirius’s car is pulling out of the parking lot when Remus arrives, out of breath, at the front doors of the arena.

“I don’t know why he’s in such a hurry.” Remus jumps. He hadn’t heard James come to stand beside him. “Just packed up his gear at the speed of light and left. Didn’t even shower; he said he’d do it at home.”

So Sirius had been so appalled—disgusted, even—at Remus being his soulmate that he’d left without explanation, with barely even a goodbye. There was a pleasant thought.

He turns so his back is against the door, sliding slowly down to sit on the floor.

“Y’know,” James says, sitting next to him, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you needed a hug.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence before Remus says, “James?”

“Yeah?”

“I need a hug.”

James gives the best hugs. Everyone says so. But until now, Remus has never been on the receiving end of a true James Potter hug—warm, strong, and friendly as hell. (“I want that on a t-shirt,” James says when Remus tells him so.)

But eventually, James has to go, too, and Remus heads back to the PT room. He passes Logan in the hall, looking like he’s been hit over the head with a two-by-four. Maybe it’s Finn’s doing; he had mentioned that one of them was oblivious. Logan, Remus knows, is the definition of oblivious.

***

“And I think that’s all,” Coach Weasley says, glancing around, “Unless anyone else has something to say? Moody? Cap? Loops?”

“Actually, yes,” says Remus after a moment. “Checkups! Not naming names but Kris lied about his rib acting up so now all of you get to be interrogated.”

Sirius swallows. He’s not anxious to be alone with Remus; not after yesterday. There’s no way there aren’t going to be questions.

Kasey goes first, Remus taking just under five minutes to deem him ‘good to go.’ Kris, surprisingly, is only kept for eight, despite the claim of his ribs acting up again. Finn takes the longest—fifteen minutes—and as soon as he’s out he grabs Logan and Leo by the wrists and marches them off somewhere. Sirius’s turn comes last, right after Pascal’s, who gives him a knowing look as he enters.

“Hi,” Remus says, first aid kit nowhere in sight. “Sit down.”

“Where?” Sirius gets only a shrug in response.

He hesitates a moment, then sits on the floor, picking at the sole of his sneaker.

“How are you feeling?” Remus asks suddenly.

“Fine. Ankle’s not bothering me any more.”

“No, I mean how are you feeling?”

Scoffing, he starts to stand up. “I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Sirius Black, sit your ass back down before I make you.”

Sirius sits his ass back down.

“Good. Now, how are you feeling?”

“I’m… confused,” he says, trying to be honest without being specific. “And nervous. And I cried myself to sleep last night, which I haven’t done since I was like seventeen, so there’s that. But mostly I’m just really fucking mad.”

“At me.” It isn’t a question.

“No, not at you! At me! At the—” he gestures wildly. “—Universe, or whatever. Can I go now?”

Remus doesn’t even acknowledge his request. “So you’re disappointed.”

“...Yeah.”

“May I ask why?”

“I’m pretty sure you fucking know why.”

“Maybe I do. But I’d like you to explain it to me.”

The stupid thing is that Sirius wants to talk about it. He really does. And Remus is the only person he can conceivably talk about it to. But he still chokes on his words when he says, anger burning his throat, “It was never supposed to be like this.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Sirius practically screams. “Stop trying to fucking— psychoalalyze me or something, for fuck’s sake. You fucking asked, and I—” He tears his fingers through his hair, feeling his chest start to constrict. “Just stop talking!”

The echoes of his shouts fade out too quickly, and the only thing worse than the voices is the sound of his breathing getting faster and faster. Remus’s hand twitches, as though he wants to touch him but thinks better of it.

“It was always supposed to be someone different. Someone faceless; nameless. Someone I could run away from. I can’t fucking run away from you, Remus.

“I always thought I could lie. That I could—pretend, or something. Just keep hiding. It was supposed to be someone I could hide from, because I’ve spent my whole life fucking hiding and that’s all I know how to do. It was never supposed to be someone I could fall in love with.”

There’s a choked noise from where Remus is sitting on the bench, but nothing else. Sirius refuses to look at him.

“And I just—I just fucking hate this, because all I’ve been told is that hockey comes before my dreams. And that’s made sense until now because until now hockey was my dream, but now there’s you. Yeah.”

Remus, to his credit, waits until Sirius’s breathing has calmed down and he’s furiously wiped the tears from his eyes to speak. “What do you need?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean forget everything. Forget your family, forget the team, forget me—what do you need?

“Right now? For the rest of my life? Because those are two very different things.”

“Let’s start with now. Can I do anything for you? Can you do anything for yourself?”

“I need a hot chocolate.”

***

They wait until everyone else has gone, and then make their way outside to Sirius’s car. There’s only one other in the parking lot—a grey Toyota Remus thinks belongs to Nado, or maybe Kris. He’s not sure why he thinks it matters, because it doesn’t.

Silence hangs around them the whole four blocks to the nearest Tim Horton’s. Inhale; exhale. Inhale; exhale. This doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

That doesn’t stop Remus from hoping.

He knows it’s wrong; of course he does. It’s Sirius’s choice, in the end, because Sirius is the one who will be most affected. His career, his life—all on the line if he decides to trust whatever plan the world has in store for them. It’s not like that for Remus. Not anymore.

There’s a parking spot right outside the front door. Sirius pulls into it, but he doesn’t get out right away. He glances around, makes sure there’s no one immediately in sight, and then he looks down to where his hands now rest in in his lap. Slowly, he pulls up his right sleeve to expose, bit by bit, his soulmark.

“I don’t know why I never guessed it could be you—Wolfy McWolf Wolf.”

Remus feels his lips twitch upwards into something resembling a smile. “I could say the same, Dog Black.”

When he puts his hand on the console, Sirius rests his on top of it. It’s not much.

But it’s something.

***

Sirius looks longingly at the Boston cream doughnuts. “Please. I haven’t had one in so long.”

“Think again, Mr. I’m-on-a-diet-plan.”

He’s not surprised. What was he thinking, having his PT as his soulmate? (Well, he wasn’t. He didn’t get to choose. But, he thinks to himself, the point still stands.)

“I’ll have a medium hot chocolate, please, a plain toasted bagel,” Remus looks at him and sighs. “...And a Boston cream doughnut.”

When the food is set down on the pickup counter, Remus snatches it before Sirius has a chance to. “Hey, this is my doughnut.”

Sirius pouts.

“You’re cute. Here.” He tosses him the brown paper bag, and Sirius removes his prize carefully. He‘s going to eat every piece of chocolate glazing if it kills him.

Back out in the car—this is a conversation neither of them is willing to have in the public dining area—Remus chews on his bagel thoughtfully. Sirius tries and fails not to swear when his hot chocolate burns his tongue.

“Shit!”

Remus glances over at him. Their eyes meet for a moment, then both look away. “So,” Sirius says after a while. “I think we need to talk.”

“Yeah.”

Silence, then—

“You go first,” they say at the same time, and laugh. Some of the tension is broken.

Sirius reaches hesitantly to where Remus’s arm rests between the seats. He doesn’t need to voice his question—Remus sees it in his eyes; nods.

Up close, he can see that there are a few differences between their marks. Nothing that could possibly mean they aren’t soulmates—just the discolouring on the dog’s tail; the angle of one of the sticks; the faded white gash that stretches from one side of Remus’s wrist to the other, separating the wolf’s head from its body. Sirius doesn’t quite know what he’s doing when he presses his lips to the scar.

When he looks up, he sees that Remus is trying not to cry. And that’s when he makes his decision.

“I want this,” he says, voice soft but sure. “All of it.”

#sweater weather lumosinlove #coops #soulmate au #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #sweater weather secret santa #tw: panic attack

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vs-redemption · 3 years

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This is the fourth piece out of seven written for the one year anniversary collaboration event for the @konoblog-simps discord. I encourage everyone to check out the masterlist for today's prompt and support the other creators. Some content might not be suitable for minors so please pay attention to the warnings.

Prompt: Song Piece (Tooru Oikawa x Reader)

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Song: Case Of The Ex - Mya I'm old, just like this song, so I apologize if you don't know it. I provided a link if you wanna check out the song/video.

It took a certain kind of person to date a guy like Tooru Oikawa. It wasn’t for the faint hearted for sure. First of all, you had to be fine with long absences since he traveled so much for work. If he wasn’t off competing against the best teams in the world, he was spending an absurd amount of time in training camps and practices. His career as a pro volleyball player alone would put strain on any relationship but the obstacles didn’t end there. Oikawa was more than just an incredible athlete. He was also known for being one of the most attractive male sports stars on the planet. He had a huge female fan base and had appeared on a disturbing number of magazine covers for his looks alone. Anyone who dated him would have to share his attention with every single other person who thought they might have a chance with the devilishly handsome man. It would take someone awfully secure in themselves to withstand pressure like that constantly looming over them.

“Hey cutie! Can I buy you a drink?”

The first time you met Oikawa was unfortunately during a bar crawl for a friend’s birthday. It wasn’t the type of thing you’d normally participate in, but you endured it this time because of the special occasion. You were already at your third stop of the night and ready to go home when a ridiculously tall, obnoxiously attractive man appeared next to you.

“I think you already did,” you tell him while holding up the glass in your hand. “Wasn’t it you and your buddies that bought a round for my friend’s birthday?”

“Yeah, but that was a while ago,” he tilts his head curiously at you. “Don’t you need another by now?”

“I’m pacing myself,” you tell him flatly. “Thank you though.”

“I’m Tooru Oikawa,” he smiles and spreads his arms, lifting his chin proudly and reminding you of a peacock showing off and you laugh.

“I know.”

As the night dragged on, you continued chatting with the famous volleyball player as your friends continued with their shenanigans. You could admit that conversation with Oikawa was easy, and he definitely made the night more interesting. He was cute and charming, not to mention rich and famous, but you knew you didn’t have the energy to get involved with someone like that in any capacity. You allowed yourself some light banter, figuring he could just move on to flirting with someone else once you parted ways.

“How about a date?” he asks you once your friend signals you that it was time to head to the next stop of the night.

“I don’t date pretty boys.” You reply apologetically, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“How about meeting for coffee as friends?” he quips without any hesitation.

“Are you serious?” You ask and he nods while pulling his phone out from his pocket. You shake your head, pushing his phone away with a mischievous smile on your face. “I’ll tell you the time and place,” you tell him. “If you actually show up, then I’ll give you my number.”

What you hadn’t known was that Tooru Oikawa was persistent when he knew what he wanted. Not only did he show up to the designated place on time, but he also kept the conversation light and friendly since you’d been adamant about it not being a date. As promised, you exchanged numbers and saw no reason to refuse when he asked to meet up again soon.

Oikawa wasted no time in integrating himself into your daily life. At first, having regular correspondence with him made it easy to forget his celebrity status. He never acted like the hot playboy he was made out to be in the media. He never seemed too proud to send you goofy selfies of himself, or tell you about something embarrassing that had happened to him in one of his practices. When he was too busy to meet you in person, he scheduled time to do video calls. It surprised you that he never seemed to lose interest. The way he took his time to let you really get to know him and build up a mutual trust made it difficult to say no the next time he asked you on an actual date.

“I know my volleyball is going to make things tough,” he’d admitted from the very start, and you respected that he could acknowledge that. The first step in overcoming the hurdle was admitting it existed in the first place. He was more than willing to talk and compromise as much as you needed though, continuing to make you feel better about entering into a relationship with him. After all, despite your efforts to remain rational, you’d ended up falling head over heels for the idiot.

Being with Oikawa was too good to be true. You’d known going into the relationship how busy he was, and although you were fine being on your own sometimes, he still made sure you never felt neglected. Hardly a day went by without at least a phone call since he claimed that going to bed without hearing your voice was impossible for him. He was so cheesy sometimes, but you appreciated his transparency. Even dealing with his popularity turned out to be less of a problem than you’d imagined. Seeing all the comments and likes on his posts never made you feel jealous. In fact, it made you happy to see your boyfriend getting the amount of love and attention you knew he deserved. He never made a big deal about it and did everything in his power to make sure you knew he only had eyes for you.

“Good night, my love!” He smiles and pulls your face into his hands, pressing a kiss to your mouth before yawning and snuggling into the blankets next to you.

“Night, pretty boy,” you reply with a teasing smile that makes him pout. “Stop,” you poke his cheek, “You know I love you.”

“Mm,” he hums happily. “Love you too.”

Sometimes it still blew your mind knowing Tooru Oikawa was your boyfriend, but as you curled up next to him and slowly drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t imagine anyone else making you feel as happy or as loved as he could.

“Do you understand what time it is?” The sound of Oikawa’s voice pulled you back from the depths of sleep and you blink your eyes tiredly, the numbers on your alarm clock coming into focus and revealing that it was still the middle of the night. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He was clearly on the phone with someone, and before you could roll over and ask him if everything was okay, you hear him whisper the caller’s name. Your heart immediately drops to your stomach, knowing right away who he was talking to. When you’d finally decided to give your heart to Oikawa, you’d thought you’d taken everything into account. His career. His fame. His fans. For some reason it had never occurred to you to worry about his exes.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” You could tell Oikawa felt awkward by the tone of his voice. “Do you really think I’m the right person to talk to though? We’re not together anymore.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm yourself. He’d never given you a reason not to trust him before, and it wasn’t his fault if his ex was calling him in the middle of the night. Oikawa had told you about them before though, and you couldn’t help the memories that sprung up from those conversations. You knew how much they’d meant to him, and how they’d hurt him when they left, giving him an ultimatum between their relationship and his volleyball career. It had made you mad to hear about that. Loving Oikawa meant accepting all of him, including his love for volleyball, and you could never imagine asking him to give it up for you. Still, if even a hint of his feelings for his ex still existed inside him, who knew what talking to them again might mean for you.

“I can’t do this right now,” Oikawa’s tone was getting impatient. “I don’t know. Maybe. Fine. Goodnight.” You hear him set his phone back on the nightstand and let out a sigh. After a moment, he lays back down and tries to get comfortable.

“Tooru?” you whisper.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” you listen for any hints of guilt or panic in his voice. “Did you hear all that?”

“Kind of,” you weren’t going to lie.

“I shouldn’t have even answered,” he admits softly while snaking an arm around your waist. “It’s just been so long and I was surprised.”

“Is everything all right?” you ask.

“I guess so,” his words come out muffled against your back. “Let’s just go back to sleep, okay?”

“Okay.” You wanted to ask him if you had anything to worry about, and if he planned on getting in touch with them again. You had so many questions that you knew were rooted in insecurity, so you held back from asking so as not to insult the trust you’d built up over your time together. You’d handled every other obstacle in your relationship so far, so hopefully this one wouldn’t cause too much disruption either. At the end of the day, it was up to Oikawa to choose who he wanted by his side. And until he gave you a reason to believe otherwise, you decided to just be thankful that, for the moment, that person seemed to be you.

#Tooru Oikawa x Reader #Haikyuu x Reader #Tooru Oikawa #Haikyuu #Discord Collab #Cindy's Writing

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prettyricky187 · 4 years

Text

Sometimes You Don’t Feel Like A Winner

A/N: I was listening to Prom Queen by Catie Turner and it inspired this piece. I highly recommend listening to it while you read, at least for the first half.

Couple: Spencer X Fem!Reader

Category: Angst/Fluff

Content Warnings: Self deprecating thoughts

Word Count: 4K

MASTERLIST

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

“Thank God we had Morgan there, otherwise we’d probably still be stuck in the elevator.” It was such an offhand comment from Penelope, said in a joking manner and alluding to earlier when her, Derek, and Spencer found themselves trapped in the elevator. Derek had to pry the doors open to get the emergency system to kick in.

Spencer knew she didn’t mean any offense by it, but he couldn’t stop replaying it in his head. He didn’t like how it implied that he wouldn’t have been able to get the job done. His thoughts spiraled down a rabbit hole, wondering about all the other times someone thought he wouldn’t be able to do something for one reason or another, but never said anything out loud.

He thought about the various comments from his team members over the years about his physical ineptitude. He was well aware of the fact that the only reason he was in the FBI was due to his brain, having to get waivers for all of the physical aspects of the academy. Even then he had heard the comments from fellow recruits. He always tried not to let them affect him, but he could only take so much.

He and Derek were paired up a lot, and it didn’t take much to see the glaring differences between the two of them. Whenever they walked into a room or to a crime scene, people noticed Derek, whereas no one ever noticed him. Derek was smooth, muscular, active, and very much a kick down the door first and ask questions later type of guy, whereas Spencer just…wasn’t. He could barely talk to a woman without feeling like he was going to throw up, he didn’t think his noodle arms counted as muscle, and he much preferred to stay behind at the station whenever it came time to arrest an unsub. He wasn’t even like Hotch, with his tailored suits, matching socks, designer accessories, and stoic face that could wither a concrete wall.

Did people want him to kick down doors? Wear matching socks? Get a Rolex? What did he have to do in order to stop the comments?

If being more like Hotch and Morgan was what he needed to do to be taken seriously, then he would do it.

The following morning Spencer grabbed the tailored ensemble that was a birthday gift from Rossi before hunting down a pair of matching socks. It wasn’t easy, and he felt weird putting them on, but he had to try. He pulled out his designer satchel and moved over his important papers.

“You look like I do when I have to switch purses for a night out.” His girlfriend’s voice sounded off behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see her leaning against the door frame with a light smile on her face. One look at him and she got an inquisitive look, almost as if she was profiling him.

“Is something wrong with your bag?”

“No, I just felt like a change.”

The noise she made gave away that she knew there was more to his actions, but she didn’t push it. “Do you think you’ll be home tonight?”

“I think so. Unless an urgent case comes up. I’ll let you know, okay?” She nodded as she watched him flit around the room in a manner that was very un-Spencer like.

“Alright. Have a good day.” He smiled at her words, the first glimpse of her true boyfriend of the day. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He gave her a kiss and was out the door, leaving behind a very confused (y/n).

--- “Woah there pretty boy. Your socks match today.” Morgan commented, coming up behind Spencer in the kitchenette. When he first walked into the bullpen, he had been surprised to see the matching plain black socks as Spencer bent down to grab a file from the bottom drawer.

“Yeah, what of it?” Logically Spencer knew Morgan didn’t mean anything about his comment, but Penelope’s words were still swirling around in his head, so his response was more hostile than he intended.

“I’m just not used to seeing it.” Morgan said slowly after a moment of silence, no doubt trying to profile the resident genius to figure out the cause of his attitude. “I thought you said it was bad luck?” He rose his eyebrows in questioning.

“I’m trying something new.”

While it was apparent there was something bothering Spencer, Morgan knew better than to press him. He’d talk to him when he was ready. “Alright.”

Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong and Spencer was over the whole day. He almost missed the morning train, he’d spilled coffee on his shirt, his shoelaces came undone and he almost faceplanted in the lobby. He realized around lunchtime that he’d forgotten his lunch at home, and when he was finally on his way home, he turned a corner right into a woman carrying a bag of groceries that ended up all over the sidewalk. Really, he just wanted to crawl under the covers and for the day to be over.

He heaved a huge sigh of relief once he was safely inside his dark apartment. Everything was familiar and comfortable; nothing could hurt him in his own sanctuary, except maybe his own thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he dropped his bag and made his way towards the kitchen for some food before going to bed.

Entering the bedroom and eyeing his sleeping girlfriend, Spencer felt a wave of insecure sadness flow through him so strong it almost knocked him over. She trusted him to protect her, and he knew he would fail if push came to shove. How could she possibly love him and want to be with him if he couldn’t even do the most basic thing for her?

Shaking his head sadly and trying not to cry, Spencer disrobed quietly and made his way to the bathroom in hopes that he could wash his terrible day down the drain.

After his shower, he stood naked in front of the mirror and analyzed the reflection staring back at him. Never before had he really taken the time to look at himself beyond a quick pass to make sure his hair was tame and his tie wasn’t crooked.

He didn’t like what he saw.

“Jesus.” He muttered, pinching at his skin in various places. His limbs were disproportionately long, his sunken eyes created the appearance of two permanent black eyes, and he didn’t have a tan nor much body hair. Based on his research, backed by conversations overheard from JJ and Emily, body hair was something women found manly and attractive. He felt beyond inadequate. Mostly though, he looked at his arms and stomach and noted that neither had copious amounts of muscle on them.

He was an FBI agent for crying out loud, he should have some muscles. He shouldn’t have to rely on someone else to help him kick a door down or get out of an elevator. Frankly, he had never felt more pathetic than in that moment. At best, he felt like a professor; at worst he felt like a string bean with a gun.

How was he to be trusted to protect his loved ones if he couldn’t even pass the FBI fitness test? Would he be able to protect his girlfriend if someone broke into their apartment? Would he always have to rely on someone else to keep him safe in the field? He was so absorbed in his self-deprecating thoughts that he didn’t notice the tired figure creeping up behind him.

“Are you okay?” The startled yelp he let out was high pitched and he found himself comparing it to a more manly sound Morgan or Hotch would have let out.

‘Great, I don’t even have manly scared sounds.’ He thought bitterly before locking his gaze on hers through the mirror.

“I had a bad day.”

“I guessed that.” She nodded rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

He felt bad waking her up, but he did feel better having her there. “How?” He really had tried to be quiet when he got home so he didn’t wake her up. “It could have to do with the fact that there are matching socks balled up next to the hamper.” The smile she gave him was playful, fully expecting a witty or snarky comeback. Instead, all she got was a sigh as his head dropped and his shoulders sagged.

She frowned and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face against the skin of his back; the feeling of safety and home filling her veins.

Spencer sighed again and grabbed onto her arms, anchoring himself to her and the moment.

“What’s going on?”

“Do you think I’m weak?”

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, that wasn’t it. Her frown returned and she instinctively tightened her grip on him as if to shield him from his negative thoughts. “What?”

He nodded, doubling down on his doubts. “Yeah, like…do you wish I had more muscles?” His eyes fell to his body, all his negative thoughts from before returning at once. “Do you think I’m too skinny?”

“No. Too skinny for what?” She questioned, but he only shrugged.

“When you look at me, do you think ‘federal agent?’ Am I too weak to be in the BAU?” He asked. She merely shook her head. He sighed, “Should I look more like Derek?”

In all their years of dating, (y/n) had never heard a more ludicrous statement come from his mouth. Much less while comparing himself to Derek Morgan. She stepped in front of him and hoisted herself on the counter so that she was eye level with him. Locking her legs behind his, she pulled him flush against her, sensing how much he needed physical and emotional reassurance.

“Spencer Reid, what on earth are you talking about?”

Spencer tried not to let his heart race at the thought of her being disappointed in him for any reason. He never wanted to disappoint her; he just wasn’t sure he was fully capable of protecting her. He didn’t like the idea of her being hurt in any way, especially knowing he could’ve prevented it – if only he was stronger or ran faster.

“Do you have things that you would change about me?”

(Y/n) drew her head back as if she’d been burned by his words. The thought of changing anything about him was simply absurd. “Absolutely not!” Her tone was adamant, and it was clear that she meant every single bit of it; she loved him for exactly who he was.

“What about my quirks? Do you think they’re weird?”

“What quirks?”

“I don’t wear matching socks.” He pointed out and she shrugged.

“So?”

“Do you wish that I did?”

“You tried it today and your day sucked.”

“You don’t have to remind me.”

“Clearly, you’re not meant to wear them, and matching socks are overrated. Embrace it.”

He merely pouted and shrugged. “But it’s weird.”

She knew she wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise at the moment, so she shifted topics. “Alright, what else?”

“What else what?”

“Whatever it is that has you feeling this way.”

Spencer was quiet as he pondered saying what was bothering him; he wanted to be completely honest for both her sake and his own.

“My hair.”

She raked her eyes over his wet hair hanging haphazardly and sticking up or out in some parts, clearly in disarray from his quick towel drying.

“What about it?”

“It’s always messy.”

“Probably doesn’t help that I love running my fingers through it. Even when you do comb it, I just make a mess of it again. I’ll gladly take partial responsibility for that.”

“What about the fact that I ramble.”

She shrugged as she absentmindedly stroked his hip. “I enjoy it.” She wasn’t just trying to make him feel better, she really did enjoy listening to him endlessly talk. She’d never admit it, but sometimes she purposely made him flustered just so he would start rambling like he does whenever he’s nervous.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” He frowned, but (y/n) shook her head.

“I’m saying it because it’s how I feel. When have I ever lied to you, even if it was only to spare your feelings?”

He immediately thought back to when they first began dating and he had gone on an excited rant about the new season of Doctor Who. He could tell she was trying to follow along and nodding like she knew what he was talking about, but she hadn’t understood. He remembered Derek telling him how girls sometimes lie to guys on a date so that they seem interesting. He asked her thoughts on the show and she told him that she’d honestly never seen an episode and had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but she was excited simply because he was excited.

“Never.”

“Alright then. So, believe me when I say that I do not mind your info-drops.”

“What about all the other things I should have accomplished by now, but haven’t?”

“Like what?”

“Having a family.”

“Is that something you want?” The topic of children had come up, but always in a ‘someday’ capacity. She didn’t even know he was actively thinking about starting a family.

“Derek has Savannah and Hank and Hotch has Jack. I mean, I have you, but we’re not married, nor do we have any kids so it’s like…are we a societal failure?”

“I’m going to pretend not to take offense to that.”

He squirmed as she lightly pinched at his outer thigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it how it sounded.” He sighed sadly, not liking how his words weren’t coming out as he intended. “I just…”

“Not every couple has children or gets married, Spencer. Marriage or children doesn’t validate a relationship.”

“Did you know that humans 75 million years ago mostly lived in isolation and only came together to mate? In 2013, a study came out that said that monogamy only came to be so that men could protect their infants and lower the risk of infanticide from competing males.”

“Okay…” She wasn’t exactly sure where he was going with that information; she didn’t have an IQ of 187 so he needed to explain it for her.

“It means that the sole point of monogamy is children.” He exclaimed.

“Well, first of all we’re not giant pandas who only come out of some hiding to get it on with each other. Secondly, we are not living in the Flintstone era where a man kills another man’s child simply to procreate with the mother and ensure his lineage. And finally, the one I take the most issue with, couples do not need to have children to be valid. There are plenty of childless couples who are perfectly happy with just the two of them. If that’s what our situation turns out to be, then that’s what it is. We aren’t failures as people or as a couple.” She explained.

“You’d be a cute giant panda, though.” Spencer muttered after a moment.

(Y/n) laughed and nodded in agreement. “So, would you.”

“You know,” Spencer said suddenly, “I always thought I’d be in academia when I was a kid. I never pictured myself in the FBI.”

While the idea of Spencer as a teacher or researcher wasn’t preposterous, his words still surprised her. She wondered if he’d still be happy in that role.

“Really?”

“Do I really scream law enforcement material to you?” He rose an eyebrow as if to say ‘really’ and she held her hands up to concede.

“Well I’ve only ever known you in the BAU, which is part of the FBI, which is considered law enforcement. So, to me, yes.”

“I also thought I would have cured schizophrenia by now. Or at least been really close to a cure.” He said, “I feel like such a failure because I haven’t even gotten started on it.”

“Well, you’ve been busy saving the world in other ways.” She pointed out.

“What if it’s not enough?”

“Schizophrenia has been around for like…forever. It’s not solely your job to cure it; I don’t think anyone expects you to. It’s just you.”

“Actually, it’s only been around for 208 years. In 1809 both English physician John Haslam and French physician Phillippe Pinel wrote about English tea broker James Tilly Matthews. He is largely considered the first case of paranoid schizophrenia; except there wasn’t a term for it at the time. It wasn’t until the late 19th century that the term dementia praecox was used to describe someone who we now refer to as schizophrenic. There’s been some debate over who first used the term, some say Emil Kraepelin in 1896 while others say it was Arnold Pick in 1891. It wasn’t until Eugene Bleuler coined the term schizophrenia in 1908 because he believed that it wasn’t a dementia at all, but merely a separation of function between personality, thinking, memory, and perception.”

Maybe someone else would’ve been stunned or turned off by the correction and lengthy explanation, but (y/n) listened happily as he laid out the history of schizophrenia, all while looking at him like he hung the stars and the moon in the sky. She knew it was a touchy subject for him, between his mother, being scared of presenting signs when he turned 30, and genetics he might pass down to any children, so they didn’t talk much about it.

‘You realize you’re putting 200-”

“208.” Spencer quietly corrected and she smiled to herself.

God, she loved him.

“208 years of mental illness solely on your shoulders.” She finished. “You’re one man who can’t be expected to solve all the world’s problems. You have a genius brain, but you’re still human like the rest of us average folk. As much as it may pain you to hear, you can’t do everything.”

“I know that.” He protested, but sometimes she wasn’t so sure. She knew he forgot to take care of himself when he got too into his head, but she wouldn’t dwell on that at the moment. “I just, I wonder if I’m on the wrong track. You know?”

“I do. I think most people wonder that at various times in their life. Second guessing yourself is common, and while it can be worrying, it’s something we all can get through.”

“I never second guess myself. I’m always sure in what decisions I make.”

“Hate to break it to you bud, you’re currently doing exactly that, hence your tailspin.”

He cracked a small smile at her words, but ultimately sighed.

She noticed that he still looked off, like he had more that was bothering him. She knew it all wasn’t going to get solved with this bathroom talk, but she didn’t want him to go to sleep with these worries on his mind. “What else are you thinking about?”

Spencer shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, resigned to the fact that he was just going to feel shitty about things for a while. “It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid anyways.”

(Y/n) refused to accept that answer. “It’s not stupid. It matters to you, so I want to hear about it.” She said softly, playing with his fingers.

“How am I supposed to keep you safe if I can’t even kick down a door?” His voice sounded so soft and scared. She wanted to wrap a blanket around him and lay underneath; shielding him from the world.

“Who said I needed you to keep me safe?”

“It’s my job. That is literally in my job description, keep the public safe. You are part of that public.” He countered.

“How does being able to kick down a door correlate to keeping someone safe? Are you going to kick the intruder down?” The mental image was amusing to her, but she knew better than to laugh.

“Did you know that yesterday I was stuck in an elevator with Garcia and Derek?” He began, bringing her attention back to the subject at hand. “He had to pry the doors open enough to trigger the emergency system so that help could arrive. You know what she said after it was all said and done? ‘Thank God we had Morgan there, otherwise we’d probably still be stuck in the elevator.’ Like, I would have been completely useless had he not been there. It did not make me feel good at all.” He said. While things regarding his mood seemed to click into place for her, (y/n) had so many questions. Where were their cell phones? How was Derek even able to pry open the doors? Did they hit the emergency stop button?

All those things ran through her mind, but mostly she felt like she wanted to shake Penelope for her comment. She doubted there was any malicious intent behind it, and she knew Spencer knew that, too, but it clearly hurt his feelings and struck a sensitive nerve inside him.

“It’s alright though,” he said cutting her thoughts short, “it doesn’t really matter.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Being liked. Who says we have to be liked? Why should I care if people like me? It’s all overrated.” Maybe if he said the words out loud he might believe them, but even she didn’t look convinced.

“Except that it isn’t and really, we all care. It’s part of human nature, you of all people should know this.” She said eyeing him.

When he didn’t say anything, (y/n) decided she wasn’t going to let him spiral into his self-deprecating thoughts any longer.

“Alright Spencer, listen to me.” (Y/n) sat up straight so he could see how serious her next statement was going to be. “I love you with my entire heart. That being said, I don’t need a knight in shining armor to swoop in and save me. So, you didn’t go into education, you still can if you want to. But you don’t have to just because you thought you would as a kid. Who cares if Derek and Hotch have children and you don’t? You’re not Derek Morgan or Aaron Hotchner. You’ve had an entirely different life and set of circumstances than they have. They couldn’t do half the things you can, and that’s okay. Who cares if you don’t wear matching socks or that Hotch probably wears a tailored suit to work every day?”

“He does.” Spencer interrupted, but one look from (y/n) had him mumbling an apology.

“The whole point is, you all have your own strengths, weaknesses, and something unique that you bring to the table. Your strength just happens to be in your brain, not your body. It doesn’t matter that you can’t kick down a door because you know they always say to work smarter not harder. Let Derek do the hard work and you do the smart work. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

A beat of silence passed between them before Spencer smiled and let out a few hearty laughs. (Y/n) might’ve been put off by that at any other time, but she was just happy that he wasn’t frowning anymore.

“You are…not great at making me feel better. But you tried, and I love you for it.” His smile then was the first genuine one of the day.

Try as she might, motivational speeches were not her forte, but there was something endearing about how bad she was at it.

“You’re just being a grump right now, so no matter what I say is going to make you feel better. When it’s all said and done, at the end of the day I love you, Spencer, for exactly who you are. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. Even the things you might want to change about yourself.”

Even when he didn’t feel like the shining star that she thought he was, she was there for him and would support and love him.

“Thank you. I appreciate knowing that I always have you in my corner.” He smiled down on her and gave her a pert kiss on the nose, making them both smile.

“You always will.” She agreed, mirroring his kiss. “Do you feel better?”

“I do. You’ll never be a motivational speaker, but you did make me feel better.” He nods with a laugh.

“I gave it a valiant effort. You want to go to bed?” She tilted her head in question. She knew her shortcomings and made no qualms about them. She knew Spencer loved her for who she was, just as she loved him for who he was. That was part of what made them so great together, at least in her mind.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid comfort #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst

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miraclekittyandbug · 3 years

Text

Ten Questions With a Twist Chapter 6

I. Cannot. TELL you how sorry I am for the delay. It has been a crazy couple of days, but I’m about to post the two final chapters of Ten Questions With A Twist!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ This Chapter ~ Chapter 7 ~

“Hey, Marinette!” Adrien called, waving frantically at the bluenette. Classes had just ended and he wanted to be sure to catch her before she left in a hurry.

Marinette turned and saw Adrien there, red in the face. “Hey Adrien. Are you okay? Did you just… run to find me?”

“Umm… How many more of those questions do you have?” Adrien deliberately didn’t answer the question, for fear of seeming like the desperate mess he had turned into. “You know, from that Black Cat guy?”

A light of comprehension shone behind her eyes, “Oh, those. Just a few. I’m really sorry if they were too invasive or anything. I can always tell him it was a bad idea.”

“No! Actually, I think it’s kind of a fun idea. I’d like to answer the rest of them for you.”

“Oh! That would be great!” She put her backpack on the ground and started digging through it to find the list, a formality at this point, as she had already memorized the questions.

“Why don’t we hang out for a bit? We could go back to your place and answer these questions. Maybe play some Mecha Strike? That good luck charm you gave me might even help me beat you.” Adrien wiggled his eyebrows and Marinette blushed, but laughed.

“I’m not sure it’s that lucky, but it sounds like fun.” Her eyes widened, “Actually, could you give me just a little bit of time to clean up my room first? It’s in a pretty embarrassing state right now. Meet me at the bakery in twenty minutes?”

“Sounds good P- pal.” Adrien caught himself. He was about to call her Princess, but that would give him away. He had a challenge to win, after all.

It took about fifteen minutes to convince the Gorilla to cover for him, not too difficult to do considering he was supposed to take Adrien to his Chinese lessons directly after school. Adrien simply reminded the Gorilla that a conversation in Chinese with Mrs. Dupain-Cheng was a very practical application of the information he already knew so well. They agreed that he would pick him up from the Dupain-Cheng bakery in about two hours.

Adrien made his way, slowly, to the bakery.

The bakery, being right across the street from the school, and having such delicious treats, was very busy. Adrien waited dutifully in line and when he got to the counter, Sabine greeted him warmly. He responded in Chinese, explaining that the only way he had talked his bodyguard into letting him come was to promise to practice his Chinese. Sabine smiled and ushered him to the back. She pointed him to the staircase and told him, in Chinese, to follow it until he reached Marinette’s room, and that there would be snacks up there for the both of them.

Now, at this point, Adrien knew for a fact he was in love with this girl. But if there had been even a sliver of doubt in his mind, it all evaporated when he lifted the hatch to Marinette’s room.

She must have done a wonderful job cleaning, because apart from some half-finished sewing on a desk and a few balls of yarn on her bed, Marinette’s room was spotless. But that wasn’t what caught his eye. Leaning over her computer, attempting to plug in the game console, Marinette was humming contentedly with a cookie in her mouth. The picture of it all was so endearing, Adrien hated to alert her to his presence. However, he thought it might be creepy if she were to turn around and find him staring, so he cleared his throat.

Marinette made a noise that could only be described as a squeak, and bit down on the cookie, causing a portion of it to fall to the floor. “Adrien! I didn’t see you there! Come on in, I’ve got snacks!”

He climbed the final steps into her room and reached for a cookie, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Once Marinette had plugged in the console correctly and booted up the game, they chose their players and began. It didn’t take long for Marinette to secure a lead, so Adrien thought a distraction was in order.

“So what about those questions?”

Marinette was silent for a moment before speaking, “I know you’re just trying to distract me. But to prove a point, I will ask these questions AND win this round at the same time. Just watch.”

“Jeez, B- Marinette, that’s pretty harsh,” he said, playfully. He was learning that it would be very difficult to refrain from calling her by her nicknames. “Won’t you go easy on me? Please?” Adrien made puppy dog eyes at the screen, leaning forward so that she would hopefully catch a glimpse of his pouty lips and fast blinking eyes. Not two minutes later, he flung himself back into his seat, having been defeated.

Marinette placed her controller onto the desk in front of them, flashing him a sympathetic look. “And I wasn’t even distracted with those questions.”

“Alright,” Adrien relented, “What are they?”

“Okay, well, the question that seemed to make you sick might not be a good one to start off with…”

Adrien remembered his odd behavior earlier, and how stupid he had been to not see it sooner. “No, really, I’m fine. Shoot!”

“Okay, what’s your dream job?”

Adrien pretended to think, as if this question were a surprise to him, “I’d like to be a stay at home dad one day.”

“That’s so sweet! I’d like to be a designer one day. Have my own fashion line, company, that kind of thing. What’s your favorite movie?”

“The Princess Bride.”

“Isn’t that a bit of a chick flick?”

“There’s sword fighting and pirates and impossible odds! And anyway, what’s wrong with chick flicks?”

Marinette quickly defended herself, “There’s nothing wrong with chick flicks, I guess I pegged you as more of a studio Ghibli guy.”

Goodness, it had been a year or two since his last binge of those movies, “Oh, studio Ghibli is amazing! But still, there’s nothing like Wesley rolling down a hill screaming ‘As you wish’ only for Buttercup to fling herself down with him.”

Marinette started giggling, “I totally forgot about that part! Oh, I’ll have to rewatch that movie sometime soon. Favorite dessert?”

“Easy, the macarons from your parents bakery.”

“Really?” Marinette responded, “I’m flattered! What flavor?”

“That passionfruit one is my all time favorite, but that’s only seasonal. I really like any of the fruit ones.”

“Good to know! The other questions are pretty basic. What’s your name?”

Adrien put on a face and spoke in an accent, “My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.”

Marinette laughed and Adrien decided it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

“What school do you go to?”

“Hogwarts.”

She rolled her eyes, “No, seriously.”

Adrien looked at her, eyes calculating, “Is there a reason you want this guy to know all the answers?”

“No!” she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, “We just have to give the guy a chance. And anything he doesn’t guess correctly, I don’t have to tell him. So it’s not like I’m giving him all your information or anything.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Adrien said, leaning forward. Marinette blushed as if she knew exactly what he meant, but he continued anyway. “You like this guy, don’t you? You want him to guess correctly so you can go on a date with him!”

“What?!” Marinette acted repulsed by this, but her blush only deepened, “No way! He’s just a friend!”

“But you want to give him a chance.”

She seemed to hold her breath, making her face even redder, but then released and deflated, placing her head in her hands with her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know. Honestly, I probably like this guy a lot, I’ve just been so caught up on… this other guy for so long. It’s so confusing.”

“Have you thought about meeting him? You know, in person?”

Marinette lifted her head and looked at the ceiling instead, “Yeah. I have. I mean, this black cat guy is my best friend. We tell each other everything. He’s the only one who knows about this big part of my life and I rely on him for so much. He’s so sweet and really understanding about me wanting to keep our real names out of it.”

Adrien winced, but Marinette didn’t notice. He felt awful. She had always been so adamant that they not know each other’s identities. But he just happened upon it! One coincidence led to another, led to some questions, led to a point where he couldn’t turn back. “So you don’t want him to know who you are?”

“Well I wouldn’t say that.” Her hand went to the back of her neck and she rubbed it anxiously. “If we somehow found out, I’d honestly be thrilled. I even went so far as to ask Master F- forum.” Marinette blanched, looking Adrien directly in the eye, “Our forum master. The guy that runs the forum that we chat on. I went so far as to ask him about meeting in real life and he just smiled. He said ‘The wheels of life are in motion, but you cannot determine the speed’. I have no idea what that means, but he’s notoriously cryptic.” Adrien was going to say something, but Marinette was on a rant, so he sat back and listened. “And it’s like, he’s wanted to know for a really long time. Ever since the beginning. But I was so cautious, I said no. I thought it would be dangerous for us and our families.”

“And you need to be careful, with strangers on the internet.”

“Exactly! Strangers on the internet. But then, almost immediately, I trusted him. Right away, we were inseparable. And now that I want to know, I don’t know what to do.”

Adrien couldn’t help the smile that plastered itself on his face. “Well, Marinette, I’m sure things will work out. And you never know! Maybe he’s a really good guesser.”

“Maybe.” She said, obviously glad to have gotten some things off her chest. “In the meantime, let’s sneak down and grab you a couple of macarons.”

~ Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ This Chapter ~ Chapter 7 ~

Next chapter should be up by the time you read this far!

#miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous fic #adrienette #ladrien #marichat #ladynoir

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bosspigeon · 3 years

Note

How about Library Juni getting caught in the rain? as a prompt

"Please stop shouting at me."

It comes warbling over the sound of the rain pounding the pavement, and, desperate for anything to focus on other than being miserably overwhelmed while he waits for Detective Carney and tries to keep dry under the eaves of the station, he zeroes in, squinting through the deluge to see a hunched humanoid shape slogging down the sidewalk.

With the rain pelting down hard, drowning every sound and scent in just wet, the only way he recognizes the library assistant is by voice. His voice, and the grating yowling coming from somewhere on his person, presumably tucked inside his jacket, if the way he's holding it closed is any indication.

Mason smirks a bit, the bright spot of some minor schadenfreude at that stupid little not-cat being just as miserable as he is warming him up.

"I know, I know," the human sighs indulgently, sniffling a bit. "In my defense, I wouldn't have forgotten to grab the umbrella this morning if someone hadn't gotten sick in my shoe while I was getting ready for work."

The not-cat is silent for a brief moment, before yowling unhappily some more.

"Y'know, I'm not exactly having a good time either!"

"Do you always talk to it like that?" Mason calls over the noise of the storm.

The human starts and almost faceplants into a puddle, but catches himself at the last minute, squinting across the parking lot. Mason notices he's not wearing his glasses. Not terribly surprising, considering they wouldn't be much use in this weather, anyway. He must recognize the vampire anyway, because he starts hurrying his way across the asphalt.

As he gets closer, Mason starts to pick up that odd, eerily intoxicating scent, but it's drowned by the rain, and the second he's close enough for one little yellow eye to spot Mason from inside the human's jacket, the cat starts caterwauling again, and it vanishes entirely, leaving him a bit foggy and wrong-footed.

"Yes, I do," the human says, and Mason blinks at him, until he adds, "talk to him, I mean. My cat."

Mason raises his eyebrows, and the human flusters. Mason remembers his name very suddenly, remembers him scrawling it onto his arm, along with his number, and smirks a bit.

"Are you waiting for Detective Carney?" Juni asks before Mason can even think of what to say. The creature's still growling inside his coat, glaring balefully at him, but it seems less annoyed now that they're out of the worst of the rain.

"Yeah," Mason says, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Why?"

Juni hardly seems to notice, busily trying to wring some of the water out of his hair one-handed while the other supports the weight of his "pet" underneath his soaked coat. "Just wondering. I don't really know anyone else in town yet, other than Ms. Spinelli and Detective Carney, and, well, you, now, I guess? But he was very, um, very nice to me, with my... Problem," he flusters visibly, but it doesn't cause the same spike in his scent that Mason's noticed before, and he looks down towards his feet almost guiltily.

Restraining order echoes in Mason's head, recalling the last time he saw the strange human, when he came to the station. But Mason wasn't supposed to have heard that. Instead, he snorts. "Must be a special case. I don't think he knows how to be nice to anybody."

"The two of you must get along well, then."

Mason's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline at the same time Juni claps his free hand over his mouth with a wet smack! Clearly, he did not intend to say that out loud. Mason doesn't laugh, but it's a near thing.

The human seemed boring at first, a typical doddering small-town librarian, but there's bite to him, even if he doesn't seem to mean for it to come out when it does. Not to mention whatever weird shit is going on with his "cat" and the scent of his blood. It almost makes him think of Rex's mutation, but there's something... different about it, something Mason can't quite explain. He hasn't even mentioned it to Adam yet, because he's not sure how relevant it is, and he doesn't want to throw a random red herring into their ongoing investigation.

Regardless, the human has his interest, and whether that interest is to get to the bottom of the weirdness surrounding him for the Agency, or to see if he's as squirmy without his clothes as he is with, well, that's yet to be seen.

"D-do you know if Detective Carney likes sweets?" the human fumbles to ask, clearly desperate to change the subject. Mason smirks.

"Do I have some competition?" he purrs.

"No!" Juni squeaks. Mason's smirk widens. "There's no— You're—"

The station's door opens, and Juni whirls away from him to face Rex, who looks between the two of them with a scarred brow raised. "Am I interrupting something?" he asks, eyes flicking towards Mason.

"Not yet," Mason mutters, and Juni makes a noise like a teakettle whistling.

"Detective Carney!" he says, his voice pitched high. "Hi! Do you like sweets? I just wanted to thank you for, um, being so, well... y'know, and I like to bake in my free time, so I thought—"

Rex looks at Mason again over the human's head, both brows raised now, as well as his hands, completely thrown by the flustered little librarian's intensity. "You're soaked," he says instead, low and probably more rough than he intends it to be.

Juni's mouth snaps closed. "Y-yeah, I, um... I forgot my umbrella at home today. I didn't expect the storm to hit until after I got home, so I thought it would be fine, but Ms. Spinelli kept me a bit late—" He snaps his mouth closed when he realizes he's rambling. "Sorry."

"Do you need a ride home?" When the smaller human begins to protest, he tilts his head and furrows his brow. "I'll take you home." He jerks his head towards Mason for him to follow. Thankfully, he parked closed to the side of the building, so they don't get much wetter getting to his shitty little clunker.

"I don't want to get your seats wet," Juni mumbles half-heartedly, but he's starting to shiver, and the cat inside his coat makes a pitiful little mewling noise.

"They've seen worse," Mason snorts.

Rex gives him a dirty look, but crams himself into the driver's seat. "There should be a blanket folded up back there," he says while he cranks the heat. Mason slips into the passenger's side and settles in, though there's an awareness of the human in the backseat he can't quite shake, like a hum at the back of his mind. Almost without thinking, he watches him in the rearview, while Rex gets the car warmed up.

Juni peels open his coat, and the cat creeps out of it and starts licking itself industriously. Its patchy fur could probably use the attention, rain or no rain.

The last time Mason saw Juni, he was wearing that same coat. The time before that, he was wearing an oversized turtleneck. Beneath his coat, he's wearing a thin knitted pullover with a slouchy collar. It slips down over one shoulder as he squirms out of his sodden coat, and there seems to be a tattoo creeping up the side of his neck, a strange design that looks like ivy. As Mason watches, it crawls higher, a tendril curling up to tickle under Juni's ear.

The cat catches his eye in the mirror in a way a stupid animal would not be able to, pupils narrowing to slits, and just like that, the tattoo disappears, leaving just bare skin marked only by a small constellation of freckles.

Mason narrows his eyes, and the cat goes right back to licking itself.

They drop Juni off at an unassuming little apartment building, he thanks the detective effusively, gives Mason a flustered look, and hurries inside before he gets washed away again.

The cat glares at Mason over Juni's shoulder until he disappears into the building.

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lovelydiamond500 · 3 years

Text

@holdlikehamberger I LITERALLY got to work drawing her as soon as you were all “Yeah it’s cool you use my fic as a prompt” Thank you! I typically Use Gacha Club cause as you can see I draw like a 5 year old but I thought that would seem low effort so I wanted to draw her even if she did look terrible I did make a Gacha Character for a reference for her design though but that Outfit’s all my Doing for better or worse!

Sorry if it’s a bit Blurry or small also Credit to @theotomaiden that’s what it said in the Description of their Deviant Art which is EmilyTsukinami

(I’ll Retype the text I did Smaller purposefully so it’d fit well and the ones I just want to Add comment on)

Name Meaning: Young Rabbit/And or Angel (Cause I couldn’t between Naming her Angelica or Bunny I pulled a Hannah Montana and did both)

Place of Birth: KarlHeinz’s Castle (Is it even a castle? Idk man I was thinking of being all ~Christa’s Cell~ but 1 She was meant to be a little bit unborn cause she was supposed to be Subaru’s Twin but cause KarlHeinz’s being ~Weird~ He said “~let’s have a kinda delayed one so I can make her an Interesting Backstory and experiment on her~” {Insert Skelator Noises} 2 I thought the thought was a little needlessly gruesome)

Body Type: this was after the artwork but I imagine her having like a Thicker Body type not fat just Soft ya know? ~Like a Bunny~ and I believe Endomorph is the right word for that type of Body type

Likes: People food (Human Food) Good Company (Trauma Showing part 1) Flowers (Get it? Cause she owns a Toyota Subaru?) Dressing Up (She really likes her mom and wants to be elegant like her hot take for people I know) Roller Blading (I was looking for pose references and saw Cardcaptor Sakura roller blading remembered how cool that looked and said...”Yes she’s doing that”) and Friends and Family Especially

Dislikes: Being alone too long isolation Being inside for long periods of time (Trauma showing part 2) Blood a little bit (she was under the impression she was human for awhile)

Habits: Biting into Stuff with her one tooth (Yeah It makes her hate/Deeply Crave Relationship with Blood even weirder but she’s getting over it so she can like live or something) she taps stuff whenever she’s waiting for something

Love interest: no but like literally I HAVE NOT decided yet so far in my Dia lovers Oc Canon Kino Shin Carla and Yuma are the only options because I despise The livestock man deeply

Backstory: Ok! So KarlHeinz’s experimented on her in the womb as you do when your Him cause he wanted to make something Specific with her The first step into making a Human Race with SUPA BLOOD or “Apple”..I mean This Franchise is already kinda obsessed with Adam and Eve why can’t I? Well I guess she was the first and a failure (Hence Blood type Apple 0) so out of sheer “I’m KarlHeinz’s NO CHILD IS GONNA WIND UP NORMAL IN THIS HOUSEHOLD” move he locked her up with Christa outta spite or something or whatever (he may be powerful but in my mind he’s a literal weirdo creep ok? I’m sorry I’m telling it as I see it as a Somewhat casual fan) Her brother’s all Visit her and they’re essentially the only reason she made it at all but only little bits of rat blood would last her so long till she entered a comatose state and Because She needs to go Missing because I said so and cause she brought her brother’s closer KarlHeinz’s basically just Yeets her in a coffin into the sea when she was 5 and she wound up in Japan aka where everything happens and she wakes up with amnesia because of course And some Childless Couple take her in also she had a magic Book with her idk if Is Christa’s Yet I try to have Restraint when it comes to doing weird stuff with canon stuff but hey man sometimes you gotta have cringe like that

*Clears throat* and now I present a little short story

The Therapist sat there with an Uninterested look

Therapist: and you're really insisting this recurring dream is THIS significant to your mental state?

Bunny: Yes!! I've a dream like it every day for as long as i can remember!

The Therapist: *Sighs* Fine Tell me one of your Dreams again then...

"Buru! Buru! You're here!" I'm reaching for the same White haired little boy i saw everynight through the same bars likely in the same Dungeon i seem to be in he takes my REALLY small hands In his small but albeit bigger hands "I always come Bunny!" I actually told my Ma and Pa about the name this boy called me and they asked if i wanted that and i actually said yes it's Strange on the outside but it always did feel Familiar "You bring the good stuff?!" I was bouncing up and down against the Bars he Sighed "No no Croissants in the kitchen as far as i could tell but i did get Normal bread!" He looked Kinda like he was Upset i didn't let exactly what i wanted so every single time without hesitation in this dream i grabbed both his tiny cheeks taking them as fully in my hands as i could through bars "Buru! There's always next time! Even split it with you!" Shooting him the biggest grin i could muster but i felt weak in all honesty and we all know Croissants have all the necessary Vitamins in them and you live off them right? But normal bread would have to do i always thought if i willed enough for Croissants in my dream I'd get them but these dreams...remain constant then a little boy with red locks and Bright Green eyes Appears every time and...this is arguably the weirdest part of my dream "Bun Chan~! Big brother Laito is here!" He held up a tiny bag about the size of say a Carnival goldfish...filled with blood..anyways we put it on the blood on the bread Don't Misunderstand!! I didn't like it and it was uncomfortable but more in a way where instead of possibly consuming someone's fluids the feeling is more like...begrudgingly eating broccoli at 5 and blood does make me uncomfortable but in this dream it's not as bad and THAT makes it a special type of uncomfortab-

Therapist: I've heard enough Miss Mori or..Miss Bunny

Bunny: But! What about when Kanato Sang to me? What about the Story's Shu would tell me about his adventures whenever he happened to come? Or when Reji Told me all about his Alchemy books Or when Ayato would mouth off about he'd get me out when he could Or Subaru telling me about how mom was!-

Therapist: Mom? This is strange isn't it? You've built an unhealthy attachment to these dreams...

Before our dear Bunny could say another word the therapist ushered her out the door And in went her Adoptive Parents where all she could overhear was this "Oh We'll do anything for our Daughter's happiness!!" Surely her Parents at least she knew she could trust them for sure but what about the blood in her own heart?

FIN

Thank you! Thank you for reading! Thank you for letting me take inspiration just thanks for everything! Have a good night day or whatever!

#diabolik lovers #diabolik oc

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gisachi · 4 years

Note

hmmm i'd like to see how desperate they can be. Kiss prompts #14 for shinran, maybee? thankyou 🤟

Thank you for the request! Wanted to do a trope and this is how it turned out. Hope this is an enjoyable read. 💖

14. A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished. (2,374 words)

In her seventeen years of existence, Mouri Ran has never met a person as infuriating as Kudou Shinichi.

She isn’t a particularly spiteful person. In fact, she’s always so welcoming and positive. Her well-earned reputation in school as the top of her class and her father and mother being one of the best detectives and lawyers in town do not in any way inflate her ego and turn her into an arrogant prick. If any, others spite her, never the other way around. (Though no one - ever - has brought it upon themselves to hate on the ray of sunshine that is Mouri Ran.)

As nice as she may be however, Kudou Shinichi always seems to get on her nerves.

Perhaps the only thing he inherited from the world-famous but humble Kudou Yuusaku and Fujimine Yukiko are their physical attributes. Sharp jawline, charming eyes, straight nose, pearly teeth, prominent Adam’s apple, broad shoulders, lean body…in short, fine. Good-looking. Hot maybe, yes. But she cannot let just that overshadow his absolute cockiness.

For instance, Ran is grateful for people who correct her mistakes, however seldom they may happen, but everytime Shinichi does it - in front of the class, brandishing a proud smirk at the end of it all - she feels the veins on her temple pop. She never cared at first, but when done habitually (and consciously?) by the same person, an underlying urge to punch him straight on the face arises. She knows she is nice but her patience isn’t eternal.

The rational half of her tells her to ignore him, but the petty half of her screams at her to give him a taste of his own medicine. So she revels inwardly at the hooded stare he gives her back whenever she contradicts a portion of his answer in Japanese History class, and restrains her satisfied grin when she corrects his negative integers into positives on the board during Math.

The class takes the toll in this twisted brain battle, because one-on-one debates between the top two students lead to extended fourth period and lesser lunch time. On the bright side, the lazy and unprepared don’t get to recite, so they let the two be.

Their academic tension spills even to athletics. Admittedly, he’s great at soccer, no surprise for an Ace. Her attempts at scoring a goal every time he gate keeps always end in failures, but what irks her more are the deafening screams of his fangirls behind the rails and his annoying wave like he’s some celebrity, beaming proudly like she hasn’t given him a hard time. (She hasn’t.)

But if he has soccer then she has karate. His powerful leg muscles are no match for her deadly roundhouse kicks. Shinichi has begged for his life once - when she has him pinned down between her legs on the floor in front of their classmates for a test of strength. Then he hasn’t brought that up ever again. That’s her win, not that she’s counting. (But really, that’s her win.)

He breathes, she’s annoyed.

When their gaze meets in the hallway, she is tempted to hold it and see if he’ll turn away first.

When he utters her name (“Mouri-san”, husky and sonorous), she wants to utter his back with twice the spite and snark. One that can bite. Tingle. Keep him up at night.

“Sometimes I wonder if you want to kill each other or kiss each other,” her best friend Sonoko brings up during lunch, and that’s just about enough to turn Ran’s mood into sour.

“I do not want to kiss him!” she reacts in a guilty way, and coincidentally they hear a resounding “I do not want to kiss her, barou!” along the corridor, only for Makoto and a grimacing Shinichi to appear on the door frame the next second, and their eyes meet, only to look away immediately.

“Maybe it’s you and Kyougoku-san who want to kiss each other,” Ran says bitterly, attempting to get back at her friend upon seeing her and Makoto exchange knowing glances.

“Mm, yeah maybe we do.” Sonoko grabs a bite of tamago sushi from her bento. Ran rolls her eyes.

“What? At least I’m being honest,” she chides, but Ran is already too engrossed glaring (rather salaciously, in Sonoko’s opinion) back at Shinichi to hear her or even notice her being an audience to their subtle eye makeout.

What do the other girls see in him? He’s a conceited, competitive brat who likes to pit with her for the fun of it. Sonoko says he’s not as annoying as she makes him out to be, which is about the only time she doubts herself because Sonoko does get annoyed easily. But Ran sees Shinichi in the hallway and she recalls the shameless bites and banters and sparring bruises and classroom debates and yep, her blood boils for this lad.

On Valentine’s Day, Ran makes chocolate.

More like, she helps her mother make one for her dad. For everyone’s sake and their stove’s. Since there are excess ingredients, why not? She doesn’t know for whom and why though, she just makes it.

(“Oh, you have a boy in mind?” “None, kaa-san.” “Let me guess, Yukiko-san’s son?” “NO!”)

She’s greeted by girls pooling outside the classroom. Sneaking a peek at the tag of a daintily wrapped box one of the underclassmen holds, she isn’t surprised to read Kudou Shinichi’s name on it. The subject appears behind her, and the girls line up and squeal in glee, and he greets them all while she huffs, not sparing a second look at the commotion as she makes a beeline for her seat.

She doesn’t understand why he always ends up alone with her after class when they both know that’s not the best idea. Their homeroom teacher just cannot read the atmosphere, because this is the third time he’s designated the two as class reps for student affairs work. This time, it’s a campus tour for visiting students. She hates it because she and Shinichi can never agree on anything.

“I’ll sketch the route, you do the tour,” she says.

“No, you do the hosting, I do the planning,” he counters.

“Aren’t you better at talking?” Ran sneers, remembering the chaos of fangirls and all annoying flowery words he’s probably said back. “Or don’t tell me it’s just the confidence and charm overcompensating for the lack of substance?”

“I can plan and I can host well, but I do the planning now ‘cause I did the talking in our presentation last time while you rested at the back and let me do the bulk of the task but thanks,” he rises from his seat and leans his body on the desk next to her, “for thinking that I’m charming.”

“I didn’t— I wasn’t—!” Ran’s cheeks heat up in fury or embarrassment or both. “I’m just saying this task is the best time to utilize your charisma!”

“But aren’t you charismatic yourself, Mouri-san? As expected from the daughter of a lawyer mother and a detective father?”

“No- I mean, yes, whatever, but we need charm and-”

“And I have it? What do I say? Is this your roundabout way of making me admit that you’re charming too?”

“I wouldn’t do anything like that, baka!”

He holds her challenging gaze, long and hard.

“In any case, I refuse. I plan the routes.”

“No, I plan the routes, you do the talk. No ifs. No buts.”

“This is just a simple assignment, Mouri-san! Why can’t we agree for once?” he snaps, stepping forward.

“Exactly! This is just a simple task, Kudou-kun! Why do you have to be so overbearing?” She steps forward.

“I am not overbearing. You are!”

“No, you are! You’re the hardest to deal with! I can’t even stand being near you! You’re the absolute worst! You’re—”

And then he’s hovering over her, sealing her lips shut with his own.

It happens lightning fast. He's in a respectful distance one second and then he’s hogged all her space and claimed her lips the next. Her heart rate has already gone up at the start of the bicker but now it’s literally flown off the charts.

“Kudou-kun—!” Ran gasps when her back hits the wall of the classroom, disconnecting their lips for a second. “I’m... not done...speaking—”

“And we’re not done kissing,” Shinichi angles his head for another searing kiss and that is enough to turn Ran into a puddle of melted flesh in his arms. Doomed they will be if students outside the window look up their floor and catch her back pressed suspiciously against the glass with his body the only thing keeping her upright. She can only pray they won’t. Because she doesn’t push him away.

Maybe she doesn’t care so much about being seen? Or maybe she doesn’t have the mind to think of anything else when his scent and his taste and his touch take over her senses and it still isn’t enough. This she realizes as her hands cup his warm cheeks to deepen the pressure of their connected lips, both red and swollen from the fiery mutual exchange. She kisses him with no intention of stopping. She kisses him like she’s making up for the moments her subconscious wanted to but didn’t. The tightening arms around her waist and desperate push of tongue in her are all she needs to understand that Shinichi must be thinking the same thing.

(“Mouri-san,” he sighs in her mouth. “Mm, Kudou-kun,” comes her lush reply.)

Only when she feels herself blacking out from lack of oxygen - or the fact that she feels hands untucking the hem of her school uniform from her skirt - does she unconsciously push his chest away, giving them an inch of space.

Stunned and breathless, they separate with the thought that what they share may have been too much for a first kiss. Achievers always aim for too much; anything less and they die. Too much is always too good.

For a first kiss, theirs is pretty characteristic.

“Huh.” She utters low. Any sound will do to kill the awkward silence that has stretched on for too long.

“Well.” He speaks, a little strained, but coughs his throat clear and gets himself together. “If you may...continue with what you’re saying, Mouri-san.”

For someone who’d just kissed her heatedly in an empty classroom in the middle of an argument and was so close to successfully getting his hands under her shirt, Ran is pretty impressed at how he manages to remain courteous in addressing her.

“Y-You’re the absolute worst,” arms still wrapped around his neck, she begins, but doesn’t remember what she’s supposed to say next. All coherent thought has flown out the window when his lips meet hers five minutes ago. She has no choice but to rely on the power of impromptu speech. Like Shinichi said, she’s good at that, kind of. He can probably hear her pulse palpitating on her wrist as she speaks.

“You’re...You’re such an airhead and you think so highly of yourself just because you have so many fangirls. Kuroba-kun or Hattori-kun from the other class are better and much more handsome than you, would you believe? You’re not the only charming guy in this school, Kudou-kun! And you don’t have to correct my flimsy academic mistakes in front of the class for a moment of schadenfreude, damn it! You annoy me to no end! I was this close to giving you my chocolate but good thing I didn’t because you know what? You’re annoying. Truly. You’re so full of yourself and I don’t like you for that and, y-you’re annoying and...and gods I hate you so much I’ll kiss you to death—”

She’s ready to tiptoe but his hands on her waist hold her still.

“What?!” she snaps, not sure where she’s more pissed at, the guy she’s about to kiss or the guy she’s about to kiss stopping her from kissing him again.

(A third option is herself but she’s already established her seething self-loathe when she chose to kiss him back.)

“I-I should be asking that, Mouri-san, what?” he stammers over her lips. “I... Give me your chocolate.”

Ran blinks, partly confused, partly surprised. She tries to comprehend how that is a proper response to whatever she just said (which by now, she’s already forgotten - or at least, in the process of forgetting).

“Give me your chocolate and I’ll eat it even though the chocolates I make with mom surely taste better but I’ll take what you made for me anyway. Don’t even get me started about how much I think it’s funny that you’re thinking about me as you make your chocolate, I mean, wow, there’s always that possibility, but still, wow. I-” he catches his breath, continues, “I’ll give you a better one on White Day. So please give me your chocolate.”

She doesn’t know what to make of the string of words that spew right out his mouth, but she can feel her face tightening to a grimace. Surely now, she knows she’s better at impromptu speech than him.

“You really expect me to give you my chocolate after you insult me? Wow, you really are an ass!” she shouts, as if she hasn’t mocked him the same.

“An ass who’s rejected every single chocolate given him except for one,” he says. His gaze locks her eyes, then her lips, then her eyes again. “And he’s even begging for that one chocolate, how ridiculous is that.”

Ran holds her breath, feels her face burn from his blazing irises.

“You don’t say-”

“I do say.”

His lips twist mischievously, too handsome for her heart to take.

“And you did say something else a while ago. Something equally interesting.” He cranes his head lower. “You said you hate me to death?”

Ran feels her toes tipping to balance.

“...Yes,” she lets go of his nape, hands sliding down to the plane of his chest and crumpling his shirt in her fists. “I hate you so, so much.”

“Oh by all means,” he leans in to swoop her lower lip gently between his teeth, smirks as he pulls it for a soft tug, “hate me all you want.”

#shinran #kiss prompts #fanfic #an idea like this has been stuck in my head for a long time and i wanted to try it out #shinichi might be a lil too cocky in this one lmao #but isnt he?#hope you like it!!

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jamielea81 · 4 years

Text

Just a Simple Lie

Chapter 10

Description: Having worked on small independent films for the better part of a decade, your friend tells you about an opening for a script supervisor with a large studio. Wanting to advance your career, you apply and get an interview. The only downside, they prefer to hire crew who are married. It’s just a simple lie, right?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, minor angst, FLUFF!!

A/N: This is NOT the final chapter. There is one more after this one that we’ll call a mini chapter or epilogue. Per the usual: this fic is simply for fun and I mean no disrespect to any of the actors mentioned in the fic. I am also totally guessing regarding the studio talk. Comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome.

Word Count: 4,167

Catch up with Chapter 9

***

Avoidance really wasn’t the word that you would use to describe what you were doing with Chris. You just didn’t know your place in his life and every day was getting harder to define that line. He was hot and cold with you. So, you kept your head down, figuratively of course, and tried to maintain that friendship line that he had put in place a couple of months ago.

After that night you agreed to work on his film, he came back to the bar during your next shift and hung out with you until close. He crashed your lunch date with Scott a few days later, showing up with a smile on his face and Scott lagging behind with eyebrows raised. But after that, you didn’t hear from him until a month before filming was to begin. It was a brief call to let you know you would receive your contract via carrier and that your flight would be arranged shortly. Filming would last two months but he wanted you to stick around an additional month when editing began because per Chris, he wanted your input. This project was his baby. His exact words were “I need you here.” How could you say no?

You were staying with Chris which is what made the avoidance or non-avoidance, whatever you were doing, hard to actually accomplish. You were fine with staying at the hotel the non-local crew were staying in, but Chris refused. He got very alpha with you on that topic and you had to admit, it turned you on a bit. But you couldn’t go there because Chris didn’t see you that way anymore.

The hot and cold thing was hard to describe. He’d casually throw his arm around you when the two of you were going over scenes, whether other people were around or not. He’d pull you into conversations with the AD and cinematographer to get your opinion, often keeping hold of your hand. The next day he’d be in a mood and barely speak to you, let alone glance your way. The cast would often look to you to be the go between because they knew he was in a mood. You knew it was stress. It had to be, but it doesn’t mean it didn’t confuse you. On those days you’d grab a bite to eat at a restaurant to give him space, often returning to your room in his house at night without as much as a hello.

Friendships are hard. That’s the bottom line.

***

“Adam! Reset! Jesus!” Chris yelled causing you to visibly wince. “Y/N!”

“I’m on it. I’m on it,” you mumbled mostly to yourself walking briskly towards Adam Scott who was getting touched up by makeup.

“He’s in a mood,” Adam sighed.

“It’s been a long week.” Why you were making excuses for Chris was beyond you. That’s all you been doing lately. “I think he wants a little more…” You gestured wildly with your hands. “Gusto. Yeah, gusto.”

Adam raised and eyebrow to you. “Gusto?”

“You know what I mean. He wants a big reaction, so give it to him. I thought the take was fine, but I’m not directing. Let’s give him that additional option.

Adam gave you a hint of a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Maybe I can do it better.”

“You’re the best,” you said over your shoulder as you walked back to Chris who chugging down a cup of coffee and going over notes.

“All good?”

“Yep. We’re ready whenever you are.” You plopped your butt in Chris’ chair since he preferred to stand during takes.

The scene ran again without interruption and the next scene was called for setup meaning you had about fifteen to twenty minutes.

Getting up from the canvas chair, you made your way to the coffee station in the far corner of the sound stage. The small liquid cream containers were missing from their designated bowl again which made your eyes roll. Someone was hogging them; you just didn’t know who.

“Shoot.”

Craft Services was an option, but you didn’t feel like making the trek across the lot. You picked up the powdered cream and mixed it into the paper cup. Powder is always a last resort. It never mixed properly and you could always taste it. But you were desperate for your caffeine fix.

“Liquid all gone?” Chris asked, stepping up beside you, grabbing his own fresh cup.

“Yes. Again!”

“I’ve got some in my trailer,” he offered.

“That’s not any closer than Craft Service, so you’re not helping,” you said dryly.

Chris chuckled lightly, turning to lean against the table as you mixed your cup with a flimsy plastic straw. “Glad to be done with that scene.”

“I’m glad you were happy with the last take,” you replied, turning around to lean next to him.

“Once Scott quits flirting, he does pretty good work.”

You choked on your coffee causing Chris to chuckle again. “Flirting with who?”

“You.”

“Adam is not flirting with me!” you shouted. “He’s married and has kids,” you said much softer, trying to control the level of your voice. “His wife was here last week. She asked me to join her book club for goodness sake.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said, bringing the cup slowly to his lips, but keeping his eyes on you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you added with a head shake.

Yes, you fangirled when you met Adam for the first time. Parks and Recreation was one of your favorite shows. Still is.

“Adam is not a cheater and neither am I.”

“Maybe so, but you’re a liar.” Chris challenged.

Tears instantly welled in your eyes. You thought he was over it or at the very least accepted your apology. You bit your tongue, trying to find the right words and willing yourself not to cry at his remark.

“You’re lucky we’re at work, otherwise I’d tell you to go fuck yourself,” you said harshly before walking away.

Fuck him.

“Fahck. Y/N! Wait!” Chris called after you, quickly catching up.

You stopped abruptly, swinging around to face him. The action caught Chris off guard as you heard him suck in a breath as his eyebrows shot up.

“Not now,” you warned before turning back to where the next scene was being set up. “Are we all set?” you asked to no one in particular. It wasn’t your job to ask, but you needed the distraction and you weren’t in the mood to talk to Chris.

A couple of non-committal hums and murmured words were spoken. You kept your eyes on your script, scribbling nonsense among the various notes you had already written. Chris’ eyes were on you. You could feel them. But now was not the time to dive into what was going on between the two of you.

***

Immediately after the scene, you tucked your script in your armpit and pulled your phone out of your back pocket, hightailing it to your office.

Y/N: Can I stay with you tonight?

Chris wasn’t behind you, which was a good thing. You snuck out of there when you saw that he was stuck in a conversation with one of the producers. Making it to your office in record time, you shut the door and finally took a breath. Today was a day that you really appreciated having a door. Chris made sure that you had one, after you mentioned only having a desk on the last shoot. It really needed a lock though.

Darn lockless door.

Scott: I’m not staying with Jen. I’m at my mother’s.

You were desperate.

Y/N: Would she mind if you had a guest??

Two seconds later, your phone rang.

“Hi Scott.”

“Hi Y/N. Whaaaaaat’s going on?” Scott asked with amusement in his voice.

You blew out a breath, plopping yourself down on the small loveseat next to your desk. “He’s still mad at me.”

“Who’s mad at you?”

“Your brother. Who else?” Hearing the annoyance in your voice, you followed that up with a quiet, ‘sorry’.

“Oh boy. Well, I’m staying at Ma’s and don’t you think that would be an awkward conversation to have with her as to why you want to stay at her place?”

“Yeah,” you said softly.

“How do you know he’s still mad at you?” Scott asked.

“Well, besides the fact that he called me a liar this afternoon, he’s been hot and cold with me. He’s been real pissy at the crew as well.”

“You two.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, getting a little defensive.

“It means you really need to work your shit out.”

“Yeah, I know…But I don’t wanna.” Scott chuckled at your comment. “Could you come over? I could use a friend right now. I know he’s your brother, but if he’s just going to be moody, I don’t even want to go home.”

“He is my brother, but even I’m inclined to think he’s jerk now and again.” That made you smile. “I’ll stop by. Even pick up some pizza.”

“Thank you, my favorite Evans.”

“Appreciate the flattery sweetheart. See you later.”

“Bye, Scott.”

Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you let yourself sink into the sofa. Avoiding Chris forever was not an option, but at least with Scott there, you’d be able to keep your emotions under control for the night. The buzz of your phone brought your mind out of the fog like haze.

Chris: Are you heading home?

Home. Now that was a funny thing. When Chris wasn’t pushing you away, it did feel like home. But it wasn’t your home. Not really. You are a guest and Chris is your host.

Y/N: Yeah. Getting ready to take off for the day.

You chewed on your bottom lip waiting for his reply. You really hoped he wasn’t planning on stopping by your office before you left.

Your cell buzzed again indicating another text was received.

Chris: I have a few things to finish up here, then I’ll be home.

Deciding not to reply, you grabbed your bag, stuffed your script and laptop into it, and left the studio.

***

You cleaned up your room a bit, even though it wasn’t particularly dirty. The bed was made and besides a few pieces of clothing that didn’t make it into the hamper, it was mostly clean. Dodger was fed and you had let him outside when you first made it back to Chris’ house. Scott would be at the door any minute and you really hoped he’d beat Chris home. Why? Because apparently you were twelve years old again. You were one step away from locking yourself in your bedroom with angsty music from the nineties playing on full blast.

The doorbell rang and along with it, your body relaxed. Jogging to the door, you threw it open to let Scott in, who came armed with two cardboard pizza boxes.

“Hey sweets!”

You grabbed the boxes from his hands, bringing them both into the kitchen so that Scott could step out of his shoes.

“Thanks for dinner, bunches,” you replied.

“No problem.”

“Two though?” you asked, while grabbing a couple of plates from the cupboard.

Scott walked into the kitchen, giving you a hug from behind. “Even the jerk has to eat.”

“I suppose your right. I’m not sure when he’s going to be home. I’ll turn the oven on low and stick a few pieces on a cookie sheet to keep them warm.”

“So domestic!” Scott teased.

“Shut it bunches.”

Scott gasped out a laugh. “Are we throwing darts at Chris’ old head shots. I know where he hides them if that’s part of the plan.”

You turned around and threw your arms around him in a fit of giggles. “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

“Yeah, me too sweets,” Scott mumbled into your hair.

***

Scott had insisted on watching Spice World since you had never seen it, but you mentioned watching the Sandy Duncan version of Peter Pan when you were a kid and Scott couldn’t get it out of his head now. So, that’s what the two of you decided to watch. After a quick search YouTube, you found it and watched it through the Roku on the large flat screen in the living room. Sandy was flying around the Darlings’ bedroom when the front door opened.

“Hey. Didn’t know you were coming over tonight,” Chris said, presumably to Scott.

“Yeah, sweets and I are hanging out. Your welcome to join us,” Scott replied.

You kicked his foot with your own. Scott scowled at you and you shrugged your shoulders in return.

“There’s a…there’s pizza in the oven for you,” you said keep your eyes on the screen.

“Thanks,” Chris replied, flicking the back of Scott’s ear as he walked by.

“You can’t avoid him. And this is house, of course I’m going to offer that he joins us.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, eyes going back to the TV.

Chris walked back in the room a few minutes later, sitting in the arm chair that was angled toward the side of the couch you were sitting on. He kicked up his feet on the cushion your body was half laying half sitting on. Turning your head to look at him, he bounced his eyebrows at you before turning his head to the TV.

“Sandy Duncan? God, I used to love this.”

Scott shushed Chris and you smiled.

***

The video ended and you stood up to stretch, Scott following suit. Chris disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to grab another bottle of beer.

“Welp! I’m out of here,” Scott announced, walking to the door to slip his shoes back on.

“What?” you whispered yelled, following after him.

“You two need to talk. And I mean really talk. None of this, I forgive you bullshit, let’s be friends. You know it. He knows it. We all fucking know it.”

You stood there with your mouth agape letting his statement sink in.

“Night Chris!” Scott yelled with the door already open.

Chris jogged back into the room, two beers in his hand. “You taking off already?”

“Yeah, I’m beat. Talk to you both tomorrow,” he said, stepping out and closing the door.

You stood there starring at the closed door, clearly not sure what you were supposed to do in that moment. Turning around and facing away from a closed door was a good option. Deciding you’d been standing there a second too long, you turned around to see Chris looking at you with beers still in hand. A small smile tugged on your lips.

“Beer?” He offered taking a step closer to you.

Taking the last few steps to meet him, you took the bottle he offered from his hand, fingers grazing his. “Thanks. I’m probably going to head to my room for the night.”

“Wait. Please? Could we…talk for a minute?”

Bringing the bottle to your lips, you took a long pull before lowering it and nodding. The two of you turned back to the couch Scott and you had occupied moments before. You sat on opposite ends, but both turned to face one another. You finding comfort in your bottle which you drank from again, before noticing it was half gone.

Chris licked his lips, finger tapping audibly on the bottle. “I didn’t mean it. What I said earlier today when I called you a liar. I don’t truly believe that. I was being an asshole. I’m an asshole sometimes. I know that about myself.”

His honesty surprised you. You didn’t know how to answer, so you simply nodded.

“This movie is stressing me out. When it’s your movie, it’s a lot of pressure. I want to put out a good film, it needs to be good. So, all this pressure puts me on edge. Everyone’s doing a good job and doing what they should be doing, but I have these moments where it doesn’t feel right. It’s not perfect. If it’s not perfect I have to take the fall. Who’s going to fund a film with a shitty director who puts out a shitty product?”

“It’s not shitty, Chris. The play backs I’ve seen have been amazing.”

“It’s in my head though. I don’t think I’ll stop being stressed until it’s released to be honest.”

“I get it, but…”

“But that’s not the only thing,” he interrupted. “It’s us too. You.”

“Me?” you asked, eyebrows creasing.

“I’m honestly and completely not upset about the engagement thing. It was something you had to do for a job and I’m over it.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But we went right back as if nothing happened.”

“If you’re over it and you’ve forgiven me, why can’t we move on?” you asked honestly.

“I don’t want to move on as if nothing happened.” Chris closed his eyes, mouth opening as he pulled in a big breath. “That night where you told me the truth, I told you my truth as well. I’m crazy about you Y/N and it seems like we’ve forgotten all about that. And you kissed me! How can we act like none of that happened? That none of that mattered?”

“Figured you didn’t feel that way anymore,” you mumbled before clearing your throat. “That the lie was too big and the secret was too big that you didn’t see me like that. Like someone you could care about. More than a friend.”

Chris set his bottle on the coffee table and scooted closer to you on the couch. He grabbed the bottle from your hand, placing it beside his. He took both of your hands in his, playing with the ring on your right hand with his thumb.

“Not possible.”

The words were so simple yet so deep that you felt your heart banging wildly against your ribcage.

“I still want you. Want us,” you whispered.

Chris’ lips curved up into a hesitant opened mouth smile. He brought your hands to his mouth, kissing each one, before lowering them back down between you. “That’s all I want.”

You lifted yourself to your knees, leaning in closer to him, but wanting him to decide what happens next. You kissed him the first time, it was his turn to make the move.

It didn’t take him long to decide as he let go of one of your hands, bringing it to the back of your neck and pulling you down to his lips. They were as soft as you remembered. His kissed you tenderly, with no rush, as if the two of you had all night. You pulled back slightly and gave him a smile.

“That was nice,” you said softly.

“I’m not done.”

Chris pulled your mouth back to his, kissing you gently until you felt his tongue skim along your seam. You opened immediately, allowing him entrance. He rolled his tongue along yours as you trailed your hand up his chest, along his neck, and into his hair.

The two of you made out for what felt like hours. You straddled his lap and eventually he positioned you both so that you were laying on the couch. It was kept mostly PG13 with kisses, whispered words, and a lot of cuddling. It was nice. Better than nice and you knew this wouldn’t be the end of it.

***

Chris: Can you come to my trailer? We need to go over scene 28.

Scene 28 was code for ‘I want to kiss you’. The two of you had been sneaking around on set for a week. You still hadn’t gone further than second base which was fine by you since you wanted to take this slow. Plus, you were working together. Working together and starting up a relationship could be complicated. Filming would be wrapped in a couple of weeks, and you had already committed to staying an additional month for the start of editing.

Your relationship with Chris right now was in this tight fairytale bubble that you didn’t want to pop. There was no talk of the future. Not even talk about how you’d spend the holidays. Whether it was Chris or if it was all you, either way, you wanted to stay in this bubble.

You quickly grabbed your script along with a pen and made the quick walk from the studio offices to Chris’ trailer. The sneaking around was thrilling. It was your own private secret that only you and Chris shared. No one was following you, but you couldn’t help but glance behind you every few seconds.

You reached Chris’ trailer, knocking twice on the closed door. Chris opened it wide, looking around to see if anyone was watching the two of you. They weren’t.

“Hey! You wanted to go over that scene?” you asked too loudly.

“Ye-yeah. Come on in Y/N.”

They two of you were so good at this game.

You stepped in, shutting and locking the door behind you. Chris grabbed your script and pen before you had a chance to set them down. With his free hand, he grabbed your elbow and brought you to him, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered against your lips.

You gave him a chaste kiss. “I just saw you this morning.”

He kissed you again. “Yeah, that was hours ago.”

You laughed, wrapping both arms around his neck as Chris started walking the two of you backwards to the bedroom, his mouth never leaving yours. Your calves hit the end of the bed, so you lowered your bottom to the soft mattress. Chris lowered himself over you and dragged the two of you up the bed until your head hit the pillows.

“Can’t wait until we don’t have to hide this. Us,” he said against your ear, mouth leaving wet kisses along the length of your neck.

“Me too. This is fun though,” you moaned when his tongue traced the shell of your ear.

“It is. But I want to take you out and not have people whispering about us,” he said, causing you to giggle. “What?” His face pulled back to look at your own.

“Well, you are Chris Evans. They’re going to stare and whisper about you no matter what.”

“Shut it,” Chris replied, kissing your nose.

***

“Are you ready babe?” Chris called from the hallway outside your room.

“Just about,” you called back finishing your hair in the mirror attached to the closet door.

Grabbing your lip balm from the dresser, you stock it in the pocket of your jeans and joined Chris in the living room.

“Wow. You look great,” Chris drawled out.

You looked down at your dark jeans, boots, and burgundy sweater. “This?”

Chris wrapped you in his arms. “Just beautiful.”

You kissed his perfect pout. “You’re too kind Mr. Evans. Now, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

Chris interlaced your fingers and pulled you to the door.

Dinner was at Chris’ mother’s house tonight. It wasn’t the first time; in fact, it was the fifth time not including brunch one Sunday since you came to town. You had met the whole Evans clan minus his father and you truly liked them all. You missed your family back home in the Midwest, so being around a close bunch such as the Evans made you happy.

“Ma! We’re here!” Chris yelled as the two of you walked into her home.

“You don’t need me to make yourselves comfortable,” Lisa said, peeking her head outside the kitchen.

“Hi Lisa,” you said with a wave, Chris still holding your other hand.

“Hi sweetie. Dinner should be ready in five. You know where the drinks are.”

“Sure do.”

You pulled Chris in the kitchen with you, not that you needed him to accompany you, but he wouldn’t let go of your hand. Chris released your hand when you gave him a look. You needed both your hands to grab glasses from the upper cupboard after all.

Digging into the fridge, you pulled out a pitcher of lemonade no doubt made by Lisa that afternoon. You poured two glasses and put the pitcher back in the refrigerator before handing Chris his glass, only for him to set it on the counter. He took your free hand in his once again.

“Ma,” he said, Lisa turning from the stove to look at him. “I’d like you to meet Y/N.”

Lisa chuckled as did you. Her face one of confusion. “Christopher, are you feeling alright?”

“I’m feeling wonderful ma.”

Lisa stood in front of the two of you. “Then why are you introducing me to Y/N who I already know?”

“Well,” Chris started, coy smile on his face. “I’d like to introduce you to Y/N, my girlfriend.”

A surprised smile sprung up on your face as you squeezed Chris’ hand tightly.

“Oh! This is quite the development. When did this start?” she asked pointing between the two of you.

“A little more than two weeks ago,” he replied, throwing arm around your shoulder.

“Well, then I say, it’s about time,” Lisa replied, giving you a wink and turning back to the stove. “But how’s this going to work when Y/N goes back home to California?”

That was a question the two you in your fairytale bubble hadn’t yet discussed, but would need to.

***

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#chris evans #cevans #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans reader insert #just a simple lie #scott evans #scott evans x reader #adam scott

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sardonic-courtney · 4 years

Text

Crowley x Reader. We Met Before. Part 6/7.

Summary: You end up living with Bobby after your parents die. You go to church and meet Priest Crowley and you end up getting along (if you know what i mean). A few years later when Bobby passes you move the the bunker with Sam and Dean and end up meeting Crowley again.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

Warings: Mentions of death, Maybe spelling and language.

Around 1500 words.

A little note before we start, I know technically the bunker isn’t around this time but I’m not following storylines, hence the random case.

Life moves with a Daemon in the basement.

A great way to say goodbye...

Over the next few months, you had expected a call or text, but nothing. To be fair you didn’t exactly try to reach out to him either. Church felt emptier, as did your free time. So, you just spent it building up a great book collection, training, and further bonding with Bobby. Life had turned back to normal. Other than Sam and Dean had became more distant dealing with angels, daemons, heaven, and hell. Which you guess is the usual just busier. You even went on your first few hunts. During one involving a wendigo you lost your phone, only to find it beyond repair. Which cut ties completely with Crowley.

**Four Year Time Jump**

Now 22 years old, you are a full-time hunter still living with Bobby, when you’re not staying in shabby motels.

Your days are filled with hunting, reading, and watching bad movies. And for some reason every Sunday you still found yourself in your spot at church. You told yourself it was still because you wanted to feel closer to your mum, but deep down you knew you were hoping for the chance he would walk back through those doors. But when he didn’t you pushed the sinking feeling away, it was ridiculous to still miss the man you had hardly known. Although when you think about it you did know him, maybe not for long, but you knew more about him then you did about the other close people in your life.

You had been on a few dates with random guys since then, but none of them really stuck, and to be honest you weren’t exactly looking for them to. Everything was going well, which with the life you live was bound to end soon. Which it did.

The shot...

The coma...

The death...

His death...

Bobby was gone.

To say it hit hard was an understatement. You weren’t even there when the shot fired. You visited him as soon as you heard but couldn’t shake the feeling you let him down in some way. Sam and Dean tried to explain what happened, but you didn’t fully understand, or didn’t want to. You mourned alongside Sam and Dean. Ending up moving into the bunker with them, where you resumed going on little hunts with them, but mainly staying back as designated researcher. The bunker was a lot homelier than the random motels, and although your combat was good, it wasn’t what it needed to be with what they were dealing with.

Over the next year you met Castiel when he was “Back to himself” as Dean put it. You two quickly becoming friends, when you got used to his quirks. Everything once again was back to a new normal, well as normal as it could have been. You did stop going to church, no longer seeing the point of finding a new one nearer. You grow closer to the boys, finding new things out about them both.

You and Dean’s relationship is a weird one. He is exactly as you would imagine an older brother to be. But is also annoyingly stubborn, always teasing, and argumentative. But that’s what you love about him. Especially when he would give in and let you take Baby to the shops.

Sam is more like a twin, even though he’s 6 years older than you. You still stayed up late when you could talk about whatever. He is the more freely sensitive one. He is however just as stubborn and caring, especially when it comes to your lack of interest in dating. It was strange but he wants to see you happy with someone. Even though he knows in this life it’s hard, he still wants you to try. Which you don’t see the point. No, it’s not because you can’t picture going on dates and talking to anyone other than that beautiful accent, or because you can’t see yourself kissing any other lips. It’s just because you didn’t see the point, because (Y/N) (L/N) was not the sort of person to be hung up on a guy and his forgotten promise.

Right now, you are sitting in the kitchen with Sam, in silence. You are reading a book you found on a random shelf, and Sam is typing away on his laptop. The past 3 weeks the bunker has been filled with a tense mix of emotions. Hunters had seemed to become the hunted, being killed in many forms some were ripped apart other drained of blood some still full of blood a couple had their eyes ripped out, some even as mundane as being stabbed. But no matter the method, they were all linked by one small mark on the left thumb. A delicate R.

The case was confusing to say the least, and all leads you guys had found turned out to be dead ends. Which is why after a week and a half of no progress, Sam and Dean had decided to call on a certain demon for help…and by call you meant forcefully summon against the king of hells wishes. But no matter how hard they tried they couldn’t get anything out of him.

Not that you really knew who ‘him’ was. All you knew was that even from the basement he managed to cause tension between the brothers. You weren’t allowed down there. That was your rule. Which you begrudgingly followed. Not without your arguments, which you kept up. You love the boys, but it seemed they were getting nowhere with their interrogating, and you being the best at getting information out of the three of you, it seemed like the obvious choice. If the two weren’t so adamant at keeping you away from the whole thing. Being deemed too impressionable or something regarding your safety.

To be honest all you knew was that he was an annoying dick, that Dean was considering killing, and he had the answers to your problems. You didn’t even get to know what Dean and Sam were doing down there to try get information. Which was what Dean was doing now…. or what he was doing before he comes into the kitchen, breaking the silence.

Dean let out a sigh. “I swear he finds joy in pissing me of”.

“That would be the King of hell for you Dean”. Sam says not bothering to look up from his screen.

“Why did we even bother?” Dean slugs into a seat at the table across from you.

“Because we have no other leads.” Sam said seeming bored, but you knew it was him trying to mask his annoyance.

“But it’s been 9 days and he still hasn’t acknowledged the attacks; the cocky bastard keeps rolling his eyes at me. I swear if he makes one more remark, I will stab his eyes out.” Dean looks at Sam, which Sam senses and looks up meeting his brother’s eyes. “Sammy, I don’t know what else to try”.

But before Sam could add anything on you joined in. This being your perfect opportunity to get information and meet this alleged king of hell. “Me! I’m still an option”.

Dean rolled his eyes falling back in his seat, moving his gaze to you. Sam following suit.

“No chance munchkin, as said before we are not taking the chance.” Dean repeated.

“But I don’t understand, why not”. You frowned.

“Because” Sam started this time. “He doesn’t know you exist, and it’s safer that way. He could use you as a weakness to get to us, he could hurt you. It’s just not worth it.”

“But hunters dying is?” you asked, managing to get them speechless. Which they remained. “Common guys. I’m good at getting out information, and like Dean said, what other choices have you got?”

Both the brothers looked at each other and then back at you, still remaining silent.

So, you pulled out your best attempt at puppy dog eyes, “Please, I’ll be safe I promise.”

Dean let out a defeated and gruff “Fine”.

“But we are keeping an eye on you” Sam added trying not to chuckle at how Dean had finally given in. He wouldn’t admit it, but your logic did seem like the best option in his eyes to.

“Deal” you said smiling. The three of you got up, ready to descend downwards to the captive, who hopefully had answers.

For some reason you were excited and nervous. You imagined all the ways you could get information, getting into his head and muddling it out. Sure, he was a daemon, but you had swindled information out of a few before, how different could this one be? But no matter what crossed your mind, you would never have known what had been locked up right under your feet for the past 9 days.

(Pointless note, this was sort of a filler bit for some time to pass. i kind of struggled with mixing past and present tense, but hopefully it’s not too confusing).

#crowley #crowley x y/n #crowley x you #Crowley Supernatural #crowley x reader #PriestCrowley #supernatural x reader #supernatural #xreader #y/n

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persephonesfill · 4 years

Text

choke on me—chapter three

breathe me in (prequel fic)

chapter two

chapter four

a/n: no you did not read that wrong, this is chapter three. i’m not dead. 2020 did not kill me. this is a bit of a filler chapter but chapter four should be up before the month’s over. if not, yell at me, i won’t mind.

rating: pretty gen this time but don’t worry chapter five is a goddamn trip

warning(s): n/a

—————

Despite being on opposite sides of the country, Tony and Pepper talk more often than people think. Pep’s an early riser, and Tony hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since he was born, so it balances out.

“I should tell you to go to sleep,” Pepper says, sighing. “But I miss the sound of your voice too much.” She’s sitting at the island, a cup of coffee in hand. She had pulled her hair into a bun and still has her reading glasses on, the red ones that she hates because she thinks she looks like someone's grandmother.

Tony loves seeing her like this. Loose and comfortable with him. After they broke up, a part of him worried that things would be strained between them. He should have known that was impossible.

“I don’t know whether to be happy or insulted,” Tony says.

“Both,” Pepper says. “Your sleeping habits are abysmal.”

Tony shrugs and takes a sip of his own coffee. He had always had issues with sleep. He woke up frequently throughout the night and would only start feeling sleepy around two in the morning to the point where attempting to sleep at all felt like a waste of time. Give him a cup of coffee with four shots of espresso, and he'd be good to go.

“You can’t deny that I’m more productive, though,” he says.

“Okay, you do work hard,” Pepper admits, pursing her lips. “But you work too hard. When’s the last time you had a day to yourself that you didn’t spend in your workshop?”

Usually, Tony's quick with a quip, but Pepper's question makes him pause. Last week, Steve asked Tony if he wanted to join him on his run around Bryant Park, and what had Tony said? "No." Like an idiot. It's not that he hadn't wanted to go; it was just that between SI and Avengers business and—

Tony was making excuses. Even he could see that. Hook-ups? Hook-ups Tony could do, specialized in, even, but Steve's question had ventured dangerously into "date" territory. The last time Tony had tried to seriously date was when he was with Pepper, and that had been a piping hot mess in the end.

"Tony? Hello? I swear to God if you've just been using your life model decoy on me, I'm going to fly directly to Manhattan just to—"

"What? No!" He says, raising his hands. Hell hath no fury like a Pepper scorned. "I'm here, in the flesh. I just got...distracted. I guess I haven't really taken a day for myself."

Pepper sets her mug down and levels him with a stern look that puts him in the mind of a school principal.

"Tony," she says in that way of hers that usually means she's worried about him, and Tony's heart twists. "Is everything okay?"

Tony's not a liar, but he does believe in omitting information.

"Everything's as good as I can hope for, Pep. I'm going to therapy, and I'm still taking my meds. You know how it is," he says, shrugging. "Some days are better than others."

Pepper nods, looking a little less concerned, which is all Tony can ask for. "And the others? They're not bothering you?"

It takes him a second, but Tony realizes that she's talking about the Avengers. He shakes his head. "They're fine. It's...weird living with so many people," he says. Tony had lived alone for half of his life now, aside from that brief stint in Malibu with Pepper. "They leave coffee grounds in the sink, and last week, Romanov and Barton convinced JARVIS to play Iron Man every time I went into my workshop and—"

"You like them, don't you?" Pepper says. It's not a question.

He does like them. The entire time he had been complaining about them, he knew his face had been stretched into a grin.

"Maybe so. It's refreshing having another scientist to go mad with," he says, smiling devilishly when Pepper pales.

"Oh, God, you've corrupted Bruce. There's two of you now."

"Okay, I take offense to that," he interjects. "Bruce keeps me in line, promise.”

“Give him my thanks,” Pepper says. "Is it just Bruce? What about the others? How do you feel about them?"

He speaks without thinking, something you'd think wouldn't happen so often to a literal genius. "Steve's been...Steve's been good." More than good, actually.

Pepper raises a brow. "It's Steve now? What happened to Rogers? Capsicle? Any other one of your incessant nicknames?"

He's been caught. Lying isn't even an option; Pepper would sniff out the truth like a bloodhound. She was like Natasha in that way. If those two ever team up again, Tony feels sorry for whichever poor soul they set their sight on.

His only choice is to play it cool. "First off, you know you love my nicknames, case in point, Pepper," he says, knowing damn well she hadn't gone by Virginia since she started working for him. "And…it's Steve now. He's not so bad when you get to know him."

Pepper looks unconvinced, but mercifully, she lets it go. "Hmm. You guys are friends now?"

No. Never. Not even close.

"What can I say?" Tony gives her his cheesiest grin. "I wore him down."

She rolls her eyes, but it's all in good fun. "Well, then, I'm happy for you. You deserve all the love that comes your way."

"Ugh, don't get all sappy on me," he jokes, even though his heart spasms in his chest. He doesn't love the Avengers, and he doesn't—

He doesn't love Steve either.

And they don't love him back.

Pepper's eyes soften. "Tell you what," she begins, "since you're so adamant on working too hard to have some fun, how about I do it for you?"

Tony latches onto the change of subject like the lifeline it is. "What do you have in mind?"

"Carmen Solomita is doing a fundraiser event for A Helping Hand. Does that sound up your alley?"

Carmen Solomita was an old friend from his prep school years. A fellow gifted kid, and the daughter of the iconic Italian husband-wife fashion designer duo, Isabela and Marcello Solomita, it was a no brainer that Tony and Carmen would become friends.

She had followed in her parents' footsteps, designing luxury clothes and even starting her own separate fashion house right here in Manhattan.

“What’s she doing this year?” he asks.

“She’s organizing a week-long carnival in upstate New York for local orphanages. Think you or any of the others would be interested in working a booth?” Pepper says. “Having all of the Avengers show up would drum up a lot of publicity.”

Tony furrows his brows. A carnival does sound fun, and he has no problems with running a booth. It’s the others that are a problem.

“Don’t you think six, let alone one Avenger, would take away from the cause? And that’s if they even agree to it.”

Pepper raises her hands. “Just throwing it out there. Again, you need a break. And think of the kids when they see your faces.”

Tony’s face wrinkles. So, maybe, he has a soft spot for orphans. He still can’t help but feel like Pepper has some ulterior motive.

“I’ll ask,” Tony says, caving. “And if they say no, I’m not forcing them to go. Tell Carmen she’s getting one Avenger, at the least.”

“Yes! I knew you’d come around.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Tony.”

***********

Tony broaches the topic of Carmen’s carnival at dinner and immediately braces himself for the worst. He’s not a pessimist by any means, but he sure as hell doesn’t expect the best from people whenever he asks them for a favor.

There’s a pause as they take the time to ponder over what he said, long enough to make Tony squirm.

God, why did he even ask? He should have just told Pepper that the others were all unavailable or—

“What kind of carnival?” Clint asks, breaking Tony out of his reverie.

"I'm sorry," Tony blinks. "Are you actually considering this?"

Clint shrugs. "What's not to like? Just want to know what we'd be doing."

"Um, okay," Tony says. He's never, never been at a loss for words in his life, and yet...

"We'd just be running booths, meet and greets, that sort of stuff. Nothing too crazy," Tony says. Pretty run of the mill stuff for a fundraising event.

"And the charity, A Helping Hand, was it?" Natasha says. "One of yours?"

"No," he replies. "Carmen Solomita's. She's big on philanthropy, always trying to help out in some way or another. She's always been like that."

"Solomita?" Natasha asks. "Fashion designer Carmen Solomita?"

"That's the one," he says, some of his initial anxiety ebbing away. They weren't saying no. Not yet. Or maybe they were just trying to let him down gently.

"She an old flame of yours?" Clint says, and Tony tries to ignore how quickly Steve's head turns to look at him.

"No," Tony says immediately, putting an end to any questions before they can begin. "We've been friends since high school. It'd be like dating my sister." Not to mention Carmen had known him when he had still been under five feet and had a mouth full of metal. Any attraction on her part had either never existed or died as soon as Tony had opened his mouth.

"Hm," Natasha says. Tony's still learning how to speak Natasha fluently, but it's apparently enough for Clint.

"Alright, I'm in," he says. "Dibs on the sharpshooting booth."

"You can't call dibs on a booth," Natasha says, rolling her eyes. "And it's mine."

"I'll arm wrestle you for it."

"No," Tony says, pointing a finger at them. "The last time you two arm-wrestled at this table, you split it in half. You'll be assigned whatever booth is available."

Clint grumbles something under his breath, and Tony closes his eyes.

"I think you annoyed Mom," Natasha whispers, and really, for a spy, she sucks at being quiet.

But if he was mom, who was dad?

"Enough, you guys," Steve says, backing him up. "Stop messing around."

"Thank you," Tony says, massaging his temple, trying to stop his stress headache before it begins."It's like having children."

"Am I your favorite?" Clint asks with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"No, it's Bruce," he answers immediately, his voice deadpan.

"...You answered that insultingly fast."

"You asked," Tony says. "Speaking of Bruce, Brucie, you've been quieter than normal. What's going on in that brilliant head of yours?"

Tony doesn't want to put him on the spot, but he knows Bruce will just try his best to brush his problems under the rug.

Bruce is staring down at his plate, poking absentmindedly at his pasta with his fork. "I don't think I should go," he says.

"And why not?" Thor, of all people, asks. The god levels Bruce with a heavy stare. "You deserve to amuse yourself like the rest of us."

"Is that a joke?" Bruce says, throwing his fork down, sending it clattering against his plate. "Do you really think unleashing a big green rage monster at a carnival with children present is a bright idea?"

"Where's this monster you speak of?" Thor says. "I don't see one."

"Come on," Bruce mutters.

"I don't see one, either," Tony says. "I see a genius nuclear physicist who moonlights as an equally amazing superhero."

"And I see a kind, honest man who would never harm anyone intentionally," Steve says, jumping in.

Bruce purses his lips but based on the flush spreading across his face, Tony can tell they're wearing him down.

Oddly enough, it's Natasha who reels him in. "I've seen a lot of monsters in my life, Banner. You're not one of them."

Bruce chuckles, but it's not a happy sound. Tony's familiar with it enough to know that it's chock full of bitterness.

"I'll be there with you," Thor says, his voice a soft timber. "I won't let anything happen to you. None of us will."

"...It's not me you should be worrying about," Bruce says. "But...if you're going...I guess it'll be fine."

Thor smiles, looking every inch the god he is. "We'll have a grand time, Doctor Banner."

Dinner ends quickly after that, the others petering off until it's just Steve and Tony left sitting at the table.

Tony's glad the Avengers are helping him out, honestly. It's just...the thought of six Avengers...around young, impressionable children…

"Oh, God," he says aloud, burying his face into his hands.

He can hear Steve stand up, rounding up the dishes left behind. "It's not going to be that bad," he says.

"We don't know that," Tony says, his voice muffled. He looks up to see Steve raising a judgmental brow at him. "I'm letting not one, but two master assassins, the Hulk, and a fucking god, interact with children."

"They'll be on their best behavior," Steve says. "Thor said he'll keep an eye on Bruce, and I know for a fact that wherever Clint goes, Natasha's gonna follow and vice versa."

"And that doesn't worry you?"

"No, because I actually have faith in our teammates. Clint's not gonna peg a kid with an arrow just because he feels like it. He's not the type."

Tony sighs but damn it, Steve's right. He's always right. Tony doesn't know much about Clint's life before SHIELD and the Avengers, but he knows it wasn't pretty. Seemed to be a common theme amongst their little team.

"Must have a shitty parental figure in order to be a superhero," he thinks to himself.

He rises out of his seat and grabs the few dishes that remain. Tony helps Steve load up the dishwasher. He tries not to think about how domestic it all feels, how it's practically become routine for Tony and Steve to look after the others and put away their dishes. He doesn't know what it means, but he has the strangest feeling that Pepper is smiling to herself halfway across the country.

***********

Carmen's beyond delighted when Tony gives her the good news over the phone the next day. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Her voice still does that weird squeaky thing when she gets really excited.

"One more thank you, and you're going to rupture my eardrum," he says, holding his phone to his ear. He's making breakfast, which for him consists of swiping a yogurt cup and spoon from the kitchen.

"I'll stop shouting," she says, which is a complete lie. "I just can't believe the Avengers are going to be at my fundraiser!" Case in point.

There's still that gnawing pit in his stomach at the thought of the Avengers running rampant around a carnival, but they could use the publicity. Maybe it'd calm down some of those Daily Bugle conspiracy theorists who thought that the Avengers were Chitauri shapeshifters who actually started the invasion. Tony has a video of J. Jonah Jameson screaming about it saved to his phone whenever he needs a good laugh.

"I know, I'm amazing," Tony says around a mouthful of yogurt.

"You are, and I will literally owe you for the rest of my life," she replies.

"I want your firstborn child," Tony says.

"Done," Carmen says without missing a beat. "That's how serious I am."

He can't help but chuckle to himself. Talking to Carmen was always so fun. She had the same (admittedly dorky) sense of humor as him. He remembered the days when they sit in the back of their homeroom, laughing at each other's stupid jokes over the morning announcements while their teacher gave them death glares. They kept in touch after graduation but not enough for Tony's tastes.

"But seriously, how does it feel to be a superhero? You guys all live together, don't you? Oh my God, you're just like firefighters. Do you have a little pole you slide down when there's an emergency? Ooh, is there an alarm—"

"Carmen, cool it before you pop a blood vessel," he says, mentally filing away the idea to add a pole leading directly to the tower's hangar. "And I promise you can grill them when you see them at the carnival."

"I'm holding you to that, Stark."

"Figured you would."

"Smart boy," Carmen says. "Any questions, comments, or concerns you want to pass along?"

"Actually," Tony begins, his brain chugging along at its usual speed of light. "I have some requests…"

Two weeks later, the look on everyone else's face when Tony presents them with the matching t-shirts he designed is more than worth the hour of alone time he promised her with Natasha.

“She’s so mysterious,” Carmen had said over the phone. “Tony, I need to see if she’s as calculating as she comes off.”

“Why,” he had said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m bisexual and have no sense of self-preservation. It’s why we’re friends,” she had chirped.

He didn't blame her, though. Had he not jumped at every chance to hook up with Steve like his teenage self would have wanted?

"Is this another one of your strange Midgardian customs?" Thor says, holding the t-shirt out in front of him. They're done up in his signature hotshot red, of course with Carmen's charity, A Helping Hand on the front, but the back is the real masterpiece. Under the words, Super Helper was a personalized emblem meant to represent each one of the Avengers. Mjolnir for Thor, Cap's Shield for Steve, a bow and arrow for Clint, and so on so forth.

"...Is it weird that I kind of actually like these?" Clint whispers to Natasha, who's tracing the lines of her hourglass on her shirt.

"You would like them," she says.

Tony blinks. "I can...get us normal shirts?"

"Nope, too late," Clint says, shrugging his shirt on over the long sleeve he had been wearing. "I've already grown attached.”

Tony looks at each of them head-on, noting the way Natasha’s slender fingers dance over the cotton and Thor’s curious gaze as he inspects the true to life runes Tony had painstakingly copied from the real-life Mjolnir. Bruce looks at the fist clutching the beaker on his shirt like it holds all the secrets to the universe, and Steve—Steve’s not looking at the shirt at all. He’s looking at Tony. Of course, he is.

Tony's always liked puzzles, and right now, the biggest puzzle of them all is what exactly made Steve's face go slack, his eyes all clear and soft and staring directly at him.

Tony shakes his head, clearing his head of puzzles and Steve and piercing stares.

"So," Tony says, "we're good to go?"

Later on, when they're all piled into Tony's limo like they're going on a field trip, Steve texts him even though they're sitting right next to each other.

It's just four words, but it's enough to make Tony blush. He facepalms, under the pretense of annoyance at something one of the others had said.

"I'm proud of you," follows him all the way to upstate New York.

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #steve x tony #superhusbands #marvel #mcu #imperialstark fic #my fic #my writing #choke on me

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