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bubblyhoney · 3 years ago

Note

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x gn!reader #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap drabble #sapnap oneshot #bubblyhoneyfics #honey answers #mcyt x reader #🥚except small

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forever-rogue · 4 years ago

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OH I HAVE AN IDEA like an angsty fic where bucky and reader have a miscommunication and it causes a fight between them and they are both like ???? “we’ve never yelled at each other ??? what is this” AND IDK I JUST WANT ANGST

So, head empty, very little thoughts, but I hope this works and you like it 🥺

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You sang along to the music that was playing softly in the background as you showered and got ready for your day. You’d had a late start, easily giving into Bucky and staying in bed for just five more minutes, which had really turned out to be almost another hour. The good thing about being the boss was that you could afford to be late every once in a while. Bucky was in the kitchen, whipping up a quick breakfast before he too needed to leave and go about his day.

“Sugar,” he called out to you as you washed your hair. You could faintly make out his voice as you carried on, but figured you’d be able to make out what he was saying well enough, “I’ve got everything made and prepared just how you like it!”

You thought nothing of it for a moment and continued to wash your hair; but about halfway through the motions, you stopped in surprise. What had he actually said?

“Bucky? Bub, what did you say?” you quickly rinsed out our hair before pulling back the shower curtain as you tried to listen in. Had he really said he was mad?

“It’s all done! I’m done,” he called back as he covered your plate for you to find once you got out of the shower. He grabbed his travel mug of coffee and headed towards the door, giving Alpine a quick pet before leaving, “bye honey. Running late and gotta go - I’m leaving!”

“Bucky!” you almost slipped and fell as you tore back the shower curtain and almost jumped out of the shower. It was still running as you haphazardly grabbed a towel and darted down the hall and into the kitchen. But he was already gone; the only thing that was left behind was the faint smell of his cologne. Swallowing the nervous lump in your throat, you trudged back down the hall to finish your shower. You were already running late and whatever this was - whatever had just happened - would need to wait until later.

Had Bucky really just broken up with you in the midst of a shower? It sure seemed like it right now.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you sat down and stared at your computer screen. You’d had the same spreadsheets and charts pulled up for the last two hours and made almost no progress. You swore that almost every single interaction you’d had with Bucky over the last week was playing on loop in your mind. You were desperately trying to figure out where you’d gone wrong, what had caused him to snap.

In an effort to alleviate your own fears, you’d texted Bucky to get a response from him and see what was going on. But you hadn’t heard back from him. You’d sent three messages before deciding not to bombard him. But still...if he was just up and leaving you after almost three years together, he owed you at least a small explanation.

You opened google and quickly pulled up an apartment search, already resigned yourself to the idea that you’d need to find a new place fast. Being around for too long would be too hard and you didn’t want to subject to more torture than necessary. And Alpine! You’d need to decide what to do with your beloved cat - Alpine loved you equally, how were you to choose who would get the fluffy little thing? And all the friends in common you shared...who would they side with?

“Fuck,” you groaned at nothing in particular and decided to focus on your work. At least that would keep you distracted and your brain focused on something other than Bucky. You would figure out everything else tonight. It would all be fine. This was no big deal; maybe your world was falling apart...but you would handle it. You always did.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you finally allowed yourself to go home that evening, you were shocked to find the lights on and Bucky in the kitchen. He was on the phone with someone, his new girlfriend or someone like that you immediately presumed, moving about the kitchen as he finished dinner. You choked up as you watched the domestic scene that was so normal to you by now. But this time, it felt so wrong.

You stormed in and for whatever reason, you decided that grabbing a pillow and throwing it at Bucky was a good idea. You picked the soft thing up in your arms and hurled at him, who suddenly realized you were home and yelped in surprise as he dodged the offending object. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he pointed to the earbuds in ears as he turned back to the stove.

You were seeing red by now as you stormed in the kitchen and ripped his earbuds out. He was so stunned by your sudden actions, he jumped back and offered up a shocked look.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” you shouted at him as you threw the buds on the floor, half tempted to stomp them, “how fucking dare you!”

“Sugar, what on earth are you talking about?” he grabbed his phone off the counter and ended the call without hesitation. Your chest heaved as you waited for some sort of explanation, “what’s going on? Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright! How on earth could I be alright?” you threw your hands up in exasperation as you tried to unsuccessfully hold back your tears. He was so calm and nonchalant about everything it was almost more frustrating than anything else.

“Okay...something is going on. Care to enlighten me?” he tried to reach up and wipe your tears away but you flinched out of his touch, “sugar?”

“Y-you! It’s you!” you cried softly as he motioned for you to explain just what it was about him that was the problem.

“What about me…?”

“You just break up with me this morning and tell me you’re leaving me and then you just come back like nothing has happened?” as soon as the words left your mouth, Bucky’s mouth dropped open. It was news to him that he’d broken up with you, “and you didn’t answer my texts all day! I deserve some sort of explanation!”

“I didn’t...I didn’t break up with you, Sugar,” he stated simply as you tilted to your head in confusion, trying to decide if he was pulling your leg or being honest, “why would I leave you? That makes no sense. I love you - I’m in love with you!”

“This morning,” you whispered softly, “you said you were done and you were leaving. When I was in the shower.”

His brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what exactly you were talking about. But then it hit him and he struggled not to burst out laughing. He gnawed on his lip as he fervently shook his head, “my sweet girl, you...well you heard me correctly, but incorrectly at the same time.”

“What? I-I swear…”

“What I said was breakfast was done and that I was leaving for work because I was running late too,” he explained as you tried to replay all that you had heard. Maybe...maybe you hadn’t heard him correctly at all - and in turn jumped to the worst possible conclusion, “I had to run...I’m sorry I didn’t come into the bathroom and say goodbye. Maybe that would have solved this whole thing.”

“You’re not..leaving me?” you asked as he just shook his head and took the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, “you still love me?”

“I find it both hilarious and concerning that you so easily thought I would just leave,” he kissed the top of your head as you held onto him as tightly as possible, “of course I’m not leaving. You never have to worry about that, sugar. I love you so much, silly girl. You sweet, silly girl.”

“I’m an absolute idiot,” you mumbled as you buried your face in his shoulder. You couldn’t believe that you jumped from A to Z so quickly and without a moment of hesitation, “I’m sorry, Bub. I feel like I wouldn’t blame you if you did want to leave me now.”

“Never,” he promised softly, “even if you do have moments of being ridiculous. Just like I do.”

“If I ever do something so dumb again,” you huffed as you pulled back and looked at those ocean eyes, “just smack some sense into me. But I...you didn’t answer my texts.”

“Texts?” he seemed genuinely confused as he reached for his phone and correctly scrolled through his messages. You could see that there were none from you, “what are you…I was in bad reception today. Blame Sam, that I was just on the phone with, for that one. They probably never came through. I’m sorry, honey. If they’d come in, maybe we could have avoided this whole situation, huh?"

“Some bad luck on top of it,” you hid your face behind your hands and sighed heavily, “James. I..I’m so sorry for everything. I just downright acted like a fool today. I don’t even know where to begin to apologize. I love you, Bub. I hope you can forgive me, but if not...I would-”

“Hey,” he put his hand under chin and turned your face up to meet his own. His smile was lilting and gentle and his eyes soft, “I love you. It’s alright done and forgotten. Are you hungry? Dinner’s just about finished.”

“I love you more than anything,” you whispered as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, “I just...my emotions were so all over the place today. Like out of control, A to Z. I don’t know what happened.”

“Shit happens,” he dismissed it with a slight scoff as he reached for some dishes, “I’m yours, sugar. Always.”

“Me too,” you agreed as you leaned against the counter, watching him with nothing but adoration. It was then that another realization - and possibly an explanation - hit you. It felt like a punch in the gut, “shit.”

“What?” Bucky asked as he started to plate dinner, “everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled nervously, “just remembered something I forgot to do today.”

“As long as you’re alright…”

“I am,” you promised. You could worry about this later, “hey - I love you so much, Bucky. You know that right?”

“I love you too. Always.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Marvel Taglist (add yourself to a taglist here!)(strike-through means I couldn’t tag you - please check your settings!)

@qhbr2013 @greeneyedblondie44 @april-showers-and-flowers @softboiipascal @im-an-adult-ish @patzammit @niki-xie @xxlovingfandomsxx @startrekkingaroundasgard @welcometothepedroverse @actual-spawn-of-satan @punkerthanpascal @lazybeeches @someday-when-you-leave-me @justgivemethekeys @salome-c @rosiefridayrogersunday @neptunesglow @artsymaddie @haildoodles @amneris21 @star017 @irepostthingsiwanttoseelater @its–fandom–darling @ayamenimthiriel @alyispunk @djarinbarnes @edencherries @ashamed23 @sunsetskywalkerr @nikkixostan @spookispunk @cable-kenobi @ironicfoxes @cc13723things @gooddaykate @natthebattygeologist @sociallyantisocialbutterfly @n3ssm0nique @daughterofthenight117 @riddikulus-obsessions @imaginelover88 @saint-bvcky @sleep-tight1 @missstef23 @moonlacebeam @asylummara @wakandabiitch2 @hoodedbirdie @mysweetlittledesire @reallyloudstarlight @vintagepigeon @froggyy06 @fleurydelacoury @veil-of-time @queenbeean @deedepee @kenzieam @luxeavenger @dobbyjen @bbl32 @frickin-bats @caprisunsister @spacedadmando @bucks-bunny @starlightcrystalline @jensenswinchester @simonedk @keithseabrook27 @cloverrover @jedi-mando @fyeahatised @allforkook @bibliophilewednesday @doozywoozy

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan

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elfwoodfae · 3 years ago

Note

Ima need you to write something filthy about Harry after he discovers y/n's erotic friend fiction about the team and learn what she really thinks about him.

Love, some one anonymous and your biggest fan

“Hurtful Lies” Harrison “Harry” Wells x reader

Author’s note: HUGE thank you to @wintersire for coming through and helping me keep Harry in character and help me edit and put together this story, honestly couldn’t have done it without her. Also I know is not exactly what you asked for but I could stop myself from the angst, I truly hope you like it. I loved writing it. I cried too while doing it.

WARNING: SMUT, ANSGT.

Gif credits to the owner, I found it on google.

4.5k

“Oh Harrison,” You moaned in his ear as he held you up against the wall, your legs tangled around his waist.

“I can’t wait to be inside of you,” He whispered, his hands going up your back and ripping open the fabric of your dress. His lips found yours, his teeth catching your bottom one, tugging on it for you to open your mouth.

His hand went down the curve of your ass to the inside of your thigh, feeling the heat coming from you.

“Every night since I met you I have dreamed about this moment, I've touched myself thinking of you, I adore you, everything about you.” You proclaimed against his mouth. He kissed you fiercely in response, savoring you.

You typed furiously into your computer, not wanting to lose the inspiration you had. This was your hobby, or more or less your practice into becoming a writer, and what better way to do it than writing about the center of your affections. Harrison Wells. Or more accurately, Earth 2 Harrison Wells. You had developed a hard crush on the man, everything about him drove you crazy, his hands, his hair, his lips, his back, and oh God did you wonder what was inside those pants; maybe that’s why he always wore them so baggy.

You could almost say it was an obsession at this point. At night, when you were alone, he was who you would think of while touching yourself, moaning his name. You wanted him so bad. It's gotten to the point where you would do anything for him, as scared as that thought made you.

Taking a break from typing and stretching your fingers, you leaned back to look at the screen and read over your writing. You wondered how long you've been writing for; it seemed like no time at all. When you catch the time you let out a curse. It was almost 8. and Cisco had insisted you all go out as a team for a very deserved family dinner at Barry’s place.

Saving the document and getting up from the computer you went over to your room, getting dressed up. While you readied yourself you heard a breach opening in your living room; Cisco was here to get you.

“I will be out in a minute! Get comfy.” You called out while struggling to fix the dress to make your breasts look more appetizing. Obviously you doubted Harry would notice, but at least you could dream he would. You had chosen a short float dress with an open back and low neckline, perfect for indiscreet kisses and flirty hands.

Back in the living room Cisco was moving through the apartment to get to the kitchen, leaving Harry, who had unexpectedly come with him, alone; something you were unaware of. The screen of your computer illuminated as a email notification appeared, catching Harry’s attention. He looked over and as he was about to dismiss it something called his attention back to it.

His name was written on whatever you were working on, moving towards it slowly he started to read it over, his eyes widening with every word he read. Just as he was about to scroll down the page the clicking of your heels could be heard, making him smack the screen down to hide what he was doing.

Trying to act normal he turned around, hiding his face from you and the blush softly creeping on it.

“Oh Harry, I didn’t know you had come with Cisco,” you said, looking at his back.

“He would take too long otherwise,” he grunted, unable to look you in the eye. His gaze stayed on your neck, trying to distract himself, but that was a mistake as he could see the way the dress hugged your body from his peripheral view. Memories of what you had written came to his mind as he wondered what it would feel like to run his hands up your back and take that dress off of you.

Clearing his throat he had to turn back around, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants to try and hide something else triggered by the thought.

You took in his appearance. You don’t think you had ever seen him this formal, and for a moment he reminded you exactly of Thawne the night of the accelerator launch; his white shirt with a blazer on top, the first buttons open to show his skin, his black pants, and his hair; a little shorter and sharper on the sides. You wondered if this is what he looked like most of the time on his Earth; before zoom, when he was less worried about everything.

Cisco came back just in time from the kitchen, hurrying all of you into a breach to make it to Barry’s on time.

After the drinks started flowing, so did the good feelings; the atmosphere was joyful, everyone was having a good time, even Harry seemed relaxed in his own way.

As the night progressed and all of you sat around the living room, Caitlin asked about your project. She knew you had been working on a few pieces for a literature portfolio you had been building.

“Well I have been working on this piece I’m really excited about.” You said, causing Harry to suddenly choke on his drink.

“You good?” Cisco nudged him.

“Yeah yeah I’m just, I’m going to get some air,” he whispered getting up with his drink and walking over to the balcony.

Maybe it was the liquid courage the alcohol provided, or the fact that fate liked to play with you, but you suddenly felt brave enough to walk after him. You excused yourself quietly before following him into the cool night air.

“Hey,” you gently touched his shoulder. “Is everything okay?” You asked him with a kind smile. The one you always saved for him.

“Yeah, yeah, it's just a little crowded in there.” He lamely excused.

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure. I’ll be leaving soon, I think I had one too many drinks, I’ll ask Cisco to breach me.” You said as you turned around, ready to leave, but right before you went through the door his hand stopped you, grabbing your arm delicately.

“I can walk you, I’m leaving too.” He said. He was regretting this as the words were leaving his mouth but it was already too late, you had smiled at him and nodded, letting him know you were getting your purse and saying your goodbyes. He didn’t know where this had come from, certainly not from his common sense as he knew he shouldn’t be giving you any hopes after what he had read in your computer, but he couldn’t help it, the alcohol in his system made him think slower and not very clearly.

The walk home was quiet, only making small talk between you both. He didn’t know why he had offered to walk you, Cisco could have breached you easily. Once you made it to your door you turned around, facing him.

“Hey,” you started, trying to find a way to phrase what you wanted to ask him. This may after all be your only chance at this.

“Do you want to come in for a drink?” You asked him with a kind smile.

He shouldn’t stay, he should have said no and leave, he wasn’t thinking clearly and the consequences would prove to be devastating.

He nodded, too afraid of speaking and his words betraying him. He followed you inside, settling in the couch while you went to get some alcohol from the kitchen.

Serving him and yourself a drink you both settle on simple conversation, laughing and every once in a while you could see the way his eyes would fall to your lips.

Finishing your drinks, silence fell over you both, neither sure of what was supposed to happen, but the tension could be felt in the air. Softly, you moved closer to him, your hand finding his thigh as you leaned over him. He was studying you, his eyes on your lips. Slowly you touched his face, your lips connecting with his in a soft kiss.

He closed his eyes, his hands moving to the back of your neck as if by instinct, his lips pressed harder to yours, his teeth grazing your bottom one, prompting you to open your mouth. He had forgotten what it felt like to kiss someone else. His hands traveled down your back, feeling the soft skin of your back exposed by the dress. You moved to his lap, removing his blazer and playing with the buttons of his white shirt.

In a silent agreement you both decided to move this to the bedroom, you got up, offering him your hand for him to take and follow you. Once inside you turned around, kissing him again as you moved backwards towards the bed. His hands moved to the zipper of your dress, opening it and letting it fall of your form. There you stood, naked in front of him, only in your panties as you bit your lip, you looked absolutely stunning in his eyes.

He knew the only way he was being able to go through with this was because of the amount of alcohol in his system, and as he moved his hands to your waist to lean you back in the bed, kissing you, his breathing started to quicken. Heat spreading from the back of his neck to his shoulders. He was loosing focus on what he was doing.

Your hands moved to his pants, unbuckling them, opening the button of them and pushing them down, but the moment your hand touched his cock he lost it, he couldn’t do it. He started to panic, images of Tess came to his mind and his mind screamed at him that this was a betrayal to her memory.

Moving away from you quickly he turned around, trying to get himself back in his pants again.

“Harry?” You softly asked him, sitting up and covering yourself with the duvet.

“Hey it’s okay,” you tried again when he didn’t reply, noticing the way his breathing had quickened and he seemed to be panicking. Understanding came over you; he was probably nervous. You assumed he hasn’t been with anyone physically since his wife passed away.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you try again, touching his arm to reassure him, but the moment your skin touches his he flinched away from you.

“Don’t touch me” he says, getting up from the bed, his breathing quickening. He hasn't felt this way since Jessie was taken; the weight on his chest getting heavier every second he remained in your bedroom. He couldn’t explain why, but this sense of panic rose the moment he saw your face fall at him flinching away from you.

“Hey calm down, it's okay. I understand if you need time,” you began but he interrupted you with a breathy scoff. He was in a panic state now; he couldn’t think clearly anymore, he knew you knew what was happening to him, and somehow that show of weakness made the whole situation worse.

“What could you possibly understand, you're just a selfish brat. I don’t need you whoring yourself to me like you did to Thawne.” He spits quickly, not looking at you. He knew that seeing your face would be his last straw.

Your own panic becomes evident in the way your breathing changes. Tears pool in your eyes, so heavy that they start to fall without your consent. The hurt, the humiliation and embarrassment you feel at his words are obvious, how did he know what had happened with Thawne?

His panic dulls once his pants are securely covering him once more, clearing his head enough to allow him to process what he just said to you. He turns toward you, that feeling building once more but for a completely different reason this time. He shouldn’t have said that, he fucked up completely now. A sharp pain tugs at him the moment he sees your face; he went too far.

“No, y/n, I am,” he begins to say, he needs to fix this before is too late, but you close your eyes, whispering a quiet “get out”. When you open your eyes again, he is still there. He tries to reach for you but you dodge him, taking the blanket with you to the bathroom.

He tries to talk to you, to apologize, but by the way he can hear your sobbing from behind the closed door he knows there is nothing he can say to fix this, at least not now.

You stayed in the bathroom, sitting on the floor behind the door with your blankets around you until you heard the front door close, proving that he had indeed left.

How could he had done that to you? You had trusted him, you had trusted Harry to be different. You had never thought he could be so cruel, but once again you had been proven wrong and were hurt by two men wearing the same face.

Harry looks for you the next day. He needs to apologize, he needs to fix this because he can’t deal with the pain and guilt he is feeling now. He storms through the lab but he can’t find you. Eventually Ramon gets there, who informs him that you didn’t come today.

Harry seems to be in a even worse mood than before, yelling at everyone and throwing things every once in a while, a behavior he had overcome in his time on this earth.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” Cisco questions him, finally having been able to catch him.

He hesitates, unsure if telling Ramon what happened was the best idea but with how bad he screwed up he may need all the help he can get at fixing this.

“I, I made a mistake” he whispers, facing the white board he was writing on.

“Last night I walked y/n home, and we had a couple drinks and one thing led to another,” he says, fixing his glasses as he is unsure of how to continue.

“And” Cisco pushes.

“And we kissed and then I panicked, and I,” he sighs.

“Harry its okay." Cisco tries, but Harry doesn't face him. "Look, I am sure she didn’t take it personally.” Cisco stands and reaches out to pat his shoulder, trying to help Harry, but when he touched his arm he saw exactly what Harry said; he saw what happened, the way his words had affected you. He knew Harry had a temper but he never expected for him to be capable of being so hurtful, especially to you, who had been nothing but kind and understanding to him.

“Oh no Harry, what did you do?” Cisco quickly says, fear evident in his voice.

“What?” Harry says, turning to look at him.

“How could you had say that to her? How do you even know about Thawne?” Cisco demands, anger evident in his voice.

“I panicked Ramon, I wasn’t thinking when I said it.” He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes.

“I heard Barry talking about Thawne and he mentioned that he and y/n were seeing each other.”

“That’s not the worst part Harry, we never talk about what happened not because of him but because of her too.” Cisco begins, he takes in a breath before continuing.

“Barry and y/n were closer back then, they were always together, but when Barry found out about Thawne, he also found out that y/n and him had a relationship, he instantly thought that she knew who he was and he never gave her a chance to explain,” he sighs, his eyes lost in the memories of that day.

“He was going to lock her in the pipeline with him, but Joe stopped him. Thawne had told her that she had been nothing but a distraction and a way for him to have fun, that he had never loved her. Barry was sure she had betrayed the team as well and when she was trying to explain he called her a desperate slut and accused her of not caring that he was a murderer." Cisco looks to the side, lost in the memory. "I still remember her face, the tears and how Joe had to intercept because he had crossed the line. After he locked her up, Thawne confessed that y/n was innocent, that she never knew who or what his intentions were.” Cisco proceeded explaining, making Harry only feel worse and worse by the second.

“Even when Barry apologized and she explained everything they never recovered, they never were as close as before and the team was not the same after that.” Cisco finished. God had he screwed up.

“I need to fix this Ramon,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead.

“I don’t honestly think you can do anything to fix this. I’m sorry Harry, but I think you can only give it time.” He said.

As the week progressed you had manage to avoid Harry at all costs, working on a lab far away from the cortex and completely opposite from him. You had expected to feel better by now, but his insult had only revived the memories buried in your mind, every time you looked at him now you could only see the original Wells, you could only see Thawne because the difference between both in your head had been completely erased after that night.

It took a week for Harry to finally corner you; he knew you were avoiding him, and he was trying to give you space, at least the first few days but every time you seemed to get a glance of his presence you would flee. He knew he deserved it.

When you made it home that night, after changing and settling down on the sofa you tried to relax, in all honesty the anxiety of the whole situation had made you too tense and too anxious to even be able to properly function that week.

As you switched between channels trying to distract yourself, you heard the telltale signs of a breach opening behind your couch. Cisco knew what had happened, he had hugged you as you cried that first day back after the incident.

“Cisco I am fine, I will be fine in a couple days” you added without looking back.

“It’s not Cisco” his raspy voice said, almost in a whisper and you instantly froze, not wanting to see him.

He noticed the way you tensed, how you wouldn’t turn around to see him.

“What are you doing here?” You whispered, tears threatening to fall.

“Please let me fix this, I am so sorry,” he began.

You looked at him, and as he took a step closer to you, you flinched away. He could see the fear in your eyes and that only hurt him more, he knew he deserved this, how could he blame you? He was wearing the same face as the man who once hurt you the same way he had done, in your eyes there was no difference between himself and Thawne.

He moved closer, slower this time, afraid to scare you away.

“I am so sorry,” he said again, trying to find the right words to make you understand that he hadn’t meant it.

“The other night, I, I panicked, I,” he couldn’t explain himself. Eventually he gave up and sat on the edge of the couch, giving you a wide berth. He took a deep breath.

“Her name was Tess,” he begins, closing his eyes at the tears he knows are coming.

“I know you know of her from the other one, but she was mine. My amazing, beautiful wife.” You only looked at him, allowing him to explain himself.

“When Jessie was 5, Tess got sick. We couldn’t figure out what was happening, she only lasted a couple more months.” He had removed his glasses by now, wiping the tears away from his eyes.

“After she died I became a bitter man; I was angry and broken. I couldn’t rebuild my life without her.” He continued, his eyes focus on the memories.

“That night, was, that night was the first time since her that I had allowed myself to be with someone, and the moment you touched me I panicked, my mind screaming that I was betraying her.” He finished.

You could see the pain in his eyes, the way the tears fell down his cheeks. You had never seen Harry so vulnerable.

Now you felt sorry for him; you could understand his panic.

“I know that’s not an excuse for what I said or how I treated you and I’m not asking you to forgive me but I needed to explain to you. I owed you that much.” He finished.

“Harry,” you began, trying to clean your face from your own tears.

“Harry I forgive you, I just,” you continued, looking up to clear your eyes of the tears trying to fall again.

“If you didn’t feel the same way about me as I did about you, you could have told me,” you said.

“That’s the thing, I have dreamt of you since the day I met you, I have wished to be able to move forward but I’m stuck, guilt eating me alive.” He said.

If there was ever any doubt in your mind of Harry being the same as his evil doppelgänger it was gone now. This man had suffered so much, he deserved to be happy and after finding someone who could help him he had locked himself away.

Standing up, you moved in front of where he was sitting, tangling your hands in his hair and bringing his face to your stomach, hugging him. His puppy eyes watched your every move, his hands instantly went around your waist, holding you, allowing himself to feel you.

“Harry, I know that you loved her very much, and I could never pretend or try to replace that love you had for her,” you began, trying to phrase what you wanted him to understand.

“Harry, she would want you to be happy, to keep living.” You said, rubbing your fingers softly through his hair.

“Your mind is lying to you, this is not a betrayal, you could never betray that love” you finished.

You felt him nod his head, still hugging you. His hands tightening around you. You stayed like that for a few minutes, letting him process your words.

His hand moved tangled in your shirt, pulling you down to his lap, allowing him to hug you closer, your arms went around his neck as he held you, burying his face in your hair.

“Would you give me a second chance?” He whispered against your skin, he needed to move on, to show you how much he cared for you.

“Harry, I” you began, scare that if you did he would hurt you again, you wouldn’t be able to get over that if it happened again.

“Please y/n, I need to show you how much you mean to me, please” he begged you, planting a soft kiss to the side of your neck.

“Only if you are sure you want to go through with this, to see where it could lead us” you told him, aware of the risk you were taking.

“I am” he confirmed, his hands running up your back.

Your own hands tangled again in his hair, pulling him to you, your lips connecting, softer this time, slower, he was taking his time exploring your mouth. You broke away from the kiss, looking at him while removing his glasses and putting them aside, leaning back down to kiss him.

His hand went under your shirt, caressing your back, feeling the soft skin as his kisses became hungrier. He moved his mouth across your jawline, delivering soft kisses and moving down your neck, obtaining a few sighs from you, his lips leaving a trail of open mouth kisses.

He got up slowly, tangling your legs around his waist he moved you both to your bedroom. Leaving you back down against the bed, removing his jacket before lowering himself on top of you.

This time his mind was clear, his only focus was you. To show you how much he wanted you and needed you. His hands found the hem of your shirt, looking at you for consent before removing it. He took the time to admire you, looking at every detail of your skin. He lowered himself, kissing your neck, the top of your breast as his hands ran up your waist, squeezing slightly before moving to your breast, caressing them and feeling the softness of them.

Your hands removed his shirt, aching to feel him bare against your skin. You moved your hands to his shoulders, feeling the way his muscles tensed and how they relaxed when you moved your hands down his back, his kisses trailed up back to your neck, kissing and nipping at the skin while his hand moved to caress your leg, running up your thigh to your ass, squeezing it and feeling how your body reacted to his touches.

Your hands moved to his pants, opening them but leaving them like that, giving him the option to remove them himself whenever he felt ready.

His hands found the hem of your underwear, once again he looked at you, wanting to make sure you still wanted this, you nodded while he removed them, his hand trailing back up to feel you, feel how soft you were and how wet he was making you. He groaned once his hand connected to your center, feeling the slickness covering his fingers as he moved them across your entrance, he love the way you moaned for him, throwing your head back. He buried his face in your neck at the same time his finger moved inside of you, opening you up for him. You gripped his hair as his lips sucked a mark onto your skin. Soon after another finger found its way inside of you; he was getting you ready. He curled them inside, making a long moan fall out of you as your eyes rolled back in your head. He could feel the way you pulled him in, how you squeezed him and dripped on his fingers. He moved them faster, grinding his palm onto your clit, drawing an orgasm out of you. He wanted you to come first, knowing that he wouldn’t last long.

He felt you tightening around his fingers, as you lifted yourself on your elbows, coming while moaning into his mouth.

He helped you ride out your orgasm, taking in the face you made for him, the way your eyes looked up at him half lidded and your teeth caught your lips to stop the moans from coming out. He adored the way you looked, how warm you felt against him.

He quickly pulled his pants down along with his underwear, letting his cock free. He grabbed it, feeling it throbbing in his hand, the head moist from the precum that had leaked out.

He stroked himself a few times before moving the head against your entrance. His arms trembling when he started to push in. He closed his eyes as he bottomed out, groaning against your skin as the feeling of your warmth surrounding him. He started to move slowly, lifting you to pull almost completely out before dropping you down again. He kissed your neck, biting softly at it, trying to distract himself to last a little longer. He doubted he would after so long. You felt so warm and divine around him. His pace quickened, hearing you moan while he grunted, feeling his orgasm building up. He was close, he could feel his muscles tingling and his cock ready to burst in you.

Your hands found his face, holding his cheeks to bring him to you, kissing him as he started to come inside, having to break himself from your mouth to moan into the air. That was a sigh you never wanted to forget. He moved himself to rest against your chest, hiding his face in your neck and breathing you in while your hands played with his back. He hadn’t felt this calm, this content in such a long time. He loved the peace you brought him, and he promised himself that no matter what, he would never hurt you again, he would keep you safe, he would love you and cherish you for the rest of his days if you would have him.

#the flash imagines #harrison wells x y/n #earth 2 harrison wells #earth 2 harrison wells imagine #harrison harry wells smut #harrison harry wells imagine #harrison harry wells x reader #harrison harry wells fanfic #smut #angst #harrison wells fanfiction #harrison harry wells fanfiction #e2 harrison wells #harry wells x reader #harrison wells x reader fanfic #harrison wells x reader #harrison wells imagine #harrison wells x reader smut #harrison wells smut

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lightsovermonaco · 4 years ago

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 11 (NSFW)

Masterlist

IT’S THE MOMENT YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR BESTIES! Thanks as always to @acollectionofficsandshit I think I broke her with this chapter! She also found the song for this chapter so special thanks for that as well ❤

Word Count: 7.6k

Recommended song: “The Man Who Can’t be Moved” by the Script

The steam of the shower cleanses your senses and washes away the sweat from your workout. Crisp September air rushes through the open window and raises goosebumps on your skin as you step out. You turn off the tap and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel in an attempt to ward off the chill. A glance at the clock tells you that you have a half hour to get ready before your date picks you up.

Peter was one of the few guys in your major that paid you any attention. Most of them tolerated you at best but it had never bothered you. You were independent enough that you could make it through class on your own and google what you didn’t understand afterward and learn it before the exam.

It had been fairly easy to fall in with Peter and a few others during the first few weeks of summer classes. What began with group study sessions and quickly developed into hanging out one on one with Peter on the weekends to go to coffee shops or play video games.

When Peter had asked you out two months ago, Pierre's voice nagged in the back of your head. He asked if you were ready to move on from him and if you could really forget him.

The simple answer was no, forgetting him was impossible. No matter how many years passed, he would always own a part of you.

Peter was sweet and he cared about you but you were quickly realizing the bond you shared with him didn't run as deep as it had with Pierre. He started as your friend and you really didn't feel right letting it develop past that. Although you had agreed to that date and plenty more in the time since, it still didn’t feel like a relationship. You had to stop yourself from imagining someone else's arm around you when you lounged on the sofa or someone else's lips kissing you goodnight.

You slip into a form fitting red cocktail dress and sweep your hair over a shoulder, banishing the memory. The person staring back at you in the mirror is a stranger, a ghost of who you once were. You pull your lips into a smile nowhere near as bright as it was months ago.

A knock on your apartment door startles you from your trance. Peter holds a bouquet of flowers, a broad grin on his face. He was handsome in a traditional sense, with a sharp jawline and playful forest green eyes that promised a good time. He was adventurous; a night in wasn’t in the cards. Everything was an event with him and you didn’t mind the distractions one bit.

"You look amazing as always," he says, stepping inside and kissing your cheek. You sniff the flowers lightly. Daisies were some of your least favorite flowers but the gesture was too sweet to point that out.

"So do you," you respond, gaze sweeping from his scuffed wingtip shoes to his crisp blue button down shirt. Ocean blue, washed out against Peter's pale skin, but would have looked perfect on Pierre's golden complexion.

You had to stop thinking about him. You saw him everywhere. On more than one occasion, you dropped out of a conversation when you caught a glimpse of blond hair bobbing through a crowd or heard a laugh startlingly similar to his. You couldn’t escape the idea of him whether you liked it or not.

"Are you okay?" Peter asks, touching your elbow.

God, you were so far from okay. Your mind was a melted mess of memories of a blond Frenchman and all the broken promises between the pair of you. This was pointless. You were wasting your time with Peter. He was great and should have been everything you wanted but he just wasn't enough.

"I'm so sorry," you start, handing back the flowers. "I don't think this is going to work."

"Oh thank god," he says, shoulders drooping as he runs a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking the same thing, I just didn't want to be the one to say it." You both laugh, the tension ebbing from your frame.

"Don't get me wrong," he continues, "You're amazing. There's just no…"

"Spark," you finish. "Yeah, I agree. Friends?"

You stick out your hand and he shakes it firmly. "Sounds like a plan. No hard feelings. See you in class on Monday?"

"I'll be there."

You slip out of your heels with a sigh, glad you don't have to endure that form of torture any longer. For the first time in months, you allow yourself to scroll through Pierre's Instagram.

Instead of being flooded with personal pictures it had become mostly posed shoots.it was the kind of thing that seemed staged, like he was only posted because his PR team deemed it necessary.

As time went on the content became more and more clinical. He was giving fans less of an insight into his personal life and focusing on racing content. You knew he had probably thrown everything he had into the season in an attempt to move on and you couldn't blame him.

If his Insta was to be believed, he had earned a handful of podiums in the four months since you had mostly lost interest in the sport. After Austin it had been nearly impossible to watch a full race and you had instead been getting your biased updates from Max, who conveniently left out all but the barest details of anyone’s race weekend but his own.

There was no point in trying to convince yourself you no longer felt anything for Pierre. Just scrolling through his page reignites the flame in your chest that had been burning far too dimly for far too long.

Heart pounding, you double tap a photoset of him modeling for Alpha Tauri, the lighting accenting his eyes. Their distinct, rich blue had always been your weakness.

Your fingers find their way to the charm at your throat. You hadn't taken it off once since the gala. It was pointless to deny the sway he still held over you all these months later. Maybe it was time you stopped pretending you were fine and finally give in to the pull.

The past few months have given you plenty of time to reflect. The media would hound you like dogs but at least while you were in London they would leave your family alone. And really, enduring their scrutiny was a small price to pay if it meant loving Pierre.

“I’m an idiot,” you mumble, pulling up his contact in your phone. Breaking up with him had been the dumbest decision of your life. You’d watched him from afar as he traveled from grand prix to grand prix, touring cities and sleeping everywhere except where he belonged: curled up next to you in your tiny London flat, whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you both fell asleep.

You couldn’t bear it any longer. Fuck what anyone would say. Nothing could be worse than knowing your soulmate was out there and you let him go.

Heart pounding, you type out a text. I miss you.

Shaking your head, you erase it. How are you? Seemed more appropriate.

"Here goes nothing," you murmur and hit send.

**********

It started off as any other free Sunday did: Charles and Charlotte arriving at his apartment carrying snacks and beer which neither of them would tell their trainers about tomorrow and plopping in front of the television to watch the PSG match.

The trio roared at the screen at poor calls and yelled when a goal was scored, all completely lost in the sport.

Pierre absently registers his phone buzzing during the last few minutes of the match but ignores it. PSG comes out on top and he finally checks it, nearly choking on the pretzels he was eating.

How are you?

Pierre has to read it thrice before he’s convinced it’s real.

"Holy fuck," he says softly, tipping the phone so Charles can see.

"Told you mate." He takes Charlotte's hand and stands. Football match completely forgotten, Pierre lifts a hand in a wave as the couple leaves. His eyes are fixed on the screen as he tries to comprehend the gravity your words carry.

After months of waiting in agony and wondering if you still cared, you’d texted him.

He had no idea how he managed to keep his feet on the floor. He was completely weightless, reading your message over and over again until it sinks in.

He takes the three simple words as permission to finally delve back into your life, immediately scrolling through your instagram to catch up. He double taps every post save for the ones with you and some tall, handsome guy. His stomach twists.

Fuck it. Even if you just wanted to catch up, he'd take it. If you told him you were with someone else and you were happy, he'd learn to live with it. He was starved of you and was prepared to beg for crumbs of your life.

I'm fine. You have time for a phone call?

It was a leap but he acknowledged and accepted the risks.

Yeah. That would be good.

You pick up on the second ring.

"Hey."

Pierre squeezes his eyes shut, pushing back the lump in his throat. Years of memories rush over him in the space of a breath. The shock in your voice when you found out he was a driver for the first time. Your smile and breathless laugh when you met him in the garage in Brazil after his first podium in Formula 1. The tentative glances he had thrown your way for months after he finally accepted that he had begun to fall for you. The way your velvet lips felt when he made a gamble and kissed you for the first time. The drunken lilt of your voice when you told him you loved him that night in London.

Before he can stop it the bad comes rushing back too. The memory of the terror on your face when he let it slip that you were together sends a chill through him. If there was one moment he could change, it wouldn’t be the time he fucked up and lost his seat at Red Bull. It would be to keep his damned mouth shut at that karting track and preserve the bliss of that day and tuck it away in a bulletproof case that he could pull out and look at whenever he wanted.

"Hey you," he manages, silently thanking whoever is listening that he keeps the tremble out of his voice. "Been awhile."

"Yeah," you say sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," he says quickly. "You never need to apologize to me."

You were the last one that needed to apologize for anything. He should be the one beginning for forgiveness. It was his fault you’d panicked. He should have fought harder for you, proved that he could make it work and save you both from months of heartache. But then again, maybe you had moved on. He couldn’t expect you to wait for him forever.

He doesn’t realize he’s been silent for so long until you clear your throat. For the first time he can recall, the silence is thick and heavy with unspoken words. It had always been effortless, the stories and words flowing like a babbling brook between the two of you. Now the confessions on his tongue remain poised there, too terrified to give them the light of day.

"How's your season been?" He’s thankful you break the quiet first but the question makes his stomach sink.

"You haven't been watching?"

"Not really."

"Oh." It made sense that you would distance yourself from him and that was fine, but he couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. "It's been decent. Red Bull wants me to come to Milton for contract discussions this week, actually."

"You're moving back up?"

"Potentially." Horner had only called him earlier that week to discuss the potential of him returning to Red Bull next year. The informal agreement was that if he could make seventh in the championship in a midfield car, they would bump him back for the following season.

It wasn’t a concrete guarantee- that’s why Horner wanted to speak with him in person. He had a year left in his contract and being in a Red Bull meant he would be able to prove his worth to other teams and potentially secure a world championship worthy seat at a team that actually appreciated his talent.

He draws a breath before continuing, "I'll be in London on Monday. You know- if you wanna get together."

You stay silent for a touch too long and he panics. It was too soon. He should have kept his mouth shut because now he’d driven you away again. “Nevermind, forget I said anything-"

"No," you interrupt, "no, I'd love to see you and catch up. I don't have classes on Tuesdays. Have any free time then?"

His eyes slide shut and he exhales. The flack he would undoubtedly catch for shuffling around a few interviews would be worth it to see you. "Yeah. I can swing by your apartment around seven?"

"Okay," you say, a touch of excitement lacing your voice. "I'll make myself presentable."

"I-" he stops himself before the words can slip past his lips. "I'll see you then."

*********

Pierre blows out a breath and adjusts his backpack. He stands at the threshold of your building, keys in hand, unsure if he should let himself in. The dilemma had kept him rooted to the spot for nearly ten minutes now, weighing the pros and cons of his options.

“Hey you, blond fucker.” Pierre whips around and is met by Daniel’s girlfriend glaring up at him from the sidewalk. She tips her head to the side to study him. Apparently he wasn’t the only one that had to cancel plans to be here tonight. “You gonna grow a pair and go up there or just keep staring at the door all day?”

“I’m going,” he grumbles, “are you?”

“Oh, I was going to but clearly whatever you have planned is more important.” Her grin splits her face ear to ear. “About damn time she got ahold of you. I was getting sick of listening to her gripe about you twenty four seven.”

“Didn’t she tell you I was coming by? If you guys have plans I can come back later.”

She waves a hand and dismisses the offer. “Absolutely not. Go get your girl.”

“She’s not-” The glare she cuts him snatches the words from his mouth. She makes a shooing motion before setting off down the sidewalk, munching on whatever snacks were in her shopping bag.

Pierre shakes out his hands and tries to gather the courage to use his key. The hopeless romantic argued that you would expect him to use it because you would know he still had it. The rational side of him butts in to point out that it might catch you off guard if he showed up without warning. He settles on buzzing your unit, your answer fuzzy from the distortion.

"Pierre?"

Even with the warbly static in your voice, his name on your lips is the salvation he’s been dreaming about for months. "Yeah it's me."

"Don't you have a key?"

"I wasn't sure if I should use it."

You don't answer, instead letting the buzz of the electronic lock do the talking. He takes the stairs three at a time, barely winded by the time he reaches the third floor. He doesn't even have to knock, your door swinging open as he steps up. The sight of you knocks the breath from his lungs.

It didn't matter that you were in a simple hoodie and jeans, feet bare and hair swept back in a low bun. You are the most beautiful person he's ever seen and after months apart he nearly falls to his knees then and there to beg for your forgiveness, to get lost in you until two souls became one and he never had to live another second apart from you.

"Are you gonna stand there or do you wanna come in?"

God, he had missed your teasing jabs. His fingers ache for contact with your soft skin and he curls them into a fist to resist the urge. “Coming in,” he says softly, purposefully brushing your arm as he skirts past you. Every inch of him sings from the barely there touch, his soul aching for more.

Just stepping foot into your quaint flat has the weight he had been carrying on his chest for months beginning to ease up. Nothing beat the elation of being back where he belonged, not even spraying champagne from the top step on a podium.

Determined not to scare you off before he could have a proper conversation with you, Pierre opts for falling into the same humor you had used earlier. The corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Is that takeout I smell?"

You nod, your cheeks turning a pale pink. “I got you two orders of beef lo mein. I figured you might be hungry.”

As if summoned, his stomach growls. “Yeah. I haven’t eaten since breakfast."

“Figures,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief as you settle into the plush carpet and pull a takeout box towards you. "I got it from that place across town, the one you liked best." Pierre perches on the edge of the sofa and snags the plastic tray with his name on it, eyes never leaving yours.

Now that you were mere feet from him he found it increasingly difficult to deny himself the relief of kissing you here and now. He wanted to trace his thumb over your lips before replacing it with his own, to slot his mouth over yours until time was nothing and he was no one other than yours.

You clear your throat and drop his gaze first, sending him crashing back to reality. “So, ninth huh? Glad to see you cracked the top ten.”

Pierre scrunches his nose and spears a piece of broccoli. He was shit with chopsticks but you always got a kick out of him fumbling with them. “Not where I’d like to be but I’ll take it. Horner took notice obviously, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

“I think an invitation to Milton Keynes is enough reason to hope," you say around a mouthful of sticky rice.

This interaction was reason to hope. The fact that you were once again on speaking terms, that things were finally returning to some semblance of normal, was enough for him to believe that one day everything would be back to how it was before. That maybe, just maybe, he could hold you in his arms again and fall asleep to the soundtrack of your heart beating in his ear.

Remembering the guy from your instagram, he scans the room for any sign of a male companion. Finding none, he asks, “How’s your boyfriend?”

It probably would have been a good idea to go about this particular line of questioning with a bit more tact. Inquiring so blatantly betrayed his inner thoughts, laid all his cards on the table. He didn't have it in him to care, not when his world might be turned upside down by your answer.

“Oh, you mean Peter?” You sip your water, seemingly working up the courage to explain. Each moment that the silence dragged on it became more of a physical monster. Pierre could feel it growing until it threatened to sink his claws in him and drag him deeper into the pits of his insecurity.

“If that’s his name, yeah.” Pierre braces himself for whatever comes next, reminding himself to be happy for you no matter what you choose. It would take time but he could put aside what he still felt for you and learn to accept your choice if it meant staying in your life.

You shake your head. “He’s a friend from uni. He’s not my boyfriend. At least not anymore.”

“Oh,” he says, frowning down at his food to cover the way his heart skips. “But he was?”

He had expected you to move on, if he was being honest. No way in hell did you deserve to be as miserable as he had been since you'd left- you deserved all the happiness he couldn't seem to give you and more. And if someone else had been the one to grant you that happiness, he should thank them.

“For a little while,” you say softly, like it would cushion the blow. “It didn’t feel right.”

He was familiar with that feeling. Nothing he did felt right after the break up. Just about the only thing that kept him sane was telling himself that you’d come to your senses sooner or later.

And now that he was here, his world was beginning to right itself.

“Earth to Pierre,” you say teasingly, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I just- I’ve missed this,” he says, picking at his food.

“What, eating subpar takeout in my tiny apartment?” You laugh and stuff another bite in your mouth. God, you could be so oblivious. It was one of the many things he adored about you.

“I do. I miss doing anything that involves you, actually.”

There it was. His heart laid bare before you for the second time, waiting to see how you would respond. You set down your chopsticks and wipe your lips. His eyes track their movement as you whisper, “I’ve missed you too.”

Four syllables and he melts. It takes all he has to keep himself from sobbing with relief. It was everything he had come here hoping to hear. He couldn’t endure this again, couldn’t lose you for a second time-

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he pleads, body thrumming with the need to wrap you in his arms. “Don’t put me through this again unless you’re here to stay.”

He wasn't strong enough to tell you to stop. He would let you wreck him and he would be completely powerless to stop it. He would welcome it if it meant you granting him a sliver of your time. It would ruin him for anyone else but he didn’t have it in him to turn you away.

You rise to your feet and pad around the low table until you’re standing knee to knee, his neck craned up to study your face. You just keep looking at him, the leash on his carefully controlled restraint slipping as he rambles, “Because I can’t take it if you leave me again, I won’t-”

You simply nod, as if that’s all the answer he should need. But it’s not enough. “Tell me,” he pleads. “Tell me you mean it.”

He didn’t care that he was begging. He didn’t care that you had reduced his normally impenetrably stoic mentality to a jumble of you. If he was being honest with himself, you were the light of his life, the reason he pushed so hard for results on track. Everything had gone black and white when you left and racing had been the only thing keeping him from falling apart at the seams. The need to make you proud still propelled him forward even if he'd had no idea if you still cared.

So no, he didn’t care at all that he was practically on his knees. He would grovel at your feet for his entire life if it meant you’d grant him one more day to be with you.

“I mean it,” you murmur and place a hand on his cheek. He draws a shaky breath, leaning into you. Home, home, home, his head screams, acutely aware of every square inch of contact between the two of you.

“I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and I’ve finally come to terms with it- your lifestyle. If I love you, I have to accept it being public. I have to build myself a shelter to withstand the storm, but I’ll make it big enough for two.”

It takes everything in him to keep from crushing you to his chest and never letting go. He had to ask, had to be certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was forever. “Promise me you won’t leave again if things get hard. Promise me we’ll get through whatever they throw at us together.”

“I promise. I’m not afraid anymore,” you murmur. Pierre’s head falls forward to rest on your hip bone, your fingers threading in his hair. “Daniel’s girlfriend helped me see that it doesn’t matter what anyone says. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I haven't been the same since I…”

“Neither have I.” His thumb winds under your shirt to sweep over your soft skin. “You’re safe with me, you know that right? I can protect you from whatever they say and you’re right, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is this-” he finally lets himself look up at you- “what we have. I’ve never stopped loving you, not once.”

Your smile is soft and tentative as you climb into his lap. His hands slide up your sides to pull you closer, refusing to let an inch separate you now that you’d bridged the gap. “I promise I’m not going anywhere. I learned my lesson.”

You lean down to ghost your lips over his brow, his closed eyelids, his nose. He can feel himself reconstructing under your touch, that final piece of the puzzle clicking home after being lost for so long. “I promise that I’m yours until the last star falls from the sky.”

He had lost four months of time with you. He wouldn't allow another second to slip through his fingers.

Anticipating his movements, you meet him halfway. Fireworks explode as his lips finally return home and his world is finally, finally righted. Your nails scratch lightly at the nape of his neck, drawing him impossibly closer as your body moulds against his. He had nearly forgotten how perfectly your curves fit against him after all this time. He was determined to memorize every mountain and valley of you by the night's end.

His hands grip your thighs and he stands. Your arms automatically wind around his neck to keep from falling. He carries you to the kitchen and sets you on the edge of the island, never breaking the kiss. Nothing mattered outside of this apartment; not his career, not any baseless gossip, nothing existed beyond the space where your skin met his.

Pierre pulls back long enough to remove his shirt. Your fingers dance over his skin, relearning the planes of his chest like you had all the time in the world. And you did; he would stay here as long as you let him, reveling in the way you drank up every inch of his body like it was the first time you’d seen it.

“I love you,” you say as he kisses along your jaw.

How many times had he dreamt of you whispering that to him the past four months? How many times had it echoed in his head before a race, taunting him? He could scarcely believe his mind wasn’t playing more tricks on him now. He had to be certain it was real.

“Say it again,” he breathes. “Please. Please, tell me again.”

“I love you,” you repeat, punctuating each word with a kiss. “I love you Pierre, my champion, my heart, my everything.”

Pierre groans against your mouth, knotting his fingers in your hair and tugging your head back to expose your throat. He nips at the soft skin, not caring that he was leaving a trail of tiny marks in his wake. His focus was entirely on the gasps he was dragging from you with each touch, your heels digging into his ass and begging for him to be closer.

"My sweet, kindhearted man," you continue breathlessly. He didn't know if the words were for your benefit or his. "My best friend. My one and only love."

In that moment, you could ask him to bring you a star from the midnight sky and he wouldn't stop until he found a way to make it happen. You could ask for his last dollar and he would hand it to you with a smile on his face, completely enthralled with the way his name sounds on your tongue, professing that you still wanted him as much as he wanted you.

You were his undoing.

“Off,” he growls, tugging at your sweatshirt. You obey instantly and fling it aside, neither of you caring when dishes clatter to the tile floor and undoubtedly break. Your jeans follow suit after he helps you slip out of them. He runs his fingers over the delicate black lace of your bra and panties and pauses to appreciate that you knew exactly where the night would lead.

His cock twitches as you reach between your bodies to run a knuckle over his clothed length. “Your turn.” You undo the button with practiced ease, taking your sweet time as his breath comes in ragged gasps. He’d had a taste of you and hadn’t forgotten how you’d felt around him. He needed you more than he needed the air he breathed, his desperation taking over as he swats your hand aside and strips off his jeans and boxers himself.

He drops to his knees and grips your thighs, pulling you forward until your center is inches from his face. The yelp that escapes you is intoxicating, your hands flying back to catch yourself. His teeth sink none too gently into the flesh of your thigh and he’s rewarded with a moan before he flicks his tongue over the hurt.

Your head falls back and Pierre places one of your legs over his shoulder. “Mon amour,” he purrs, garnering your attention. Your head lolls forward and he waits until you meet his gaze to speak again. “You know I love you, right?”

“I never doubted it,” you confirm, lips curling in a smile. “But why don’t you prove it to me again?”

He pulls your panties aside and blows lightly. You groan, thighs tensing under his fingers as your toes curl and he chuckles. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Do you really want to tease me?”

“What I want,” he says sharply, “is to have you moaning my name until it's the only word you know.” His tongue flicks out to dance over your thigh, dangerously close to where he knows you want him. “What I want is to make up for lost time.” He rips through the thin lace of your panties and lets the ruined scraps fall to the floor.

“Those were expensive.”

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

He would buy you an entire lingerie store if he could rip every set of it off you. He didn’t care how much it costed, it was never too much when it came to you.

“What I want most, my love,” he murmurs, smiling when his hot breath curls over your dripping cunt and you squirm, “is to forget everything else and stay here forever.”

You cry out when his tongue finally flicks through your folds. Pierre hums approvingly at your reaction, one arm snaking up to pin your hips in place. He sucks lightly at your clit and your fingers tangle in his hair.

“P-Pierre,” you breathe. He pulls back and you whine at the loss of contact. He grins up at you, the wickedness of it dragging the moan from your lips that he was after. He was drunk on the sound, desperate to hear it again and again.

“There’s my good girl.” He runs his tongue flat over your sex, savoring the taste as you squirm under him. You let out a choked noise when he repeats the motion before fucking you with his tongue, his nose hitting your clit with each stroke.

He doesn’t miss the way your lip wobbles and Pierre knows you’re ready to cry with frustration. He decides he’s tortured you enough for now and relents, putting two fingers in his mouth to wet them before plunging them inside you.

His mouth is spelling his name on your clit a moment later, your walls already clamping down on his fingers as your orgasm nears. In the handful of times he’d taken you to bed, he had already learned that when your head rolls back like that and your breathing stops, you’re seconds away from climaxing. He doesn’t let up until you’re shaking beneath him, finally slowing to work you through your orgasm without making you hypersensitive.

“Baby,” you groan breathlessly. Pierre slowly withdraws his fingers and wipes them on his thigh before pressing a final, tender kiss to your center that makes you jump.

“Use my name,” he demands, uncoiling to his full height. He grips your wrist and hauls your boneless body up, wrapping his other arm around your shoulders to keep you upright.

“Pierre,” you murmur and he grinds his hips against you in approval. He captures your mouth with his, taking advantage of your hazy mind to lazily explore it.

You hum into the kiss, managing to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. Suddenly the column of your neck is all he can think about and he wraps a hand around it, squeezing with enough force that you pull back with a gasp.

“Too much?” He murmurs, lessening his grip. Your brows knit together and your lower lips juts out, begging for him to take it between his teeth. He leans in and gives in to the impulse as he swipes his thumb under your jaw.

“Tell me if you want my hand on your throat, my love. I need to hear you say it.”

“Please,” you say finally. Your eyes are cloudy when they meet his. “Keep it there.”

He shows his approval in the form of a light squeeze. You angle your hips up, nudging his cock with your center. You reach a hand down to wrap around his shaft and drag the head through your folds, teasing him as he had done to you. The grip on your throat tightens to a point bordering blissfully between pain and pleasure, both a warning and an order to continue.

If you knew how close he was to flipping you on your stomach and slamming into you, you’d call him crazy. Or maybe you’d like it, judging by the way your head falls back as he rocks his hips and inches into you.

You both moan when he decides the time for restraint has passed and he slams into you. You lift your hips to meet his with every thrust, clearly missing this just as much as he had. God, he’d lost months of fucking you, of feeling you clench around him and writhe beneath him. If he could stay like this forever he would, his hand around your neck and cock splitting you open as he laps up your moans like sweet candy.

“I’m- Pierre,” you squeak out, and he knows you’re barreling towards your second orgasm of the night. He pulls you up by your neck until you’re eye to eye and forced to look at him.

“Come for me,” he whispers, slamming into you again and again. “Come on my cock mon amour and I might just cum inside you.”

His words are your undoing, pleasure rippling from you in waves as your mouth falls open in a silent plea. He grants you no clemency as your cunt twitches around him, instead following through on his promise and following your lead.

You pants mix with his own as he struggles to keep both of you upright, his knees turned to jelly. Your head rests on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to your temple, slowly pulling out of you. A pitiful whimper escapes your throat involuntarily.

“I know,” Pierre murmurs, reaching over to start the kitchen sink. He wets a clean cloth and runs it between your legs, still supporting you as he doesn’t trust that your legs won't give out if he doesn’t. When it’s clear you can barely form a coherent thought, he scoops you in his arms and carries you to your room. He nudges the bathroom door open with his hip and sets you on the vanity.

The absence of his body heat makes you shiver when he goes to turn on the shower, adjusting the knobs until he’s satisfied with the temperature. He gathers you in his arms and steps into the tub, your sigh audible as the warm water hits your skin.

“Can you stand?” he murmurs before kissing your temple. You nod against his chest and he sets you down, keeping his hands on your waist just in case. You’re thankful for it when your knees wobble, a hand flying out to steady yourself.

“I’m okay,” you say after a beat and grin up at him. “I can stand, promise.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m taking my hands off you,” he says, grinning right back. “At least not for long.” He reaches over your shoulder for the shampoo and gestures for you to turn around. You obey, tipping your head back to wet your hair. A blissful sigh escapes you when his fingers meet your scalp, the cherry blossom scent blooming in the air as he works it into a lather.

Taking care of you was just as satisfying as the sex was. He cherished the intimacy of taking this small burden from your shoulders. The seemingly simple task was one of deep seated trust and it proved to him that your love ran bone deep. There was a level of trust in you letting him wash you that he didn't want to have with anyone else. It was reserved for you and you alone.

“Close your eyes,” he warns before guiding your head back under the water for a rinse. He cups a hand to your forehead to keep the soap from your eyes. Your smile is soft but unrestrained as you lean further into him until your back is pressed to his chest.

You both stay silent as he runs the creamy conditioner through the ends of your hair. His hand cups your jaw and tips your head back for a lazy kiss before he rinses that too and cuts the tap.

Once you're wrapped in a fuzzy white towel he finally dries himself off, fighting off a chill. He doesn't realize you're watching him until he turns around and notices you standing in the doorway.

"What?"

You push off the wall and pad back to where he stands to wrap your arms around his middle. His thumb traces patterns on your shoulder, perfectly content to stand there dripping on the tile until morning.

When it's clear you're lost in thought he speaks up. "What's on your mind?"

"When did you know you loved me?"

"Like the exact moment?" He asks, caught off guard. You nod against his chest.

"When you visited me in Milan last summer," he says a few heartbeats later. That night insisted on making guacamole at two in the morning and woke me up because you couldn't find a lime. You told me you couldn't sleep because it was all you could think about after you saw that couple at the cafe eating it."

"Why then?"

"Because I knew I didn't have a lime but I was fully prepared to knock on every door in the building to find you one. Because in that moment all that mattered was seeing your face light up when I handed it to you and knowing that it was me that made you smile like that. I knew then that I’d do anything for you."

It still amazed him how a lime of all things was the tipping point. In that moment, a lime was important to you and it so naturally became important to him. If anyone else had woken him from his deep sleep he would have grumbled and told them off. But you, seeing your face inches from his, the light from the hall casting a warm halo around your frame as you whispered his name, he hadn’t cared at all.

"But then I found the juice in the fridge," you recall and glance up at him.

"Yeah, you did. And you felt so bad for waking me up- you had no idea that I had already fallen so hard that I had to keep myself from shutting you up with a kiss.”

The easy admission seems to stir something in you and you rise up on your tiptoes to press your lips to his. “I knew that time you sent food to my dorm at midnight when I was pulling an all nighter. I was studying for my calculus final, remember?”

Pierre nods. “I was in Barcelona. You weren’t answering your phone so I sent a message with the takeout guy.” He had been wholly enamored with you at that point, having quickly learned that trying to keep his feelings buried deep was an option that would never work. So he leaned into it, letting little bits of it shine through in hopes that you might pick up on it.

Your laugh rumbles through him. “It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for me. I hadn’t eaten all day. I was too nervous.”

“Took us long enough to figure it out didn’t it?” He untangles himself from you and leads you to bed.

“I’m just glad we did eventually.” You let him guide you to the mattress while he stays standing and goes to your closet. He hunts for the shirt he wants to see you in, praying you hadn’t gotten rid of it. He finally finds it tucked back in the corner and pulls it out, the cobalt blue fabric a little faded from how often you’d worn it over the years.

“I remember that,” you say softly as he returns with it and slips it over your head.

It was the first shirt he had ever gotten upon entering Formula 1 and somehow you had wound up snagging it from his closet while he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen during that same trip to Milan. He had choked on his guac when you reappeared wearing it, eyes lingering on the Torro Rosso logo on the chest and his name splayed across your back like a claiming.

"I don't have sweatpants for you anymore," you point out with an apologetic wince. "I got rid of them."

Pierre just shrugs and hands you the shirt. "I have a change of clothes in my backpack. I was planning on working out to blow off some steam if…"

He trails off and you nod in silent acknowledgement. He didn’t have to voice the thought, you were already in his head and knew exactly what he meant. Unable to help himself, he kisses your head just because he can before retrieving his bag from the kitchen. "I have something for you," he says and lets the towel around his waist drop.

You let out a low whistle and grin at him as your eyes slide over every inch of his body. He takes more time than necessary to pull out his shorts, appreciating your gaze. You're still watching him as he slips them on and brings his bag to you.

"Do you wanna see what I got you or are you gonna stare at me all night?"

"I think I'll stare."

Pierre rolls his eyes and chuckles, plopping down next to you. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

You do as he asks but not before cocking a brow at him. Knowing the sound of the package will give it away, he does his best to draw out the first item as quietly as he can. The second he sets it in your hands a smile splits your face. He'd tear down the energy station with his bare hands to keep that expression on your face.

"It's candy." Your eyes open and you gasp. "Laffy taffy? But you can only get this-"

"In the states," He finishes. “I got as much as the store had.” The chewy, fruity candy was your absolute favorite and every once in a while you craved it. His backpack was currently stuffed full of it and various other packages of sweets, having been collected at every gp he had been to since Austin.

You tear into the package and dig for a pink one. You hold it out to him triumphantly and somehow, it’s that simple gesture that makes him melt. “You like the strawberry ones don’t you?”

“Yes baby, I do.” He lets you pop the sweet in his mouth - Pyry would certainly not approve- and grins at you. “If you eat too many before bed you won’t be able to sleep.”

“It’s still early,” you point out but don’t hesitate to set the sweets aside and cuddle up to him when he lays back. “Got somewhere to be?”

“I have to be at Milton by eight,” he says, wrapping an arm around your middle. “But you’re coming with me.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @ricciartodododo

If you have asked to be tagged in the past and I missed you I apologize! Just comment below and I’ll get you added for future updates. Thanks for reading ❤

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no-stabbing-wednesdays · 4 years ago

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The Conspiracy Job

I made a post about the “Eliot’s semi-famous identities” conspiracy here and @what---i-dated-a wanted a fic, which got my muse going. So, here it is, and also on AO3

An amazing version of the same concept by @copperbadge was linked in the notes and I recommend you all read that too! The Job Interview Job

The Conspiracy Job

“Oh, not again!”

The others, busy drawing up plans for their latest con, looked over at Hardison.

“What is it?” Sophie asked.

He brought his display up on the large screen at the front of the room.

“Someone’s just searched a bunch of Eliot’s old aliases, all at the same time.”

Parker frowned as she looked at the screen. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Eliot was on his feet immediately, concern clear on his face.

“Who is it? CIA? FBI? KGB? Mossad?”

“Give me a second,” Hardison said. “No, I don’t think so. They’re not being flagged on any databases. Someone’s just googling them.”

Eliot relaxed slightly and rolled his eyes. “It’s not those damn conspiracy forums, is it? I thought you got rid of those.”

“I did! They haven’t posted anything, they’re just looking. Oh, they’re here in Portland.”

Eliot tensed again at that, but Hardison shook his head.

“Relax, man. It’s a family house; a couple of dentists and a fifteen year old. If they post anything I’ll take it down, nothing to worry about.”

On the other side of Portland, Julia stepped into her friend Marcie’s bedroom and her eyes widened as she took in the scene before her. Marcie was connecting red threads between grainy, printed-out images on her corkboard and empty bottles of Gatorade littered the desk.

“You have to cool it with this, dude.”

Marcie turned to face her, her hair a mess and her eyes red from lack of sleep, and Julia sighed.

“You look like freaking Charlie Kelly!”

“There’s something here, Jules. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s a couple of athletes and a singer who happen to look similar. It’s hardly the scoop of the century.”

“Look similar? Look similar? Julia, they are completely identical! There are exactly three possibilities.” She held up three fingers in her friend’s face as she counted them off. “Triplets, clones or one ridiculously talented guy.”

“Okaaay, and which one do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” Marcie answered, turning back to her board. “Triplets? Why would they have different names and hide it? One guy? He’d have to be able to sing and play guitar, baseball and hockey. Why wouldn’t you own up to having that kind of talent? Why go to different places with different names? Clones? I’m leaning clones.”

“Clones? Come on, Marcie.”

“It’s the most logical explanation.”

“You think someone cloned a human being just to create a one-hit-wonder country singer and some short lived athletes?”

Marcie shrugged. “It could be a trial run or an experiment or something. And you remember that anything I ever said on the forums would mysteriously vanish? I went to look after Jacques Labert turned up and every single forum post was gone! Every one! Doesn’t that sound like a government conspiracy to you?”

“It’s weird,” Julia admitted. “But I think you might be taking this a little too far. If the government were making clones, why would they let them get famous so people could discover it?”

“But they weren’t that famous. Think about it, what were the chances that someone would connect them? There were only ever a couple of us posting on the forums. If I hadn’t happened to be visiting my uncle in Palmerston when Roy Chappell was playing and then gone to Saddle and Spurs for my birthday, I’d never have known.”

Her eyes widened as a horrifying thought occurred to her . “Then Jacques Labert turned up in my city! What if I’m the connection?”

She swung back to the board and began to write her own name. Julia grabbed her hand.

“Marcie! You’re not the center of a government conspiracy! Besides, who’s this fourth guy again?” She asked, tapping one of the photos in the corner. “You didn’t have anything to do with him, did you?”

“No,” Marcie conceded. “And I told you about him, remember? He’s an animal rights activist who was on the news in San Lorenzo a couple of years ago, talking about dog fights in the Presidential Palace. And he’s Canadian. That’s why it’s so exciting that, after almost two years of nothing new, Jacques Labert, Canadian hockey player, suddenly appears. Was the guy on the news Jacques Labert? If there really is more than one of them in the first place!”

Julia grimaced, increasingly worried about Marcie’s obsession with this wild conspiracy. “He was on the news where?”

“San Lorenzo. It’s this tiny European country. Here look.” Marcie sat at her desk, tapped the name into Google and turned her laptop towards Julia.

Julia scrolled through a few pictures of the idyllic Mediterranean island, then stopped suddenly and pointed at one of them.

“Wait, who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Rebecca Ibañez. It’s a tragic story,” Marcie explained, as she clicked on the link and showed her some clearer pictures. “A couple of years ago, the same time maybe-Jacques Labert was there, there was an election and her fiancé won. But, just as the results were announced, supporters of the former president tried to assassinate him and Rebecca stepped in front and took the bullet for him.”

“She was assassinated?”

“Yes, isn’t it awful?”

Julia shook her head. “She can’t have been.”

“What?”

“She’s my brother Zachary’s acting teacher.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I went to see his play last week and I met her. Her name’s Sophie Devereaux and she’s definitely not dead.”

Marcie looked at her in amazement, a grin breaking out across her face . “And she was in San Lorenzo at the same time as Jacques-Roy-Kenneth! There might be even more to this than I thought!”

Julia, almost as invested as Marcie now that her brother’s odd director was mixed up in this, pulled up a chair and looked on excitedly as her friend brought up another google search.

Back at the Brewpub, the crew were working out the kinks in their plan while waiting for any sign of the internet sleuth trying to share their ideas about Eliot’s multiple identities.

When the computer pinged again, they all turned to see which of his aliases had been flagged this time, only for their eyes to widen in horror as the search term flashed on the screen.

“Rebecca Ibañez” “Sophie Devereaux”

Sophie gave a gasp that almost turned into a choke. “Wha- wha- what?”

Eliot turned to Hardison, furious. “Oh sure, just dentists and a teenager! Fix. This.”

“I’m trying!” Hardison said. “I can’t find any connections to anything. They look clean.”

“Then look harder!”

Wait, I have something. It’s the kid’s computer.”

“Who’s the kid?” Nate asked.

Hardison pulled up a Facebook page. “Marcie Taylor. She’s a sophomore. She used to post on those stupid Eliot forums that I had to take down every week after Memphis. It was pretty harmless, but I’ve no idea why she’s suddenly looking at Sophie’s aliases.”

He scrolled down the page looking for any kind of hint, when Sophie called out to him to stop.

“Who’s that with her? She looks familiar.”

A few more clicks and Hardison had a name.

“Julia Gutmann. She’s in the same class.”

Gutmann?” Sophie groaned. “I know why she’s familiar. That’s Zachary’s little sister.”

“Zachary? Your acting student Zachary?” Nate asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, she came to our play last week.”

Nate shook his head. “I told you to use an alias at that theater.”

“But I wanted to do this as me,” Sophie protested.

Eliot turned back to Hardison. “So, let me get this straight. The aliases and digital trail that you set up to be uncrackable by international governmental organizations are about to be blown apart by a couple of high schoolers?”

Hardison glowered at him. “They’re only looking at old aliases and they were all burnt when we had to leave Boston anyway. It’s not that bad.”

“Sophie’s still using Sophie,” Eliot argued, nearly yelling now. “And I was only just Jacques Labert and in this city. Now they’ve tied me and her together. How did they even do that? That’s way more than some fifteen year old girls should be able to accomplish on Google.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t panic. They were looking at photos of San Lorenzo. That’s how they found a picture of Sophie."

Sophie glared at him.

"Hey!" he protested. "You're the one who jumped in front of the cameras! I can't control the entire internet you know, and I think the people of San Lorenzo would have noticed if every image of their martyred heroine suddenly vanished.

“It’s just bad luck that Julia had met you. But why were they looking at…” Hardison groaned. “They found that video of Eliot and the puppy somehow.”

“Why didn’t you take that down?” Eliot snapped.

“It’s a thirty second feature on the news from two years ago in a country smaller than Iceland! It wasn’t my top priority!”

“Dammit, Hardison!”

“So, our cover’s going to get blown by kids?” Parker asked, incredulously.

“No,” Nate insisted. “Well, maybe. But we can manage this. Hardison, don't let them post anything. Sophie, call Zachary. Let’s go steal ourselves some silence.”

#leverage #eliot spencer #the eliot conspiracy #alec hardison #parker #sophie devereaux #nate ford #leverage fic #my fic #this is basically crackfic #purely dumb but hopefully entertaining

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doubleleoenergy · 3 years ago

Text

iii. Cola, Lolita Series

My pussy tastes like Pepsi cola. My eyes are wide like cherry pies. I gots a taste for men who are older. It's always been so it's no surprise

Series Masterlist

Pairing: bestfriendsdad!Andy Barber x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, drinking, age gap (22 vs early 40s), oral (male receiving)

Words: 2419

Summary: Y/N calls Andy from the club and gives him a new lease on life.

Andy Barber is enjoying the most mundane adult evening of his life. It’s a Saturday night, the boys had all decided to go on a camping trip, guys only of course. Y/N was nowhere to be found when he got home from the gym, and he honestly enjoyed the thought of having a quiet night to himself.

He had taken a shower and afterwards had cooked himself a meal for one: steak, baked potato, and a salad. He washed it all down with a glass of wine, one of the aged bottles he had kept when Laurie was moving her stuff out. Andy had sat down on the couch, comfortably sprawled out watching some new action film that Jacob had recommended.

Not a thought ran through his mind as he sat and watched the first half of the movie, and honestly it was nice. He was tempted to turn off the movie and call it an early night, his plans interrupted immediately when he felt his phone buzzing in the pocket of his sweats.

He pulled the phone out and stared at the screen, his heart racing in his chest as he looked at the name displayed. “Hello?” He answered on the third ring, holding the phone up to his ear.

“Hi boss-man Andyyyyy.” Y/N sing-songed on the other line, Kendrick Lamar’s ‘Humble’ blaring loudly through the speakers behind her.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Andy questioned; concern laced in his voice.

“M’not.” She giggled, holding her phone out to yell at some dude that was trying to ask her to dance. “I went to the club downtown with a friend tonight and she left. What a bitch, right? Anyhow, can you pick me up pleaassseeee Andy. An Uber would be like sooooo expensive.” She moved the phone from her ear to shout out some of the lyrics to the song before coming back to the screen.

“Uh, yeah. Send me the address and I’ll come get you. Are you drunk, y/n?” He stands up, walking to his bedroom and shimmying out of his sweats to put on a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt.

“Not drunk, just a bit tipsy, ya know? I’ll be waiting for you on the dance floor!” She screams, and before Andy can protest, she’s hung up the phone, a loud sigh leaving his lips. So much for his mundane adult night at home.

It didn’t take Andy more than fifteen minutes with Google Maps on to get to the club, having a valet at the door park his Audi for him before waiting at the door for the bouncer to let him in. The minute Andy walked inside he was met by flashing lights and a DJ spinning a popular Dua Lipa song. He pushed his way past the crowd of people, eyes scanning for any sign of y/n.

She had mentioned she would be on the dance floor, and the closer he got the harder he looked for her. Finally, after a few moments and mistakenly touching the shoulder of someone with the same hair color and length as her, it was as if the sea of people had parted as his blue hues locked on her. She was obviously gorgeous, every outfit looking stunning on her, but this was something else. It was like the breath was knocked out of his lungs, the two-piece black bodycon skirt and cropped spaghetti-strapped top revealing every curve of her body. Where the seams would normally be sewn on each side of the thin fabric there lay open strips of rhinestones. The rhinestone strips left the sides of her top open to reveal a healthy amount of sideboob, the skirt revealing the curve of her ass, no panties or bra underneath.

Andy couldn’t help but watch her sway to the music. She looked so carefree, minus the occasional guy that she shooed off with a flick of her wrist. After the second guy had approached and left defeated, Andy walked up, tapping her on the shoulder. As soon as she saw him a huge smile spread across her luscious lips.

“Andyyyy.” Her eyes traveled up and down his body, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. She was devouring him with her eyes.

“Hey, y/n, let’s go.” Andy nodded towards the door and y/n let out a huff, grabbing his wrist and tugging him towards her.

“C’mon, dance with me.” She purred, trying to tug him further into the crowd with her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, y/n, besides you’ve had one too many drinks.” He contested, y/n’s eyes rolling back into her head.

“M’not messed up, I’m fully aware of my actions. I even drank some water before you came. Now.” Her tone is filled with lust, motioning him towards her with her finger. “Are you gonna dance with me or what?”

Andy’s head is screaming logically to not do this, she’s Jacob’s friend from school and he was also older than her, and her boss. But before he can protest his feet have a mind of their own and follow her deeper into the crowd on the floor.

He’s not sure what to do, standing there awkwardly as he watches her body shimmying in front of him. The song quickly changes, the new hit by Lil Nas X ‘Montero (Call Me By Your Name)’ blaring out of the speakers.

“C’mere.” The chorus of the song comes and y/n grabs Andy’s hand, tugging him closer to her until she turns so her back is flush against his chest. She moves the hand she’s holding to her waist, tugging the other down to the opposite side before grinding her body back against him.

Holy shit. This is really happening. Andy’s heart is pounding in his chest, rocking his hips forward into her, his hands gripping firmly against her waist now. He can hear her screaming out the lyrics to the song as they dance, tugging at the nape of his neck, craning her own so that she can meet his gaze finally.

Their eyes stay locked as the song ends and another starts, and Andy can feel his painfully hard cock in his jeans. Her eyes move to glance down at his lips and then back up again to his face.

“Come with me.” She whispers, grabbing his hand again and tugging him out of the crowd of people towards the back of the club. Andy is blindly following her, his cock still pressing against the front of his jeans. God, this was so embarrassing.

She snakes her way around the throngs of people until they reach the back wall, the bathroom sign hanging above their heads. The line for the women’s restroom is long, the men’s restroom door a few feet down a separate hallway with not a single soul in sight.

Glancing back at Andy she tugs him towards the door of the men’s restroom, looking inside and under the stalls to ensure that it was completely empty. She pushes open the door fully, motioning him to come in with her.

The heavy door closes behind them, y/n immediately pushing Andy until his back gently hits the wall beside the door.

“I see the way you’ve been looking at me. It’s hard not to notice.” Andy’s expression is a mix of both shock and excitement, his eyes trailing down to meet hers.

“We can’t…” Andy trails off, y/n shushing him with one of her fingers.

“We’re both adults here, and I can make my own decisions. And this is my decision.” Before Andy can protest again, y/n stands up on her tippy toes in her high heels, crashing her lips against his fervently.

He’s confused at first but quickly gives into the kiss, her lips tasting like rum and Pepsi-Cola. His lips melt into hers, moaning into her mouth as she parts her lips, his tongue exploring further. Her hands are roaming first through his hair, tugging lightly as they continue their kiss before roaming them down the taut muscles of his arms.

Finally, she presses her body against his, feeling how hard he is through the denim. She breaks the kiss, eyes wide like cherry pies and lips swollen from their actions.

“Get in the stall.” She commands, nodding her head in its direction. Andy’s breathing is ragged from their kiss, but he does as he’s told, walking into the stall as y/n follows behind and locks it after she enters.

“Have you been thinking about me at night?” She asks, moving to stand in front of him and slowly undoing the buttons on his jeans.

“Wait, what?” He questioned, his cock twitching as the tension of his jeans were removed, y/n pushing them down along with his boxers, his hard cock springing free against his chest.

“I said.” She gripped his cock in her hand, looking up at him. He was definitely way bigger than anyone she had ever been with, which made sense considering Andy was all man, nothing about him being boyish.

“Have you been thinking about me?” She asked again, his breath hitching as she started to pump his cock in her hand, barely being able to grip it.

“Y-yes.” Andy stammered, a groan escaping his lips as she continues to pump him.

“Tell me you want this Andy, and I’ll get down on my knees right now and give you release.” She met his gaze, a choked-out moan escaping his lips.

“Please.” Those were the only words she needed to hear before she dropped down to her knees, the cold tile soothing the heat coming off her body.

“Wanna taste you.” She preened, taking Andy’s cock into her hand and lapping gingerly at the tip. He could’ve come just from the sight of her before him, but he wouldn’t, he wanted to savor this moment.

Y/N held up his cock, licking a stripe from the base to the tip before suckling on the head, eliciting a groan from deep in Andy’s throat. She tasted the precum leaking from his tip, her thighs clenching together. This wasn’t about her pleasure; this was about Andy’s. And she wanted to show him just how seductive she could be.

Her lips curl around his girth, bobbing her head back and forth along his length. He’s not just thick but long, and she struggles to take him down, eyes watering as she brings her face closer and closer to his pelvic bone.

Her eyes look up to meet Andy’s as she pulls off him with a wet pop. “Is this what you wanted? To see my mouth stuffed full of your cock?” She pursed her lips, her core dripping underneath her skirt.

“Yes, god you look so pretty down there. My little Lolita.” He praised, keeping his gaze on her. Her lips curl into a seductive smirk, batting her lashes at him.

“Want you to use me, I know you’ve thought about it. Want you to cum down my throat.” Her words urge him on, his hand grabbing a tight fistful of her hair and guiding her back down onto his cock.

Andy’s not going to last much longer, bucking into her mouth and listening to the sloppy sounds of her gagging on his cock. It’s a beautiful song on her lips and he watches as some of the saliva from her lips runs down her chin and onto the floor.

“Fuck, y/n, m’gonna cum.” As soon as the words leave his lips he’s steadying at the back of her throat, holding her on his cock as he cums deep down her throat, giving her no choice but to swallow. Y/N takes it in stride, swallowing all the sticky substance and milking his cock before letting go of him. She stands back up, taking her thumb and wiping against the corner of her lips, rubbing it across her bottom lip before straightening her outfit.

“It’s late, we should head back.” Y/N turns to unlock the door of the stall while Andy pulls his clothes back on, her eyes meeting a man who she hadn’t heard come into the restroom, standing at the urinal with his jaw agape.

After leaving the bathroom Andy and Y/N burst out laughing about the man in the restroom, walking towards the front door of the club and out to the valet where they waited for his car. As soon as the man at the valet brings his car back, y/n slinks into the passenger seat, tousling her hair with her fingers.

“That was…” Andy trailed off, roaring the car to life and starting down the road towards home. Y/N leaned her head back, looking over at Andy. “That was a one-time thing.” She stated, looking back out the window.

“Are you sure about that?” He quizzed, stopping at the red light on the street and looking back at her.

“Guess it depends on if you’re worth it or not. You’ll have to wait and see.”

Andy didn’t know why, but he wanted more. He wanted much more with her. She made him feel alive, feel young again. She made him feel wanted, something he hadn’t felt with his ex-wife in such a long time before their divorce. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, noticing her shivering in what little fabric that covered her skin. Bringing his hand into the backseat, he reaches out and pulls out one of his buttons up work shirts, handing it over to her.

“You’re cold, put this on.” She silently thanks him, pulling the shirt on and buttoning it halfway, the shirt smelling strongly of his cologne. They sat silently for the rest of the ride home, y/n looking out the window as they drove.

After about five minutes of silence they arrived back at the house, walking through the door in the garage and into the house. She knows things are complicated now, but she doesn’t care. She’s lived her life free as a bird, boys wanting her but never acquiring her. What would be the difference now?

“Thanks for coming to get me.” Her voice is soft and honest, turning to look up at him. They’re inches from each other again, Andy closing the distance this time to kiss her lips, y/n pulling back with a smile.

“Goodnight Andy.” She heads towards the stairs, turning back to look over her shoulder one last time at him. “Oh, and feel free to jerk off to thoughts of me any time.”

Tagging those who may be interested. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list: @midnightf @my-divine-death @saamwilsonn @fierylibraa @fuckandfluff @rattlemyb0nes @rootcrop @goldenboysteve @turtoix @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @ccmarvelxx

#doubleleoenergyseries: lolita #DLE Series: Lolita #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x reader #andy Barber x reader smut #andy Barber #andy barber smut

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herstarburststories · 4 years ago

Text

illicit love

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader

Summary: Jensen loves you, but sometimes love isn’t the right thing.

A/N: Hey, guys! All we needed was a newish fic to say that I was really back, here it is! This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr 6k challenge. So glad you got to another millestone, honey. It's like I was posting my part for your 5k celebration just yesterday! xD Prompt in bold.

Warnings: age gap, cheating

Jensen Ackles kept squinting through the bricks of his memory in an attempt to recall where it all began. Maybe it was when he drove off the road he had known for years with the dumbfounded desire to take the trails yet traveled, threading his fingers through your hair on the night of September 7th. He could’ve chosen the easy out and say it all started to crumble with the first kiss, but no. The actor, father, and now horrible husband highly doubted that. No, as he unwound the convoluted wires in his mind, it wasn’t the first clandestine meeting that he saw as the beginning, not the first kiss or the primal stolen glances. It wasn’t even the lies or the way he pushed his body against yours in an act of illicit faith.

Like any grand mistake, it was way before that. Just like how the church not-so-gently advised, it all starts with craving something you never thought you would want.

It happened when he landed the job in a new series after leaving a fifteen-year-long rollercoaster, pushing away any real witness to the fact the old show that swallowed part of his soul was over. There was a certain shock of excitement misplaced by the fact he was going to be working with Eric again, and that the show was an abrupt change considering what he had been doing previously. Now, he believed it was his body’s particular way of telling him that — as the savage animals can sense rain or a calamity — this, baby, this is gonna change your life.

JENSEN ACKLES CAST AS SOLDIER BOY!

‘’Since when have you read comics?’’ Jensen arched his messy eyebrows at Dee’s curiosity about the Homelander and Soldier Boy panel making it to the screen. Shaking the comic book in his right hand slightly, he continued: ‘’Especially that kind.’’

‘’Never,’’ Danneel stated plainly, “but I have Google. It was pretty much the first thing that appeared.’’

‘’Well, Eric said that scene won't be on the screen. Besides, the portrayal won't be that Soldier Boy, but the original one who died in the war. ‘Course, he wouldn’t have died there in our show, but it ain’t the panel one.’’ He shrugged, bringing her closer to his side as she snuggled against him. ‘’There’ll be a bunch of Herogasm, which is basically drugs and sex. Just not with Homelander.’’

Danneel nodded at his explanation, humor clinging to her words as she added: ‘’Guess the only man I have to share you with is still Jared.’’

‘’Hey, you knew what you were getting yourself into.’’ Jensen scoffed playfully before kissing her cheek. ‘’Can't wait to start the show.’’

Jensen leaned forward to rest the comic that he had been religiously studying to form a psychological character profile on the dashboard of the Impala. The actor was spending plenty of hours inside his most palpable Supernatural souvenir -- Baby. His safe place. He sure as hell needed one of those, as molding a whole character that has a bunch of source material wasn’t as easy as he pictured. With Dean, he was putting himself and the script in one until it made his imaginary best friend. It was love at the first sight. Soldier Boy, however, was a long story short. Jensen figured he should do both, honor the character created and add his own special ingredients to it. It was a brand new kind of passion that he hadn’t done for a series in the longest time. Still, his glance trailed back to the woman by his side in the backseat.

‘’Let's hope it won't last another decade,” she mocked.

Jensen shook his head with a chuckle, relaxing against the leather seat. Even the mere smell of the Impala was enough to settle his nerves. ‘’Eric has plans for five seasons.’’

Danneel’s features contorted as if having war flashbacks. Sort of. She never imagined Supernatural would make it that far, and now with three kids, signing on for another excessively time-consuming idea for a new show didn’t seem too appealing either. Yet, she would support Jensen in any decision he’d take regarding his job. “Remind me the last time I heard that line before?”

‘’Come on.’’ He let out a wry huff, poking her side in a playful manner. She couldn't help but laugh, returning the gesture with tickles to start a very light-hearted battle. He seemed happy with the new job, something Danneel truly thought he would have more difficulty with. She’d pushed her weathered worries away with his easy-going laughter for now.

SOLDIER BOY’S LOVE INTEREST?

Eric Kripke threw the gossip magazine on the table, his eyes not straying from his long-time friend’s. He could’ve simply added the digital article to an irate email and be done with it, but he was a simple man with extravagant taste. That had been usual through his whole career, especially regarding the Supernatural aesthetic. Yet, in those mundane situations, Jensen almost found it too much. That wasn’t the case, though. If anything, the plain, yet still overpowering words that his green eyes scanned made his body sweat. He could even hear his organs working from the absolute silence of the blame that covered the room. Kripke’s room had never seemed more like an interrogation chamber than now.

The magazine in question held Jensen and your picture on the cover, his arms wrapped around your torso as he pulled you close. The most sequin smile hung from your lips like happiness was something that could be touched on that sunny day in the private park near the studio. Giant and garish letters made the headline along with the subline: Jensen Ackles wearing his Soldier Boy costume caught sharing a passionate kiss with the new arrival of The Boy’s Team: Y/N Y/L/N, also known on-screen as Cangaceira!

His voice came out as an accusation: ‘’What’s this, Jensen?’’

‘’We were…’’ The director just waved his hand to interrupt.

‘’Don’t try saying you were practicing a scene because I wrote the Soldier Boy and Cangaceira kiss, and it wasn’t here.’’ Acid tainted his words with no space for fake niceties on his set. Jensen remained in the chair, not even daring to make the most subtle move. Eric knew where he was hitting, and Ackles deserved a punch in the jaw. “The sex scene wasn’t here either, but you two added a lot of erotic subtext. Trust me, I know.’’

His shoulders fell in exhaustion. ‘’Eric…’’

‘’You’re lucky we were going to make those two a couple anyway. I can just put the kiss here and save your ass. What if that wasn’t the case, huh?’’ the director continued, more interested in spilling out his anger than listening to dumb excuses. ‘’What about Danneel, Jensen? You have a wife and kids, for God’s sake!’’

The breaking point. Jensen rose to his feet with sudden frustration, a growl leaving his lips as he pushed the chair to the side with uncharacteristic brutality. How could Eric bring up his family like this? And how could Jensen’s heart not bring them up when he kissed you before? It was all a fucking mess, and he had no choice but to choke down whatever came out of it, even if it was poison and spite.

‘’Fuck, Eric! Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think it doesn’t pull me apart every time I go home and know I’m lying to the people who love me?’’ The vein on his neck popped as he spoke, emotion gushing thicker through his arteries than blood. Woe remerged under his skin as he swallowed dryly, resting his hands on the table and looking down. That wasn’t him. He had done a lot of things that weren't him lately. ‘’I have enough guilt here, pal.’’

Eric just glared down at the man’s outburst, furrowing before asking, ‘’What’s going on, Jay? You don’t just get up and cheat on your wife. That ain’t you.’’

He shook his head. ‘’I don’t know. Y/N’s just…’’

‘’At least 20 years younger than you,” he stated. ‘’Just starting her career and might be getting the homewrecker title if someone finds out.’’

‘’I won’t let that happen.’’

‘’How? You are gonna be more careful or will you cut it out and go back to your wife and three kids?’’ When Ackles didn’t respond, Eric sighed. ‘’Just stop this, Jensen. Let her go.’’

Jensen scoffed humorlessly. ‘’I can’t.’’

Kripke felt like talking to a teenager. He shook his head as he got up. ‘’Do you have any idea what you’re doing here? This could destroy your family, destroy Y/N’s chance to make a name when you already have your own. That’s selfish in all proportions, Jensen!’’

‘’I know, I know.’’

‘’She deserves more than this and —’’

‘’I know.’’

‘’You are gonna mess up everyone’s lives —’’

‘’I know!’’ He slammed the table and winced, turning around with his hands on his head. If only he could stop his thoughts for a second and reorganize his feelings. ‘’Do you think it doesn’t rip my heart out that I can’t love her?’’

‘’Who?’’ The burning question was ready to set everything ablaze. ‘’You can’t love Y/N, or you can’t love your wife anymore, Jensen?’’

He couldn’t love you in public. He couldn’t love Danneel anywhere. Love just escaped through his reaches when you spoke his name like a prayer, and it was time to accept that.

‘’Both.’’

NO CHICK FLICK MOMENTS: SOLDIER BOY AND CANGACEIRA TALK ABOUT WHAT TO EXPECT FROM THEIR RELATIONSHIP

‘’It's amazing to portray with Jensen. I’ve watched Supernatural since I was like twelve, which probably isn't advisable.’’ You chortled, answering the reporter’s question. Your body could barely contain your excitement under your skin, although, why would you want that? You did it. You got the job you had dreamed and worked hard for. To a bonus, you were working with Jensen Ackles! If there was someone that had earned the right to scream to the sky until your face was the color of the red carpet your heels currently stood on, it was you. ‘‘I was even a Samgirl!’’

Jensen faked a gasp next to you, a light spectrum surrounding the interview. ‘’Really? Me too!’’

You pushed his shoulder playfully while he chuckled. ‘’Anyway, I'm very excited to be here and portray a strong latina superhero. The representation’s very important, and to be able not only to cherish it, but to be a part of it doing what I love and inspiring people like me is… mythical.’’

‘’Wow, woman!’’ Ackles pursed his lips, clapping a little before shifting his gaze from you to the reporter. ‘’She likes the big words. I swear, dude. She’ll just come and in like, a casual conversation, say something like gelid or whilst, and then she's gonna say dumbass. Both sound smart as heck.’’

You winked. ''It's the accent. Makes everything sound nice.”’

Jensen nodded but was quick to sprinkle in an incendiary remark to his compliments. ‘’Yeah, I have never seen someone confuse coach and couch before. Go sit on the coach got a lot of wrong ideas.’’

‘’Hey, you sat on the coach!’’

‘’Because I’m a good boy.’’

You rolled your eyes despite the grin on your lips. ‘’Sure, mister hours-to-get-ready.’’

‘’Hey, plenty of face masks are needed to keep this — ’’ He pointed at his face. ‘’at fourteen.’’

‘’All I hear is that you’re old.’’ Your eyebrows knitted together. Jensen licked his lips at the sight. On any other day, he’d pick you up, say I’m gonna show you who’s old, and enjoy where your teasing had gotten you two, but he couldn’t do it now. You’d get what was coming to you after the event, perhaps even under the table if your dress allowed it, or in the bathroom, if you kept going.

The mischievous smirk on your cherry-stained lips proved that you knew what was going through his mind. God, you were his sweet death. Nonetheless, Jensen sighed dramatically and looked at the camera. ‘’This is what I have to deal with every day.’’

The reporter went on, happily surprised about how comfortable you and Jensen seemed together. Usually, new coworkers were timider around each other during interviews, especially when they were a romantic pair. The journalist decided to try getting a little sneak peek of the couple aspects of Soldier Boy and Cangaceira.

‘’It's definitely interesting.’’

‘’But not in the best way.’’ The only thing more messed up than Jensen’s relationship with you was the correlation between your characters. At least you and he had the purity of love, even if it was twisted enough to turn heads and churn stomachs

‘’Certainly not in the best way.’’ You agreed, bringing him back into reality as always. ‘’It's really nice to explore a couple that doesn't consist of two white people getting to it like most main characters of the shows in our current climate. It’s not the kind of relationship you should be rooting for — not because it's interracial or anything, that's pretty much the biggest, if not only, positive aspect about those two — but because they aren’t healthy at all, just as all main relationships in our show. It's not a romance series, and we certainly don't treat our couples like it.’’

‘’Told you she is the beauty and the brains.’’ His cheeks dimpled with joy and pride as he looked at you. Jensen knew how excitedly nervous you were about that interview. He couldn’t wait to tell you how great you were like you were born to sell dreams and magazines. ‘’But yeah, it’s a messed up relationship like any other in The Boys. After all, it's not a respectful, wholesome show. It's about gritty superheroes that ain’t got heroism. Soldier Boy isn't a good guy, and it translates in his relationship too.’’

You nodded in agreement, brushing his arm to keep you sane. ‘’It’ll be an interesting dynamic to see on-screen to our show standards, but it's not an actual picture of how a relationship should be.’’

THE BOYS 100TH EPISODE PARTY!

The glimmer of his green comet eyes caught your undivided attention in the throngs of people. The crowd had gathered for his family, his arm around his wife's waist as you both shared a tender, stolen look. You savored her wine and yearned for the man in her arms.

It was just a small celebration due to COVID’s lasting effects on public events. People from the set and their significants together were in the Ackles house for a couple of drinks, small talk, and a cake with The Boy’s comics printed on it.

‘’Aunt Y/N!’’ JJ tugged your dress, her mix of Danneel and Jensen’s features almost haunting your soul. Almost. You would never despise a kid for that — you didn’t even have the right to. If anything, JJ was the one that would graduate to hating you someday. You didn't have enough youthful stupidity not to know the risks of being in love with a married man. ‘’Auntie!’’

You leaned in the most that you could with the red skirt, glancing at the child. ‘’Yes, honey?’’

‘’That’s my new Barbie! I bought a beach one! She looks like you!’’ the blonde kid said with a childish joy that ached in your heart. You could end up destroying her family’s stability if Jensen went any further, yet there she was; buying dolls that looked like you and so happily babbling about it.

You were a monster. Love opened you up and planted greedy seeds, and now you were a monster growing like a beautiful tree that could never be strong enough to hold a kid as they climbed up. The fact that you could sense Jensen’s eyes on your ass didn’t help one bit.

‘’She does! That’s so cute, JJ.’’

‘’You can be her. I have one who looks like mommy, I’ll be her, ‘kay?’’

Your nausea was replaced by a pageant smile and a nod, and so you spent the night sharing longing stares with the dad and playing dolls with the daughter. It was a role that was never yours.

ILLICIT AFFAIR? JENSEN ACKLES SEEN ON THE BEACH WITH Y/N Y/L/N

‘’I can’t believe you did this to me, to our family,‘’ Danneel screamed exasperatedly as she threw her clothes in a bag and heart on the wall. Jensen just stood there, accepting the deserved fury. ‘’Ten years of my life, Jensen, and you just threw it away for a mistress! I gave up on my job to be a stay at home mom because you didn’t want a babysitter. I supported you in every moment. I loved you!’’

‘’I’m sorry…’’

‘’You don’t get to be sorry,” she howled, glaring at him with the hatred of an overthrown nation. She felt like he got to the podium and forgot to say her name. ‘’You let that woman get in my house, drink my wine, talk to my children…’’

Reflexively, he said, ‘’Our.’’

‘’Shut the fuck up! There’s no ours anymore, no us!’’ Her words had garnered a learned violence, much louder than the sound of the zipper closing her duffel bag. She threw the CC exclusive on the floor, holding onto the handle for dear life. He didn’t deserve to see her breaking, only her anger. ‘’You destroyed our family, you destroyed me!’’

He pleaded, unable to discern if it was for her or the guilt: ‘’Dee.’’

‘’I hope you’re happy. I hope you go to her, get her to sleep on our bed, and be happy for a month.’’ She gulped, pursing her lips. Her glossy eyes coupled with the pink hue of her lipstick brought back a treacherous memory of their wedding day. ‘’And then, I hope she cheats, like you did to me.’’

The next headline didn’t call it love.

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years ago

Text

See you soon

So the Cale blurb turned out differently than I anticipated once I started writing but like, whatever, I think you’ll like this better. It’s also like a three page google doc, so I’m not sure if this counts as a blurb or not, but oh well.

Warning that there’s mentions of quaratine (indirectly) since this takes place the night of the NHL awards.

Flashbacks are in italics.

I hope you like it!

_________________

“And the winner of the 2019-2020 Calder Memorial Trophy is,” the announcer says, you glued to the TV as you prayed you would hear his name, “Cale Makar!”

You start screaming to your parents that Cale won, jumping up and down as your boyfriend’s face appeared on your TV screen for him to talk about how happy and honored he was that he won the award for the league’s best rookie. As soon as the awards were done, you had planned to Facetime with each other, and now there was even more reason to celebrate.

You wish you were there with him; he was home in Calgary and you were back in Springfield, Massachusetts, home from school because of the pandemic, 9 hours away from him by plane, on the other side of the continent. “Tell him congrats for us, sweetie,” your mom tells you, kissing your cheek before you head off to your room to call Cale.

As soon as his face appears on your computer screen, rosey cheeks and all, your heart skipped a beat. You had been videochatting as much as you could, but with him playing in the bubble in Edmonton, the calls were much less frequent than either of you had wanted them to be.

“Hey, baby,” he says, in a soft, kind voice.

“Hey veggie boy,” you call him the nickname you had been calling him since you met.

Everytime you see him, you can’t help but think about that night you met.

You were at a party in the Southwest area of UMass during your freshman year, not really wanting to be there, but dragged out by your roommate and the other guys and girls on your floor in one of the Orchard Hill dorms. Not a big party person, you were off to the side, nursing the drink your roommate forced in your hands upon arrival, watching the scene of drunk college students unfold around you.

“Not much of a party person, either?” you hear someone ask you, taking your attention away from the two girls owning two guys in a game of beer pong. You look to see Cale Makar, the freshman on the hockey team everyone was excited for. Hockey East was arguably one of the biggest and best college hockey conferences, at least in your opinion, and hearing someone like Cale had committed to your school was exciting. You thought you would see him play on the ice; UMass had thirty thousand undergraduate students, what were the chances of meeting him?

“Nah, not really. It’s more fun to watch.” You introduce yourselves, trying to play it cool on the boy you were already forming a crush on. You spent the night thinking up the backstories of the people around you. Whoever came up with the most absurd one would buy breakfast off campus the next morning.

“Y/N?” you hear Cale ask, bringing you out of your memory and back to reality. “Are you alright? You look upset.”

Looking at your own face on the screen, you hadn’t realized the smile that was on your face when he first picked up was gone, tears starting to form in your eyes. “Yeah, I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“The night we met. How far you’ve come,” you tell him, “How far away you are.”

His smile fades away as well, sadness covering his face, practically forcing the tears down your cheeks. You hated that you were making him sad, especially since he just won an award. “I miss you so much,” he whispers, sounding like he was choking back a sob as well.

“I miss you, too,” you manage to let out. “But, hey, babe, you won the fucking Calder! I’m so proud of you. You deserved it.”

A small smile returns to his face. “Thanks, baby. Did you hear me thanking you?”

You chuckle, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I was too busy screaming to pay attention,” you admit. “The Avs have already posted a video, so I’ll watch it when we’re off.”

You two spend hours catching up on life since the last time you talked to each other a week ago. You had just started your senior year at school, counting down the days before you could graduate and move to Denver to be with Cale, like you had been talking about the last three years.

The night Cale came back from the Frozen Four game in Buffalo was heartbreaking. It was one of the first nights he didn’t want to talk about hockey, coming to your room and getting into your bed without saying a word to you or any of your suitemates. You had seen him after a tough loss before, but he was never like this. It was never them getting shut out in the national championship.

“Colorado wants me to start playing with them in the rest of their playoff run,” he finally says, running his hands through your hair as you try to concentrate on the readings you had to do for your class the next morning.

You were used to him travelling for games, but that was with him living in Massachusetts, not in Colorado. “Oh,” you let out, not sure what else to say. “When are you going to join them?”

“I sign the contract tomorrow, and they have a game the next day.”

You sit up, pulling yourself off his chest to look at him, “Tomorrow?”

He doesn’t look at you, fidgeting with your sheets instead. “Yeah. I want to go, but,” he stops looking up at you and taking your face in his hands. He runs the pads of his thumbs on your cheeks, you reaching up to touch his hands, “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Cale, you have to. If they want you, this is your dream. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but will I be?” he asks, a small laugh escaping his lips. “I love you,” he says, pulling you in for a kiss. It was soft, sweet, you could tell he felt bad about leaving you. It was the possibility of being your last kiss for who knows only how long that made him kiss you with urgency.

When he finally pulls away, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours. “I’ll still see you when you play in Boston; it’s only two hours away. And, we can call, we can text, or snapchat, or Facetime; we have each other in our pockets at all times,” you try to reassure him, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“When you graduate, will you move to Denver, or wherever I’m playing?”

“You think we’ll still be together by then? That’s two more years.”

“I hope so. I don’t plan on stopping loving you.”

“Hey, Cale,” you ask him after sitting there just working, him watching you in the background like he used to when you were still at school together, “Will I like Denver? When I move out there?”

A smile forms on his face at the idea of you two finally being together again. “Yeah. You’ll love it. I do, at least. But it’ll be even better when you’re there. I can’t believe I haven’t been able to see you since May,” he says, looking off to the side as if to not let you see him cry.

“I know,” you swallow another bout of tears coming on, “But, hey, I’ll be moving out there in June. That’ll go by so fast,” you tell him, excited at the prospect of seeing him in person again.

“You promise?”

“I mean, I can’t control how you perceive time,” you joke, smiling at the sight of him throwing his head back in laughter. “But I have to watch some video lectures for class, so I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you soon?”

“Tomorrow?” he asks, excited by your nodding in agreement. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #avalanche #avalanche imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine

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13atoms · 3 years ago

Text

Deep Focus: Chapter 3 [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Summary: Tom is a successful porn director with a romantic streak which proves very popular with his female audience. His resident porn actress and business partner has been with him through thick and thin, the two of them growing completely inseparable, even as her own career starts taking off. But working in such close proximity is intense, and burgeoning feelings threaten to complicate their professional relationship.

Mature, smut, porn director!AU, ethical porn production discussion, porn-star-and-coworker!reader. Friends to lovers, slow-ish burn. This chapter: no smut, light hurt / comfort, all fluff. Warnings for usual stuff + UTI talk [6k] Ao3 link

You woke up in agony. With an ache through your entire lower body, and that distinctive, painful need to piss that made you want to cry. After a few dazed moments in the bathroom, you realised what was wrong, and bit back tears as at the overwhelming sensation cramping through your entire lower body.

Before you’d even googled the symptoms, you knew Urinary Tract Infection would be at the top of your screen. Next to it, a new message from Tom, asking some question about a file he couldn’t find.

Fuck off, you wanted to send back, crawling back to bed and struggling to focus on the words as the burning sensation refused to subside. Another message followed it:

Tom: Actually no rush, we can go over it in the office.

A few more seconds, and he’d sent:

Tom: Does 12 still work

Tom: I’ll bring snacks :)

That stupid smiley face. He still couldn’t work out emojis. Usually it would endear him to you, but instead it brought tears to your eyes, your duvet both a comfort and unbearably stifling as you wrapped yourself around it, desperately shifting your hips to find a position which might numb the burning pain from that fucking UTI.

You were hungry, shaky, and you knew if you wanted painkillers you’d have to get food. But it was so far away. And the thought of cooking food made you want to throw up. Or scream into the pillow.

Your phone buzzed again.

Tom: ?

It wasn’t his fault. You knew it wasn’t his fault. Even if he had written the script and directed the scene and then trapped you into a heartwarming conversation which had definitely given bacteria the chance to destroy your urethra and bladder after hours of being fucked and fingered and you were going to kill him if he sent one more fucking text.

Grumpy and in pain and curled up in bed, it felt exhausting to even compose a short text which was polite enough to not hurt his feelings.

Sorry, don’t think I can make it in. Need a sick day.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, and considering just sucking it up and going in to the office. Maybe if you could grin and bear it, it might take your mind off things. Then you needed to piss again, pain pulsing in your entire lower abdomen, and you cursed the day you ever took the damn job. As you limped to and back from the bathroom, grabbing a huge glass of water on the way, the insistent buzz of your phone interrupted your pity party.

Of course it was Tom calling you.

You thought about not picking up, but you knew he’d only worry more. And some small part of you wanted the sympathy, as you forced yourself to chug water you knew would burn on the way out and lamented the bloated pain in your bladder.

“Hey, Tom.”

A second after you picked up, he was already in a full blown speech.

“Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on? You should have said you weren’t feeling well yesterday, we didn’t need to shoot. It’s – ”

He trailed off, and you smiled at the sound of his huff down the phone, his frustration at himself as he realised he wasn’t giving you space to talk. Even as the pain in your lower stomach demanded your attention, you caught yourself smiling.

“I’m fine, just feeling a bit worse for wear.”

For a beat he was silent, but you could imagine the furrow in his brow, the way his eyes would soften with concern if you could see his face.

“What’s really wrong?”

His voice was so soft, laced with that rare kind of sincerity that left you feeling like he truly, truly cared, and suddenly you realised you were crying. Stumbling over your words, face screwed up from discomfort, you knew you should be mortified to be sobbing down the phone to him. But Tom wouldn’t care.

“I’ve got a UTI, and it really fucking hurts. I should have peed straight after the shoot yesterday but I forgot and I don’t think I can get out of bed. I’m really sorry, I’ll – I’ll make up on the work. Email me what I need to do I just… I can’t do it today,” you choked out.

On the other end of the phone, you could hear Tom was moving.

“Oh, darling. Don’t even think about the work. You don’t need to apologise. I’m… what do I need to do? I’m on my way over.”

You wouldn’t expect anything less, the unguarded concern and tinge of panic in his voice catching you off-guard with how sweet it was. He was really worried. The conversation from yesterday loomed large in your memory – was he just worried about losing his biggest talent? You knew that wasn’t true, cursing yourself as soon as the thought flitted through your mind. He really cared.

Background noise leaked through the call as he put his phone on speaker, the jangle of keys and the sound of doors slamming telling you he was getting ready to leave.

“Tom, it’s fine. Please. I don’t need you to look after me,” you protested, “just the day off is great.”

He said your name lowly, almost a whine, and you knew he wouldn’t be discouraged whatever you said.

“I’m fine…” you returned, equally stubborn. You expected him to laugh, but instead the phone was returned to his ear, his voice clear as glass, with all of his decisive firmness.

“You said you couldn’t get out of bed. I’m coming over.”

It was enough to forget the discomfort you felt, your heart clenching at his protectiveness. You could keep fighting him – some part of you didn’t want him seeing you sick – but in truth it sounded really nice to be looked after. You curled up tighter in your bed, the screen of the phone cooling against your overheated cheek.

“So I’ll ask again,” he continued, “is there anything I can do to help?”

“Could you grab some cranberry juice on the way over? And maybe some junk food?”

“Of course. You should have just asked.”

“Thank you.”

Your voice sounded impossibly small, some admission of weakness, but Tom didn’t acknowledge it. He chatted for a bit longer, the sounds of the city playing in snatches alongside his baritone as he walked through the streets, blathering and giving you advice and smothering you with sympathy as he rushed over. It made you smile as you just listened, distracted a little from the pain and pressure in your bladder, as he offered completely vague and generic advice about looking after yourself.

It was nice. To have someone care for you that much. He was completely forgiven for his hand in causing you all that pain to start with.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t go to a doctor?”

You heard him stop walking, no longer distracted from his worry as it leeched into his voice. You could imagine the little row of shops he was standing outside of, the faded shopfronts he was staring down.

“I’ll be fine, Tom.”

“There’s a pharmacy on the way –”

“No!” you laughed, imaging his frustration as it was accompanied by the beeping of traffic lights.

He only hung up as he entered a shop, promising he wasn’t too far away, and as the line went dead you realised you’d been smiling for the past five minutes.

When Tom arrived you were just leaving the bathroom, rushing to the door and drying your hands on your sweatpants, fighting to stand normally even as a fresh burning pain demanded your attention.

He was juggling bags as you let him in, one in his arms and a backpack weighing him down.

“Hey!” he greeted, bustling past you to the kitchen, leaving you to close the door behind him.

You privately liked it when he was like this – on a warpath. It happened on set quite a lot, everything else forgotten as he found a goal and the blinders went on. You were usually there to balance him out – to remember to talk to people and do the boring stuff.

His current warpath was rummaging through your cupboards, muttering about all the things you needed to be given to feel better. He turned to face you slightly out of breath, a completely over reactionary panic in his eyes.

“I got you breakfast too, I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten.”

As he set his backpack down on your kitchen counter, unpacking pastries and painkillers and snacks, you wondered what you had done to deserve Tom. Without thinking, ignoring the fact you were just wearing sweats and probably needed a shower, you hugged him. Pulling you closer to him without hesitation, you felt Tom smile against you.

You blamed the pain, the hunger, the stupid bacteria, for the tears pooling in your eyes.

“Thank you,” you murmured into the hug.

Tom squeezed you just a little bit tighter, one hand tensing where it splayed flat against your shoulder blade. He refused to let you go first.

“Of course,” he murmured back.

Finally you stepped back, ducking you head to avoid his eyeline, turning your attention to the stuff he’d brought. Tom seemed to take a second to snap out of his daze, his overwhelming energy momentarily sapped, allowing the moment to fade away.

As he started to unpack the bag, you realised just how overboard he had gone. Every brand of cranberry juice you could imagine. You got a narrative of everything he bought as he stacked it in front of you, batting your hands if you tried to help.

“I know you said not to, but I spoke to a pharmacist on the way over. He said you don’t need to see a doctor unless it’s bad for another three days, then they might give you antibiotics. I got you paracetamol too – he said that was best.”

Two boxes of pills emerged from the bag, followed by chocolate.

“Since you feel rough,” he explained sheepishly, before pulling out more pills, “and I also got Vitamin C tablets. Those are supposed to help. Snacks for lunch…”

He’d practically bought you the whole corner shop, and you bit back a fond smile as he filled the fridge.

“…and cranberry juice. As requested.”

You were about to thank him, the words trapped in your mouth at just how overboard he had gone, but Tom was already speaking again.

“I know he said just to give you painkillers, but if it gets worse I will take you to see a doctor. Your kidneys might be at risk if it doesn’t clear up soon –”

You sat down heavily in the kitchen, pulling your legs closer to yourself as the pain spiked for a moment, making Tom twist to face you in concern. It fucking hurt, but you wouldn’t let him see that. With a huff of laughter, you tugged at his arm to sit beside you.

“Tom! You are mothering me to death,” you teased, feeling your cheeks burn hot at his attention.

“I’m hopefully mothering you to make you feel better, darling.”

Damn him, for being so sweet. You felt yourself blush under the attention.

“Just because you need me to find that file!” you shot back, trying not to stare at the way his teeth worried his bottom lip.

His eyes met yours intensely, purposefully, and for a second you remembered his uncanny ability to be so sincere it felt like he was staring right through you.

“It’s not just work. I care about you,” he told you candidly. You almost couldn’t bear to listen to it. “I was so worried when you said you were sick. I hoped you were just hungover or something.”

Snorting a laugh, you tried to break the heaviness of the atmosphere. It sounded horrifically unnatural. Tom didn’t even crack a smile.

“There’s a reason we start at 12 most days,” you teased, before sensing you’d somehow gotten the mood entirely wrong. Tom stayed quiet.

“Thank you,” you tried again, voice more sincere as you tried to match him, wincing as you shifted your hips, “I do really appreciate it. So much. I was just going to lie in bed and be miserable, and this is actually making me feel better.”

You’re making me feel better. The thought went unsaid.

“I’m glad.”

The pair of you ate in silence for a while, Tom working on an orange as you munched through the breakfast he’d brought you. Every few bites, you caught his concerned gaze on you.

“You should have told me straight away. And we’ll get you the week off work.”

You went to protest, but he’d strategically spoken as you had a mouth full of food. He ploughed on.

“No arguments. We can reschedule the shoot on Thursday, or hire someone else.”

“Tom, no. I’ll be fine once I’ve down the… three cartons of cranberry juice you bought. How much do I owe you, by the way?”

“Not a penny.”

“Tom!”

He ignored your complaints, silently moving to stand instead. As Tom searched for a glass, opening random cupboards, you picked a carton to chug cranberry juice from with all the grace of a frat boy. Tom laughed at first, before resting on hand on your arm as you forced yourself to drink as much as you could.

“You’ll make yourself sick!” he protested, and you finally conceded defeat and put down the remaining half of the carton.

“Better than this UTI,” you grumbled, “cranberry juice usually clears them pretty quick.”

He left you to it for a while as you forced down the sickly sweet cranberry juice (not your favourite brand, you decided, but it would do) and finished your breakfast.

Assuming he was responding to emails you sat quietly, letting him focus while you enjoyed the food, until you caught the banner of WebMD at the top of his screen. You sighed, and Tom’s focus was on you in a second, worry in the lines of his forehead.

“Is it bad?” he asked quietly, glancing down at the hand firmly place on your lower stomach.

“It’s not ideal,” you conceded.

He bit his lip, and you knew he was sinking further into a pit of worry.

“People have them all the time. Stop reading that, I’ll be okay!”

“I just get scared. Whenever I see what you go through at work, I – ”

“You make it sound like I’m suffering some terrible fate, Tom. It’s my job, and I have to do it. This could have happened from anything.”

You cut yourself off before you could accuse him of overreacting. He was sincerely worried. You didn’t want to mock that.

“You could get a hot water bottle, if you don’t mind?” you suggested, “That helps sometimes.”

He was on his feet before you finished speaking, rummaging through cupboards and flicking the kettle on. It seemed like a good solution, to give him a task. You chewed your last bite of croissant slowly as you watched him.

Sweet, sweet Tom. It was dangerous to admit, but you had no idea what you would do if he wasn’t in your life. You watched the line of his slim build as he strode around your kitchen, filling the hot water bottle and testing the heat of it against his hand before he guided you to stand.

“Come and sit on the sofa, love.”

One hand outstretched, a fluffy water bottle grasped against his side, curls dishevelled, you were taken aback yet again by just how rare Tom was. You often wondered if he had some secret partner you’d never heard about, some situationship or wife or something he kept hidden from you.

It just didn’t seem possible a man like this could go home to an empty house. Your heart ached for him, sometimes. His loneliness, as he fought to climb the ladder in such a harsh industry with that ridiculously soft heart of his.

Then he was calling your name, stepping closer with concern on his face, reaching for your jaw as you stood dazed.

“Sweetheart?”

“Sorry,” you blinked, trying to snap out it, stumbling forwards a little as you tried to reassure him you were fine.

One hand still rested awkwardly on your aching lower stomach, and Tom was shoving the hot water bottle beneath it, arms ready to brace you if you fell. Fuck. Embarrassment overtook your senses, tears starting to well in your eyes, as you realised just how shit you felt.

Tom was muttering about sitting down, guiding you as if you couldn’t navigate to your own sofa without help, a helpless concern on his face which was making your heart ache with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered again as he helped you sit, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to pee, by a fresh pain in your stomach. By Tom’s hands on you, the smell of his cologne and the concerned crinkle of his forehead as he knelt on the ground in front of you.

Leaning forwards, you tried to be subtle as you shoved the hot water bottle tighter against your lap and grit your teeth against the fresh wave of discomfort. Those painkillers had better kick in soon. With your eyes clenched shut you didn’t have to see Tom’s concern, didn’t have to imagine yourself weak and useless in his eyes. Even so, your embarrassment about him witnessing you like this was potent. You hardly felt like you were in your own body, confused and clumsy. You realised you were still gripping Tom’s hand, probably hurting his fingers as you squeezed involuntarily from the pain.

You let go suddenly, gasping as you remembered to breathe, hand covering your own eyes instead.

He was watching silently, and it unnerved you more than his rambling. Under the mask of your fingers you opened your eyes, seeing the fold of his knees against the floor and the wringing of his hands in his lap.

All you could hear was your breathing and his, slow and fast respectively.

Fuck, you needed to piss again. Damn cranberry juice. The knowledge that it would flush your system was all the comfort you could grasp as the uncomfortable pressure in your bladder became abruptly unbearable and the pain seemed to swell further, somehow.

You thought for a moment, your brain ticking along painfully slowly with exhaustion and pain, enjoying the darkness of your eyes screwed closed beneath your palm.

Ignore Tom. Stand up. Get to the bathroom. Pee.

In your confusion-addled brain, it felt like enough of a plan. The discomfort was so potent, it was hard to string thoughts together. After a few seconds of bracing yourself, it felt like every muscle in your body strained to stand back up again, resting a hand on the couch for balance as you swayed for a second, blinking against the sudden brightness bombarding your opened eyes. Tom was asking you what you were doing, but you ignored him. You felt drunk, nauseous, staggering and eyes still welling with tears at the sheer agony of straightening up to walk the few steps to the bathroom.

You could ignore Tom, this fresh well of misery making his words seem miles away, but as you finally got close the bathroom door his hands on your hips halted you in place.

He forced you to look at him, eyes struggling to focus on his features, the deep frown on his face deepening as he saw the tear tracking down your cheek.

“What are you doing?” he asked purposefully, overenunciating the words like he was speaking to a stubborn child, hands grounding you as he held you still.

“Bathroom.”

The words seemed like someone else’s, taking an impossible amount of effort, shaky as they fell from your lips. You realised you were fully crying, and some distant, rational part of you felt a stab of mortification.

“Okay,” Tom nodded in understanding, still using that slow, controlled tone.

He didn’t seem to have anything else to comment, guiding you to the bathroom door and opening it, letting you walk inside before holding it open by the handle.

You frowned, struggling to find the words to complain to him, desperate to pee and try to end the pain in your sensitive bladder. Tom’s face was still creased with concern, a fresh tinge of quiet authority in the set of his jaw.

“Please don’t lock the door,” he insisted, and you frowned. “I won’t… I won’t open it. I promise. But please don’t lock it. Just in case.”

You nodded mutely, unhappy, but not quite having the presence of mind to argue. Tom closed the door, and you sighed, accepting his deal as you nervously sat to pee, eyes fixed on the handle. He was probably pacing outside, and you tried not to think about how embarrassing this all was as you let your face fall to your hands, trying to scrub away the tears which had begun to itch on your cheeks.

It burned, and you exhaled shakily. You reached to turn on a tap, and hoped Tom couldn’t hear.

Fuck this. Fuck this.

The fogginess of reality was cut through sharply by pain, and the all-consuming ache which seemed to suddenly rage through your entire pelvis, your worry about the unlocked door only adding to the sheer misery this day seemed to have planned for you.

“All okay?” Tom called through the door, shocking you with the reminder of just how close he was.

With a wince you cleared your throat, trying to hide the weakness of your voice as you prepared to reply before he got any big ideas about bursting through that fucking door.

“All good!”

“Good.”

His reply was awkward, too loud and too curt, and you wondered what he was thinking. If he was lamenting some other plans for his day. You heard his footsteps retreat, and turned off the running tap.

The pain in your abdomen had lessened now, the burn finally subsiding, and after a few moments staring into space your head started to clear. A few more litres of cranberry juice, and hopefully it’d be all better.

You always forgot the kind of despair that acute kind of illness seemed to bring, the pain and the weakness. Blinking away the confusion, you washed your hands and face. Tried to fix your hair a little. Brushed your teeth. All those little things fixed, and you started to feel better.

It took you a few more minutes, and one more check-in from Tom, for you to emerge. The kitchen had been cleaned up, the hot water bottle ready to be refilled, and Tom was sat uncomfortably on the sofa – it was obvious he’d just sat down as he heard you approaching.

He jumped to his feet again, not quite sure what to do with his arms, and you wished you knew what was going on behind those widened blue eyes. You should ask, you knew he’d tell you everything straight away.

Tom was never insincere.

The movement of his lips suggested he was trying to word a question, and failing. You put him out of his misery.

“I’m feeling a lot better.”

“I’m glad. That’s good.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it. You folded yourself onto the couch, and he moved to refill the hot water bottle. Handing it to you wordlessly he hovered nearby, until you shuffled to indicate he could sit beside you.

It was awkward. Things were never awkward with Tom. His weight beside yours dragged the two of you together, even gravity willing you to reconcile from this strange shift in the atmosphere. You resisted, shuffling a little so you could sit up without touching him, one arm on the sofa as you faced him.

“Sorry for zoning out on you there, I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

His face broke into a quiet relief, and it broke your heart a little.

“You weren’t! I didn’t think you were being rude. You just scared me. I was worried.”

Smiling tightly, you hugged the hot water bottle closer to your torso, enjoying the comfort as much as the pain relief from the warmth. The storm of concern on his face lifted a little as he watched, hearing your quiet, unspoken thank you.

“What have you got planned for the rest of your day?” you asked softly, diverting the conversation.

Tom knew what you were doing, and you saw him bite down a laugh.

“Just looking after this stubborn woman, and not leaving her house until she feels better.”

The mocking was light, undercut by the open fondness in his eyes, and you found yourself warmed by it.

“She sounds like a pain in the arse,” you teased.

“She’s really not. Only when she pretends to be fine when she’s not.”

“Sorry.”

His face dropped, immediately reaching for your hand, and he scrambled to backtrack. You were a horrified as tears sprung to your eyes again, trying to blink them away.

“You know I wasn’t serious. I just worry, I’m sorry.”

He was still reaching for you, one hand on yours and the other gently brushing away your fresh tears, his face close to yours as you shuddered out breaths and tried to form words.

“No, you say anything wrong, I think I’m just feeling a bit…”

“Down?” Tom offered.

“Fragile.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

You weren’t sure if he opened his arms first, or if you reached for him first. But you were against his chest in a second, head on his shoulder and his arm around you, the hot water bottle displaced as it warmed both of your hips where they were pressed together.

There was comfort in the beating of his heart, in the smell of him and the cologne he’d put on hours ago, in the strength of his arms as they held you to him for the second time that day.

You apologised again against the fabric of his shirt, and he shushed your words.

“You must feel dreadful, love. You’d be well within your rights to tell me to go fuck myself. I think you were very polite, all things considered. Ignoring me was very considerate.”

When he felt you laugh against his chest you could hear Tom’s heart speed up, the rumble of his own chuckle, and you knew the two of you were fine again.

You’d always be fine. The two of you were close like that.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” you teased.

“There won’t be a next time.”

A sombre promise that you’d never get another urinary tract infection was crazy, it didn’t make sense. He was taking far too much accountability, as usual. But you let yourself sink into his confidence, into his comfort. You let yourself believe him.

“You’re so good to me.”

He didn’t say anything, just shuffled you to relax down on the couch, keeping you against him but twisting you. One hand found the hot water bottle and pressed it against your abdomen again, and even when you reached to take it, his hand just stayed there.

It took a few seconds to process that he was spooning you, the solidness of his chest against your back and one hand over your stomach. He was everywhere, against your whole body, warm and smelling amazing, his breath against your neck and his weight pulling you closer to him on the soft cushions.

You wondered if he felt it too. That strange, desperate need to be closer even as you were pressed together. Like you wanted your soul to merge with his, your skin itself to melt together with his.

Maybe you could blame the infection-induced madness for that feeling too.

The pain in your abdomen was barely there anymore, your bladder feeling less raw, the ache no longer acid-sharp. But you knew that was because of him. Because of the warmth and the distraction and his comfort, these stupid endorphins coursing through your veins, and his sweetness in bringing you medicine and sustenance and three fucking cartons of cranberry juice.

“You okay?” he mumbled against your neck.

For a second you couldn’t think of anything except a flash of irrational jealousy. The mere thought he’d held other people like this. That there were nights he might have come home from you and whispered against someone else’s neck, raised goosebumps on their skin, warmed their body.

You had to stop yourself from gasping, wondering where the hell that had come from, a strange brand of anger still burning hot in your chest. You were starting to sweat, from his body heat and the hot water bottle and the infection. Maybe a bit from jealousy.

If Tom noticed, he wasn’t disgusted. He stayed right there. While Tom babied you, you were happy to engage in moping around for a bit.

“They don’t warn you about this bit,” you whispered, “when you sign up to do this shit.”

“This shouldn’t happen,” he consoled, “I thought the studio was better than that. We’ll tighten protocols. I’ll see what we can do to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You knew he couldn’t see your smile, and you hoped he couldn’t sense the tightness in your chest at this ridiculous seriousness. A worry for your health that surpassed your own concern.

Was that what love was? You hadn’t really thought about it before.

“Risk of the job,” you dismissed.

He grumbled into your hair, his breath ghosting over your neck. You wondered if his eyes were closed. As he minutes passed his head relaxed a little, the position melting, your bodies wax under that quiet, smouldering flame which you shared.

You closed your eyes, focusing on Tom’s steady breaths lulling you to sleep.

He was still there when you woke up, a heavy arm over your waist, his hand replacing the fluffy hot water bottle which had fallen to the ground. You could feel the five points of his fingertips on your thin shirt.

You weren’t sure if he was awake, his breathing quiet and even, chest moving against your back even as the two of you had fidgeted in sleep. It was delicious, warm, but your bladder was screaming at you. You realised you probably should have drunk more before napping, that burning sensation returning, and sighed as you started to disentangle yourself from Tom without disturbing him.

He must have been asleep, mumbling in confusion as your form was replaced with cool air against his chest, rolling over and opening his eyes sleepily.

It was early afternoon, the room bathed in light, and he squinted as he murmured your name. His voice was deepened and slurred by his nap, and you tried to soothe him back to sleep as you retreated to the bathroom.

“Go back to sleep, it’s fine.”

He was fully awake, rubbing his eyes, and you sighed. Pausing in the doorframe, you watched as he sat up and looked around to fix you with a stare. He had a fairly extraordinary case of bedhead, red creases from the sofa marking his face, confusion on his face as he woke up.

“Where are you going?”

“I… Tom. Go back to sleep. Don’t worry.”

He blinked, and asked again.

“Where are you going?”

You fixed him with a glare of ‘I don’t want to say it’, but he was too sleepy to understand. He cocked his head in confusion.

“I have to pee again,” you admitted, and Tom clambered to his feet.

For some reason.

He seemed more awake now, stretching to his full height as he strode across the room to you.

“Really? You’re embarrassed about that? How long have we known each other?”

“Why are you following me?”

He paused in the doorway, blinking in confusion at himself, pink creeping up his cheeks.

“Right, sorry.”

You smiled to yourself as you used the bathroom, still wincing from pain but blessedly noting an improvement, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you washed your hands. You weren’t sure when you’d started feeling differently about Tom. You weren’t sure if your relationship had changed, or if it was just in your head.

You were sure that this was new. Something beyond the close friendship you had taken for granted for years. You could get used to the feeling of waking up pressed against him. To being spoilt by him, surprised by his thoughtfulness. You could get used to that desperate sincerity, those blue eyes which saw right through to your soul.

Drying your hands on your sweatpants, you re-entered the living room, seeing Tom’s mop of curls as he sat cross-legged on the sofa, back straight and hands folded in his hands. He seemed sheepish, his position almost child-like as his eyes tracked you across the room, waiting for you to settle somewhere.

There were gears turning in that overactive mind of his, and you perched yourself beside him, waiting for him to speak. Finally he did, the words precise and practiced inside his own mind.

“I’m sorry for just barging in. I don’t know if that was too far, I just wanted to help. I couldn’t go to work alone knowing you weren’t well.”

You couldn’t help smiling. Of course that was what he was worried about.

“Tom, it’s okay. I appreciate your help so much, not many people would do that for me. I’m sorry for being so stubborn.”

He winced, lips pressed into a tight line.

“I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean that.”

“But you were right,” you admitted, “I was being stubborn. I should have just said thank you. So, thank you.”

Tom nodded in acknowledgement, but you knew he hadn’t taken the words in. He kept talking.

“I felt so bad, I knew yesterday was too much. We should’ve taken more breaks. You must be so tired. Or getting sick. Apparently if your immune system is already fighting something off you’re more likely to get ill. And I kept you talking when I should’ve made you to and clean up.”

“You won’t convince me this is your fault, Tom,” you told him lightly, resting on hand on his bent knee.

He stared at your hand for a long second, and you knew he didn’t believe you. You closed your eyes, swallowed, letting your eyes drift across to everything he’d brought. Remembering how he’d dropped everything at the realisation you were sick.

How he wouldn’t take no for an answer until he was with you, helping you. Making sure you were safe. You wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t come over. Would you still be in bed, choking down water and painkillers, debating texting to ask him to bring groceries over?

You couldn’t recall why were so averse to him coming over now. He hadn’t made you feel bad, or weak. He’d been nothing but caring and helpful and, yes, a little overbearing.

But that was part of him. What made Tom, Tom. He put one hand on his thigh, inches from where your thumb rubbed over the inside of his knee, and you took the leap. You laced your fingers which his, staring at how your hands fit together.

“I can’t remember a time anyone was this nice to me. Ever.”

Tom sighed, and you felt a moment of heaviness. A realisation that your life was about to shift. Chapters, ending and beginning. Something new taking root, as Tom met your eyes nervously.

“Then I need to do a better job.”

#tom hiddleston x reader #deep focus #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x ofc #13atoms #fic #this is a weird af chapter of fic but i thought it was a good vehicle for #forced intimacy and fluff

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managedmischiefs · 4 years ago

Text

north//chapter five

new chapter time!! let me know if you want to be added onto the taglist. enjoy and don’t forget to leave your feedback!

also this chapter is dedicated to @babybobbybones because Ruby is always so supportive of my writing and they are always willing to give me honest opinions on my writing and my moodboards so thank u sm!!!!! love u fishy!! dis is for u!

genre: fluff

pairing: season nine spencer x female oc

warnings: none

word count: 5.6k

AMELIA

I fall onto the floor of my studio, leaning my head against the wall and staring up at the easel, a half-painted canvas propped up on it. I scrunch up my nose, tilting my head back and forth to try and find the beauty in the ugly flowers I’ve just painted. I sit up on my knees and reach my brush forward, adding just a few more strokes to the canvas, but my brush happens to be too saturated with water and the paint just drips down to the bottom of the canvas, ruining the entire painting. Whatever, I didn’t like it anyway.

I throw my brush into the water and sit back down against the wall, letting my eyes wander out the window to my left. My eyes dart between the window and the canvas and I wonder whether I should start over on a new canvas or throw in the towel for the day. Before I can either stand to get my keys and leave or stand to retrieve a new canvas, my phone starts ringing beside me. The name Mike flashes across my screen, so I lunge to answer.

"Hi, there!” I quip, and before Mike can even speak, I hear squeaks and screams of children in the background. The sound makes me grin.

"Hey, Lia. How's it going over in Virginia?" He nearly has to shout over the kids around him.

"It's-" my eyes wander back out the window and to the Starbucks across the street. A couple walks out the door just at that moment, clutching cups of steaming liquid and giggling with each other. My smile only grows and my mind wanders off to Spencer and what he might be doing right now while I’m trying to work, "it's pretty amazing, actually. I'm, um, yeah, it's great, Mike,"

"That's,” he pauses, “great, but there’s something else in your voice. What's happening in Virginia? Anything I need to know about?" Mike's voice is teasing, as he always is.

"Maybe," I respond in the same mischievous tone he gives me, my cheeks turning pink. I don’t give Mike another chance to question what is going so well in Virginia, and I just keep talking about the guy that has been on my mind every second since I first laid my eyes on him. "I've, um, I met a guy and I really like him and-"

"Whoa, whoa, you've got a boyfriend? Have we entered a parallel universe? Is this even you on the phone? Whoever is talking to me on the phone- who are you and what have you done with Amelia Stark?”

"I know, I know," I giggle, and I start to kick my feet like an excited child. "I met him at this cafe, and I swear, Mike, you'd love him. He's insanely smart and he's so sweet and he's such a gentleman. And get this, if you're not convinced then this will convince you- he’s an FBI agent."

"Amelia Stark. You're dating an FBI agent?"

"More specifically, he works for the BAU," Again, I let out a dramatic sigh and fall onto my back on the floor, letting myself be pulled into another lovesick daydream. I let my mind wander off to Spencer’s smile and his laugh and his warm touch and how utterly beautiful he makes me feel whenever we are together. "I just- I know I don't really date but-"

"Telling me you don't date is the understatement of the century. You’re not a commitment girl, and you’re a one night stand girl. You've never answered my calls and told me that things in Virginia are amazing and great and you've definitely never told me that you have a boyfriend, much less a boyfriend that works for the BAU,"

"There's just something about him! He's so different from any guy I've ever met before. I never wanted him to just be a one night stand or some guy that I hang out with for a few weeks and then forget about. Spencer is just amazing- he's so gentle with me, and he indulges in the things I like instead of always forcing the things he likes on me, and he always makes an effort to see me even though he's insanely busy,"

"Wow," Mike scoffs out a laugh. "I don't even know what to say. I'm glad you found someone who you like this much. I'm not even gonna bring up the capital L word because I know you're scared of it, but I have a nasty feeling that you might be bringing up the scary L word soon. And I'm even more glad that you've found an FBI agent with a gun who can protect you,"

"Oh my gosh," I shake my head at him, rolling my eyes into the back of my head. "I've never seen his gun, actually,"

"Good. You tell him to keep his gun away from you for quite a while, especially since you’re telling me he won’t be one of your one night stands. Both of his guns, if you know what I mean,"

My jaw nearly hits the floor at Mike’s remark, and before I can even respond, he bursts into a fit of laughter. "I- oh my god, you did not just say that,”

He chokes on his laughs as he keeps talking. "I'm only messing with you, but not really. Form emotional connections before you jump into bed. That’s what I did with Wendy and look at how long we’ve been together,”

I wrack my brain for any kind of number, but I come up empty. “How long have you guys been together?”

“Too long,” he deadpans.

“Hey! I hope Wendy isn’t home right now because she would have your head on a stake if she heard you say that,”

“She’s at work right now but she left me alone with all the little monsters. Listen, just make sure you use-"

"A condom! I got it, Mikey. I’m a responsible adult, contrary to popular belief. Can we stop talking about this? Let me talk to the kids! I’ll tell them to stop screaming,” I sit up again and my grimace from the slightly NSFW conversation turns into a wide smile, the giddiness bubbling in my stomach.

"Hey, kiddos! Gather around! Your favorite grown-up person is on the phone!" Mike shouts over the hoard of children in his house, and their shouts get closer and closer to his phone until their voices are blaring through the speaker of my phone.

"Amelia! Amelia! Amelia!"

"Hi, my loves!" I exclaim, "how's everything with Mike and Wendy?"

"Come home, Lia! We miss you!" Reese cries out, stumbling over her words in a way that makes my heart swell.

"You didn't come home for Christmas and we missed you so much!" Tyler squeaky voice adds.

"I know, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to come home for Christmas, and I missed you guys so much too. But I’m sure Mike and Wendy made Christmas really special for everyone, didn’t they? I'm gonna try to come home soon but I can't promise anything. I have lots of pictures of you all and I think about you every day. I'll draw and I'll paint lots of new things and I'll send them home to you. Does that sound good?" They all shout confirmations back at me, and I manage to pick out a few requests for things like dogs and cats and flowers, and that request makes me remember the failed painting right in front of me. "Great. I'm sitting in my studio right now so I'll get working on those. If y’all have any more requests then tell Mike and he’ll tell me. I love you all, okay? I miss you guys so much,"

The kids all shout goodbyes at me before there's rustling on the other line. "Alright, it's just me now," Mike says.

"I actually plan on sending you guys art, partly because I want to and partly as an apology for not coming home for the holidays. Let me know if you need anything new for the walls, whether it’s at home or at the police station. Need a new piece for your office, Sheriff?" I tease, pushing myself off the floor for the first time in almost two hours, grabbing a stack of new canvases.

"We could always use more of your artwork, sweetheart, you know that. Call more, okay? I know it's hard, but we clearly all love hearing from you. And I wanna hear more about this profiling boyfriend of yours. Maybe I'll look up his file in the FBI database,"

"You don't have access to that database, you’re not a federal agent. Just google his name. I gotta get started on these paintings. I’ll call soon.”

“Wait! I only know his first name! What’s his-”

“Oops, that sucks. Tough luck. Gotta go,” I finally get the chance to throw his teasing right back in his face, a grin coming to my face as he groans dramatically. “Love you, Mikey!”

"Love you, kid. Stay safe,"

"You too. Don't get shot,"

"I won't."

///

SPENCER

///

My fingers drum against the book on my lap as I listen to dial tones over and over, waiting anxiously for an answer. Maybe today is a bad day and we don’t get to talk today, and that’s okay. There’s always tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. But I was just hoping for a nice conversation today, and every time another dial tone rings in my ear, it’s like another stab to the chest.

“Spencer?”

I perk up at the answer, grinning and setting my book onto the coffee table in front of me."Hi, Mom,"

"Spencer, I've been waiting for you to call me for weeks! You can’t ignore me for that long! You can’t leave your poor, old mother in the wind like that!”

I chuckle at her, happy that today seems to be a good day and she’s even capable of joking around. "Sorry, Mom. I've been really busy with work lately, but I wasn’t ignoring you. How was Christmas? I'm sorry I couldn't make it out,"

"It was good, Spencer. I would've preferred to spend it with you, but I enjoyed it," Mom tells me. "We watched movies and made gingerbread houses and some of the nurses got us gifts,"

"That sounds wonderful,"

"So tell me how you've been, honey. You know I hate talking about me and this dreadful place. I'd much rather hear about you,"

My eyes wander over to the coffee table in front of me, or more specifically the scarf that Amelia had left here when stayed over. It must have slipped off of her head when we were sleeping and fell under the couch, and when she rushed out so I could get going, she didn’t realize she wasn’t wearing it anymore. I hadn't gotten a chance to return it because I got whisked away on a case and I haven't been able to see Amelia yet. I reach for it, feeling the soft silk between my fingers. "Um, it's- huh, it's actually pretty great over here,"

"That's wonderful to hear! What's so great about it?" Mom doesn't get much entertainment in her facility and her main contact comes through me. I'm always open to telling her everything and I try to write her at least one letter every day so she can have something to read if I can’t call her, but I was so hell-bent on keeping Amelia a secret. I thought that maybe if I kept her a secret from everyone, then I'd be taking one more precaution at shielding her from my world, but I know that's useless. It's not worth it to keep Amelia a secret and to lie about the source of my happiness, at least not from my mother.

"Well," I look down at the scarf and picture the way Amelia uses the square of fabric to tie back her unruly curls and the way she always seems to look like an angel, "I've met a girl,"

"I’m sure you meet many girls, Spencer. You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

"Her name is Amelia and she's an artist and I swear, Mom, she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life. We met at the cafe where I get coffee before work and we got coffee together every day that I was home from a case for two months and we spent Christmas together. I just,” I fully expect my mom to cut me off and start rambling about Amelia and how I should pursue a relationship with her if she is making me this happy, but she doesn’t say anything and it forces me to have to finish a sentence I don’t want to say, “she's the first girl I've liked this much since, you know, since Maeve, and I knew I liked her right away and that’s just- it’s really scary,"

"Spencer, it sounds to me like you might even love her," Mom's voice softens. "I'm not going to try and tell you what you’re feeling, but like I always tell you, a mother knows. I'm happy for you, I really am. You deserve to be happy and have someone in your life to look after you and make sure you're healthy and take care of you. Did you ask her to be your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, last week. But we've known each other for almost three months and every time I look at her, I just feel so, I don’t really know. Whenever I get to see her, I never want to leave when I have to and-" I lay down on the couch and throw my head onto a pillow, the scarf resting right in front of my face. "Maybe I do love her. That's so scary though. I haven't known her for long at all. Can you fall in love with someone after three months?"

"When you first meet someone, you get a first impression, right? Sometimes you can be put off, or you can be instantly intimated by someone, or be intrigued, and so on. Love is a feeling, right? It’s a feeling in the same way that fear and intrigue are. Who’s to say you can’t feel love when you first meet someone? Who's to say you can't fall in love with someone in that same amount of time that someone can scare you? Love is complex and, yes, it’s scary and you've been scorned by it in the past, but don't let that get in the way of this good thing you've got with this Amelia girl,"

"I've never thought of love like that before."

Mom laughs gently. "Like I said. A mother knows," she pauses. "Oh, Spencer, I've gotta go. The nurses need me."

"That's fine," I breathe out a sigh, pushing myself up to a sitting position and pulling the scarf into my lap again. "Thanks for the talk. It was really helpful. I love you, Mom,"

"I love you too, Spencer," Mom says before hanging up, leaving me alone yet again in my apartment.

I push myself to my feet, leaving the scarf on the coffee table, making my way into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee for myself. I lean over the counter and check my watch, counting down the seconds until Amelia is set to show up at my door. And as if the universe is answering my silent prayer, there's a soft knock on the door just a millisecond later. I leave my coffee on the counter and rush to let her in, throwing the door open.

Amelia is standing there, looking as beautiful as ever, wearing a white dress and her black peacoat, camera hanging around her neck and one strap from her backpack draped over her shoulder. She’s beaming at me, almost emitting rays of sunshine from her body, shuffling her way through the door and throwing her arms around my neck in a tight hug. It nearly takes me by surprise, but if I’ve learned anything about Amelia by now, it’s that she’s affectionate and she loves to hug, and I can’t seem to find a single fault in that. I whisper a greeting in her ear, reaching around Amelia’s waist to shut the door, keeping out the cold air that blows inside from the hallway.

"Hi, dove," she chirps, sinking down on her heels when we pull away from the hug.

I cock my head to the side like a puppy, trying to hide my confusion but I’m positive it’s evident on my face. "Dove?"

"It’s just a pet name. Do you not like it? I could call you something else, or I could just stick to your name if that’s-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Amelia unravels her arms from around my neck and shrugs off her backpack, hanging it right beside my jacket, then crouches down to take off her shoes. “I like it, actually.”

“Noted,” Amelia jumps back up to her feet, now noticeably shorter without her heels, and gives me a cheesy smile. She opens her mouth to say something else but her mouth snaps shut when her eyes travel downwards just a bit. “Spencer, you’re still in your work clothes.”

“Oh,” I follow her line of sight and look down at my trousers, button-up, cardigan, and tie, my gun holster on my hip (but my gun is locked away in a hidden place) and my credentials in my pocket, “yeah, sorry about that. After I got home, I was on the phone with my mom for a bit and I just didn’t get a chance to change yet.”

Amelia’s lips settle into a pout as she follows into the kitchen. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your phone call.”

“You didn’t, don’t worry. Do you want a cup of tea? Anything to drink or eat or-”

“I do but why don’t you go change? I can handle a cup of tea by myself. Put on something other than a dress shirt and a tie. Be comfortable,” she breezes right past me and reaches into the cupboard for a mug, already grabbing the kettle and filling it with water. I just watch her for a moment, slowly unclipping my watch from my wrist and watching the way her white dress slides across her legs with every tiny movement. But she doesn’t turn around again to check on my location and just looks between the box of Earl Grey tea and camomile tea, mulling over which to indulge in tonight. So I leave Amelia to her seemingly challenging decision and hurry off to my bedroom, ridding myself of the work clothes I’ve been wearing for almost thirty hours. I change into plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt, only glancing in the mirror for a split second to check if my hair is an absolute mess before returning to Amelia.

She’s leaning against the counter with her mug in one hand and her camera in the other, and when I re-enter the room, she looks up at me and grins at the sight of my more relaxed state. “You look cozy. Guess I should have worn my pajamas today.”

I go and lean against the counter beside her, picking up my cup of coffee and looking over her shoulder at the pictures she is flipping through on her camera. At first, most of the pictures are of a redhead I’ve never seen before, posed in a park and modeling for the camera. Then the pictures turn to the sights I see every day and I conclude they must be pictures that Amelia took this morning or on her way here. “These are really good.”

“Oh, thanks,” Amelia’s cheeks turn pink at the compliment as she tosses the camera aside, clutching her cup of tea instead.

“I’d love to see more of your art sometime. I haven’t seen that much but the things that I have seen, I really loved.”

“Maybe one day, when you’re available, you can come to my studio. It’s just a couple of blocks away. I’d love for you to come and see some of what I do when you’re gone,” her head falls onto my shoulder and she scoots closer to me, her arm slowly moving around my waist, pulling me even closer to her. “It’s what I did all day. But speaking of all day, how was your day? How was the case?”

We move into the living room and get under a blanket as I give Amelia vague details about the case we solved this past week. She sits just as close to me as she was in the kitchen and tucks her feet under my legs to warm herself up, and once I’ve decided I’ve told her enough about the serial killer that we captured last night, she starts telling me about her last few days and how she went out to see a bad movie with her group of friends. She keeps moving closer and closer as the sun gets lower and lower and soon enough, Amelia is laying over my lap and my hands are in her hair, brushing the strands out of her face. I can confidently say that it’s the most relaxed and the most comfortable I’ve been this past week, and maybe even in the last few months. Every time Amelia is around and we get to just sit and talk, it’s a breath of fresh air. I don’t get to do this enough. I look up at the clock after being on the couch for a long time, seeing that it’s almost midnight. Thank god I don’t have to work tomorrow.

“Hey,” Amelia hums and looks up at me, her head in my lap and the blanket wrapped mostly around her, “it’s late. Do you want anything to eat?”

She hums once more, sitting up and keeping the blanket pulled up to her chest, her eyelids fluttering like a child fighting off sleep. “Yeah. I could really go for some ice cream. Do you have any?”

“I do, actually. But just chocolate, I think,” I stand from the couch and hold my hands out to Amelia, lugging her off the couch when she puts her hands in mine. She follows me one more time into the kitchen and pulls out bowls and spoons while I grab the gallon of ice cream from the freezer.

“So,” Amelia draws the word out, bumping her hip with mine when she reaches over me for a bowl, “will you tell me about your BAU team? I know their names, but they’re your best friends and basically your second family so I wanna know about them.”

“Oh, really? What do you wanna know?” She grins as I slide the chocolate syrup over to her and she quickly steals it to drizzle it all over her bowl of ice cream.

“Mm,” she hums, far too concentrated on her ice cream at first to give me a proper answer. But when she finishes with the syrup and hands it back to me, she hastily grabs spoons from the drawer and returns her full attention to the conversation, “just about your history with them. I’m not sure, whatever you wanna tell. Whatever’s important.”

We retake our seats on the couch, both of us now evenly draped in the blanket with our ice cream bowls in our hands. Amelia slings her legs over my lap and scoots as close to me as she can get, pressing her cheek to my shoulder. Despite wearing pajama pants, I can feel Amelia’s thighs, exposed by her dress, pressed against mine and it takes my breath away for a moment. I have to shift my position in the slightest so Amelia isn’t too on top of me, and once I’ve moved and I’m more comfortable, I start to let my mind race over what I could tell her.

“Well, Morgan is one of my best friends and he was one of the first people I met when I started working at the BAU. He’s loud sometimes and a little overwhelming but he’s always there for me. For example, during a case, I got anthrax poisoning and-”

Amelia nearly drops her bowl at this revelation and she reaches for my arm, squeezing tighter than ever before. “I’m sorry, what? Did I hear you correctly? Anthrax poisoning? And you’re still alive?” She practically throws her bowl onto the coffee table, quicking whipping around and grabbing my cheeks, pulling my face closer to hers until our noses are touching. “Am I speaking to a robot right now?”

My eyes practically roll into the back of my head. “A robot? Amelia, I can’t even use my DVD player. What makes you think I’m a robot, which is essentially a being made completely of technology?”

Amelia narrows her eyes at me, dragging her thumbs down to my jawline. She looks away for just a moment to eye the DVD player and then returns to me, just as close as she was two seconds ago. “Why do you have that thing if you don’t know how to use it?”

“It was a gift from JJ,” my lips brush against Amelia’s as I speak and even though we’ve kissed a million times by now, the feeling of our lips touching still makes the butterflies in my stomach act up. But her lips taste like chocolate and I can’t help it when I pull her closer and into a kiss. Now, it’s almost like it’s second nature to want to be constantly touching Amelia and kissing Amelia and just being around Amelia all the time.

Amelia abruptly pulls away from our kiss and lets out a loud yawn, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Sorry, sorry. It’s impossible to hold back a yawn while kissing.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” I wave my hand at her casually, and when she rubs her hands over her eyes and then pushes her hair back, my heart seems to pound just a little bit faster. She’s a little bit bleary as she inhales sharply, falling forward and pressing her temple against my shoulder. “Hey, it’s really late. I can tell you about my coworkers another day. Do you wanna get to sleep?”

“No,” she shakes her head but her body language strongly contrasts her words as she lets herself melt further into my embrace, “I don’t wanna leave you. I missed you a lot today.”

Okay, Spencer. Being bold with Amelia has yet to fail me so why should it now? Just ask her if she wants to spend the night for the first time. It’s with innocent intentions, anyway. No funny business. Just a couple sleeping in the same bed- what’s wrong with that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So just ask. Ask! It’s one night and I’ve recently cleaned my bedroom and washed the sheets so everything should be fine for a girl to sleep over. Sleep over? You’re not a ten year old, Spencer. Don’t ask her if she wants to sleep over like you’re a group of girls planning on eating candy and watching movies until three in the morning on the living room floor. Is that what girls do at sleepovers? I don’t even know. Nope, don’t get sidetracked. Just ask.

“Lia?” She hums in response, not even lifting her head from its spot on my shoulder. I’m used to her being boisterous and loud and positive when I’m anxious so I guess I’ll have to muster up enough courage to ask without her encouragement. “It’s really late already and, well, I don’t know what you’re doing tomorrow but would you wanna stay the night? It’s just- it’s past midnight and, you know, 40% of all fatal car accidents happen at night. 60% of adults have driven while drowsy and 37% of adults have fallen asleep at the wheel. I-“ I let out a breath, my chest deflating at her overall silence. “You don’t have to stay over and I could drive you home so you don’t have to drive but, you know, I would just like to know you’re safe.”

I pause once more and wait for some confirmation or rejection from Amelia, but all I’m met with is quiet breaths across my chest. I duck my head down and find Amelia fast asleep on my shoulder and one of the straps of her dress falling down her arm from the odd angle she’s laying at. Of course, what else would happen? I go on a nervous rant and Amelia sleeps through it.

“Hey, hey, Amelia?” I card my fingers through her hair and luckily, it’s enough to rouse her from her quick nap, and she lifts her head from my shoulder, eyes half-lidded. “Did you hear what I said?”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t. I’m really tired.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was talking about. Do you want to stay the night? I gave you a bunch of statistics on car accidents at night but I’m sure you’ll fall asleep again if I repeat them.”

Amelia lets out a small laugh, pushing herself to a sitting position and rubbing her eyes yet again. “Could you lend me some clothes? Sleeping in a dress is not really my vibe.”

“Sure, I can give you some clothes. But let’s go to bed before you fall asleep again,” I grab onto Amelia’s hands and pull her off the couch, leading my half-asleep girlfriend to my bedroom. She waits patiently as I open my closet and reach for a pair of sweats, handing her sweatpants and a hoodie from Caltech. “Here. I’m gonna go clean up the ice cream while you change.”

“Thank you,” Amelia lays a kiss on my cheek before I can leave, and the tingling on my skin persists even when I get into the living room and clean up our ice cream bowls, putting them into the dishwasher.

I suppose that after tonight, there will be plenty of nights spent together. I won’t lie and say that sleeping in the same bed as Amelia isn’t a bit scary. I don’t know what kind of sleeper I am. Will I steal all the blankets and leave her freezing all night? Will I kick her relentlessly and leave dark bruises all over her pale skin? Will she just plainly hate sleeping with me and thus would begin the end of our relationship?

“Spencer,” Amelia’s voice rips me out of my anxious spiral, and when I turn to look at her, my breath is knocked completely out of my chest. Amelia wearing my clothes is quite a gorgeous sight, even if they’re hanging off her body and pooling around her feet. Her hair is up and her face is washed of any makeup and she just looks wildly beautiful. She pops her head into the kitchen and gives me a tired smile, maybe the millionth of the night. “Do you need help with anything?”

I shove my bowl into the dishwasher and then slam it closed, shaking my head at her. “No, I’m good. Let’s just go to bed.” I shut off the kitchen light and swing my arm around Amelia’s waist, bringing her back towards my bedroom and shutting the door behind us.

I watch with wide eyes and a stupid smile as Amelia crawls onto the bed, but right when she gets onto her knees, she pauses and looks over her shoulder at me. “Is there a side of the bed that you prefer?”

My eyes dart between Amelia and the pillows on the bed. Is there a side I prefer? I wouldn’t know. “I don’t think so. I mean, honestly, I’ve never slept in the same bed as anyone before,”

“Me either,” Amelia pouts, her eyes locked on mine as she debates which side to choose. “Well, we’re technically already on different sides of the bed.” She gestures to her place on the right side and me on the left side. I just shrug in response to her suggestion. It’s not a big deal to me whatsoever, just as long as Amelia is comfortable and she doesn’t wind up hating me after tonight.

Amelia, completely exhausted, flops onto her stomach on top of the duvet, wiggling up just a little bit further until she can rest her head on the pillow. I shut off the lights and then crawl into the bed, on my predetermined side, tugging the duvet from under Amelia so she can join me under it. And as soon as she’s under the duvet, Amelia rolls over and curls up beside me, laying her head on my chest and slinging her arm over my stomach. “Thank you for letting me stay over,” she whispers, craning her head to kiss my cheek. “Goodnight.”

The feeling of laying in a bed with another person, especially a person who I feel so strongly about, is such a warm feeling. I’m sure I’ll literally be warm soon, what with Amelia on top of me and a duvet covering my legs. But my chest feels tight and I can’t wipe off the smile on my face, no matter how hard I try. I just beam, knowing that Amelia will be beside me all night.

So I sink further into the duvet and tug Amelia as close as I possibly can, receiving a small snicker from her. But she doesn’t seem to mind the closeness since she curls into me even more and then presses another kiss to the center of my chest. Maybe she can feel my pounding heart under her lips. Her affection comforts me enough to allow me to close my eyes and force out a goodnight, drifting off to sleep with Amelia in my arms.

TAGLIST

@babybobbybones @thematthewgraygube @anepiphany @goldenalvez @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @stxrryspencer @rxseinbloom @penelopecult @nastyhar @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @matthewreid @shrimpyblog @garcias-batcave @anamelessfacelessnerd @gublergirls @wonderlandhatter @matthewgublerswife

(I’m pretty sure I messed up this taglist so if you weren’t tagged and you should be OR you’re tagged and you don’t want to be, then lmk and I’ll make the appropriate change)

#nikos north fic #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic

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negasonicteenagemess · 5 years ago

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sunflower soulmate peter parker imagine

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Request: Hi I’m not sure if you are still taking requests and this is my first request. Can you write a Peter Parker one where the reader and him are best friends and during the school day she grabs his hand and starts doodling on it. And idk he asks her out and they kiss or something. Please and Thank You

No FFH Spoilers

I made it a soulmate thing, I hope that’s alright. Also it’s eight in the morning and I haven’t slept so editing is sub par

masterlist

“In Greek mythology,” Y/N explained as she licked the ice cream off her spoon. “Humans had four arms, four legs and two faces. Zeus was afraid of the power that they had so, he split them in half.”

Her friends sat at the table in the ice cream shop around her, stunned by the information. “Woah,” Peter whispered, as he scooped more of the frozen treat onto his spoon.

“That’s dark,” MJ stated, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Y/N nodded in agreement, cleaning her mouth with a napkin, “yeah, so they’d spend the rest of their lives looking for each other. It’s sad.”

“Some people now think that your soulmate shares the same atoms as you but were kinda split during the big bang or something,” Ned furthered, playing with his spoon.

MJ scoffed, “the idea of soulmates as a whole seems just plain ole sad.” Peter decided to interject with his opinion, “I don’t think it’s sad. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world, knowing that someone is completely in love with you and devoted to only you. It’s amazing.”

Ned chuckled, “okay Peter, no need to get sappy on us.” His three friends laughed as his cheeks turned red.

“It’s cute though,” Y/N teased, taking another spoonful of ice cream. His cheeks only got redder at the comment.

He froze when he heard sirens down the street. “Um, I just forgot, May needed me to… go shopping. I gotta go. See ya tomorrow,” he grabbed his backpack and ran out before any of them could reply.

“He’s so weird,” MJ stated as she finished off her ice cream. “Yeah,” Y/N agreed absentmindedly.

On the walk home from the ice cream shop, Y/N couldn’t help but think about her soulmate. Would he be tall? Does he live in New York? Is he cute? As all of these thoughts crossed her mind, she watched as bruises formed on her knuckles.

This has been a common thing recently, getting her soulmates cuts and bruises. They didn’t last very long and didn’t hurt much but in Y/N’s mind, she thought he was either a cop or in some weird fight club. Hopefully a cop though.

All of her previous questions were obviously left unanswered as she opened the door to her apartment. She went to do her homework, finishing it so she didn’t have to stay up all hours of the night. She contemplated for a moment as she did the school work before taking her pen and etching something across her hand.

Whenever her soulmate gave the two of them bruises, she’d doodle around the markings with more peaceful things, and most of the time it was flowers. She drew stems all around her knuckles, with cute little squiggles of sunflowers all around.

She capped the pen, extending her hand to admire her work. Y/N felt like something was missing from it, so she uncapped her pen and wrote a little note.

stay safe :)

She didn’t expect a reply, but she soon felt a small pressure on her hand, right under where she wrote.

always try <3

She beamed at the response as butterflies filled her stomach. Definitely something a person in a fight club wouldn’t say.

Her phone vibrated from the place on the bed soon after her small encounter with her soulmate. It was a text from Peter.

hey wanna come over later to watch a movie or something?? They just added a bunch of stuff on netflix

Y/N smiled, quickly typing on the small screen.

yeah sure!! i’ll bring the popcorn. what time?

She sat patiently, waiting for her best friend to respond to the message.

twenty minutes okay with you? He texted back. Y/N replied with a thumb’s up emoji, already putting all of her school stuff away. She switched into her pj’s, as it was tradition for the two of them to wear night clothes to their movie marathons.

She stood in the mirror, messing with her hair and lost in her thoughts. She always thought Peter was cute, but she knew somewhere in her heart that it was wrong to think of someone like that who wasn’t her soulmate.

Y/N sighed, washing off the ink she had previously written so she wouldn’t have to explain it all to Peter. She was secretive about her soulmate, enjoying the fact that it was something only the two of them shared.

As if her soulmate had the same idea, the ink that he had written was slowly disappearing. She dried her hands and decided it was time to go to her friend’s house.

She walked through her apartment and went to the kitchen in search of the microwavable popcorn. Grabbing a couple bags, she left her home and went to the door across from hers, knocking a few times.

The cheerful face of Peter Parker appeared. He was clad in grey sweatpants and a blue Midtown shirt. “Hey,” he greeted with a smile, opening the door for her to step through. “Hi,” she replied back, waving the bags of popcorn in her hand as she walked into the Parker residence. “I would’ve made them at my place, but I was just so excited to see you,” she commented sarcastically.

Peter chuckled, grabbing the bags from her hand, “well the excitement is reciprocated as it is an absolute joy to see you again.”

Y/N laughed at his fake posh voice, plopping down on the couch as he made the popcorn. “Is May here?” She asked as she scrolled through her phone mindlessly.

“Nah, she had to work,” he replied, popping noises coming from his microwave. “Do you want something to drink?” He shouted from the fridge.

“Water please,” she replied, dragging out the last word. Peter soon appeared next to her with arms full of candy and two hands filled with drinks. A glass of water and a can of coke.

“Ya know they used to put cocaine in that shit,” she stated, sipping the clear liquid. Peter, already in the kitchen, scoffed, “no they didn’t.”

“They did. Coca is the plant that makes cocaine. Look it up,” she teased as he stayed silent for a minute.

“Oh shit,” he muttered as google answered his question. “Wasn’t that like, illegal or something?”

“I don’t know man. The 1900s were a weird time,” she stated as he came back with a big bowl of popcorn.

He turned the tv on, going straight to Netflix. “Scott Pilgrim?” He asked, shoveling popcorn in his mouth. Y/N turned to look at him at the strangeness, and he mirrored her actions. “Scott Pilgrim?” He questioned again; his mouth full and a playful tone gracing his voice. She laughed and nodded her head as he coughed from laughing, and choking, as well.

“You’re an idiot,” she giggled, her throat feeling itchy for some reason, but she ignored it.

He drank his soda, making sure to clear his throat, “shut up.” He was blushing. Y/N shook her head as he started the movie, acting as if nothing just happened.

“Can you imagine that?” Peter asked halfway through the film, tossing a piece of popcorn in his mouth. Y/N quirked a brow as she took a handful of candy, “what?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “living in a universe where you don’t have a soulmate.” Y/N let out a breath, “sounds rough. Finding love on your own and all.” He nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his coke.

As the second movie they watched progressed, Y/N completely forgot the title of it as her eyes got more and more droopy. By the time the movie ended, the popcorn was long gone with all of the candy and she was asleep against Peter’s shoulder.

He looked at her longingly before letting out a sigh and wrapping his arm around her. “This universe is a nightmare,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. He heard a jingle of keys before the door to the apartment opened revealing May.

“Hey Peter,” she greeted loudly, placing her purse on a nearby table. May looked at her nephew to see him holding a finger to his lips. “Oh, is she asleep?” She asked quietly, walking towards the boy and his friend.

He nodded his head before diverting his attention back to the girl next to him, as she moved a bit in her sleep. May looked between Peter and Y/N, understanding the look in his eyes was eerily similar to the look her late husband used to give her.

“You like her, don’t you?” She questioned with a smirk, leaning on the back of the couch. His eyes widened as he immediately went to deny her claims. But when he saw the look on her face, he knew he couldn’t lie.

“I-I,” he sighed as he tried to piece his thoughts together, “I can’t. And I shouldn’t, but I just can’t help it, May. She’s always there for me.”

His eyes were glossy as he let out a breath, glad to finally express how he feels. “I don’t know what it is about her. She’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”

May smiled, remembering the feeling, “even better than Spider-Man?” Peter let out a soft chuckle, careful not to wake the girl up.

“I would give up being Spider-Man any day just for her,” he stated quietly, brushing the hair off of her face.

“But I can’t do this to my soulmate. It’s wrong. And I don’t know what to do,” his voice wobbled as he wiped his free hand over his face.

May put a supportive hand on his shoulder, “you just gotta wait Pete. You’ll meet your soulmate one day and the stars will align. You’ll love her and realize that is the greatest feeling in the world.”

She had a twinkle in her eyes as she spoke, remembering when she met Ben. Peter nodded his head in agreement, trying to convince himself more than anything.

“Thanks, May,” he whispered with a tight smile, looking at his Aunt as he spoke. “It’s what I’m here for,” she joked, patting his shoulder.

“Well,” she started, letting out a sigh, “I’m heading to bed. Work killed me and it’s only 10.” Peter nodded, acknowledging her statement.

“And make sure she gets home,” she said sternly, but not harshly. “Will do, May,” he replied, “goodnight.”

“Night, Pete,” she stated as she finally went to her bedroom.

He ran a hand through his hair once again, struggling with his inner thoughts. “One day,” he muttered to himself, “one freaking day.”

Y/N moved again, rubbing her eyes as she awoke from her slumber. “Shit, I slept through the movie, didn’t I?” She asked, getting out of Peter’s arms and leaning forward on the couch.

He chuckled, trying to forget everything he just spoke about, “yeah. You really missed out. Keanu Reeves looked great, as always.”

She shook her head, “damn.” Her eyes met his as she snickered at the encounter. Pulling out her phone, she noticed the time. “Shit, I gotta go,” she stated as she locked her phone but held it in her hand.

He nodded his head, “right.” He stood up, her following in his footsteps. “I can stay for a little bit to help you clean up,” she directed to the mess they made, empty rappers and popcorn kernels everywhere.

“Nah, you got to get your beauty sleep,” he stated sarcastically but continued to direct her to the front door. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” he smiled as he opened the door.

“Walk together to school tomorrow?” She asked as she made it to her front door, opening it while looking eyes with Peter, who stood at his doorway. “Always,” he smiled, leaning against the white frame.

Y/N nodded, leaning in her own doorway, “bye Peter.” She smiled, holding tightly on the handle.

“Adios,” he replied with a smile, finally shutting the door. Y/N did the same, brushing her teeth then going straight to bed.

She drifted off into a deep slumber as the moonlight illuminated her room and the sound of cars was still noticeable every now and then.

The next day, she woke up bright and early to get ready for school. She left her home and met up with Peter in the hallway and a couple train stops later, they made it to Midtown.

“And Ned broke the whole thing,” Peter explained, making Y/N laugh as he held the school door open for her. “Of course he did,” she giggled as the bell rang.

“Right on time,” he stated, walking with Y/N to their first class, Chemistry. “I heard that we have a long ass assignment or something today,” she remarked, pulling at the straps of her backpack.

Peter groaned, “can Mrs. Smith ever give us a break?” Y/N shook her head, “she’s a horrid woman, I tell you.”

As teenagers rushed to get to their classes in the hall, the two friends made it to Chemistry fairly quickly. The late bell rang, the two friends seated right next to each other as always as Mrs. Smith began to explain what the students would be doing that day.

She finished the instructions and students began to open their textbooks. Y/N and Peter did the same, doing the assignment for the bulk of the class period. Being the studious teenagers they were, the pair was able to be one of the first groups to finish.

Y/N took Peter’s hand, laying it on the table before her. “Can I draw on your hand?” She asked sweetly, bored out of her mind and taking her pen as she was ready to start her masterpiece. “Yeah sure,” Peter replied, tapping away on his phone.

“You know,” he started, “you can be such a kid sometimes.” Y/N shrugged her shoulders, starting to draw around his knuckles. Flowers upon flowers seemed to bloom on his hand.

One of her hands held down Peter’s as the other created the work of art. His eyes drifted from his phone to his hand, watching the beauty appearing across his skin. He had a small smile as he watched her etch the flowers upon his knuckles.

Peter’s eyes shifted to the hand that held his down. He froze, jaw slacked, and eyebrows raised. He looked between his hand and hers. Small sunflowers began to appear on her hand, the exact same that were on his own.

“Holy shit,” he spoke suddenly, shocking Y/N and causing her to leave a sharp line down his hand with her pen. ”Awe man,” she slumped her shoulders as she examined the mistake, “I really liked it.”

Her voice was filled with slight sadness at the mark, but she just shrugged, “we can fix it though. It’ll be fine.” She looked up at Peter, giving him a soft smile, but frowned when she saw his face still full of surprise.

“Pete I can just get rid of it-“ she wanted to apologize but he cut her off. “No, Y/N listen,” he laughed, but not with humor, but because this was actually happening to him.

He grabbed the hand that held his down and looked deeply into her eyes. “I-I can’t believe it,” he whispered, all of this still not settling in his brain. Y/N furrowed her brows, giving him a strange look, “what?”

Squeezing her hand, he chuckled nodding towards their joined hands, “look.” Y/N’s eyes fell, examining the marks. “Oh my god, she whispered as she traced the marks on her hand with the other one.

She looked between the marks on her hand versus Peter’s, where she actually created the doodles. They were the exact same, the flowers and that stupid line where she messed up. It was all the same. She covered her mouth with the empty hand, laughing lightly.

“It’s you,” she gushed. He nodded his head, “yeah. The likelihood, huh?”

Y/N was speechless, making it so that both of her hands covered his. She bit her lip, “I had a crush on you, you know? I thought you were the cutest boy in our hall.”

At that Peter chuckled, “I’m the only other person in our entire complex who’s your age.”

Y/N hit him on the shoulder lightly, “that’s not the point.” He looked at her, letting out a sigh, “I had, or well have a crush on you too.”

He gave her a tight smile, “why does this feel so awkward?” Y/N laughed at the comment, brushing a hand through her hair as she leaned on the other.

“It’s only awkward when you say it’s awkward Pete,” she stated. He just shrugged his shoulders, taking his hands away and rubbing them together from the coldness of the classroom.

“So,” he dragged out, “d-do you want to go on a date with me sometime?” He was so nervous because of the fact that he wasn’t just asking any girl out on a date. He was asking his best friend, his soulmate.

Y/N sighed dramatically, “I don’t know, do I have to?” Her sarcastic remark made Peter smile widely.

“I’d love to,” she replied for real this time, picking up her pen. “Now,” she continued, “time to finish my art.” He smiled, watching her finish her drawing as she proceeded to doodle away, not wanting to take his eyes off her anytime soon.

Class soon ended, so the newly found soulmates had to separate. It wasn’t as hard as it seemed, but in the next period, they couldn’t stop thinking about each other.

Peter would write things on his arm for her to read, away from the flowers as he wanted to keep those for as long as he could.

Woods is falling asleep on his desk read one of the little notes, plus a drawing of a horribly drawn teacher asleep.

Y/N sat in her desk, thinking about her soulmate. Like, why did Peter get bruises and cuts all the time? And why so late at night? He wasn’t a cop, like she originally thought. Was Peter in a fight club?

No, sweet little Peter Parker could NOT be in a fight club. That’s impossible.

The rest of the day went by fairly quickly, Peter and Y/N seeing each other as often as possible. By the time the last bell rang, Y/N couldn’t wait to walk home with Peter. And that’s exactly what they did. This time was different though, because they weren’t deemed as best friends anymore, but as soulmates. So, they talked about their day at school, holding hands and as their shoes scratched the pavement.

After taking the subway, they arrived at their building. They stood in the apartment building’s hall, Y/N biting her lip as she debated her next moves.

“Screw it,” she whispered, grabbing Peter’s face with her hands. He looked like he was about to speak but stayed silent at the feeling of her lips on his own.

His eyes closed as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer to him and never wanting to let go. But there was one thought that crossed his mind. Finally, after years and years of being in love with his best friend, he was able to kiss her as his soulmate.

It felt like Zeus was throwing lightning bolts around his body as the feeling of her feathery light lips against his rough ones made him ecstatic. She pulled away slowly, opening her eyes as she moved her hands around his neck. “S-Sorry,” she stumbled, her cheeks red.

Peter shook his head and whispered, “don’t be.” She looked deep into his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her again. Her lips tasted like the lip balm she always uses, the taste suddenly becoming one of his favorites.

He was consumed in the warmth that was Y/N L/N, and he couldn’t get enough. But all good things must come to an end, and she pulled her lips from his.

“Walk me to school tomorrow?” She asked breathlessly with a smirk. He laughed lightly, leaning his head onto her shoulder as he did so. “Always,” he looked up at her with a smile.

He gave her a peck on the lips before she began pulling away. “See you then,” she gave a little wave as he nodded his head. She shut the door to her home, biting her lip as she walked to her room.

Peter, on the other hand ran though his apartment door, slamming the door shut in search of his Aunt.

“May,” he shouted as he ran around, looking for the Italian woman. She stood in the kitchen and looked at him with an amused look of confusion. “Woah, easy there. What’s up?” She asked, taking note of the starstruck look on his face.

“I-I found my soulmate,” he beamed as he dropped his backpack onto the tile floor. Her eyes widened as she stopped washing the dishes.

She ran and hugged him, “oh my god, that’s amazing! What’s her name? When can I meet her?” She pressed with questions as she pulled away to look at her nephew. He chuckled lightly, moving his hands to hold her back.

“You won’t believe it,” he grinned, shaking his head as he still couldn’t believe it himself. May scrunched her brows, eyes examining his features, “what do you mean?”

“It’s Y/N,” the gaze in his eyes as he spoke was love struck, May squealing and pulling him into a tight hug yet again.

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inkribbon796 · 4 years ago

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Like a House of Cards Ch. 9: Magic and Might

Summary: The heroes and villains learn more about the troubling future.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Dark was coming to, slowly, with a pounding headache. A headache that was made worse because two people were literally screaming directly over him.

Wilford and Brody had gotten into a bit of a disagreement. Brody had gotten upset that Dark was just lying on a cold table and had gone looking for a pillow or some kind of cushion. But Wilford used the Void to grab what he wanted before Brody could take two steps to leave the room. That caused a light argument about how Wilford wouldn’t have done anything if Brody hadn’t spoken up. Which Wil immediately argued that was not the case. And that led to the louder argument that had woken Dark in the first place.

“Mhmmm!” Dark complained, his aura not quite strong enough to lash out at them without worsening his migraine. He was a little dazed as the memories of before he’d been hit hadn’t come back yet.

“Great, yeh fookin’ woke ‘im up,”[1] Brody complained.

“I woke him up?” Wil argued heatedly. “The absolute nerve!”

Nestor had his head in his hands, “Fuck, I forgot that they do this when we put them together.”

“Wil?” Dark called out, his aura naturally tugging Wil closer.

Wilford instantly turned to go and tend to Dark, Brody looked away and sighed in defeat, taking a seat close by. “Yes, my Darkling?”

Dark grabbed Wilford and pulled him close, Wil realized he was shaking. Brody looked over, noticed the shaking and gripped his knees as he forced himself to sit there.

“My sweet licorice,” Wil frowned as he didn’t try to escape or wriggle free from the Entity. “What’s wrong?”

“You almost died,” Dark told Wil, who looked very confused.

“My Darkling, death is—” Wil chuckled, running a hand through Dark’s hair.

Dark grabbed his hand, “No, Wil, that blast would have killed you. I barely survived. You don’t have enough aura to survive an attack like that.”

Wilford thought on that, “Well even if I did die, I would haunt you. Here let me—”

Wil tried to pull away, but Dark held him in a vice grip. Panic flooded the Entity’s mind.

“No! I can’t let you be attacked by something like that,” Dark ordered. “You can’t—”

Dark’s voice became choked and Wil leaned in to gently kiss his forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere my dear, I promise,” Wil smiled and Dark seemed to calm down a bit now that Wilford wasn’t pulling away again.

After a bit, Dark pulled himself up, and noticed everyone still in the room. He groaned and protectively curled his own aura around himself. He didn’t have enough aura at the moment to spare to make some sort of display of power. Which made him uneasy. Wil and his children were safe but who even knew how long he’d been out for. He had an image to uphold and he was wasting it sleeping on a desk of all things.

As the Entity’s thoughts were thinking of something that would help him look like he wasn’t about to fall apart, he felt aura tap towards his own and his cracked and battered soul was so eager for more aura to take that he grabbed it without thinking and felt like it was massaging the inside of his scalp. The feeling made Dark feel better almost immediately.

Dark’s migraine blissfully began to fade and he recognized the almost tangy sweet of Wil’s aura creeping towards his own. Dark thought it was weird but he was desperate for aura and trying not to show it maybe he could—

Wil’s aura aggressively shoved the first aura — Brody’s — off of Dark. The headache flared back into his senses and left Dark a little whiplashed.

“The hell was that? He was fookin’[2] calmin’[3] down!” Brody spat at Wilford.

Dark looked around the room in confusion before he saw Anti. The individual he initially assumed was the cause of the argument. But Anti wasn’t coming over and Wil and Brody were on either side of him. The glitch wasn’t even looking their way, he was just hovering over Henrik. The German doctor was with Iplier still tending to the Host’s and the Dealer’s eyes.

Nestor got in to pull Brody away before it got violent and Wil stood next to Dark who was soon distracted by Illinois and King who were trying to catch Dark up on what everyone had discussed while he was unconscious.

Ethan and Silver were going through the huge file of pictures and videos.

The former sidekick paused on a group shot of Dark sitting in his warehouse office with J.J, Brody, Nestor, and someone who looked a lot like Henrik just in suspenders and without his lab coat.

“Hey, I thought you guys said Henrik was dead?” Ethan asked.

“Henrik’s not in that picture, it’s—” Nestor told him, but looked at it again before doing a double take and snatching the screen back. “Oh shit! It is.”

Brody looked up, when Nestor walked over, “Hey Chase, this is Heinz’s last picture.”

“Huh,” Brody leaned to look at the screen. “This was the fourth right? Not the last time I saw him in the front, but definitely the last picture.”

“What happened ta[4] him?” Anti hissed. Now that Glitch Logan had been physically taken away from him he was far calmer, but he hovered protectively around Henrik.

“Well,” Brody began. “When the hunters were burnin’ Brighton down an’ I was runnin’ around trying ta help stop it, yah were tryin’ ta protect Kay an’ his kid from some ‘a the hunters. The fight almost killed yeh an’ Henrik agreed ta let yah hitch a ride until yeh got better. But yeh never left an’ after ten years yeh both became the Mortician.”[5]

Anti just stared at him in alarm.

“Same thing happened to Nate and Mare, it was just more traumatic for them,” Nestor told Anti, before immediately changing the subject back to the Mortician. “Morty’s alright, comes into town every Thursday to shoot the shit and show off his knife collection he got from you. I think Henrik might still be in there but it’s been ages since I could tell the difference. I think Dark can but I don’t ask him about what Mortician does and I have enough to do every day. Which is a shame.”

Anti came over and looked at the screen, uncertainty and a bit of unease in his eyes. There were some pictures of this . . . Anti didn’t know whether to call him a new demon or not. He had Henrik’s face and something in Anti’s long dead soul twisted a bit. He didn’t like the idea of Henrik with some other demon, even if it was some other version of himself.

Henrik, who was finished cleaning up the Dealer’s eyes walked over, “May I see?”

“No!” Anti tried to surge over to destroy the drive and the tablet it was in before Henrik could see it.

“Anti, don’t be fookin’[2] difficult, just let him see it,” Brody shouted at him. “If Brighton’s not burnin’ then Mort’s got no reason ta e’en exist.”[6]

“Anti!” Henrik, starting to shout at him in a mix of German and English as he stomped over and took the screen away to look at it.

“If somezing[7] involves me, zen[8] I deserve to know!” Henrik shouted at Anti.

Henrik studied the picture for a bit, curious and a little nervous about this future version of himself.

After a minute of seeing his own body moving in a way that was similar and alien all at the same time, he handed it back to Nestor as the group went through the videos. Chase saw some of the pictures taken of his future self talking to Dark in the mob boss’s office. Himself in a vest and button-up and what was obviously a real gun on his belt.

Everything about the photographic evidence making him uncomfortable.

As most of the heroes and villains were still in the meeting room they’d been originally brought to, Logan went down to the ground floor parking lot. His glitchy counterpart had to move there to help build whatever device he’d been working on. The Googles and Bing were helping him to assemble the machine parts that were being constructed and printed.

Roman hovered right next to him, apprehensive about if the glitch would attack or not. Janus was with him and the other Sides were hanging back within earshot.

“Are you able to talk and work at the same time?” Logan asked the computer.

The image glitched and the young demon was on the monitor, as if he was simply being recorded in another room. “Such is the wonder of automation. We have much to discuss.”

“We do,” Logan agreed, feeling nervous but tried his best to hide it. “You spoke of a Collider earlier. What is that?”

Schematics popped up on the screen for Logan to see and scroll through. It was some advanced laser or turbine.

“I have been working on this for the past three resets, when it became clear we and the Dealer had different end goals,” Glitch Logan announced. “It is a fusion of magic and technology powerful enough to cut through dimensional rifts.”

“What would be the purpose of such a device?” Logan asked, “you are from the future.”

The computer showed images of the generator that Logan’s drive and three Sides’ lockets had been in. “After our last resulting failure, I decided it was time to ensure the Core Sides’ survival so that was why I constructed my generator. Which, I had plans to use Anti as a power source. He was older than I am and 99% likely to survive with little more than some scraps against his soul. After a month or two he would have been fine.”

“Why were we in that generator?” Logan demanded.

“Well, after I would reclaim Anti,” Glitch Logan began, as if his answer would be oblivious, “I planned on using the excess energy to finish cracking the souls of every single Side. If that wasn’t enough to turn all of us into instant demons, nothing would.”

“You heinous monster!” Roman shouted. “More proof you are not who you say you are!”

“I would merely be finishing what Wilford’s soul splitter started,” Glitch Logan announced gleefully. “It is far easier to kill all of you as you now stand. I am trying to keep all of us alive. I do not care if I am liked or thanked for what I have done. My actions so far have led to not only your survival so far, but made Dark suspicious and guarded enough to save Wil.”

“So the mages and hunters you murdered were worth nothing but power to you!” Logan roared.

“Yes,” Glitch Logan admitted with no hesitation. “Their magic would have fueled the generator to ensure a successful merge, but now that Wilford is still alive the Host has agreed to use our Anomaly to fuel the generator instead. Meaning that Anti’s involvement will be completely unnecessary. I have already handed over the magical amulets I used to store their magic to the Host, Dark can keep them, he needs them more than I do at the moment.”

“Glad to know that sentient life will not be used for your personal gain,” Logan spat. Anti was his enemy, but he did not deserve to be turned into a living battery. None of the mages or hunters deserved to be turned into batteries.

“You have lost nothing, you would be prepared to roil in your own grief if I were not here!” Glitch Logan spat. “Roman and Virgil will not die, and Patton will not be hunted like an animal. I have saved them.”

Logan didn’t have an easy rebuttal.

“Maybe you have, but this is our future now,” Janus proclaimed, nudging himself protectively in front of Logan. “We will make of it what we will.”

The glitch demon chuckled, his screen version pushing up his glasses, “I suppose you will. I’d be more concerned if I wasn’t sure they were still in capable hands.”

Because it was a screen, it was unclear if Glitch Logan was looking at anyone in particular, but Logan felt it. As if he was being specially targeted.

“Why decide on the generator now, and not earlier?” Logan tried to move the conversation, Janus looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

“That was because I was so close last time,” Glitch Logan proclaimed. “The Host forced a reset, I didn’t know that he could do that without J.J but apparently the Anomaly is more powerful than I could have imagined if it granted him the ability to do so.”

“Why did he reset you, if things were going so well?” Logan asked.

“Hmmm,” the Glitch hummed. “Uncertain, but Chase went into the dome, it shrank into a smaller one and after five seconds we were standing at the same spot we always do when we are thrown back. Chase was crying and immediately he and I got into a fight with the Host. It was some nonsense about a doll and that the Host didn’t want to discuss him. All I know about this “doll” is that it had something to do with Dark. I can infer that Dark had some reaction and whatever the Anomaly made in that dome, it scared the Host.”

“Scared him, how?” Virgil asked, he’d been listening in and came over.

“Uncertain, but the results speak for themselves,” Glitch Logan smiled as a camera detached on a long cord to look at Virgil. “Come out from hiding, my sweet nightmare?”

“Get away from him,” Roman nudged himself in front of Virgil, drawing his sword.

Glitch Logan was smiling, “So full of life, I’m glad something is finally going right. Now if you all will excuse me, I have to ensure my future.”

Then his video turned off and the construction on the machine sped up.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. Great, you fucking woke him up

2. fucking

3. calming

4. to

5. When the hunters were burning Brighton down and I was running around trying to help stop it, you were trying to protect Kay and his kid from some of the hunters. The fight almost killed you and Henrik agreed to let you hitch a ride until you got better. But you never left and after ten years you both became the Mortician.

6. If Brighton’s not burnin’ then Mort’s got no reason ta e’en exist.

7. something

8. then

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #footnotes #Darkiplier #Wilford Warfstache #Chase Brody #Antisepticeye #Henrik von Schneeplestein #Crankgameplays #J.J #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders #Janus Sanders #darkstache #DarkAverage #Dark's not used to people flirting with him #confused Dark #Glitch Logan is a bit creepy

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revisionaryhistory · 4 years ago

Text

Three Days ~ 40

I got up to make banana bread for my niece. This chapter is just as sweet. Enjoy.

~*~Sebastian~*~

I woke up face down and naked on top of Emma's bed. I turned my head and could see Emma was also face down and naked. She was also using my lower back as a pillow with her arm under my ass. I have no idea how we got here. I remember the blonde with long hair trying to start shit. Then more shots. And more shots. We hadn't driven, so we must have taken an Uber back. I could see towels on the floor, so we must have showered. That's good because we both had to stink after all day in the sun. Her more. I stifled a laugh and felt Emma shift. I said, "Morning." My voice sounded like we’d been drinking all night or I’d started smoking again.

"Morning." Her voice sounded as rough as mine. She started to move then stopped. "I'm hugging your butt like a teddy bear. Interesting."

"Gotta admit, it's a first."

Emma joined me right way on the bed after planting a kiss on my ass. I rolled to my side, mirroring her, "Any idea how we got here?"

"Not really." She cringed, "I remember getting out of an Uber and barely being able to unlock the door."

"There's towels on the floor."

She leaned and sniffed my chest, "You smell nice and clean." Her eyes shifted between both our naked bodies. "Did we have sex?"

I laughed, "Oh, I doubt it." She laughed with me. I ran my hand down her side to rest on her hip, my eyes following. "I may always want you, but I think too drunk to fuck was a thing last night."

She smiled, her single dimple making itself known, "Always, huh?"

"Always." I went to kiss her, but was stopped by her hand on my chest.

"Oh no." She shook her head. "Something has crawled in my mouth and died." She climbed over me and headed to the bathroom. I heard her pee, flush, and turned the water on.

I knocked, "Can I brush too?"

She let me in and made room in front of the sink. We continued talking as we brushed. "How do you feel?"

"Not horrible. A little headache. My finger hurts. How about you?

"Dehydrated. Headache."

"We have brunch with your parents in two hours."

I looked at her in the mirror, "We can push it back. I don't want to cancel."

"No, Advil and some water and I'll be fine." She put her hand over her stomach. "I'll be hungry by then." She finished brushing her teeth, put her tooth brush away, and looked down my body. Emma's hand caressed down my chest to cup my balls. "You're very naked, Mr. Stan."

I almost choked on a mouthful of toothpaste. I spit and rinsed while she continued to fondle me. Thankfully, she waited to stroke my cock. I dropped my toothbrush in the sink with a groan. My hands ran down the silky skin of her back to her ass and I pulled her closer. I stopped a fraction of an inch from her lips, "You're very naked too, Ms. Marcum."

I kissed her and realized I was already hungry.

Two hours later we walked into Jill's Bistro and sat down with my parents. Mom was happy to see both of us. She'd texted me Friday morning to make sure we were still on and to tell me again she liked Emma. I was glad. I love my mom. While her approval of someone I'm going out with isn’t necessary, it is nice. Especially considering how much I liked Emma.

Mom did separate us for brunch. When we got to the table, she and Anthony were seated across from each other. I rolled my eyes as I hugged her, "Traitor."

Mom kissed my cheek, "I can talk to you both." She hugged Emma, "Nice to see you again."

"You too."

I pushed in Emma's chair and kissed her cheek before walking to the other side of the table. This was fine. We were both tall enough for me to stretch out my leg and touch hers. Yes, I am just that ridiculous.

Mom was on Emma's right and immediately noticed her finger, like any good mom would. Emma had left it uncovered to get some air. The blood was gone, but it was still red and looked like it hurt. She said it did. Emma told them about the game and I pulled out my phone to supplement with pictures and video. I smiled watching again, even more with the interest my parents showed. Eventually we talked about other stuff. Food was good. Dessert was incredible. It was a good time. I was still a little dehydrated and tired. Inside the CRV I looked at her, "Are you tired?"

"A little. Why? What do you want to do?" Her smile and the way she's looking at me. Damn.

Shaking my head, I said, "Nothing. I was thinking I was a little tired and figured you really must be."

"Wanna go home and lay on the couch? Read. It's your turn to introduce me to a TV show."

I laughed, "Yeah, it is. You need to turn in your lesson plans too." I remembered.

"Last week. Woo hoo!" She pumped both arms in the air. We were laughing when her phone rang. The CRV screen said, "Dad #2". Emma pointed toward the steering wheel, “Hit answer for me. The one on the left." I hit the button and the call connected. "Hey, dad."

A gravelly voice came through the speakers and my inner fanboy got very excited. My thought that Dad #2 was Ed proved true.

"Hey Emma. How was the tournament?"

"We won!"

"That's fantastic. Congratulations."

"It was fun. I'll send you pictures."

"Can't wait to see them. Did you hurt yourself?"

"Broke off a nail. Nothing major." She looked at me and winked. "I'm being well taken care of."

Thus far the conversation had been a quick back and forth. There was a noticeable pause before Ed started speaking again, "What exactly does that mean?"

"I'm seeing someone. He patched me up when I hurt myself."

I was thinking being a knight in shining armor would get me some points.

"Do you not remember the rules? Do dating before thirty. In the last two weeks have you miraculously turned thirty?"

Nope, no points for me. I'm also docking myself some points because I don't know how old she is. She's got a job and a condo. That’s old enough.

"No, I have not. Wait, he's over thirty." I held up some fingers. "Thirty-six."

"Was that supposed to make it better, Emma? Thirty-six. Fuck, he's not a musician too is he? 'Cause that requires paperwork."

"No, not a musician."

"What's he do?" There was a tone in his voice that told me he knew she was not telling him something.

"He's an actor."

"Not better. Should have never let you move to New York. Actors and musicians everywhere."

"I met him here." She was pointing down like he could see her. They were used to FaceTime.

“Yes or no. If I was to hang up and change to FaceTime would I see him?" He was giving her shit, but his affection for her was clear.

"Of course not, Daddy. I’m in the car. Answering FaceTime would be dangerous."

I let out a barking laugh. The tone of her voice was very Cher from Clueless.

"Ha! Thought so. What’s your name?"

I answered without pause, “Sebastian Stan. Nice to, well, meet you. Sort of."

"Sebastian Stan. S-T-A-N." I nearly laughed again. Fucking Eddie Vedder was Googling me. “That’s why your name sounds familiar. Marvel. What the hell are you doing in Beacon?"

"My parents live here. We met when I was helping them move." Yes, that's me sucking up. I pulled into her drive and put the CRV in park, waiting to cut the engine until we were done with the call.

Ed laugh, "I trust her that you're a nice guy, Sebastian, or she wouldn't have answered the call."

Emma laughed, "Very true. We're home. Now that you two have met can we continue the inquisition tomorrow night. He leaves in the morning."

"Sure. Harper has awards tomorrow, so wait until after school."

"I will. I can congratulate her. Give the girls and Jill a hug. I love you."

"I love you, too Emma."

Emma put her hand on my arm and leaned over the console to kiss me, "He'll have your phone number, address, and SAG member ID in five minutes. Ten tops."

We kicked off our shoes and headed to the couch. I sat down and she straddled my lap, giving me a kiss. I decided to tell her what I'd thought. "He was giving you shit, but I could tell he really loves you. He sounded more, I don't know, amused, than anything."

She smiled, her tongue sticking out between her teeth. "He was. He's a lot of fun. He did tell me I had to get prior written approval before going out with a musician."

"I don't think he would have signed off."

"Me either."

I kept my arm on her leg, my hand on her hip. My other hand went to her face to guide her in for a kiss. A very long, slow kiss. I kept my hand on her face, "I don't know how old you are."

"Twenty-eight. I'll be twenty-nine on November twenty third."

"Eight years."

She ignored my statement. "I have a confession." This was going to be interesting. "I said I wouldn't Google you, but I had already checked IMDB the day we met. You hadn't said your last name when you introduced yourself and I wanted to make sure you were you I thought you were. Your birthday's on there."

I smiled with how she wasn’t sure who I was, "You're so cute I want to squish you." I hugged her tight, rocking her from side to side.

She was holding onto me and laughing, "Can I look at Google images? I like looking at you."

I un-hugged her where I could see her face. "You can look where ever you want. Promise me you'll ask me about anything."

Her face said no before she did, "I want pretty pretty pictures not articles or gossip. I’m having too much fun getting to know you. I want to learn about you from you."

I dropped both my hands to her thighs. A week ago I didn't touch her like this. "That means more to me than you can possibly imagine."

Emma shrugged one shoulder, tilting here head toward the shrug, "I think you're gonna mean more to me than you can possibly imagine."

Jesus. Maybe twenty-eight is too young to be afraid to say shit like that. I want to know how she's so fearless.

"I have a pretty good imagination."

"We'll both have to wait and see."

A very nice moment was broken by my phone. Something told me to pick it up. FaceTime and I didn't recognize the number. Emma did, "Ed." She climbed off my lap. "I'm going to grab my tablet. Want me to get your book?"

"Yes, please, outside pocket of my bag."

"Be right back."

I answered and waited for Ed's face to show up. "She told me it would take you five, ten minutes max. You're late."

"Everything takes longer on Sunday." He smiled, "My wife tells me I can be intense and overprotective."

"I get it, she's one of your daughters. I think she's pretty special too." I hoped my sincerity played over FaceTime.

He leaned back on whatever he sat on, "If she's letting us meet, she thinks you're pretty special too."

I smiled and nodded, "I hope so." I heard Emma coming down the stairs, "Please tell me you're tougher than her other dad."

Ed laughed, "He's a cupcake."

Emma put her face next to mine where he could see both of us, "Do not scare him. I like him."

Ed shifted his attention to her, "Should you say that in front of him?"

"Don't be silly. He knows. I would never."

There it is! I’ve been waiting patiently and there it finally fucking is. I turned my head and pulled away to see her, "There's the southern accent I’ve been waiting for!"

Ed smirked, "Wait until she goes back to Georgia. You've got a good two or three days before she loses the accent. The harder she tries the worse it gets."

"Which is why I don't try."

Indignant, but still a little Southern. I snickered. She turned her head and kissed my lips. I winced, “Don't do that. I think I was winning him over."

A young female voice came through, "Is that Sissy?"

"Hi Livvy."

A teenage girl with long straight hair moved in beside her dad. She looked confused, shifting her eyes between us. She settled on me and her mouth dropped open, "Bucky?"

I loved when kids called me by my character, "Who the hell is Bucky?” A smile lit up her face, “How are you, Olivia? Emma’s told me a lot about you."

Attention back to Emma. "Sissy, you're dating Bucky?"

"I am."

Olivia's hand covered her mouth, "Oh shit!" She pushed her dad's shoulder, "Do not scare him off. I want to meet him. It's six months to Hawaii. Emma, you keep him happy and I'll make dad be nice. I love him." She was looking at me.

"Thank you."

Ed was glaring at me and holding up a finger. "One, Seb, I have a one daughter limit."

"I'm not willing to trade. I like the one I've got."

He smirked, "I'm starting to like you, but it could turn and I will find you."

"I'II try not to give you reason."

Another face came to the other side of Ed’s face. Obviously, his beautiful wife. She looked at me then Ed, "Have you two finished the pissing contest?"

Ed smile at his wife, love filled his face, "We've got a truce."

We stayed on FaceTime for a while longer and I was a little sad when we hung up. Emma stood up and I turned enough for me to grab and pull her over the couch into my lap. Her flailing and squeals made me laugh. I buried my face in her neck, kissing and tickling her. She tried to fight back and I held her wrists. Despite her wiggling I was able to kiss her. That stopped her. But I wasn't wanting serious or to sit here making out. I was still in fanboy mode. "I want to get on a plane and go to Seattle. That was so much fun, even the parts where Ed looked like he wanted to murder me. I got to see you with your family and finally," I looked to the ceiling and shook my fist, "got to hear your southern accent."

"We do have a lot fun together. Not that my parents and sister aren't fun, but it is different."

"Sure. I loved you telling Ed FaceTime would be dangerous. You two going back and forth."

Emma laughed, "We watch Clueless every New Year’s Day."

I punched my thumb and forefinger together, "Spot on."

She combed her fingers through my hair, "Do you realize me seeing you with your family is just as fun for me? Your mom sending you to the other side of the house and watching you two was great. You reverting to a little boy was amusing." She did the thing in my hair again. "And very sweet."

We like each other's family (at least the half I've met) and we like each other. Things are working out well. I rearranged her a little on my lap, "Can we catch up on some making out?"

"Absolutely."

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #fanfiction

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scarletfish · 5 years ago

Text

don’t worry, you will

Summary: Two weeks ago, Juno was engaged. Now he's quarantined with a complete stranger who can't operate a microwave and has no sense of personal space. And they were quarantined (oh my god, they were quarantined!)

Pairings: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, background Vespa/Buddy in future chapters Word Count: 3000 Chapters: 1/5 Warnings: canon-typical alcohol abuse, depression AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016468/chapters/57779629

A/N: Thanks @space-city-traffic for the prompt, and @pipis-pods for the suggestion that Juno and Vespa communicate and become friends

Chapter 1

Diamond paid you $1520 . Your Venmo balance is now $1520.

Fiancee. Rent. They’re the first and last things on Juno’s mind. He realizes he’s been sitting in the parking garage for over ten minutes, idling and staring at the alert on his cracked phone screen. He turns the car off.

His car with a long crack in the windshield. Everything is goddamn broken. He gets out of the car, pauses. Gets back in the car.

This calls for a detour.

***

Twenty minutes later, Juno is ready to take his newly acquired liquor to his room so he can introduce it to his newly acquired headache, but he still has one more stop to make.

Hyperion Apartment Complex twists eight stories high, and the tacky light grey brick facade is almost reflective at night. Semi-nice rooms in a mostly bad part of town. Hyperion city makes cheap look beautiful, the way fast-food commercials brush up plastic meat with shoe polish and glue. Diamond had always hated it.

Juno shoulders into the leasing office with two large grocery bags. The front desk is empty, and everything is fading or peeling. He rings the bell and sits on a peely, faded chair to wait. Might as well put the whisky to good use.

Taking a swig, he looks out the floor-length windows to the filmy outdoor pool. (Rita swears security fished a body out of it a couple years ago. Juno told her she needs to stop watching so much Law and Order.) For the hundredth time, he wonders if this is even worth it. She's going to ask questions, it's inevitable, and he doesn't know how to answer them. Doesn't know the answers himself.

He starts poking holes in the plastic grocery bags with his thumbnail. Takes another swig. Then a couple more-

“Boss!” Rita bobs into view with her tablet in hand, Cheeto dust on her bright purple jacket.

Since the police force scandal, Juno runs a small PI business from a shitty downtown office, which is where he met Rita. To this day Juno’s not sure how or when she wormed her way into a position he wasn't even offering. He’s also not sure when she sleeps. As far as he knows, the part time leasing office representative is her third job- she also does... something with computers.

“Rita,” swig, “I need a favor.” The shorter woman has already started talking, anticipating their usual back and forth.

“And I know I ain’t supposed to call you that here, but you are my boss, and I don’t think my other bosses-- wait, huh?” Confused by the change in script, Rita eyes the half-empty bottle of whisky in Juno’s hand. Her eyes jump to the clock.

“Mista Steel, are you okay?” One pro of hiring Rita: she’s very perceptive. Con of hiring Rita: way too perceptive.

“Fine. I need you to check someone out for me.” Rita’s eyes immediately light up.

“Oooooh, boss, another case already? Is it gonna be as exciting as the one with Mista Prince Julian? Are we gonna get to travel? I’ve always wanted to go somewhere exotic, like Maine, or Florida-” Juno cuts her off before she can get going.

“He was a dramatic politician with a cheating husband who ended up dead, Rita. Not everything is a Netflix rom-com.”

There's a bitterness in his tone that might not have been there a week ago, but the smaller woman doesn't notice. She's already sunk into her desk chair, head propped in both hands, sighing dreamily as she swivels back and forth. Time to bring out the big guns.

Juno reaches into his shopping bag and pulls out the chips, dangling them in front of Rita’s heart eyes. She snatches. He raises them just out of reach.

“Focus. It’s not a case. There’s this guy I need you to find. I’ve got name and place of employment. Can you do it or not?”

Rita pouts. “But boss,” she whines, “you don’t even need me for that, you can just Google his name like I showed you. I thought we were gonna do something exciting.” Juno pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, well, Google isn’t gonna cut it this time, because,” I wasn’t really paying attention when you showed me that, “because, he’s highly secretive. And, that’s potential name. And potential place of employment, my source isn’t very,” he almost chokes on this last word, “reliable .”

The gears start turning. “Secretive… hang on Boss, is this another high-profiler? Have you been holding out on me?” She lowers her voice (not much). “Boss, this is about a case, right, you just can’t tell me because they might have tapped the phones!?”

What… who does she think they are? Juno drops his head into his hands to rub his temples. When Juno doesn't immediately contradict her, Rita continues in her stage whisper.

“Don’t worry Boss, Rita’s got your back! I’ll have this secretive criminal tracked down before they even know we’re on their case!”

“It’s not a case.”

“I’ll be as quiet as… as those monsters in The Quiet Place! Except they ain’t so quiet when they’re attacking people, but neither are we when we’ve got the bad guys cornered and we’re ready to take them out-”

Besides the recent political debacle with Julian and his missing husband (that one was a high-paying scrap tossed Juno’s way by an old friend), most of the cases he’s hired for are affair investigations and insurance fraud.

He’s certain neither he nor Rita have “taken anyone out” ever ... unless you count that time he tried to teach Rita to drive stick shift. Or the Hot Tub Debacle. But those were accidents.

Juno slings the bag of snacks onto her desk. “Just find out whatever you can about the guy, okay?”

“Fresh shrimp flavored?” Rita squeals, “Aw, you’re the best Mista Steel!” She digs into the large bag and talks around a mouthful of orange crumbs while Juno tries not to vomit in his mouth.

“Shipping ish ‘aking fore’er wi’ this crathy thirus thing goin’ gon,” she swallows, “speaking of, have you been watching the news Boss?”

“Every morning with my sunrise yoga. Listen Rita, I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?” Juno’s limbs are… heavy, suddenly. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept well in that last, oh, ten years... or maybe it’s the weight of that single text, sitting in his phone for almost a week now. Looking at Rita, he thinks of telling her everything. Just spilling his guts right onto the scuffed linoleum floor.

The engagement. The text. The Craigslist ad. The man he’s supposed to be meeting tomorrow.

Rita’s still chattering on, and her voice cuts through the haze. “-but you never told me the name of Mister Criminal?” She happily shoves another handful of chips in her mouth. “Oooo, or is it so secret you need to write it down on a piece of paper and then I can read it and eat the paper-”

“Peter Ransom. Might’ve done a job for Vallas Vicky’s hotel recently.” That’s all he knows. “And he’s not a criminal Rita, he’s just a normal guy.”

Rita’s dialogue wanders around to closing borders and something about Italy, but Juno’s already moving towards the door (it shuts a bit harder than he intended). He doesn't know why he's so upset with Rita, when all she's done is try to cheer him up and offered her help. He makes his way back to the parking garage elevator. It smells like cotton candy vape and something vaguely mossy. A group of ragged kids is flying down the incline around the corner on penny boards.

Juno takes another swig of whiskey in front of the chrome doors and jams the elevator button about twenty times before he remembers.

Of course the fucking elevator is down for the weekend.

He wants to sit at the bottom of the stairwell and drink himself into oblivion. He want to wallow in this feeling for a moment, the feeling of the universe kicking him while he’s down.

Instead, he drags himself to the stairwell, drudges down the second floor hall, and practically collapses through the door.

An eager chittering greets him from the cage in the living room. “Hey, Smallfry.”

Diamond wouldn’t go near the ball of fluff (“It’s so dirty Juno,”) so when they moved in together eight months ago, the rabbit was a launching point for multiple arguments. Juno drops his grocery bag of Timothy hay and carrots by the cage, not bothering to stash it in the kitchen.

He pointedly doesn’t look in the smaller second bedroom that Diamond claimed as an office space. He doesn’t look at their shared bed either, because the sight of the rumpled sheets will just wrap around his ribcage and squeeze and squeeze until he can’t breathe again and everything is spinning-

Juno takes another swig and collapses on the couch. And then, because he wants to hate himself a bit, he thumbs through his phone to his fiancee’s most recent text. No matter how often Juno reads it, it never changes.

3:56AM: Diamond

Juno. I’ll forward my part of two month’s rent before the month is over. That should be long enough for you to find a temporary roommate, at least until the lease expires at the end of the year. Do what you’d like with the furniture.

Ex-fiancee.

***

Juno bolts upright, disoriented and confused. The decorative couch pillows left lines on his cheek, and he’s nursing the beginning of a monster headache. He gropes around for his phone. 7PM. It’s only been a few hours.

It feels like days. Months. Years.

Juno shivers. He left the door to the porch open, and a cool fall breeze is raising goosebumps on his arm. A nearby screen door slams, and heavy boots tread the balcony next door. “Hey piss-bucket, you been day drinking again?”

The green-haired nuisance next door is only loud when she chooses to be, so Juno knows she's hoping to stir him out for a cigarette or two. He wonders briefly when Buddy will be back. Vespa only gets this chatty when her partner is gone for long periods of time on work trips.

He toys with the idea of stepping out. Hey Vespa. How're the axe-throwing students? (She refuses to tell him what she does for work, so Juno assigns her a new job every night.)

She’ll respond with something like, Great. If your failed PI business finally tanks, we could always use some new targets.

Maybe if Juno gets drunk enough, he’ll tell her why he’s not planning on ever being sober again. Tell her that he’s such a fucked up human, his fiancee ghosted him three weeks before the wedding with no forwarding address. Over text.

She’ll have to laugh at that. It’s the goddamn joke of the century, and Juno’s the punchline.

He jumps violently when his phone starts ringing. “I know you can hear me, Steel,” Vespa sneers from her balcony.

Juno groans at the name lighting up his screen. He was wrong- he’s not the punchline. Fucking Mick Mercury is.

He almost sends it to voicemail, but at the last second he crosses to the balcony door, wrestles the screen closed as Vespa flips him off (“What, too busy getting wasted alone?”) and finally slides the door shut with a bang.

He leans against the wall by Smallfry’s cage.

“Whaddya want, Mick.” Juno’s brain struggles to keep up with the excited babble streaming out of the phone.

“Juno! That hit we got on your listing? The Peter guy? He messaged again!”

No one’s outright asked Juno, “Did your fiancee ghost you three weeks before your wedding over text?”, so he’s not lying to his friends, per se. He just isn’t ready for the inevitable string of I-told-you-so’s from Rita and Vespa, who have hated Diamond since the moment they waltzed into Juno’s life ten months ago and stomped all over his heart with their designer boots.

Mick, bless him, is blissfully ignorant of Juno’s recent string of unfortunate life events. He’s blissfully ignorant about most things, actually, but his unending stream of well-intentioned business ventures mean he knows how to advertise.

Juno isn’t sure who Craig is, or why he keeps lists of random shit online. All he knows is that he can't afford rent on his own, and Mick owed him a favor. A lot of favors.

“Let me guess, he's found something better and he's not interested anymore.”

Fuck Diamond for putting him in this situation. Even if he deserves it. Even if he should’ve known better.

“No, Juno! He says, and I quote,” he clears his throat and reads dramatically, “‘Juno, would it be possible to move our rendezvous sooner? Due to personal issues I find I’m in need of accommodations a bit sooner than expected, and your ad did say the room was available post haste.’” Mick drops his voice back to normal. “He wants to meet sooner!”

“Yeah, I got that Mick. ‘Post haste’?”

“I went for a 'trustworthy but not desperate' vibe, ya feel?” Juno is quickly wishing he read and approved the ad before Mick posted it across the internet in his name.

“All right Mick, whatever, sure, just let me know when you set it up for.” There’s a long, telling silence. “...Mick?”

“Okay so here’s the thing,” and with that, Juno knows the universe is screwing with him again, “I kinda already told him you could meet him tomorrow morning? At eight? And I gave him the address of the apartment?” His words get faster with each blow.

“You gave him the address? Goddamn it Mick, I thought we were meeting for coffee somewhere first so I could make sure he’s not some wackjob who wants to hack me to pieces and wear my skin as a suit!” Juno’s less worried about becoming a potential skin suit and more worried about waking up before noon with the spectacular hangover he’s got planned, but he’s not going to tell Mick that.

“Oh Juno, you’re so,” he chuckles, “you’re hilarious! Skin suit. Ha! You’ve been watching Law and Order with Rita again, haven’t you?” Juno resists the urge to slam his head into the wall and end it all.

“Anyways, get some sleep tonight and make a good impression on our friend tomorrow! I’ll pass him your number. And hey, maybe you could mention my new Hair-in-a-Can line? One good turn and all that. The recall went real smooth with the last one!”

“Mick, hang on, listen to me-” Juno’s cut off by a loud crash in the background.

“Sorry Juno, gotta go, the cans are a bit more,” a high-pitched scream, “uh, high-pressured than we expected, good luck pal, don’t be a stranger!”

The line goes dead. Perfect. Juno eyes Smallfry.

“Not like I have anything worth stealing, huh? Unless he deals in small, neurotic rabbits.” He restocks Smallfry’s hay before he’s too drunk to remember. Vespa's convinced that a hungry rabbit might be inclined to chew through the apartment wall and go on a carnivorous hunting spree.

“My last roommate had a rabbit. It got mad when their sister’s rabbit got a nicer cage, so it chewed straight through the bars and,” she snapped her fingers, “chomp chomp. Nothing left but rabbits feet.”

“Bullshit.”

“What are you Steel, the rabbit whisperer? Okay, maybe it was a gerbil! Whatever, same difference.”

Then he grabs an extra blanket from the hall closet (it really is starting to get cold), two bottles of liquor, and the TV remote and settles onto the couch for another long night.

***

The best mornings are the mornings Juno wakes up still drunk and pleasantly fuzzy. This is not one of those mornings.

His alarm is playing quite loudly, meaning it’s probably been going off for quite some time, and two things happen in quick succession as his brain painfully struggles towards consciousness.

He rolls over in bed to grab at his phone and realizes the bed is actually a narrow couch. He hits the floor with a heavy thump . He's blindly swiping at the floor trying to turn the damn thing off, ignoring the nagging anxiety that he’s forgotten something important... There!

Blearily, he reads the alarm label… “SOUR CREAM.” What?

There’s a sharp knock at his door. His tipsy brain stumbles around in tight circles. He set that alarm weeks ago while cooking… never bothered to re-label it.... that doesn’t explain…

A second set of knocking, more forceful this time, accompanied by a muffled voice.

It’s 7:50AM and he honestly can’t remember why he’s supposed to be waking up or who could possibly be at the door. No, wait… he vaguely remembers…

Mick. The phone call. The desperate roommate.

All at once, Juno’s certain that he doesn’t need a roommate. It’s only four months after all, and the idea of a complete stranger snooping around his stuff, asking questions about his life, getting tangled up with his job, makes Juno’s skin crawl. It’s not worth the money. He can figure that out… somehow.

It’s decided. He’ll ignore the knocking. This Peter guy will eventually give up, he’ll tell Mick to take down the advertisement, and he’ll figure something else out.

Then a noise outside the door makes his blood run cold. He knows that giggle.

“Sorry Mista Criminal, lemme just, ngh-hungh, try that key.” Rita, traitor secretary and ex-best friend, is using her spare key to let this man into Juno’s apartment. The stranger’s muffled voice leaks through the door. “Could you maybe...?”

There’s no time to think. Juno’s only on the second floor, there are bushes underneath the window. If he can get out quick enough, he might be able to avoid a meeting altogether-

“Thank you Rita, you are an absolute gem, and twice as beautiful if I might add...” the door clicks open.

Might’ve been able to. If he’d moved a little quicker.

“Hello! Juno, I presume?”

Fuck.

#peter nureyev #juno steel #jupeter #the penumbra podcast #quarantine au #omg they were roommates #this turned into a Whole Thing #multi-chapter #Juno Steel and the Series of Unfortunate Life Events

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