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honeypiehotchner · 4 years ago

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winter love (all i want for Christmas is you) -- Hotch x Fem!Reader

Hi hi hi!! I have literally been writing this on and off since September, and now I finally get to share it!! A few quick things: this fic has very much Hallmark vibes but does have a good dose of angst too; for the sake of this fic, Aaron was born and raised in Virginia; and Jack was never born (sorry buddy!).

I listened to Michael Bublé’s songs “All I Want for Christmas Is You” and “Cold December Night” a lot while writing this, so feel free to play those while you read! xx.

(The gif is from google because once again, my gif search is broken on here because apparently this post is too long?? Rip me)

Summary: You’ve returned back to your hometown after leaving to get your education, but you didn’t expect to run into your childhood best friend (and first love).

Word count: 9.4k

HOTCH MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

If you told yourself a few months ago that you’d be moving back to Virginia, you would’ve scoffed and probably laughed -- loudly. Your mom, on the other hand, would’ve been elated, and swore she knew it.

Like she’s doing now.

“I’m just so excited to have you home again,” she gushes, helping you carry boxes of your clothes up to your old childhood room.

The room needs some work, like taking down all these embarrassing posters and changing the sheets to something not so cringe-worthy (thankfully, it’s a full-size bed instead of the old twin you grew up sleeping on). But it’ll be fine for the time being. It’s not like you’re going to find an apartment right before Christmas, or that you even want to. It’s been a while since you’ve spent a full Christmas season with your mom.

You’ve been studying out of state for the past six years, working to get your masters and doctorate degrees — which you’ve completed. But now you need a job and a new start, which is why you decided to come home.

You’ve missed Virginia a lot more than you’ll admit. It’s hard not to miss your hometown when you’re gone from it for so long.

“We need a Christmas tree,” you say, as you come back down the stairs. “Christmas is next week, how do you not have a tree up yet?”

“I wasn’t going to get one without you,” your mom says like the fact should’ve been obvious to you.

You laugh as you plop down next to her on the couch. “I know. We should go tomorrow.”

“Whenever you want to,” she smiles, squeezing your arm. “Have you been to your coffee shop yet?”

“My coffee shop?” You raise an eyebrow. “Since when has it been mine?”

“Since you practically lived there during high school,” your mom counters.

She has a point. “Well, no, I haven’t. I just got here.”

“You should go.”

You raise both eyebrows this time, turning your entire body to face her. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you trying to get me to go back there?”

“Why don’t you want to?”

You give her a look. “You know why.”

“I don’t.”

She does. She knows exactly what happened there.

“I’m not repeating it,” you mutter. “And I’ll be finding a new coffee shop, thank you very much.”

“Oh, you can’t let one bad experience stop you from going there!”

“So you do remember!”

“How could I forget? When you were a wreck for months after. I still never forgave him for that, you know.”

You shake your head, settling back against the couch pillows. “It’s been long enough now that I think forgiveness won’t hurt anyone.”

You say that, and yet you don’t want to step foot in that shop ever again.

+++

It was the summer before your junior year. Aaron was a rising senior, so there was the weight of it being his last year already hanging in the air. Especially when he was already looking at a pre-law track for college — meaning he’d be insanely busy after graduation with not much time for you.

Unfortunately, you didn’t realize that his being too busy for you would start before then.

You were a year younger — technically almost two, but the way your birthday fell, you were only one grade younger — but that didn’t stop Aaron from being your friend. At first you thought he had ill intentions (as most older boys in high school did), but he didn’t. He genuinely enjoyed your company, and you genuinely enjoyed his.

More than genuinely. You say now that you don’t believe in love at first sight, but you know that’s because it already happened for you, and you believe it to be a one-time deal.

That one time was when Aaron sat across from you at the lunch table.

You were alone and reading a book. You were a freshman then, and being an extra year younger didn’t exactly help in the whole making friends department. Especially when a lot of your peers were already aware of your age.

But Aaron wasn’t aware, nor did he even care.

He saw that you were alone, and reading, and he decided to sit with you. He wanted to read too, anyway, but he knew he didn’t always like being alone when he read. Something told him you were the same way.

He was correct.

It took almost the entire fall semester before either of you said one word to each other. Sometimes you’d be too engrossed in the book you were reading to even notice he’d sat down in front of you. And when you would finally notice, he would be the one with his nose too deep in the book to notice.

But eventually, you started sharing book recommendations.

Which eventually turned into helping each other with homework. You were always better at math and Spanish than he was (you were already in the sophomore levels of these classes as a freshman), but he was always good with history and English. He must’ve noticed you were in freshman English and history, but he never commented on it — at least not in a way that said he was bullying you.

That winter break was when you started going to the coffee shop together. It was within walking distance of the high school, so the two of you would go at the end of the day until your parents could pick you up. Sometimes your mom would drive him home, or vice versa.

And when Aaron got his license, he’d drive you both there and drop you off at home.

The two of you were inseparable. Almost literally.

Until Aaron met Haley.

Haley was in theatre. She was everything you weren’t. Aaron’s age, pretty, funny, outgoing, and worst of all: popular.

You watched your best friend fall in love.

And that wouldn’t have hurt as bad as it did if it wasn’t Haley he was falling for.

You kept your feelings for Aaron quiet, even to your mom — though you found out later that she always knew. You had almost thought he felt the same, or that he might be beginning to, and then suddenly he was talking about some girl named Haley.

Only she wasn’t just “some girl” to him, or even to you. Everyone knew Haley Brooks.

Slowly, your lunch table conversations were less about what the two of you were going to do the coming weekend, and more about Haley. How he was going to get her to notice him (join theatre, even though he never liked theatre before her). How he was going to ask her on a date (it wouldn’t be a date at first, just dinner after theatre rehearsal, that ended up being with the entire cast, but he sat next to her). How he was going to win her over (he brought flowers to the first performance and surprised her backstage). How he was going to ask her to be his girlfriend (that was the same night as the flowers, completely unplanned, but she said yes).

How he thought he might want to marry her one day.

The last hurt most of all. He confessed it to you one night out of the blue as he was driving you home after school. You knew you could handle him being in love with someone else. Some sick part of you knew — or hoped, rather — that the relationship wouldn’t last. What high school relationship lasts longer than a few months, anyway?

But when Aaron fell for Haley, he fell completely. And hard.

He started cancelling plans with you to spend time with Haley — before they were even dating. When they were dating, he stopped making plans with you altogether.

Then came the summer before his senior year.

It had been months since you saw him last. You had a new lunch period the second half of the year because one of your favorite teachers asked for help during the period, which meant you didn’t have lunch with Aaron — but you don’t even think he noticed.

June came and went. The two of you barely saw one another, barely talked when you did. But when you did, you clung to those moments like they were your only lifeline. In a way, they were.

July finally came and he actually made plans to see you. He said he wanted to get coffee again, catch up, hang out for a few hours, sit in silence, even, whatever you wanted. You were excited.

Some part of you thought that he had broken up with Haley — wishful thinking, but you were sixteen and in love, what else were you supposed to think?

But he hadn’t broken up with her. They were very much in love. You know. You witnessed it.

Apparently, Haley didn’t like the idea of Aaron getting coffee and lunch alone with a female friend. So, she took it upon herself to tag along.

You saw them sharing a kiss through the window, Aaron’s back facing you. When they pulled away, Haley’s eyes caught yours, but she said nothing to Aaron, just pulled him back in for another kiss.

You didn’t go into the shop that day. And you haven’t since.

The last time you saw Aaron was the day before he moved to college. He was stopping by to say goodbye to you.

You were reading a book in your room, and your eyes caught the movement on the driveway. You told your mom to say you weren’t home.

You watched him leave from your bedroom window, hands stuffed in his pockets.

+++

You heard that Aaron and Haley got married. Not because you wanted to hear, but because your mom told you. She probably meant well, but you drank an entire bottle of wine that night. You weren’t even 21 yet at the time.

Of course, it’s been years since then. You’re all fine now, and you’ve got the student loan debt to prove it.

But even with three degrees, job hunting can be a bitch. Especially this time of year.

You need coffee.

You blame the fact that this coffee shop is the best one around. And the fact that it’s Christmas season, meaning they have your favorite drink again.

Dark chocolate peppermint mocha. It’s a godsend. And you haven’t had one in years.

Well, you have. But they haven’t been from here. They haven’t had this shop’s specially made peppermint whipped cream, or the peppermint stick that can be used to stir.

You hate how much you have to psych yourself up before you walk inside. You don’t even know where Aaron is these days or what he’s doing. He could be halfway across the country for all you know.

So, with that fact in mind, you walk inside. You embrace the familiar sight and smells, remembering what it felt like the last time you were here.

You move toward the counter, falling in the short line to the register. And your stomach flips when you see a familiar face standing in front of you.

Well, his back is facing you, so you don’t see his face, but you know it’s him. There’s this thing about first loves. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time you’ve seen them. You’ll always recognize everything about them. The back of their head, their shoulders, their hands, the way they walk.

Their voice. Even if it’s deeper than the last time you heard it.

Maybe he won’t recognize me.

But what you don’t know is that no amount of time could pass to make you unrecognizable to Aaron.

Or that he saw your reflection in the glass case next to him when you got in line, and he’s been internally trying to figure out what the hell to say to you since.

If it hadn’t been for his voice, you wouldn’t have recognized Aaron at all. A black coffee? That’s it?

The barista pours it and slides it over to him before he’s even done paying. He’s at a coffee shop -- this coffee shop, and he orders a black coffee?

Who is he?

You step up to the register as he steps away, and you swear you see him looking at you through the corner of your eyes. But you must be seeing things because why would he do that?

You focus on ordering -- a medium peppermint mocha, complete with the whipped cream and peppermint stick. After paying, you step to the side to wait for your coffee.

You nearly knock right into Aaron, but you stop yourself, well aware of his presence.

Another thing about first loves: you’re always painfully aware of their presence.

“Hi,” he says, awkward and fumbling even though it’s only one word. He’s wearing a stuffy suit and tie, which seems odd, but you’re positive that’s just normal lawyer attire. He probably lives in a suit these days. His hair is shorter than it used to be and he looks older, but so do you. Despite all of this, he’s still Aaron. He’s still the same Aaron Hotchner you fell in love with at sixteen.

“Hi,” you return the awkward smile, tugging on the strap of your purse. After a beat, you nod toward his drink. “Black coffee, huh?” You try to tease. “Who hurt you?”

He laughs loudly then, shoulders and head shaking. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Hotchner,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The conversation dies for a moment, so you busy yourself by looking at the different cakes and pastries in the glass case. You probably should’ve gotten one, but maybe another time.

Another time. Fifteen minutes ago you wouldn’t be caught dead in this shop and now you’re already thinking about another time.

“Are you busy?” Aaron suddenly asks, prompting you to look at him with furrowed brows. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” you smile gently, knowing you might regret this later. But it’s been over a decade since you’ve seen him last. One coffee won’t hurt.

And I’m over him, you remind yourself, no matter how untrue it might be.

Once you have your peppermint mocha -- finally, you think, it’s been too long -- you walk with Aaron to find a table. A lot has changed about this shop, but one thing that hasn’t (because there isn’t much that can be changed) is the seating.

Aaron leads you to your old table. The table the two of you practically lived at.

It makes your heart warm and ache all at once. The drink you decided to order isn’t helping matters either.

“So…” You pause, shifting in your seat. “What are you up to these days?”

“You stole my question,” he jokes.

“Tough,” you smile into your drink. “I asked it first.”

He chuckles, but answers anyway. “I’m working for the BAU now.”

“The B-A-What?”

“The-- FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you… Did you really just say you’re working for the FBI?”

“I think so,” he says. “I’m the unit chief.”

“You’re the-- Okay. So, you don’t work for the...the BAU, they work for you.”

“We’re a team,” he offers.

“Said every boss ever,” you quip, taking a long drink of your mocha. You take the peppermint stick in between your fingers and stir, eyebrows furrowing down at the swirl of coffee and whipped cream. “So...what do you do exactly?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then stops, hesitating. “Do you really want to know?”

You give him a look. “Of course I do.”

“It’s not great.”

“Aaron, just tell me, or I’ll start reciting my dissertation word for word.” Your statement stuns him to silence, so badly that you almost laugh. “That’s boring. Working for the FBI can’t possibly be boring.”

“Oh, it’s never boring, that’s for sure,” he mutters. “We profile serial killers.”

“You what?”

He laughs. “We look at their behaviors and crimes and build a profile, what they might look like, their age, that stuff.”

“Intriguing.”

“I can’t believe you’re interested.”

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t be,” you counter. “You know I thrive off this stuff.”

“I remember,” he says quietly.

And just like that, you remember, too.

It’s so easy to forget about all the hurt he caused, all the pain he left behind. Especially because you know he never intended to hurt you. He would never do that, not to you, not on purpose. You never told him how you felt. It’s not his fault he couldn’t read your mind.

“Well, you’ve got a doctorate,” he says, shifting the conversation. “What else are you up to?”

“How did you know it’s a doctorate?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you profiling me? Did I use that correctly?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “And no, not intentionally. You said you’d recite your dissertation. Those are normally written to get doctorate degrees. You always wanted one, I assumed you met your goal.”

“You assume correct,” you nod. “I’m back to start job and apartment hunting, but after the new year. I wanted to spend some time with my mom.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s good, she--” You pause, shaking your head with a laugh. “She actually brought you up yesterday.”

“Me?” Aaron looks genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, you,” you knock your foot against his leg without thinking, but you pay no mind, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to it. “She’s actually the one who put the bug in my ear to come here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I haven’t been back here since…”

It takes him a moment, but he nods slowly. “Right.”

“Yeah,” you draw your legs closer to you on instinct. “But that was a long time ago. How are you and Haley?”

You don’t expect the way his face falls. You glance down at his left hand. No ring.

“We got a divorce a few years ago, split up about a good year before that,” Aaron explains. “She’s good, last I heard. Remarried already.”

“Wow,” you murmur, not knowing what else to say. “What-- I mean, what happened?” When he hesitates, you backpedal. “Sorry, I shouldn’t even ask, it’s probably a sensitive question.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron chuckles. “I don’t mind talking about it with you.”

That sends a dangerous flutter through your stomach. “Okay. Well I’m all ears.”

“Oh, it’s not a long story, it was just my job,” he shrugs. “I took the unit chief position and she was happy at first. But then, there was a period of time where we had what felt like case after case after case.” He shakes his head. “I was barely home, but I was barely in one state for long, anyway. It was a stressful time. We were everywhere at once.”

“That does sound stressful,” you frown. “Has it slowed down now?”

“Kind of, it has its moments,” he admits. “But being gone so much, it took a toll on her. She wanted to start a family, but said she couldn’t do that if I was never there.”

“But I mean she had to have known how your schedule would be with the new job, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, then shrugs. “It’s been so long now that I stopped trying to understand her thought process.”

“I get that,” you say sincerely. You understand not wanting to waste energy on something like that anymore. Sometimes you just have to give it up and have peace with the fact that you’ll never understand.

“What about you?” He asks suddenly, catching you off guard. “Seeing anyone?” He adds it quietly, like he’s shy.

Aaron Hotchner. Shy. Around you.

“Oh,” you nearly laugh at the prospect. “No. No, I’m not. Do you really think I would be if I was moving back in with my mom?”

He laughs, bringing his coffee to his lips. “You have a point there.”

A comforting silence settles over the two of you after that.

You shouldn’t feel slightly giddy that his and Haley’s relationship didn’t work out in the end. You’re over him by now, anyway. But something about being right has you fighting a smile. You smother the urge, though, knowing he probably doesn’t want to hear anyone, let alone you, say, “I told you so.”

You do feel bad for him, genuinely. Divorce is never easy for anyone, and you hate he went through that. Especially like that. Haley knew his work schedule would change. Why would she act supportive if she knew this in advance? Just sits uneasy with you, that’s all.

Of course, you feel that overprotective-best-friend nature coming back to you.

“What plans do you have now that you’re back?” He asks, keeping the conversation up, but you can tell he’s earnest — which makes you smile.

“Nothing, really. My mom and I are getting a Christmas tree later, but that’s all I have on my schedule.” You pause, giving him another look. “We both know you were my only friend in high school. Who do you think I’m going to see while I’m here?”

“Hopefully a lot of me,” he replies easily, smiling around his coffee.

And for once, you don’t hesitate to reply. “I hope so, too, actually. I didn’t think you were still around here. And I really didn’t expect you to be working for the FBI.”

“This might be presumptuous of me, but what are you doing this weekend?” He asks, quickly adding on, “A good friend of mine is hosting a Christmas party for the team, and I’ve basically been threatened to bring a plus one.”

“Threatened, huh?” You raise an eyebrow.

He nods seriously. “They won’t let me inside without one.”

You gasp comically, keeping up the act. “Well you can’t miss the party!”

“I know,” he sighs, propping his head in his hand.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to come with,” you say, still deadly serious.

But Aaron’s lips split into a grin the same time yours does. “It’s this Saturday.”

“Lucky for you, I’m free.”

He doesn’t stop grinning. “I can pick you up, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you say. “I should probably give you my number, shouldn’t I?”

“I was going to ask,” he admits.

You roll your eyes playfully. “I figured.”

After exchanging numbers, the two of you return to your idle conversations. Only, they’re less idle than they ever have been before.

He vents about still not understanding how people can be capable of the things he sees. How he knows that everyone is capable of unspeakable things, but it’s how they do it that still makes him stumble sometimes. And you try to sympathize, though you know you can’t. But still you tell him not to try to understand.

“You’re a good man,” you say. “You’re not going to understand it because you’re not like them.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I know that, consciously. Sometimes it’s good to hear it from someone else.”

Then he tells you it’s your turn, and again, you don’t feel the need to hesitate.

You tell him how you weren’t planning on moving back here at all. But the job market where you were didn’t...fit you, for some reason. You never felt like you belonged, and so maybe that’s why you wanted to come back here.

Because even though you left this place heartbroken, you still felt like you belonged when you were here. You felt like you belonged when you were with him, but you don’t tell him that.

Something tells you he heard it anyway, though. Being a profiler and all. Which you still don’t quite understand, but you’re sure he’ll have plenty of time to tell you in the coming future.

+++

After an hour or two, you decide it’s time for you to head back home. Partly because you need to make some lunch for yourself, and partly because you’ve watched Aaron dismiss at least three phone calls in the last twenty minutes.

But he didn’t say a word each time, so you know he won’t tell you who it is or if he needs to go. It makes your heart warm at the thought that he wants to spend more time with you, but if it’s his job, then he needs to go.

He walks you to your car and you hug him around his neck, unashamedly taking a deep breath of his cologne when you stretch up to wrap your arms around him. He didn’t wear cologne back in high school. But this one smells good.

You mentally prepare yourself on the way home for the amount of questions your mom is no doubt going to ask.

You’re supposed to be going to pick out a tree with her today, which means you were supposed to be home a little earlier than this, which means your mom probably already knows what happened and you won’t even get a chance to explain yourself.

In the end, your prediction was correct.

“How was your peppermint mocha?” You glance over to the couch and find your mom sitting there, idly reading a book.

The question is as directly indirect as they come. You raise an eyebrow and kick the front door closed (yes, she asked before you even stepped foot inside the house). “It was good,” you reply, shrugging your jacket off your shoulders. “Why?”

“Oh, you enjoyed it for almost two hours, so I was just wondering.” Your mom fights back a grin, but she’s not doing a very good job.

You sigh. “Just go ahead and ask.”

She closes her book. “Alright, fine, I will. How is Aaron?”

There it is.

“He’s good,” you answer rather pointedly, making your way into the living room. “He’s working for the FBI now.”

“Oh, I knew that already.”

You plop down next to her on the couch. “Seriously?”

“Of course!” She cries, like it should be obvious. “Small talk happens when you see someone in the store.”

“Right,” you scoff. “Anyway, thanks for not telling me him and Haley divorced.”

She grimaces.

“Yeah, exactly,” you nod at her expression. “That’s how I felt. I bet it was just awesome of me to ask about how him and his ex-wife are doing.”

“I’m sorry,” your mom says. “It completely slipped my mind. It’s been so long since those two split.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

“Because I didn’t want to bring him up,” she answers sincerely. “You seemed like you had really moved on. I figured it didn’t matter, and I didn’t want to make you start thinking about him again when you had finally gotten over it all.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Well, thank you, then, but...still. I feel like an idiot.”

“Did he seem angry when you asked?”

“No, the opposite,” you sigh. “He explained what happened and I let him talk about it for a second, but he seems mostly moved on from it.”

“I don’t know how he can be,” your mom scoffs. “She’s already remarried, you know.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

Your mom shakes her head. “I should’ve shook some sense into that boy when he came to say goodbye that day.” Then she pauses, poking your leg. “And I should’ve made you say goodbye to him. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“I didn’t wanna talk to him,” you shrug. “We barely had all year, anyway. And one goodbye would not have stopped him from going to college and marrying Haley, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighs. “It’s fun to think about, though.”

“Well stop thinking about it,” you mutter. “We are friends and he’s probably seeing someone by now. I don’t even know how long I’ll be here, so.”

Your mom raises her eyebrows. “I never said anything about what you guys are now.”

Damn. Caught. “I know, but I’m just...catching you before you do.”

“Mmm, more like catching yourself.”

“Shut up.”

She lightly hits you with a pillow. “Don’t say that to your mother,” she jokes. “Especially not when I’m right and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Are you ready to pick out a tree?”

“Of course,” she replies. “Just let me find my shoes.”

While she’s getting ready -- because “finding her shoes” really means fixing her hair and makeup and changing outfits a couple times -- you get a text from Aaron.

Aaron: It was nice catching up with you today

You smile and type your reply. Ditto. We should do it again sometime.

He doesn’t reply, but you figure he’s busy at work, anyway. And you’ve got a tree to pick out and decorate, so you’re technically busy, too.

You try not to think too much about it.

+++

And truthfully, you don’t think much about it, until Aaron finally replies. It’s hours later when you’re decorating the freshly-cut Christmas tree in the living room, with Michael Bublé’s Christmas album playing through the stereo speakers. It’s just like when you were younger.

You check your phone and see that it’s Aaron texting you back, but you pocket it before reading the message. You’re busy.

Your mom notices the change on your face. “Everything alright?” She asks as she places a snowflake ornament on one of the smaller branches.

You nod without thinking, hating yourself for even feeling what you’re feeling right now. A glittery red ornament hangs from your index finger as you try to find the right branch to hang it on -- and while your mind wanders all over the place.

“Clearly not,” your mom replies. “But alright.” She turns and reaches into a different box, picking up one of the golden jingle bells that she always hides deep within the tree each year. When you were younger, she’d hide them without you seeing, and then on Christmas Eve you’d have to search the tree for them before you could open one present before going to sleep.

You snort a laugh, always loving her way of getting you to open up: sarcasm. “It’s just Aaron.”

“Aaron?”

“Texting me,” you explain, looking down at the glitter coating your fingertips from the ornaments.

“Aren’t you going to reply?” She asks, grabbing another jingle bell.

“Technically he’s the one replying from earlier today.”

“Okay…”

You sigh. Time to cave. “He invited me to a Christmas party this weekend.”

Your mom doesn’t even try to hide her excitement or her wide grin. “Really? That’s great!”

Is it? You want to ask, but you stop yourself. “Yeah,” you shrug. “I guess so. It’ll be nice to hang out with him more.” You pause, finally hanging the small glittery red ornament on the tree that you’ve been idly holding for the past two minutes. “Apparently a friend of his is hosting it and basically told him he wouldn’t be allowed inside without a plus one.” You chuckle quietly, knowing Aaron had to have rolled his eyes when his friend told him that.

“So it’s...a date, then?”

“What? No,” you shake your head. “No, no. Not a date. He didn’t phrase it that way.”

“Sweetheart, plus one implies date.”

“Who says?”

“Everyone!” Your mom laughs. “Bringing a plus one to a wedding is usually a casual date, if not bringing your significant other along.”

“This isn’t a wedding, it’s just a Christmas get together.”

“Same difference.”

“Well, I think you’re doing that thing again where you try to plant seeds in my brain for things that are unnecessary,” you raise an eyebrow at her when she avoids eye contact, so you know you’ve caught her red-handed. “All that aside,” you sigh. “I’m over him. It’s been so long. If something was going to happen, it would have already.”

“Whatever you say,” she shrugs indifferently, grabbing the final jingle bell to hide in the top of the tree. For a brief moment, you wish you hadn’t been watching where she hid them, so you could do the search on Christmas Eve one more time.

+++

You bump into Aaron one more time, two days later, at the same coffee shop.

“Back for more?” He teases as he slides into the seat across from you, another black coffee in his right hand.

You’re sitting at the table the two of you call home with yet another peppermint mocha sitting in front of you and your laptop. More job hunting is the task for today, even though you’re ready to give up and just pick it back up after the New Year. It’s not like your mom is making you pay rent, and you have enough in savings to help with groceries (without her knowledge, of course, because she refuses to let you pay for anything) and buy your own coffees. But, you decided to give it one last go today.

That is, until Aaron slid into the seat in front of you. Now, you close your laptop and place it back in your bag. “Just needed some fuel for more job hunting,” you grin. “What are you doing here?”

“I took off for lunch for once and thought I might find you here.”

“Oh?” You raise your eyebrows. ��Were you seeking me out, Hotchner?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits with a shy smile. “Are you still good for tomorrow?”

“As long as you are,” you nod. “What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at five, if that’s good?”

“Perfect,” you smile. “Are you ready to introduce me to your friends?”

“Depends,” he exhales exasperatedly. “Are you ready to meet them?”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They might be. If you aren’t used to them.” He pauses. “They don’t know you’re coming, by the way.”

“What?” You almost laugh. “Why not?”

“I told them I was bringing someone, but I didn’t feel like hearing it all week about who I was bringing.” He pauses again, like he’s holding something back, and then he lets it out. “They know all about you.”

You blink. “They do?”

“Yeah,” he smiles gently. “I talk about you all the time.”

“No,” you shake your head. “No you don’t. There’s no way.”

“You’ll believe it tomorrow,” he chuckles. “I’m sure they’ll try to embarrass me.”

“I-I mean...what do you even say about me?”

He shrugs. “That you were my best friend in high school and...that I missed you and wondered what you were up to these days, and how we used to hang out here.” He looks around the shop, then back to you and your bewildered expression. “What?” He laughs. “You didn’t talk to your friends about me?”

“No, I did,” you laugh quietly. But I said different things. And most of the time I was crying because I missed you, especially my first year of college when my roommate tried to get me to go on a double date with her boyfriend and his roommate, but I refused and had to confess that I wasn’t over you and that you broke my heart, and I was such a mess that she brought ice cream and chocolate back after their date.

But you don’t say any of that. Obviously.

“I just didn’t expect you to even...think about me, I guess,” you finally spit out, still shaking your head. “I mean...we haven’t talked since high school, I figured you’d forgotten or moved on, at least. Especially since you had Haley.”

Aaron’s expression softens and turns sad, quickly. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you thought any of that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you wave his worry away. “It’s years ago. Water under the bridge.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. Then, he says, “Haley was jealous of you, you know.”

You immediately look up from your mocha, your eyes wide in shock. “She was what?”

“Oh yeah,” Aaron laughs. “Devastatingly jealous of you. She swore we were dating or that I was in love with you or something.”

Or something. “Wow,” you chuckle, trying to mask your hurt as much as possible. “Why did she even think that?”

You know why. You know exactly why. Because before her, you and Aaron were attached at the hip. You sat together during lunch, walked each other home, hung out at the coffee shop, went to school functions together (well, you’d actually go with a big group, but you two always ended up together anyway), and so on and so forth. Anyone would’ve been an idiot to not assume you two were dating.

“We were so close,” he shrugs. “She said she was so surprised when I asked her to be my girlfriend because she swore I was dating you. She actually asked me that, when I gave her the flowers. She said, “What about Y/N?” And I said, “Y/N? She’s just my best friend.” And she didn’t believe me.”

“That’s so crazy,” you say, but you’re really thinking back to that day you and Aaron had decided to meet up here and hang out after so long. When Haley crashed the hangout. When she locked eyes with you and smirked before pulling him back in for another kiss.

She was jealous. She was jealous and she knew exactly what she was doing that day.

Aaron’s phone starts ringing and he sighs heavily, pulling it out. He almost declines it, but then stops himself. “It’s the boss,” he says. “My boss. I’ve gotta take this. I’ll text you later?”

“Sure,” you smile, knowing he might forget or get too busy to think about it. But that’s okay. “Good luck with the phone call.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “I’ll need it.” And then he brings his phone up to his ear. “Agent Hotchner,” he says, and you hate that you find it so hot.

+++

You almost cancel with Aaron a dozen times before 2p.m.

You blame the conversation the two of you had yesterday. For some reason, the thought of Haley being jealous of you had never crossed your mind. Because to you, it was so obviously the other way around. Of course, you weren’t vocal about your jealousy, but you were certain she knew. Not that it was the other way around.

Old feelings have already resurfaced, which is bad enough, but the talk about Haley and about how Aaron’s friends know all about you made things worse. Especially the latter.

Why would he talk about you so much if the two of you hadn’t spoken in years? Not even years, but like an entire decade. Why would he still talk about you and think about you that much?

You have dwelled over those questions since he left the coffee shop yesterday.

But now, you have no idea what to wear, and Aaron will be here any minute. You’re assuming the attire is casual, not fancy, since it’s just a get together with his friends -- who all happen to be his team of agents. FBI agents. Because he’s just casually the Unit Chief of the BAU.

It still baffles you. He wanted to be a lawyer. Not in the FBI. God.

He’s still your Aaron. That’s what shocks you the most. He’s experienced law school, marriage, practicing law, working for the FBI, becoming a Unit Chief, divorce, and yet he’s still the Aaron Hotchner you were best friends with in high school.

You wonder if you’re still the girl he was best friends with in high school. Or if you’ve changed so drastically that he doesn’t see you that way anymore.

You take a deep breath, going back to digging through the many boxes of clothes that you have yet to unpack. You need a sweater or something. That’s safe enough, right? It’s too cold for a dress, and frankly, you’re not in the mood for wearing one, anyway.

Finally, you find the sweater you were looking for. You tug it over your head, figuring your jeans are fine enough. You’ll wear some low heels to make it look like you put in a little more effort.

Your quick thinking is to your benefit because the doorbell rings almost as soon as you’re done doing the clasp on your second heel.

But because your mom is quicker than you, she’s already opened the door and let Aaron in before you can make it downstairs. And by the time you are coming down the stairs, Aaron is sitting on the couch with your mom, making idle conversation.

“Hey,” you smile at him, resisting the urge to glare at your mom. “Ready?”

“If you are,” he nods, standing to his feet.

When he turns, you shoot your mom a look. “We’ll be back later.”

“You’re not in high school,” your mom laughs. “You two have fun for as long as you like.”

“I know,” you say. “But I also know you’ll wait up until I get back.”

“And you can’t stop me,” she replies pointedly.

Aaron laughs at the two of you, your banter just as he remembers from all those years ago. Neither of you have changed one bit.

After a final moment of bickering, you bid your mom goodbye and leave with Aaron.

In the car, you ask, “Have you told them about me coming yet?”

From the driver’s seat, he shakes his head. “No, so prepare yourself for a lot of questions.”

“I think you’re the one that’ll be in hot water, but alright,” you chuckle. “I can hear them now. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were bringing her!’”

He laughs loudly. “That’s not a bad impression, actually.”

“Why, thank you,” you smirk. “It’s a hidden talent of mine.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

The two of you share a grin as he keeps driving.

+++

After some time -- long enough that you were beginning to wonder where he’s taking you -- Aaron finally turns into a subdivision. But it’s still not what you were expecting.

You assumed FBI agents must make good money, but not this good. This is a mansion. It’s massive. There has to be at least six bedrooms in there, maybe more.

“Is your friend a millionaire or something?”

Aaron chuckles, “Maybe. Probably. Maybe more.”

“More?” Your eyes widen. “Wow.” And then Aaron pulls into the driveway. “Wow.”

He puts the car in park and says, “Try not to look too surprised. Dave won’t shut up about the house if you get him started.”

“What if I want to hear everything?” You ask, scrambling out of the car to look up at the house. “Jesus Christ.” Then you whip your head around to look at Aaron exasperatedly. “Does your house look like this?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “No. This is too big. Dave’s crazy for buying it.”

“He’s definitely insane,” you nod. “I mean, what do you even need a house this big for?”

Aaron shrugs. “Christmas parties, I guess.” He pauses, holding out his arm for you. “Ready to face the lions?”

You roll your eyes through a laugh, loosely holding onto his arm. “Quit being so dramatic. I bet it’ll be just fine.”

“Let’s hope so,” Aaron replies. Because truthfully, he is a little worried that they might scare you off. They have a habit of doing that.

The two of you walk up to the front door, and you try your best to act like you’ve been in the general vicinity of a house this big before. Dave must be a really good friend of Aaron’s, because instead of knocking or ringing the doorbell, Aaron twists the doorknob and walks right in with you on his arm.

“Dave’s making pasta,” Aaron whispers, smelling the air. He shuts the door gently, wanting to surprise the team as much as possible.

You sniff the air, too, smiling happily. “Smells really good. Is that carbonara?”

“Good nose,” a voice says from the kitchen.

“That’s Dave,” Aaron chuckles, walking you down the hall toward the smell.

The team’s eyes all widen dramatically and comically when Aaron Hotchner steps inside the kitchen with a woman on his arm.

“Well, hello,” one of them says, sliding off the stool at the counter to saunter over to you. He’s all suave and swagger.

“Derek Morgan, this is Y/N,” Aaron introduces you quickly, knowing the reaction your name will get.

“Hold up,” Derek pauses, glancing between you and Aaron. “Y/N? As in the Y/N?”

“I don’t know about being the Y/N, but that is my name,” you laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Derek says, a hand over his heart to add to the sincerity. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“Getting a doctorate,” you shrug, only now realizing that your hand is still holding onto Aaron’s arm, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it either, so you don’t move.

“Oh, alright,” Derek chuckles. “Hey Reid, we’ve got another doctor here.”

The man in question, Reid, looks up from the book he was reading with furrowed eyebrows. “Hi.” He waves.

“Hey,” you wave back. “What’re you reading?”

“War and Peace. In Russian, though.”

“In-- Wow, okay.”

“He’s a genius,” Morgan explains.

“I see that,” you chuckle.

Aaron finishes the introductions for you. “That’s JJ, handles the press for us because none of us want to do it.”

“He’s not wrong,” JJ replies with a laugh. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” you smile.

“You met Reid, his first name’s Spencer,” Aaron supplies, and Reid is too far gone in the book again to notice. “This is Emily Prentiss.”

“And I have been dying to meet you,” Emily says. “You are exactly how he described.”

“In a good way, I hope?” You laugh nervously.

She nods. “Definitely.”

Aaron points to the other woman at the counter. She’s dressed in all sorts of crazy colors with glasses that match her outfit. And before he can introduce her, she says, “I’m Penelope Garcia, technology extraordinaire. I keep them out of trouble.”

“And we love you for it,” Derek adds.

“And this is Dave,” Aaron finishes.

“It is very nice to finally meet you,” Dave says, and actually shakes your hand. “Do you know how to make carbonara?”

“Yes, actually,” you say, earning a surprised look from Aaron. “I went through a phase when I was younger, wanting to make anything and everything that sounded good, so I’ve made this a few times. My mom loves it.”

Dave loves the sound of that. “Would you like to help me?”

You practically light up inside and out. “Seriously? I’d love to!”

“Oh, here we go,” Derek groans. “He’s roped her in.”

You ignore him, slipping away from Aaron to grab the other apron off the hook by the entrance to the kitchen. You slide your head through the loop and tie it at the back in a matter of seconds, too excited to contain it.

“I almost went to culinary school, you know,” you say to no one in particular, but Aaron is listening, and so is Dave.

“Why didn’t you?” Aaron asks.

You shrug. “Didn’t seem practical.” Which isn’t the real answer at all. The real answer is you got your heart broken and needed to do a complete 180 in life, so you did. Culinary school was out. Getting a doctorate was in. You turn on the water in the sink and begin washing your hands. “What do you need me to do?”

For the next hour, you help Dave make the carbonara, occasionally answering any questions Aaron’s friends have for you.

Aaron pours you a glass of wine and sits at the counter, watching you cook. You look more at peace than he’s seen you since a few days ago when he first bumped into you again.

You catch him looking at you more than a handful of times. It feels good. Spending the evening with his friends, his team, with him. You’ve missed spending time with him more than anything else.

Dave serves up the carbonara, telling you to sit down since you helped so much already. You don’t make him ask twice.

+++

After dinner, everyone moves into the living room, scattering on the various couches and chairs. Reid has finished reading War and Peace, so the book sits discarded on one of the coffee tables.

You take the spot on the couch next to Aaron, careful not to spill your wine. Penelope sits on the other side of you, with Derek on her other side, which all but forces you to move closer to Aaron, and something about the look on Penelope’s face tells you it was done on purpose.

You’re not exactly complaining, though. With a full stomach and a fresh glass of wine, Aaron’s presence is even warmer than before. You pay no mind when he shifts his left arm, stretching it over the back of the couch and allowing you to scoot closer, your legs pressed against each other’s.

The conversation continues, and somehow the subject of relationships is brought up.

“Yeah, why was I the only one asked to bring someone?” Aaron asks. “I’d like to see all of you find a last minute date.”

Another warm rush goes through your body at the word date. This is a date. Alright then.

“I think you did just fine,” Dave says, nodding to you. “Don’t you?”

You shrug, not sure of what to make of it. “I’m having fun, so I guess so.”

“See?” Dave gives Aaron a look. “You did fine.”

Aaron gives his friend a tired glare. “Only because she happened to be back from getting her degrees. Otherwise, I would’ve been stuck.”

“Nah, man, you could’ve called Beth.”

You feel Aaron tense next to you, but you aren’t sure if he tensed up or if you did. Maybe both. Probably both. You weren’t aware there was someone else.

“Who’s Beth?” You ask as casually as possible, ignoring the heated glares Penelope, JJ, and Emily alike are sending Derek. Seriously, Derek would be dead three times over right now if looks could be deadly.

Aaron shrugs before answering you. “Her and I dated briefly last year.”

You nod slowly, trying not to seem hurt or upset or anything by this because it’s ridiculous of you to be fighting back tears, but you can’t help it.

It’s high school, goddamnit, it’s fucking high school all over again.

The topic of conversation shifts thanks to Reid being the endless supplier of random facts. One question about Russian from Emily and he’s taking over, washing the awkwardness away in two languages.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work as well for you as it does for everyone else.

You set your wine glass down on the table and tell Penelope you’re going to use the bathroom. You have no clue where it is, but she doesn’t know that.

Aaron does. And Aaron hears the tone of voice you use.

He waits until you’re down the hall before he stands to follow you, foregoing any explanation to his friends. They already know what he’s doing.

Aaron’s suspicions are correct when he hears the front door close and sees your coat no longer hanging next to his on the hook by the door. He grabs his and only gets one arm through a sleeve before he’s opening the door, eyes searching the premises for you.

Thankfully, he finds you after two seconds, and his racing heart slows a little. You’re standing by the reindeer lights on Dave’s front lawn. Your coat is only hanging on your shoulders, something you’ve always done since high school when you were upset.

“It feels more like a blanket,” you had told him one day. “Blankets are more comforting than jackets.”

He doesn’t see the difference, but you do, and that was enough for him.

He has both arms through the sleeves by the time he’s next to you. He gently touches your arm to get your attention, adding a soft, “Hey,” for good measure.

You turn your head at the sound, having already known he was coming because you heard the front door open. In the back of your mind, you had wanted him to follow you out here, but now that he’s done it, you aren’t so sure this is what you wanted.

You wanted to ignore the feeling. Get it to disappear on its own. Survive the night, then never talk to him again. You were heartbroken, but it was better when you weren’t speaking to him. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says softly. “Beth and I haven’t spoken since our last date a year ago. It was only three dates. We weren’t serious at all.” He pauses. “I have no idea why Derek said that. He doesn’t think before he speaks sometimes.”

You nod, not having it in you to laugh at Aaron’s small jab, even though he is entirely correct. Derek is a quick thinker with a sharp wit, but you can see how it might backfire sometimes. Like tonight.

You believe Aaron, you really do. But it’s so hard. “Did you love her?”

Aaron is stunned for a moment, but says, “No. I don’t think I did.”

“Okay.” You shake your head, looking down at the grass. “I’m just trying to figure out why Derek would’ve brought her up if...if you guys dated so briefly.”

Aaron sighs. “I don’t know.”

“And is this a date?” You blurt, finally finding the courage to get that one out. “Because if it is, I…I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

You shake your head again, trying to find the right words, but they always seem out of reach. “Just...tell me this won’t be like high school.”

This time Aaron is too stunned to form a real answer. “What?”

“Please,” you sound like you’re about to cry and you feel so pathetic that you wish you had never agreed to come tonight. But you’re here anyway. “I was in love with you then, and I’m still in love with you now, but I can’t do that again. So if this is a just friends thing and always will be, I need you to tell me before I hurt myself all over again.”

Aaron can’t believe his ears. He swears he heard you wrong. He must have. “You were in love with me in high school, too?”

“Yes-- Wait, too? What do you mean too?” Now you’re looking at him, eyes wide in confusion, shock, every emotion possible. “Too?”

“I was in love with you, Y/N,” he chuckles, reaching for your hands. “I thought you just saw me as an older brother. That’s why I never...said anything.”

“What?” You breathe, letting him thread his fingers through yours. “Are you serious? You better not be pulling my leg, Hotchner. Don’t do that to me.” You tug on his hands for emphasis, giving him a stern look.

“I’m not joking,” he says, taking a step closer. “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“Oh my god,” you say, disbelief a powerful thief of words. “I can’t believe… So you went after Haley because…”

“Because I heard from one of her friends that she had a crush on me,” he admits. “I did love her, but not as much as I loved you. Never as much as I loved you.”

You don’t know what else to do or say. He looks so beautiful in this light that it hurts, and now he’s saying words you never thought you’d ever hear.

“Do you forgive me?” He asks. “For breaking your heart?”

“Only if you forgive me for breaking yours,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “I broke my own. I should’ve told you how I felt.” He pauses. “I even talked to you about Haley all the time. Is that why you didn’t say goodbye to me?”

You nod. “It sounds so stupid now, but I was so hurt.”

“I’m an idiot,” he laughs. “I’m the dumbest fool to ever walk the Earth.”

“We both are,” you correct him, taking a step closer. It’s cold out here, but he’s warm. He’s always been so warm. Like home.

And you-- you’ve always been who Aaron thinks of when he thinks about being happy. It’s always been you. A moment like this, and a thousand others. He wants them all. And to think, you do too.

His lips meet yours in a long-awaited kiss, cold noses bumping against one another, his warm hands holding your face, your chilled fingers finding their home on his neck, stealing his warmth.

From the window, the team watches, and Emily exchanges money with Derek.

1K notes · View notes

thatasianstereotype · 4 years ago

Text

Shit. I Got To Deal With This Bitch (Again).

The third installment of my Adrien x Damian AU.

First: Fuck. I’m Gay.

Second: Damn, You’re Looking Fine.

Well, would you look at that? I’m not dead after all. And this took a while to put together understatement of the fucking century. The reason is because life is a busy little shit the English language will not cooperate. I’m thinking of a scene I want to write and somehow words are lost in translating that into the computer and I end up with a white blank screen in the end.

But moving on to the fic. At first, I was going to have the whole Gabriel-being-put-in-jail and former-friends-thing put as an aftermath because I really wanted to write Marinette and Adrien meeting the Waynes. But I decided to make the aftermath a full-blown fic from @michaelshadow7779′s ideas and extend the trilogy into a four-part series.

This part will be focused on what happened to Liar-la, Ms. Bustier’s class trying to gain back their friendship with Marinette and Adrien, and Gabriel getting a special visit from both Robin and Ladybug.

Again, this is a crack writing where creative liberties were definitely taken.

Lila Rossi is a fucking bitch and everyone —Like everyone this time— knew it.

Her reputation was now in shambles (she’s now known as that pathological liar or that lying bitch) and Ms. Bustier’s class could only stare at her with hatred and anger —feelings that were once directed at Marinette.

No one entertained her lies anymore. No one really hung out with her anymore. She sat at the back of the class, staring daggers at both Adrien and Marinette all day (just wishing for an akuma that will never appear).

Unfortunately for her, Lila couldn’t transfer out of class and with only 2 more months of the school year left, she couldn’t transfer out of school so she was stuck dealing with the consequences of her actions: being a fucking social outcast.

Because the class was not at all happy with their supposed friend. Tensions ran high during school. Things took a turn for the worse when Ms. Bustier tried to “fix” things in her own way, mentioning how the only reason Lila lied was because of her “disease” and the girl simply wanted to make friends.

Needless to say, the class did not appreciate their teacher making them out to be fools all this time.

It was Alya who ripped her a new one. Césaire definitely has a set of lungs on her. And Adrien would be lying if he didn’t say how utterly satisfying it was to watch.

Karma was a bitch.

Payback was a bitch.

And Adrien was fucking living in the aftermath. He wondered if it was mean (probably but he didn’t care) that he wished he had popcorn right now.

All in all, life returned back to normal.

Well, kind of.

Unfortunately, with the 2 months left in the school year, Ms. Bustier couldn’t exactly be let go because apparently Mr. Damocles didn’t want to deal with the whole paperwork, trying to find a new teacher to replace her, and dealing with the so-called Akuma class.

That fucker.

So essentially, he left her at the mercy of her unhappy class, saying she will be let go at the end of the school year.

Ms. Bustier was unhappy with the arrangement. The class was unhappy with it too. Probably even more so. Since they still got to deal with Rossi’s bitch ass on a daily basis.

The remaining 2 months of school were spent in a passive-aggressive war. Teacher vs. Students. Where technically the teacher should be respected and they should learn from her but the class was unleashing their collective pettiness.

And Caline Bustier was fucking done with this job. She wanted to go back in time to when she thought being a teacher was a good idea and shake her past self silly. At this point, she was just counting the days until she can leave for good.

“Kim. That’s the third time you slept in class this week. If you don’t pay attention, you won’t pass the test next week.”

“Hold up. I got to ask the certified pathological liar where I put all the fucks I give.”

“Ok. Don’t forget to ask Marinette if you can actually trust her answer.”

It was glorious.

Adrien and Marinette were definitely enjoying the show.

Marinette put down her sketchbook and stared at Damian for a minute. “You’ve been here for a month and a half already. Are you still doing business for your dad?”

Damian Wayne became a common sight around Françoise Dupont High School and can usually be seen around Adrien and Marinette. After a week of constantly seeing him hang around lunch or in after school activities/clubs, seeing a Wayne soon lost its novelty and people accepted it as the new norm.

“I’m already done with what I need to do at WE’s Paris branch.” He casually plucked flowers from the ground to make a crown for his mon amour who was happily chatting with Luka and Kagami.

“So why are you still here? Don’t you have your own education to finish?”

“My schooling is of no concern. I already earned my diploma a few months ago. It was not at all difficult when I’m already light years ahead of my peers in regards to the dismal educational system my Father forced me to attend."

She raised an unamused eyebrow. “Uh huh. And your family isn’t worried at all about you, a minor, being in a foreign country all by yourself?”

“They know I’m here. I already informed Father that I will be extending my stay here.”

“And he just accepted it? Just like that?”

"I’m responsible enough to handle myself. I surely do not need Batman watching over me. And you don’t need to worry at all. I’ve been away from home for far longer.”

“You’re completely missing the point.”

“On the contrary, I thought I answered the question perfectly.”

When they weren’t playing a petty war with Bustier, the class was trying to get back into Marinette and Adrien’s good graces by inviting them to everything and trying to include the pair in their lives again. They wanted to be friends with their Everyday Ladybug and Sunshine Child again.

“Want to do homework together?”

“How about a study session?”

“We’re having a sleepover at Juleka’s place, Marinette. We can talk about each other’s love lives like the good old times.”

“Wanna see the new movie that came out, Adrien? I’ll even pay for your favorite snacks.”

“Come on you two. Let’s hang out in the park. We can get Andre’s ice cream too. It’ll be fun.”

Spoiler alert: It don’t work. At all.

“Hey Marinette, Adrien! Why don’t you sit with us today?” Alya eagerly waved at them from where she was sitting with Nino.

It was a part of a long list of efforts that the class is trying to include the pair in. And it would be nice if it was just to be nice and friendly, you know. Adrien wasn’t going to be outright mean to them even though they fucking deserve it after how they treated the beautiful and kind goddess that was Marinette because Mari asked him to “Play nice, kitty”.

But the class kept trying to slide the whole Liar-la thing under the rug as if it was nothing. As if they didn’t shit all over their good name for a two-faced bitch. As if they had no part in making them feel like outcasts just weeks before. As if they didn’t called them hateful names or gave them scornful glares.

And that’s just fucking wrong. Because it wasn’t nothing. And they weren’t good pals anymore. So stop fucking acting like it.

Adrien was so done with his former friends/classmates. Marinette even more so.

Because apparently, saying “Yeah, We want nothing to do with you anymore.” is not fucking clear enough that the pair wanted nothing to do with their former friends.

Like what the actual fuck.

Luckily, Mari can sense her kitty’s bad mood and quickly laid a hand on his arm and led them to their seats in the middle row since Liar-la took the back and they will be damned if they sit next to her.

Alya was utterly aghast. She and the others were trying their best to have things be back to where they were before. Doesn’t Marinette and Adrien want things to be like they were before? When everyone was friends and they were making happy memories together?

Why won’t they accept their olive branch? They’ll be friends again and everything will be okay just like it was before Lila came.

Let it be known that Alya Césaire was not a patient person. Like at all.

She was fuming (like you could see the smoke coming out of her ears) as she walked up to Marinette’s desk, just bursting at the seams with frustration. “I don’t get it. Why are you so cosy with Adrien instead of us? Did you forget he supported Lila too?

“That was—” Marinette spoke up in defense of her everything-that-actually-matters brother.

But Alya ignored her and bulldozed right over, slamming her hands down on her desk. “Yeah. He changed his mind later on but the point still stands that he was on Lila’s side just like us so why are you willing to be friends with him but not me and Nino? We were best buds.”

“Adrien was friends with Lila unwillingly, unlike you guys. His douchebag of a father wanted him to play nice with that harlot for some reason and he had to go along with it or risk being pulled out of school.”

Alya rolled her eyes (She literally rolled her eyes at that) before crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Please. That’s probably a pretty little excuse he gave you be on your good side again. We all know Gabriel will never actually do it.”

“Are you perhaps referring to the man who rejected the idea of a birthday part for his own son or makes Adrien attend constant photo shoots and a crazy schedule to follow that makes it hard for him to hang out with his friends regularly. That Gabriel?”

At that, Alya faltered a bit as she uncrossed her arms.

“Look, Alya. I’m fine with being friendly classmates but I’m not going to be your friend again.”

And Alya —who wanted things to just be okay again and wanted to go back to being Marinette’s best friend, who was tired of days trying to put so much effort into being Marinette’s best gal again only to be rejected every single time— just let whatever came into her mind to slip out of her mouth. She didn’t watch what she said next and in doing so burnt the last bridge she ever had to Marinette.

“Maybe Lila was actually right for once when she said the only reason you’re close to Adrien was to use him to get ahead in the fashion industry.”

Oh shit.

She really done did it now.

It was at this point that Marinette’s infinite patience and kindness snapped. Adrien scooted his chair back a bit to get out of the crossfire. He’s a dumbass kitty but he still has self-preservation.

The grip on her pencil tightened as her eyes narrowed and grew darker, her voice ice cold.

“You were the one who decided we were done being friends, Césaire.”

Alya was taken aback, frozen at the biting harshness Marinette directed at her. Whatever comeback she had died in her throat.

Mari let out a deep breath and her voice was back to neutral. “Look. Maybe someday in the future we can be friends again. But not right now. Please respect my decision.”

And that was the end of that.

Well kind of.

Because the ice queen treatment didn’t deter her at all. Alya still persistently tried to get Marinette to be friends with her again until Nino pulled her away and forced her to stop it with her ridiculous antics which aren’t working.

The rest of their former friends now classmates got the message and left the pair alone. They were friendly and cordial with each other as common courtesy dictate but they had no interaction beyond that. They were nowhere near as close as they once were before Liar-la happened.

Anyway, school went back to normal. Well as normal as it could be with all the recent changes.

Nothing was as it was before.

And Marinette and Adrien were fine with that.

Mari was hanging out with Aurore and Mireille for the afternoon so Damian and Adrien had Mari’s room all to themselves. They were currently playing video games.

And although the Wayne boy was the perfect gentleman who doesn’t let his hormones rule over common courtesy and a proper courtship, Plagg was there to supervise the lovebirds (with a boatload of cheese to keep him company of course).

He likes to think of himself as laid back and chill who cares deeply about his kittens. And Adrien is a pure innocent little bean.

Don’t get him wrong. He does like Wayne as a person. The kid’s attitude and personality is a fun riot to witness. But the major plus is how it is beyond obvious Wayne adores and cares greatly about Adrien. He is a good boyfriend to his chaotic gay sunshine baby.

But after all the shit and drama that went down with his scumbag of a dad, Plagg was just feeling a tad protective of his kitty.

Just a tad.

They have been dating for close to a month now. He wonders if they are going to do a one-month anniversary. Is that excessive? Or was that normal? But Adrien still can’t get over how he landed such a hot and amazing guy as a beau.

If only he could go back in time to visit his insecure and confused little self and reassure him that they had game all along.

“Fuck. I lost.”

Dami smirked. “That makes it 7 to 5 in my favor.”

“I don’t care if you’re drop dead gorgeous. I’ll beat your pretty face in the next round.”

Hot-And-Sexy had an amused grin on his face. “I love you too, babe.”

Marinete and Damian are finally making a plan to get Hawk Moth to answer for his crimes. Needless to say, they have their differences on how to handle Gabriel Agreste.

“I vote to have Hawk Moth taste my blade.”

“We’re not killing Adrien’s dad no matter how much he deserves it.”

“I can get away with it.”

“So can I. But murder is still illegal.”

Naturally, discussing how to confront Gabriel and coming with a good solid plan that satisfies both teenagers took some time.

Adrien entered Mari’s room, humming a bit as he carried a tray filled with homemade snacks. He perked up seeing his two favorite people in the world getting along so well.

“Hey guys! What are you up to?”

Damian and Marinette glanced at each other for a split second. They didn’t want their Chaton to worry about Hawk Moth so they didn’t share any specifics.

It was Dami who spoke up. “We are discussing the legalities of assassination.”

Mari facepalmed.

Luckily, Adrien was a pure oblivious child. “That’s nice, babe.”

With all the strange things he’s seen (namely, the Miraculous and getting powers from tiny little talking animals), Gabriel will like to say he shouldn’t be surprised.

But he was.

Luckily, he had enough self-control to not show his surprise in an obvious way, just a raised eyebrow towards the two superheroes standing in the middle of his office.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mademoiselle Ladybug and Monsieur Robin?” Pleasant and neutral.

Ladybug he can kind of understand her presence. He is a supervillain after all. Wait. Maybe ex-supervillain now. Because he hasn’t been doing villain things for a while now since he misplaced Nooroo’s brooch and couldn’t find it no matter how many boxes of unsold Miraculous replicas he went through. And he went through a lot (that is not an understatement). Amazing how much free time he has when he isn’t stalking on the watch for negative feelings.

But what was Robin doing here? He wasn’t aware the Gotham sidekick was in Paris in the first place.

“We are aware of your alter ego, Hawk Moth.”

He sighed internally. This wasn’t going to end well. But he hasn’t gotten this far by bowing down easily.

“Just because I am a genius recluse does not mean I have supervillain tendencies.”

Ladybug was unimpressed as she crossed her arms and stare at him with a deadpan look. “But you do have supervillain tendencies. I have yours and Nathalie’s miraculous who told us all about your plans.”

Huh, no wonder he couldn’t find them.

But anyway, the gig was up. Nooroo and Duusu were very emotional blabbermouths. The main reason why he couldn’t let them out of his sight —besides needing them to transform into bad guys of course.

“Then you know I had a good reason why I became Hawk Moth.”

“To bring your wife back. Yes, I am aware of your ‘master’ plan.”

Maybe he can appeal to their sympathy. After all, heroes got to have empathy, right? “It was for Adrien’s sake to have his family back together.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

Because next thing he knew he had a razor sharp sword against his neck. He didn’t even see Robin move.

“Do not speak of his name, you traitor scum.” The Gotham hero growled. “How dare you preach about your son’s happiness when you are the one who have been neglecting him for the past years. Do not say you care for the boy when you never once showed an ounce of love towards him.”

Why is Robin so protective towards Adrien? Do they know each other well?

But Gabriel’s questions were immediately banished to the back of his mind. Because right now, he was righteously fearing for his life. Prison sounded better than death. He glanced towards Ladybug. He knew she, at least, wouldn’t let him die. She was the picture perfect hero after all.

Who was facepalming at the situation. “For the last time, we are not killing Agreste.”

Unfortunately, Robin did not remove the sword. “And as I keep saying, no one will have to know.”

“I will. I am literally standing right here as a witness.”

“You may look away if you are squeamish.”

“...That’s not the problem.” It was time for Ladybug to pull out the big guns. “And if you go through with this, you will make your boyfriend cry and he will no longer want to date you.”

It took a few seconds but Robin eventually lowered the sword and addressed Gabriel. “Do not presume that because you have no received death today that you do not deserve it. The only reason why your guts have not decorated this room is because I do not wish to make my mon amour shed tears for such a despicable man.”

Ladybug spoke up next. “We are going to report you to the authorities. Robin and I have enough evidence to put you away for life.”

To live for another day, Gabriel makes the smart choice of quickly surrendering right then and there.

“Mon amour, I come bearing both good and bad news.”

Adrien looked at Dami confused. “Okay? What’s the bad news?”

“Your sister have unfortunately stopped my attempt to slay your wicked father.”

Aww.

Adrien’s squishy little heart filled with endearing fondness at how much Hot-And-Sexy cared about him.

“Killing my father isn’t worth going to jail, Dami. I’m sure you can pull off orange but Mari will probably bar me from ever visiting you to teach you a lesson.”

He considered that for a moment. “That is true. Marinette is a frightening terror.”

“She’s the greatest thing to happen to me.”Adrien swooned at his goddess before remembering his boyfriend was with him. “You’re a very close second.”

But Dami was smiling fondly. “I know. I knew what I was getting into when I asked you out. I will never get in the way between your sibling bond.”

Aww.

He could feel his squishy little heart almost explode from all this sugary cuteness from his vain and egotistical Adonis.

“You’re adorable. So what’s the good news you have for me?”

“Marinette and I have finally dealt with your father. He will answer for his crimes in front of the Parisian authorities and you will not deal with the repercussions of being related to someone as vile as he.”

“Does this mean I don’t have to legally change my name to Dupain-Cheng after all?”

“You’re already one. Not sharing their name does not make you any less of one.”

Adrien beamed, smiling brighter than any sun. He loved being part of the Dupain-Cheng family and it was nice to be acknowledged as one of them.

“Of course. Being a Wayne is an honor too.” Damian said casually as if he was simply talking about the weather. Only the twitch of his fingers belied his nervousness.

Adrien interlocked their fingers together. “You have to buy me a pretty ring first, Mr. Hot-And-Sexy.”

The next week was kind of crazy to say the least.

Gabriel Agreste was outed as Hawk Moth and Natalie as Mayura to the public. They were promptly put in jail.

For all their contingency plans, Marinette and Damian had nothing to worry about after all. Adrien being a literal sunshine and Paris’ darling model was what saved him from being a pariah and outcast. The public knew that Adrien was the victim here and not part of Hawk Moth’s plans at all (Be serious. Can you imagine Sunshine child actually having an evil streak in him? No? That’s right. Because it is impossible). People were more sympathetic about Adrien having such a douchebag as a father than the possibility that he was evil like said douchebag.

After that whole drama mess, Ladybug and Chat Noir announced their retirement to Paris’ dismay. But eh. Without akumas running around, they can leave Paris’ future to the police (since it’s you know, their job to keep the peace and not teenagers who is still winging it as they kick ass).

Marinette and Adrien just wanted to focus on their future without any other crazy shenanigans.

He already said it before. But it still bears repeating.

Lila Rossi is a bitch.

The only thing Gabriel did right was throw her under the bus when he was caught. He told the police and superheroes how Lila helped him cause akumas with her lies and manipulation. Who knew her destroyed reputation could plummet even further? Understandably, her mother was not at all pleased with her daughter’s antics.

For being a terrorist and an indecent person, Lila was immediately arrested and deported to Italy (and that’s the last they ever heard of her thank everything Mari thinks is holy).

With the whole Hawkmoth thing out of the way and he didn’t have to worry about his shitty dad ever again, Adrien can now focus on his biggest challenge yet.

School will be over in a few days and summer will be here. Which means: It’s time to finally meet the Waynes.

Oh fuck. He was going to meet the Batfam.

And even though Dami assured him that his family will like him, he was still nervous.

Fuck that. He was absolutely 100% freaking out!

Thank goodness Mari was coming along for the ride.

Taglist:

@iglowinggemma28

#ml x dc #ml salt #ml salt fic #lila rossi salt #alya cesaire salt #bustier salt #gaydrien #adrien is a hot mess #adrien agreste x damian wayne #adridami #adrien deserves better #marinette deserves better #bamf marinette #a 3.7K fic people #crack writing

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years ago

Text

Day 27: Intrulogical (TW)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 27 - Your eyes match your soulmate’s hair color. If they dye their hair, your eyes change colors.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!! Attempted rape (by unnamed OC), drugging, implied underage drinking (though none is actually seen), emetophobia/vomiting, Halloween, alcohol, characters being tipsy/drunk, parties. Happy/satisfying ending.

Word count: 4.7k

Logan lived his life based on routine. In a world of constant change, it felt comforting to always know what his next step was. His mornings always started the same; wake up at seven o’clock sharp, sneak to the dorm bathroom in an attempt to not wake his essentially nocturnal roommate, and brush his teeth. Wet the toothbrush, pea sized amount of toothpaste, wet the brush again, and start on the left side of his mouth. Brush for exactly two minutes, wash face, and then attempt to calm down the bedhead. He’d sneak back into the room, change silently, and then make his way to the shared kitchen to make cereal for breakfast. The only variable in his routine was which fruit he’d eat along with his Cheerios. Then he’d triple check that all of his homework was packed properly, and head off to his morning class.

Except today.

For someone who rarely got distracted from his normal routine, he was surprisingly still as he glared, shocked, into his reflection. Water still dripped off his face and all over the counter, but he couldn’t tear his attention from it. Because his normally dark brown eyes were now neon green.

“Are you kidding me?!” He yelled before he could stop himself, storming back into their room and dropping back onto his bed.

“What’s’it?” Virgil mumbled, lifting his exhausted face from where they’d been smooshed into the pillows. Logan spun his face up towards the top bunk, jaw clenched, and gestured towards his eyes.

“I have a presentation today!” Logan continued, looking away from Virgil’s failed attempt to cover a smile, “And I look ridiculous! No one will take me seriously!”

“Just in time for Halloween, I guess. They just look like contacts.”

“Hallow-” Logan sprung to his desk to look at his calendar accusingly, groaning when he realized it was in fact the thirty first. “Ugh, I have a paper due tomorrow!”

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out of the party now, Lo. I already promised people I’d go, and I’m not going alone.”

“I won’t back out of the party,” Logan grumbled, crossing his arms. Virgil gave a satisfied hum, flopping back into his comforter. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled.

“Out of all people, I’m surprised you forgot.”

“So sue me, if a frivolous game of promiscuous dress up comes after passing my classes in the list of importance.”

The emo snorted. “What’s your costume gonna be?”

“I am not wearing a costume!” Logan’s voice was almost offended.

“You already look like a traffic light. Might as well complete the look.”

Logan grumbled angrily, marching back toward the bathroom to finish getting ready. “I’m not wearing a costume. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Aw, c’mon, Lo. For me?”

That stopped Logan in his tracks. He spun around and took a careful breath, glaring down his overly pleased roommate. “Fine. Just for you.”

Virgil gave another satisfied hum, before squinting his eyes at Logan scrutinizingly. “I wonder if your eyes glow in the dark. Can you imagine if the prof turns the lights off for a presentation and-”

“UUUGGHHH!” Logan yowled as he slammed the bathroom door shut, shaking his head at Virgil’s snickers.

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

They were meeting up at the party at the end of classes (right about when Virgil tended to wake up), so Logan headed there directly after his final class, just as the evening sun was fading behind the horizon. It was already packed with people already picking the snack and drinks table bare, a lopsided sign that said ‘21+ only’ forgotten near an empty beer box. If Logan were to assume correctly, the sign was only there to assuage the conscience of whoever was hosting tonight, and not actually to stop the underage drinking. Even if he was above legal drinking age, he still didn’t experience many of the positives of drinking, so he grabbed a can of iced tea and stood next to a wall to wait for Virgil.

It hadn’t been a full five minutes before a man sidled up to him, sipping from a half empty beer bottle and watching Logan with a careful eye. He didn’t spare so much as a glance in return, barely acknowledging the newcomer’s presence.

“What’s a wallflower like you doing at a rager like this?” He drawled with an almost audible impish smile.

“If this is considered a rager, I’d hate to see what a calm party looks like.”

“Aw, we just haven’t gotten started yet! We’re fueling up for when the moon comes out. And you haven’t answered my question, flower.”

“I’m simply waiting for a friend.”

“Oh, and does this friend have a name?” He purred.

Frustrated, Logan turned to the man, and promptly froze. Looking down at him with pitch black eyes was a person in a costume he couldn’t recognize; a black and white striped suit that looked like he’d raked it through dust, and a mold green tie. The stubble on his face could have been his own five o’clock shadow or makeup, but it only functioned to make him look far hotter than what was fair. What was most shocking though, and Logan was baffled that he’d missed it in the initial approach, was the mop of electric-shock-straight neon green hair on his head.

“He- I don’t-”

“Didn’t take you for the type to get flustered,” The man snorted, taking another sip. “What do you have? Aw, iced tea? And not even spiked? A crime.”

How did he not see Logan’s eyes? The hair was the exact same color; Logan would know. He’d spend the whole day watching his reflection, hoping that his soulmate would have some mercy and dye their hair back to its original color. Neon green was not exactly the most subtle color, and he had not missed the snickers or silent glances from his classmates and professors all day. So the question remained, why wasn’t this guy saying anything?

“I don’t drink. I tend to just become lethargic when I do.” He answered instead, gripping his can a little tighter. It took far too much effort to keep his voice from straining.

“Fair enough. I’m not pressuring you to drink, no worries. At least we’ll have one sober mind at this party tonight.” The taller man winked at him, flashing him that stupidly stunning smile again.

But then it occurred to Logan as he kept searching the man’s dark eyes desperately. His eyes were too dark, almost pitch black, while Logan’s hair was several shades lighter. So... there was no way they were soulmates. Just as quickly as the hope had exploded in his stomach, it dissipated, leaving him feeling more exhausted than usual. Stupid feelings.

“Logan, there you are!” An unusually loud voice called through his stupor and he spun around to see Virgil’s fanged smile. In the back of his mind, he remembered watching Virgil putting together his elaborate vampire costume over the last few weeks, but he’d never seen the full thing put together until now. “Ah, and Remus found you. Scram, Beetlejuice.”

Remus, apparently, didn’t seem at all offended by the jab. Instead, he seemed to smile wider. “Nice to see you too, emo. Is that any way to treat the host of the party?”

To Logan’s surprise, Virgil smiled too. “Oh, shut up. You’re going to give Logan a heart attack.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Dracula. Why don’t you go get a drink, and I’ll keep him company?”

“Nuh uh. No way. Not leaving him with you any longer than I have already.” With that, Virgil hooked his arm through Logan’s and led him back to the drink table.

“Remember, Virgil, drinks are only for the big kids!”

“I’m older than you are!” He flipped the bird over Logan’s shoulder to the host, earning a barked laugh in response. “He never lets me forget I’m a whole three inches shorter than him.”

“You know the host of the party?”

Virgil hummed in response, pouring himself a cup of punch that reeked of alcohol. “How else would I get invited? We were in English together in third year, and I haven’t been able to shake him since. He’s like a leech.”

“You seem friendly with him.”

The elder froze, solo cup barely touching his lips as he looked over Logan slowly. “Everything okay? You’re not usually this… quiet.” They could both tell it wasn’t the word he’d wanted to use.

For a brief moment, Logan considered telling Virgil about his brief flair of hope, about how for a single second he’d felt nothing but relief and desire and elation, and how it had been ripped away from him just as quickly. But then he realized that, no, Virgil didn’t need that to bring down the mood of the first party he’d attended in a year, since his anxiety had flared. If it still bothered him after the party, he’d bring it up. That was unlikely, though. Logan was especially gifted in the art of repression.

“I’m just a tad out of my element. Nothing to worry about,” he responded with a smile. Virgil didn’t fall for it, if the way he watched Logan as he sipped his drink was anything to go off of, but he did them both the favor of not pushing it. For now.

“I thought I told you to wear a costume,” Virgil gasped as he drained the cup, immediately refilling it from the same bowl.

“I did.” Logan gestured towards the single piece of paper taped to his white shirt. It took Virgil a moment to squint through the darkening light to make-out the black sharpie, reading allowed.

“‘Error 404, Costume Not Found.’ That does not count, Logan!” He laughed nonetheless, just as a deep bass filled the house. Apparently, the party had begun. He didn’t have a good argument for Virgil’s accusation, since he technically thought it very much did count, but arguing with the other was a waste of time. The two men were equally matched in the stubbornness department.

The lights disappeared for a good few seconds before the house was illuminated in strobe lights, and the music’s volume exploded. Virgil laughed giddily; apparently his plan to get buzzed before the party could give him anxiety was intentional.

“They do, ya know.”

Logan looked at him in confusion, and shouted over the roaring music. “What?”

“Your eyes! They do glow in the dark!”

“Shut up!”

“You look like a glowstick!” He began to giggle wildly, leaning on Logan for support.

“No more drinks for a good half hour, Virge,” Logan chided gently, replacing his solo cup with a water bottle from the table. Virgil whined but plucked out his vampire fangs so he could drink from the small spout easier.

“Let’s dance,” Virgil said, grabbing Logan’s arm and leading him into the crowd.

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

Logan guessed it was well past midnight when Virgil tugged on his arm for the third time, leaning close to his ear and shouting that he had to go to the bathroom.

“Again?!” Logan called back at the vampire’s back. There was no malice in his words, not when he knew Virgil had been anxious to go to this party and he tended to drink more water when he was anxious. It was just all coming back for revenge now.

To Logan’s delight, the excitement of the party had started to push out the event from earlier. His mood was no longer dampened by the let down of what he thought was meeting his soulmate, and he could finally enjoy the one event he allowed himself to go to this semester. School was important, but he allowed this for Virgil. He hadn’t expected himself to have a good time as well.

It wasn’t even a minute after Virgil had left that there was a loud shout and Logan was jostled harshly to the side, the front of his shirt immediately soaking red from the cup of punch spilled on him. His own drink clattered to the floor.

“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry!” A man Logan didn’t recognize started to pat at his chest with a handful of tissues, an action that for some reason caused the smaller man to cringe.

“No worries. It was bound to happen eventually. Perhaps a white shirt wasn’t my smartest idea,” He responded sharply, taking the tissues from the other and dabbing himself off to the best of his abilities. Slightly relieved that he now had a valid reason, he ripped off his poor attempt at a costume and crumpled up the soaking wet paper in the hand not trying in vain to dry himself. Despite Logan obviously being uninterested, the taller man stayed where he was, watching Logan’s actions with fierce intensity. His lip curled as his eyes trailed down the now nearly see-through shirt.

“If you wanted, I could get that shirt off of you. Fool around, give it some time to dry?”

“I’m so flattered,” Logan deadpanned, “But no thanks.”

“Aw, too bad,” The man cooed, shrugging. His demeanor did a full one-eighty, his predatory gaze replaced with innocence, “Was worth a try. Let me at least get you a new drink, since I ruined your other one.”

“That’s not necessary-”

“I insist.” He laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder, causing a tingling cold to spread through his whole body. The smaller man barely contained a shudder as the man gave him another wolf like grin before disappearing into the crowd towards the drinks table.

Logan was hoping he’d forgotten, and just wouldn’t come back, but the man reappeared in moments, popping open a pink lemonade and handing it to him.

“Saw your other drink was non-alcoholic, so I got the only other one left.”

“Uhm…” Logan looked critically at the can, his alarm bells flaring. But… he’d seen the man open it, right? So it’s not as if he could have done something to it. Perhaps this guy really did have the right intentions, just an iffy way of showing them. “Thank you.”

He took a sip as the man smiled with too much teeth. “So, are you here alone?”

“No,” Logan responded a little less coolly, “I’m here with a friend. He just went to the bathroom.” Another sip.

“Oh, that’s fun! Are you guys in the same year?”

“Yes. We are both fourth years.” The man was acting kinder, and Logan was starting to consider that perhaps their initial meeting had been a misunderstanding on his part. Maybe he had just wanted to help out, but Logan, being cynical as always, had assumed the worst. Wasn’t that just like him, though? Always so quick to conclusions, ruining good things before they have a chance to happen. Trying to chase away his annoyance with himself and the bitter taste it had left on his tongue, he took a longer swig of the can.

“Hey, me too! I’m an English major, what about you?”

“Business with an astronomy minor.”

“That sounds difficult. How many semester hours are you clocking at right now?”

“I… uhm…” And for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. It was a high number, he knew for sure. He shook his head. “Fifteen, sixteen? Maybe seventeen?”

The man whistled. “Damn, impressive. Remind me of your name, again?”

Had he told him in the first place? “Logan.”

“And what brings a studious man such as yourself to a party like this?”

“My- My friend.” Logan couldn’t help shake his head again, hoping the fog in his mind would scatter. That’s what he got, staying out this late when his sleep schedule was usually so precise. “He doesn’t like… parties. So he asked…” He blinked hard a couple times, finding himself swaying on his feet. “He asked me…”

“Hey, are you okay?” The man placed his hand on his arm in an ironclad grip, holding him steady, “Logan, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I… Dizzy,” He murmured, reaching up blearily and grabbing onto him.

“Are you dehydrated? Maybe you should drink some more.”

What were the symptoms of dehydration again? Dizziness, check. Fatigue, check. Confusion, check. Thirst? Yeah, he could drink something, but he’d been drinking all night, so why…

The can dropped from his hand, the second one tonight, and he tried weakly to pull away. Instead of letting him go, the man pulled him closer, wrapping an arm bruisingly tight around his waist.

“You… you drugged-”

“You don’t look so good, Logan. Let’s get you upstairs so you can lie down, yeah?”

“No, I don’t…” He was unable to escape, barely able to keep his feet under him, as the man started dragging him to the stairs. Where the hell is Virgil? Logan could feel tears pricking his eyes as his breathing hitched, and for the first time in years, he felt real panic. This couldn’t be happening. This isn’t-

“Let him the fuck go!”

A voice distinctly not Virgil’s shouted over the music, and Logan didn’t even dare hope it’s directed at the man still clutching him. His luck would never be that good. But through his blurry vision, a pin striped blob with a mess of green hair breaks through the crowd, marching distinctly up to them.

“He came here with me.” Logan could just make out the stronger man’s words through his dizzied state. “He just had a bit too much to drink. I’m going to let him lay down.”

“Like hell you are. Give him to me.”

“How dare you-”

“Logan. Doesn’t. Drink. And I know who he came here with.” Remus snarled, edging towards the duo threateningly, “Now let go of him before I break your fucking jaw.”

With almost as much physical relief as emotional, the man finally released his painful hold on Logan and shoved his way through the crowd, the distant shouts of inconvenienced partygoers near the door the only signal that he’d completely left.

For all his effort, Logan couldn’t hold himself up and collapsed. At first the feeling of strong arms picking him up bridal style caused him to panic and he lashed out, feebly hitting the chest of whoever was holding him. Realizing they were now walking up the stairs, the same place the other man had been pulling him, caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Woah there, Lo. You’re okay. It’s just me, it’s Remus, okay? Take a deep breath, just relax. I won’t hurt you.”

For some reason that Logan couldn’t fathom, the words calmed him down. Somewhere, Logan acknowledged that even though Virgil had known Remus for a while, Logan had only talked to him for a total of five minutes, and he probably shouldn’t trust an essential stranger when he’s like this. He’s just too tired to fight though, no matter how his adrenaline is pumping.

“V’rg’l,” Logan whimpered, clutching Remus' shirt with all the strength of a wet leaf, “W’nt h’m.”

“I’ll get Virgil as soon as you’re safe, okay? Don’t worry,” Remus’ soothing voice rumbled through Logan from where he was pressed to the taller’s chest, making his eyelids flutter. His arms felt like over boiled pasta and his stomach was doing flips, but Remus’ voice broke through the fog he was in and settled him in a way he hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the drugs.

“We’re at the top of the stairs now, okay? I’ll take you to my room, since it’s the only one with a lock. So we know there won’t be any horny college kids in there, making a mess of my sheets. Gotta unlock it without dropping you, hold on, and… A HAH! Got it. You want the light on or off?”

Logan couldn’t compute the question, much less make a choice. He made a sound that was slightly reminiscent of a stalled car engine, letting his head loll towards the lump that he assumed was a bed.

“Let’s compromise.” With all the care in the world, Logan was placed onto the sheets and gently rolled onto his side, a heavy comforter pulled up to his shoulders. Remus shifted away and a dim light flashed through his eyelids, enough to notice but definitely not enough to hurt his throbbing head. A table lamp, probably.

“No falling asleep on me, okay? You need to stay awake. I don’t know what that fucker gave you. I’m texting Virgil now, he’ll be here soon. Just keep your eyes open.”

Logan opened his eyes despite his overwhelming urge to sleep, and was immediately assaulted by a swirl of colors as the world tilted. An explosion of nausea tilted him forward and he pushed himself up on his elbows.

“‘m g’nna-” He didn’t have to finish his sentence before there was a plastic garbage can under his cheek and he heaved, throwing up the remnants of dinner and all he drank that evening. He didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed as he flopped back down onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Oh, Logan,” Remus whispered.

There was a pounding on the door and Logan didn’t even have the energy to flinch from the violent sound. Remus stood quickly and unlocked it, barely opening it before someone barreled into the room, the newcomer gasping for breath.

“What the fuck happened?!” Virgil screamed, dropping on his knees next to the bed, hand reaching up to lay on Logan’s cheek.

“He got roofied by some motherfucker I haven’t seen before. I caught him in the stairwell before anything happened.” Remus was still standing by the open door. The music was flowing in louder now, and Virgil’s raged shouting wasn’t helping his headache at all.

“I’m going to fucking kill whoever did this. I’ll fucking kill him!”

“Virgil, you’re real hot when you’re pissed, but calm the hell down. Yelling won’t help Logan.”

“You’re… shit, you’re right. Okay. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Watch him. Keep him on his side, bin’s to your left if he has to hurl again. I’m cutting this shit show.”

Logan finally cracked his eyes open as the door shut, Virgil leaning backwards to lock it. When he turned back and saw his friend’s eyes open, he almost wept.

“I’m so sorry Lo, I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“‘s okay.”

“No, no it’s not. I got distracted talking to someone, but I should have come back sooner. You could’ve… You could’ve been…”

“Not y’r fa’lt,” Logan mumbled, reaching over blindly to try and find Virgil’s hand. The other must have sensed his intentions and gripped onto the flailing limb, interlocking their fingers.

“You better not be blaming yourself.”

Technically, he was. He should have been more careful, shouldn’t have taken a drink from a stranger, should have noticed something was off the moment his mind started to fade. Never in his life would he say that this kind of situation was the victim’s fault but… he couldn’t help it when it came to himself. He’d always been self critical that way. Bringing this up to Virgil would be a death wish, though, and an argument he certainly did not have the energy for right now.

The music cut off downstairs and Logan sighed in relief, nearly smiling at Remus’ shout for everyone to get out of his house. For someone he’d met once, he was protective, that was for sure.

Virgil didn’t force him to talk. They both just enjoyed the silence for a while, the only sound being the occasional shout from downstairs and Virgil’s sniffles. Logan couldn’t exactly blame him; he’d cry too if he had the brainpower. He didn’t though, which was the problem, so he allowed his hand to be held and allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of a thumb brushing over his knuckles.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Virgil reached over to unlock it, allowing Remus to walk back in. “Sorry that took so long. Wanted to double check that anyone using someone else as a crutch was black out drunk, not drugged. Here, sit him up.”

Virgil shifted so he was behind Logan and pulled him up against him, holding him steady as Remus lifted a glass of water to his lips. “You have to be thirsty. Do your best to keep this down, Lo.” Suddenly realizing how thirsty he actually was, Logan downed half the glass before Remus pulled it away. “Not so much, you’ll get sick.” There was a clink as the glass was placed on the bed side table. “We need to take him to the hospital. I don’t know how much whatever the fucker gave him.”

“I’m too drunk to drive,” Virgil said, gently lowering Logan back onto his side.

“I didn’t drink that much, but I’m not safe either. You got a friend who can take us?”

“Yeah,” The shorter mumbled as he shakily typed in his phone password, “I’m going to call Patton, just a second.” He moved to the furthest corner of the small room and the conversation faded into the background. At least Virgil was talking… that meant Patton picked up, right?

“Shitty way to end a pretty spectacular holiday,” Remus stated as he sat back on his spot, letting a hand rest on Logan’s leg.

“‘m s’rry.”

“Ah, shit, that’s not what I meant. I’m mad for you, not at you. Ya know,” As he spoke, he reached up and did something to his eyes, almost picking at them, “Halloween’s the only valid holiday in my book. Christmas is too overrated, Easter is senseless, Thanksgiving? No thanks, I don’t glorify genocide. But Halloween? I get to dress slutty or spooky or fucking ridiculous, and no one can give me two shits about it. I get to throw ragers and stab gourds into faces and buy discount candy until I’m fifty percent chocolate. I mean, I dyed my hair green for it, paid extra for the glow in the dark shit, and all I got were compliments.”

His hands had returned to his lap and he was fiddling with something. Logan tried to make out what it was, but it just looked like black plastic. Tiny, flexible pieces of black plastic. That Remus had pulled from his eyes.

They were colored contacts.

“I guess I do kind of blame Roman for getting me into Beetlejuice, but it is one of his least favorite musicals, so it’s also a bit of a ‘fuck you’ to him-”

“R’mus,” He breathed, and even that faint call was enough to snap Remus back to him. The taller man turned to him immediately, and Logan forgot how to breathe.

Because his eyes were brown, and in the dim light of the single lamp, they absolutely shone.

His eyes were the same brown as Logan’s hair, and Logan’s eyes became that offensive green around the same time as Remus dyed his for the costume, and that’s all the confirmation Logan needed to push himself up onto the hands and lunge forward to kiss him. The effort is strenuous and the lurch almost makes him heave again, but oh Lord, he just found his soulmate and it’s actually him and-

“Woah, woah woah woah. Hold on there, cowboy.” Remus gently pushes him back down before their lips can meet, “You are very drugged right now. I am not kissing you drugged. Sober, hell yes. But not like this.”

“Y’re my-”

“Soulmate. I know. I kind of figured when I saw your eyes. But I figured… I might as well get you to like me before I dropped that kind of bombshell. Although… I was hoping that would be accomplished by basic flirting, but then the party started getting out of hand, so I was always busy with-”

“Patton’s on his way,” Virgil spoke up, joining the two on the bed. “You okay, Lo?”

“He figured it out,” Remus said softly, letting a hand card through Logan’s hair.

“I was wondering how long that would take.”

Logan gave a weak smile, his own fear and adrenaline starting wear off slightly. He was safe here, and he felt like he wasn’t going to be let out of sight for a while.

“Drink some more water, wallflower,” Remus whispered, helping him sit up, “We’ll take care of you.”

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #intrulogical #remus sanders #logan sanders #i kind of visualized that the man dropped the roofie in from his palm when he opened the drink #but i couldnt find a place to add that #not really that important tho #virgil sanders #patton sanders #rape tw #drugging tw #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides au #ts soulmate au #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanderssidesau

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dirtyoatmeall · 4 years ago

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Blush (Iwaizumi x Kyotani! Reader)

A/N: This is inspired by a tiktok I saw about Kyotani’s punk older sister, though reader isn’t very punk. Not sure how I feel about the ending, probably could have kept going but I’m tired lmao. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Iwaizumi x F!Reader (she/her pronouns used for reader)

Word Count:1.1k

Warnings: None really, mentions of fights and mentions of a creep (trying to sneak a up the skirt pic)

The sound of balls hitting the floor at various speeds could be heard quite a few feet away from the gym, and the sounds of loud bickering outside of the gym could be heard over the sounds of those balls. Iwaizumi lowered him arm, sighing. Oikawa raised and eyebrow at him and followed through with his serve, pouting when it hit out of bounds. “What’s up Iwa? Our fearless ace not paying attention during practice? How scandalous.” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and muttered an insult under his breath as he walked past the setter, heading towards the doors to the gym, the arguing voices growing louder. He could hear Oikawa whining as he followed the ace, not wanting to be left out of the drama. Iwaizumi threw open the doors, ready to yell at Oikawa’s fans for interrupting practice when he stopped suddenly before he could open his mouth.

Infront of Iwaizumi was not fighting fangirls, but the second year Kyotani and a girl, who looked like she was ripping him a new one. The sound of the door opening seemed to interrupt their conversation. He thought the two of them seemed similar in that moment, scowls almost identical. Though when she noticed the audience she turned, smile quickly replacing the dirty look she was sending the second year. “Ah, Iwaizumi-san! Sorry if I was being too loud, I’ll let you all get back to practice.” She emphasized ‘all’ as she turned to the angry blonde and continued to speak to him “Kentaro we’ll continue speaking at home.” She turned back to the third year, flashing a bright smile. “Sorry again Iwaizumi-san! Have a good practice.” At that she turned and walked away. Kyotani brushed past Iwaizumi, ignoring the other third years, mainly Oikawa, and got ready for practice. Iwaizumi stood in the doorway for a moment longer before shutting it and returning to practice, a faint blush adorning his features.

During practice the third years shared looks every time Kyotani listened to the team, obviously begrudgingly, but listening nonetheless. After practice as the four third years walked towards the train station they shared theories on who the mystery girl could be, really it was just Oikawa making outrageous asumputions, which Iwaizumi immediately debunked and insulted him to then entertainment of Matsukawa and Hanamaki. After yet another outrageous theory, this time being the second year’s secretly married and that was his child bride, when Matsukawa decided to speak up.

“She’s his older sister. She’s in my class.” Oikawa stopped and looked at the third year open-mouthed for a moment before catching up with the others, whining “Mattsun! You could’ve said that earlier instead of letting Iwa-chan beat me up!” Matsukawa laughed and Hanamaki picked up where he left off. “But where’s the fun in that Oikawa? Anyways, I’m pretty sure she got suspended last year for punching some underclassman who tried to take a picture under her skirt.” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, suddenly more interested in the conversation that before. “Oh yeah, she did. I think it’s the same guy Kyotani beat up a few days later. Getting him suspended too. I see them together a lot, though its usually them bickering.” Matsukawa said, paying for a drink as the four waited for the train. Iwaizumi mulled over the new information. He remembers vaguely hearing about a third year getting suspended for punching an underclassman, and he definitely remembers Kyotani beating that student up, Iwaizumi ripped him a new one since he had to miss a week’s worth of practice. He would have to keep an eye out for her in the coming days.

Iwaizumi kept up on his word, and he noticed you quite a few times over the next few days. Either in the halls or speaking to your brother during lunch or before practice. He also noticed the looks you would send him when you thought he wasn’t looking. At first, Iwaizumi assumed they were directed towards Oikawa, as usual, but it happened multiple times when he was by himself, all ending with you getting caught and a blush covering your face. He wouldn’t lie, you were definitely attractive, and the thought of you actually being attracted to him was not a deterrent. So over the next few weeks Iwaizumi made an effort to make conversation with you, in the halls, before practice, or even during lunch.

Today, much like every day, you walked with your brother to the gymnasium. At first, it was to make sure he actually went to practice, but now it’s mostly to see Iwaizumi. You had quite a lot of homework to do, so you instead said a quick hello to the spiker before saying goodbye to your brother and leaving. Kyotani stops before entering the gym, turning to the third year. “Are you going to ask (Y/N) out?” The question startles Iwaizumi for a moment, leaving him gaping for a moment before responding. “Probably. Yes.” He watches the second year’s expression closely, not sure what his reaction will be. He simply nods, “Good, she’s had a crush on you for over a year.” That shocked Iwaizumi more than the original question, a blush settling on the third year’s cheeks. Kyotani moved to go get ready for practice, leaving a flustered Iwaizumi alone by the door.

Two weeks after that you were eating lunch with Iwaizumi on the roof, basking in the sunlight and easy conversation. You stretched your legs out in front of you leaning back on your hands as you turned your face to the sky, enjoying the warm weather. You stayed like that for a moment before Iwaizmuni broke the silce by clearing his throat. You turned your head slightly, cracking an eye open to look at him. When he didn’t speak, you raised an eyebrow, a silent question spurring him to speak. “Ah, (Y/N)-san, I was wondering if you wanted to go to a café with me on Saturday, I could help you study for the English test Mattsun say’s you have coming up.” At his words you turn towards him fully, taking in the faint blush on his cheeks and the hesitance that was uncharacteristically creeping in his voice.

You smirked at the teen. “Are you asking me on a date Iwa-chan?” He rolls his eyes at the nickname you picked up from spending to much time with Oikawa and nodded, biting his lip slightly when you chuckled, moving to sit closer to him. “Good, I wouldn’t have said yes if it wasn’t.” You rested your head on his shoulder and resumed eating. Though after a moment you paused, rice barely touching your lips before you moved them away as you spoke. “And just call me (Y/N), no honorifics if we’re gonna date. Oh! Maybe instead of Iwa-chan, I’ll call you Haji-chan!” Iwaizumi groaned at the new nickname, blush deepening as you laughed. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he didn’t mind either nickname.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi imagine #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyu #iwaizumi haikyuu #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x y/n #my writing

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skieswords · 4 years ago

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Pull Through Part 5

Please make sure you read the warnings in part 1❤️

"Fuck. Wake up boys, we're late." Becca's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Alex's voice, and the first thing she noticed was the warm chest her cheek was resting on, and the hand pressed against the small of her back. Luke groaned, and opened his eyes, looking down to see a mess of curls lying on top of him, and feeling Becca's t-shirt in his hand. She was on top of him, her blue eyes looking up at him in surprise. "Uh, morning." Luke grinned as Becca buried her face in his chest again, groaning into his t-shirt. They looked to their left and found Reggie staring at them, his hair sticking up in all directions. "Did you

two...?" He pointed between them, eyes wide. Becca's jaw dropped in horror, and she jumped off Luke, accidentally kneeing him in the stomach. He groaned and buried his face in a cushion, hiding the furious blush spreading up his neck, while Becca smiled apologetically and ran a hand through her hair. "No, we didn't. Gross." Alex came in, car keys in hand, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. "Morning Bex. Luke, a word?" He shot a glare at Luke, who was now sat up on the sofa, rubbing his temples gently. He held his hands up towards Alex, and shuffled through to the bathroom, pulling his shoes on as he hopped. "Bex. Car. Now." Alex was pissed, and Becca sighed as she laced her converse, looking over her outfit. "I need to get changed. I have clothes in the l-" She was interrupted by Reggie dropping a bag on the floor from the loft, a collection of Becca's clothes from over the years. "Loft. Thanks Reg." She knelt down and started raking through the clothes, blinking desperately to keep herself awake. A few moments later, she'd yanked an old band t-shirt over her head, and tossed her curls into a messy ponytail, and was now trying to pull her shorts down in the mirror, groaning when they didn't budge. "I'm going to get dress-coded. Alex can I just skip?" Alex laughed from behind her and tugged her ponytail gently, crossing his arms as he leant against the wall. "Mom and dad are already going to kill me for having you out all night, the least I can do is force you to go to school." She stuck her tongue out at him, and gave up, hoping the tights would be enough the satisfy Ms Carlisle. The bathroom door opened, and Luke emerged looking slightly more awake than he had when they first woke up. He made eye contact with Becca and cleared his throat, glancing at Alex as she blushed and ran into the bathroom. "Seriously dude? The literal minute she turns 16 and you're after her." Luke shook his head and snorted. "Not a chance. You know how we see her. Little sister, all the way." He looked into Alex eyes, hoping his best friend bought it. They'd known since they were 12, Becca was totally off limits to the boys. Something about not wanting his little sister mixed up with rockstars- although he had a feeling that wasn't the actual reason. Becca listened to their exchange through the bathroom door, sadness clouding her eyes. She'd hoped that after last night, with Luke telling her all that stuff about being on stage, that they might have grown closer. She'd fancied the boy since she was 13- and over the last year, having shared a lot of laughs during rehearsals, she'd developed a full blown crush. But he clearly didn't feel the same.

"Bex! Where were you last night? I tried calling but your mom picked up, said you were studying..." Becca nodded slowly, realising that must have been the lie Alex spun to her parents. "Yeah, I had a ton of math work to catch up on." This was feasible. The entire class knew about Becca's turbulent relationship with the math department. Ray nodded and leaned up against the locker next to hers, taking in her appearance. "You're gonna get in so much trouble for that- Ms C is in an evil mood." Becca groaned and slammed her head against her locker door, shoving a textbook into her bag as she turned to face Ray. "I'll just avoid her. It'll be fine." He grinned and reached into his bag, holding out a messily wrapped box. "Happy birthday." She couldn't help but smile back at him, rolling her eyes and reaching out to take the box. "Thank you. You shouldn't have though, I told you I don't like my birthday." He shrugged and watched with eager eyes as she tore off the paper, opening her locker to throw it in as it fell. "No you didn't. Ray!" She threw her arms around his neck, the box pressed between them. "I noticed your wheels were looking kinda wonky the other day, so. Here you go. Can you come tonight? I'll put them on for you." Becca smiled at him and tucked a curl behind her ear. "Yeah, yeah I think so. Thank you, Ray." He'd gotten her a set of new wheels for her skateboard, which she desperately needed. A blowout with her dad a few weeks back had resulted in him tossing her board out the 3rd floor window, and had sent the front wheel off to the left, and she hadn't been able to fix it. Ray was a genius with boards, and had the most gorgeous hand painted designs. She slipped the wheels carefully into her bag and linked arms with him, letting him walk her to english. Luke watched the entire display from across the hall, his hand resting on the small box in his locker. It was stupid, just a little gift- but he thought she'd like it. It could wait, he decided, and he pushed his locker door shut a little too harshly, causing a loud clatter to echo through the hall. He swung his guitar case over his shoulder and headed for the music rooms, passing off on the AP english class he had with Becca. He couldn't watch her with that guy any longer.

The end of the day took it's time, but as soon as the bell went, Becca was out of her class and in her locker, desperate to get home. "Hey Mercer, you looked good last night." Becca looked up, surprised to find Will Thomas, star quarterback, smirking down at her. "Oh, hey Will. Thanks, I didn't know you were there?" He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. It was similar to the move Luke frequently pulled, but Becca didn't find the action as endearing when Will did it. "Uh, I should get going." She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist, holding her back. "I'm having a party this weekend. You should come." Becca looked at him in shock, her eyes wide, flicking down to the tight grip he held on her. "Oh, really? I'll see what I'm doing." He nodded at her, letting his eyes rake over her body unapologetically as she walked away, her right hand rubbing the wrist he'd held. Luke watched the interaction, once again from across the hall. Having lockers opposite each other wasn't the ideal situation he had originally imagined it to be. Slamming his locker door shut again, he followed her out the doors, face thunderous and hands thrust deep in his pockets. Becca was already at the car, complaining about something to Alex. "Why can't you just drop me off on the way home? I'll get food later." Alex rolled his eyes and gave her a push into the car, opening the trunk for Luke's guitar. "It's your birthday, mom and dad want to see you." Becca huffed and crossed her arms around her knees. She brightened slightly as Luke approached the car, but sank into her seat when she noticed his expression. Apparently everyone was having a bad day today. "What's up with your face?" Luke shrugged and leaned against the side of the car, avoiding having to sit next to Becca, instead waiting for Reggie to come out. "Teachers on my ass about work, that's all." Becca frowned; Luke never did work, and never cared when he was chased up for it. "What we doing this weekend? We don't have anything booked, do we?" Alex shook his head, dumping his jacket in the back and sighing as the californian sun once again defied all odds, and appeared just as they were hitting December. "Nothing booked, think we were just going to hang out at the studio." Luke nodded, risking a glance towards Becca, who appeared to be examining her ripped tights in great detail. Luke frowned as he noticed the large tear in the material- they'd been fine that morning. Reggie arrived at the car, grumbling about his government teacher, who'd told him he'd have to drop if he didn't buck up. "At least you actually go to class. Luke skipped english this morning." At the mention of his name, Luke's head snapped up, his eyes slightly brighter. She'd noticed his absence. "Where'd you go?" Luke shrugged and pushed the seat back as Reggie clambered in, dropping into the front seat. "Didn't feel like class." Becca rolled her eyes and leaned over Alex's seat, activating her most pleading puppy dog eyes, and resting her chin on his shoulder. "How come he gets to skip class? He's behind already, and I'm acing english." Alex chuckled and shoved her back into her seat. "Luke's older than you, and exactly. You're acing it because you go." Becca scowled and leaned on Reggie, reading the various scribbles running up his arms. Looked like he had a lot of homework. "How do you guys fancy a party this weekend? Heard Thomas is having one." Becca looked up as Luke began to speak, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Reggie frowned. "I thought you hated him? Said something about him being a-" Luke glared at Reggie in the mirror, sticking his lower lip out in such a childish way that Becca couldn't help her grin. "It's something to do. Bex got invited." Becca leaned over and punched him in the arm, scowling and glancing at Alex nervously. "Yeah as if she's going. You know what he's like." Becca groaned from the back seat and kicked Alex's chair, making him jump. "I can do what I want." All three of the boys laughed at the same time, and Alex started to drive off. Becca slumped in her seat and stared out the window. Sometimes having 3 older brothers wasn't ideal.

"Happy birthday darling!" Becca blinked in the sudden brightness as she walked into the kitchen, and found her mom standing beside the kitchen table, beside a birthday cake and a bunch of balloons. "Thanks mom." Julia smiled and pulled Becca into a hug, kissing her head and squeezing her tightly. "I have a shift later on tonight, but I thought we could have dinner together? And then Alex will take you over to Reggie's to study, but I want you to come home tonight, please." Becca nodded absentmindedly, sticking a finger into the icing on her cake. It was vanilla. "Is dad coming home?" Julia shook her head with a smile, and Becca noticed that her shoulders seemed more relaxed, and her hair hung around her face, a rare sight for the usually up tight Julia Mercer. "I got you something. It's on your bed." Becca grinned and hugged her mom one more time, before running out and up the stairs, nearly knocking Alex over in the process. "Woah, what's got you in such a rush?" Becca shrugged and kept running, barging through her door and squealing delightedly. Alex came racing in behind her, afraid that she'd gotten hurt. Becca was unwrapping a small parcel on her bed, not caring about the muddy soles of her converse. "No way." She held up a shoebox, laughing lightly to herself. "Vans? I'm trying to work out if this is some type of sick joke, or if she just asked around to see what kind of shoes skaters wear. Do you think this means she'll let me go?" Alex shrugged and smiled at the expression his little sister wore. She knew she'd have to wear them, so she wouldn't hurt their mom's feelings. But she also knew wearing them to the studio would mean getting ridiculed by Luke. "Fuck it. Are you eating with us?" Alex sighed and gave her a gentle smack round the back of the head, kneeling down to tie her laces. "Depends." Becca fell silent, and he felt her eyes on him. "He's not coming." Alex looked up and met her eyes, watching the grin slowly spread across her face. "Then of course I am. I'm not missing out on birthday cake." She cheered and jumped off the bed, waiting for him to stand up before throwing herself at his back and wrapping her legs around his waist. He hooked his arms through her knees and started to carry her down the stairs, stopping on the landing. "Not a word about last night. I want to speak to you about it in the car anyway, so keep your mouth zipped." Becca nodded and rested her chin on his shoulder. This was shaping up to be her favourite birthday yet. Cake, her mom, and her brother, with the promise of a trip to the skate park and a visit to the boys as well. Not to mention she got to wake up on top of Luke Patterson. Not that that's important or meant anything to her in the slightest, she reminded herself.

Skateboard in hand and new vans on, Becca headed out to Alex's car, happier than she'd felt in weeks. Even though he'd said no to the skatepark, Alex had said she could take her board and practice tricks in Reggie's backyard, as long as she was careful and didn't damage any plantpots. "So. About last night." Becca fidgeted in her seat, not sure where this was going. Was it about the performance? Or the drugs? Or Luke? It could be any number of things, none of them particularly high on her list of preffered car conversation topics. "When were you gonna tell me you could play like that?" Becca let out a sigh of relief. Definitely the least dangerous topic. "Uh, I didn't really know I could play like that myself, to be fair." Alex raised his eyebrows at her, and pulled out of the driveway. "I taught myself a little, and I spoke to some of the music teachers at school- they helped. But I dunno, I just really enjoyed it. Luke worked out I could play by himself, he found some stuff I'd written and forced me to tell him." Alex pursed his lips, and his eyes hardened. "Mmm. That's another thing. Luke." Becca groaned internally- she'd hoped to avoid this one. "What do you mean?" Alex shot her a look of pure disbelief, and she threw her head back against the seat. "Nothing, Alex. I promise. We came in late from the garden last night, and he was gonna sleep on the floor. I felt mean so told him to share the couch." Alex looked at her intently as they reached a red light, before shrugging and continuing the drive in silence. Becca watched out the window as the houses flew by, sighing wistfully as they passed the turnoff for the skatepark.

Luke watched as Reggie nearly fell over the railing in the loft for the fourth time, rolling his eyes and collapsing onto the couch. Alex had said they'd be there around 7, and had warned they better be ready or he'd be pissed. Luke jumped up as he heard a car pull into the driveway, sharing a look with Reggie, who was still sitting on the banister. The familiar roll of Becca's skateboard could be heard on the crazy paving , alongside the jingling of Alex's car keys, and then a scuffle and a screech, as Becca tripped. Eventually, the Mercer siblings appeared at the door, Becca's skateboard tucked under her arm, and Alex trying his hardest to suppress a grin. "Oh my god. Guys!" Becca's hands flew to her mouth as she took in the garage. The boys had spent the last few hours stringing fairy lights across the ceiling, and a painted banner hung across the rafters reading 'Happy Birthday Bex!' in Reggie's handwriting, thankfully. Reggie pulled her into a hug and ruffled her hair. "It's the least we could do." Alex pushed her into the studio, and towards the coffee table, where a messily iced cake sat, chocolate frosting layered thickly over the entire cake. Becca smiled to herself, a warm feeling spreading across her chest as it hit her that the boys remembered her favourite. "Did you make this?" She glanced at Luke suspiciously, who held his hands up and rolled his eyes at her. "Reggie's mom made it- but I iced it." She grinned and pulled him into a hug, letting her head rest on his chest as she breathed in his musky scent of cheap aftershave, and something distinctly boyish. "It's awesome. Thank you." Luke wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, resisting the urge to stroke her hair. They stayed like that for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, until a look from Alex caught Luke's attention, and he jumped away, clearing his throat. "Where's Bobby?" Reggie shrugged and flopped onto the couch, watching Luke with a slight grin. The dark haired guitarist was walking around the back of the studio, scuffing the toes of his vans against the floor, as he watched Becca out the corner of his eye. The tension between them could literally be cut with a knife, but they still chose to ignore it. Even Alex had commented on it before, much to his own disgust. The idea of his baby sister dating anybody genuinely terrified him- and he knew what a flirt Luke could be. But as the drummer and bassist of Sunset Curve watched the two from opposite corners of the room, the only thought going through their minds was 'how long now.' The pair had been dancing around each other for years now. Luke had even taken Becca to her freshman, and her sophomore homecoming, with it now being an ongoing joke between them. Becca couldn't dance in the slightest. In fact, at both dances, they'd had to take a break so that Luke could ice his foot. He'd asked her by coincidence in freshman year because she'd been crying in the hallway after school, after a group of sophomores had teased her for going alone. By sophomore year, him and Alex were good friends, and they decided to do it as a joke. Junior homecoming was coming up, and he wasn't sure whether to ask her or not. He wanted to, but now that they were both aware there was something more there... it might be weird. Not to mention Alex would insist on being there with them. "We're not exactly speaking to him right now." Becca nodded at Alex's words, and let a hand drift up to stroke the edge of the banner strung up in the rafters.

"I got you something." Becca looked up, pleasantly surprised to see Luke's eyes boring into her own, a hint of worry floating in them. She smiled at him and tilted her head to the side slightly, swaying from left to right gently. "You shouldn't have. Thank you, though." Luke nodded and reached into his jacket pocket, handing over a small box wrapped in brown paper. "Meant to say earlier, nice kicks." He bumped the the worn toe of his vans against the fresh white of hers, smiling as she took the box from him with a brief eye roll. Becca felt her cheeks warming up as she stroked her thumb over her name, scrawled on top of the package in barely legible handwriting. She met his eyes again, and after an encouraging nod from Luke, tore the paper, and opened the box. She stared at the gift in silence, silently grateful that he couldn't see her expression. A guitar string lay coiled inside, resting on tissue paper. It had been cut, just about the right size to fit around her wrist. There was a charm hanging off it, three silver icons that made Becca's breath catch in her throat. A minature electric guitar, a pair of drumsticks, and a bass guitar. Her boys. A slight cough from Luke made her glance up at him, to find his cheeks on fire, and his lip in between his teeth. "It's not much- I saw the charms and thought of you, and I restrung my six string last week so I thought it would be cool, I get it if you don't wanna wear it of course, it's stupid-" He was cut off by Becca's arms being thrown around his neck, catching her in surprise and holding her tightly, feeling a smile spread across his face. "I love it, Luke. Thank you." They stepped apart, and Becca handed him the bracelet, holding out her wrist. "Can you?" He nodded and fiddled with the clasp, clipping it around her wrist. It fit perfectly. He didn't let go of her wrist, his thumb stroking over her hand as he admired the bracelet. It was pretty neat, if he said so himself. Alex watched their interaction from his spot on the couch, groaning internally. He knew it would only be so long until the two of them got over themselves, and the thought terrified him. He didn't want Becca getting hurt, and he knew Luke had a bit of a reputation. It was clear they liked each other- to everyone apart from them, apparently. Luke's attempt to lie to him that morning had been quite pathetic, even for him.

Bobby showed up not long after Becca and Alex had arrived, but he avoided giving her a hug, after multiple glares from Luke, who hadn't left her side all evening. The boys were rather cold towards him- they weren't happy he'd bailed on them for the gig. "Did you get on alright without me though? It didn't make a huge difference to the set, did it?" None of the boys got the chance to answer- Becca snorted loudly, and clapped her hands. "Ha, no of course not. They had me instead." Bobby raised his eyebrows, and looked her up and down appreciatively. "Woah, so you play too? Nothing like a girl who's good with her hands." He winked at her, and she gagged, while Alex punched his arm, and Luke clenched his fists. "In your dreams, Robert." Reggie grinned at Becca and fist-bumped her, handing her another cup of juice. Luke sighed and settled back onto his couch, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head, telling him to floor Bobby. That wouldn't be the best way to end Becca's birthday. They sat there for a while longer, enjoying each other's company, until Alex looked at the clock and swore quietly. "It's getting late Bex, we should head soon." Becca glanced at the clock and frowned. It was only just after 8pm. She met Alex's eyes, but the slight frown on his face explained everything. "Right. Let's go."

#jatpsmut #jatpluke #jatpimagine #jatpcast #jatpimagines #julieandthephantomssmut #julieandthephantoms #julie and the himbos #julieandthephantomscast #luke patterson imagine #lukepattersonsmut #lukepatterson #luke patterson smut #luke patterson x reader #jatp

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hale-13 · 4 years ago

Text

Febrile

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 23 - Sick

“Don’t,” Peter grouses, spitting out the last bit of bile in his mouth in the sink in the men’s restroom at Midtown and pointedly ignoring the look of disapproval both Ned and MJ are giving him in the mirror as he rinses his mouth out and washes his hands.

Words: 2101, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Tony Stark, May Parker, Helen Cho

TW: Vomiting

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter,” Ned’s voice is exasperated and he looks irritated. MJ’s face is still (mostly) an indifferent mask but he can see her eyes brows pulling in the way they do when she’s concerned. “This has been going on for three days now,” he complains. “you have got to tell May.”

“Sure don’t,” Peter says, drying his hands off on a scratchy paper towel and trying to surreptitiously blot at his sweaty face before tossing it in the trash.

“You’re an idiot,” MJ tells him with an eye roll and a soft shove of her shoulder. It completely throws off Peter’s limited equilibrium and makes him sway into the wall. Ned’s glare becomes even sharper.

“I’m fine,” Peter tries and even he can hear the lie in his words now. He totally isn’t fine. He’s not fine at all actually. He’s had a fever, vomiting and stomach cramps for going on three days now and he’s just not used to getting and staying sick this long since he got bitten by the spider. A cold or a twenty-four hour hell flu? Sure. Consistent nausea and a low to mid grade fever for seventy-two hours? Unheard of.

“This is pointless,” MJ’s voice is monotone as she tosses Peter his phone which he fumbles, just barely catching it with the tips of sticky fingers.

“When did you take my phone?” He asks confused.

MJ guides him out the door and towards the front office – the exact opposite direction he needs to be going if he’s going to make it to his chemistry class. “I took it from your pocket when you were re-enacting the exorcism. Happy should be here in like ten minutes.”

“MJ,” Peter whines, not putting up a fight when Ned grabs his other arm to help with the pulling and directing. “I don’t need to go home.”

“Yes you do,” Ned’s tone is firm. “No one wants your flu Peter.”

“Alright that’s… fair,” he admits. “But my homework-,”

“We’ll get it for you,” MJ reassures as the office comes into view. She pushes him into one of the chairs sat outside and marches in to speak to the secretary. Peter pouts and crosses his arms. Yeah he feels like shit and he really just wants to sleep and, sure, his lower abdomen is really cramping and hurting but he got shot two weeks ago and the pain isn’t that bad. He can totally handle it. “You’re signed out,” Michelle tells him when she comes back, offering Ned a note to excuse his tardiness. “Let us know that you didn’t die okay loser?”

“Bye Peter!” Ned says brightly, back to his normal self now that he knows Peter is actually going home.

His friends finally gone, Peter drops all pretense and lets his face rest against the cool wall next to him, letting his eyes slip shut in relief – his forehead was burning. He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands and shivers. Maybe it is good that he goes home. He can take a nap and recuperate and be back at school tomorrow completely better.

Yeah. He just needs to nap.

“Well your scary girlfriend wasn’t kidding,” Mr. Stark’s voice rips Peter out of his near-sleep and has him blotting out of the chair, nearly falling over if he hadn’t caught himself on the way. “You look like shit kiddo.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter squeaks, surprised at seeing his mentor at his freaking school what the hell. “What uh… what are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” Tony asks with good humor, looking at Peter over the top of his AR glasses with a concerned smile, eyes scraping over him in a clinical way. “I’m here to get you.”

“Uh no offense, but why?” Peter asks, tripping over his book bag on the floor and falling back into the chair. Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Because I’m one of your emergency contacts,” he answers like this is the most obvious thing ever and Peter blinks a little in confusion. Mr. Stark is one of his emergency contacts? Since when? He opens his mouth to ask this very question when a sudden bout of nausea rolls over him and he, instead, scrambles to his feet and down the hall to the nearest bathroom.

He barely makes it to the sink before he starts gagging and dry heaving, nothing coming up but leaving him feeling dizzy and light-headed. Peter leans his head against the porcelain of the sink with a low moan, gagging again on the end and leaning his face back over the sink to drool out the excess saliva in his mouth.

“Yikes,” he hears Mr. Stark mutter behind him and then a calloused hand is running carefully through his hair and resting on his forehead. Peter pushes his face into the cool palm subconsciously and keeps his eyes closed as he tries to push the nausea down. “Yeah you’re definitely coming back to the MedBay with me.”

Peter lets out a wordless whine but doesn’t protest beyond that. It has been three days of this after all – maybe it is a good idea to consult with a professional?

“Come on buddy,” Tony says as he slings Peter’s arm over his shoulder and starts dragging him out of the bathroom and towards the entrance to the school. “You have a date with Dr. Cho and your aunt is waiting to hear the results of her exam.”

Happy actually looks concerned when Peter sees him standing outside of one of the many town cars Mr. Stark owns and he doesn’t say anything when he takes Peter’s bag from Tony to put in the front seat. The leather of the back seats is cool and the interior is darkened by the tinted windows and Peter lets out a sigh of relief, resting his head against the window; already half asleep.

The drive is, thankfully, quick and Peter dozes through most of it – still nauseous but able to hold it down for the most part. Soon enough they pull into the underground garage of the Tower and Tony is hustling him into the elevator which rockets them up to the MedBay floor without either of them having to say anything.

“May wants you to call her once you get settles,” Tony says, rapidly texting on his phone.

Peter squints his eyes at his mentor. “I’m not sure how I feel about you two texting,” he says.

“Oh we’re besties,” Tony teases, pocketing the phone with a shit eating grin. “We have coffee every other Wednesday.”

“I… don’t know if you’re serious,” Peter says, concerned. He probably doesn’t want to know to be honest. The doors of the elevator trundle open and Tony steers Peter into an empty exam room, directing him to sit on the exam bed. It only takes a second before Dr. Cho bustles in.

“Hey Peter,” she says with a smile as she rubs hand sanitizer into her hands and grabs a set of gloves from the box on the wall. “Tony said you were sick. Want to tell me about what’s going on?

“Nausea mostly,” he says as she runs a thermometer across his forehead and frowns at the readout. “My stomach hurts.”

“Well you have a fever of just over one hundred and two,” she says as she clips a pulse ox reader to his finger and wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm and lets it run. “And your blood pressure is a little low,” she narrows her eyes at the reading and unhooks the machines. “Lay back for me?”

Peter does and stares at the ceiling as she starts to palpate his abdomen. He could probably fall asleep here actually if he – “OW!” He exclaims, curling away from Dr. Cho’s hands and wrapping his arms around his stomach to protect it.

“Well I have a tentative diagnosis,” she says snapping off her gloves. “We’ll do an ultrasound to confirm but, congratulations, Peter you have appendicitis.”

Peter and Tony both blink and then look at each other and then back. “For three days?” Tony questions, scooting Peter over to sit next to him on the bed and run a hand soothingly up and down Peter’s back. It doesn’t stop the stabbing pain in his abdomen but it helps.

“His healing factor is probably slowing down the progression, preventing it from rupturing as quickly as it could or should have,” she says, typing something into Peter’s chart on her StarkPad. “I’ll have a tech confirm with ultrasound and get a surgeon out to do the surgery. It’s pretty quick – one hour tops and then a few days recovery and you’ll be good as new.”

“Surgery?” Peter asks hoarsely, feeling his heart rate speed up. He’s never had surgery before.

Dr. Cho looks up at him and her face softens a little. “It’s an easy procedure,” she promises. “You won’t even realize that you’ve had it really and. Once you wake up, you’ll feel immediately better. Everything will be fine,” she promises and Peter nods with a gulp. He can feel stomach acid rising in his throat again and lunges for the emesis basin sitting on the bedside table, gagging into it.

“Let it all out Webs,” Tony says, rubbing his back sympathetically. “Got anything to help with this doc?”

“I’ll have the nurses start and IV and give him an anti-emetic,” she said, passing a new basin to Tony and taking the one from Peter’s slack grasp. “Just try to relax okay Peter?”

“This sucks,” he grumbles, letting his head fall over to rest on his mentor’s shoulder and relaxing when he feels Tony’s finger scrub though his hair to massage his aching head.

“Sure does kiddo,” Tony agrees, pulling the blanket up to Peter’s chest. “But at least its an easy fix.”

“I don’t want surgery,” Peter tells him quietly. Even with all of his many Spider-Man injuries he’s never had to be put under for anything. “Is May on her way?”

“Happy went to get her,” Tony promises him. “And surgery seems really scary but its not I promise. It’s like taking a really good nap and May and I will both be there alright? It’ll be fine Underoos.”

“Okay,” Peter says quietly, feeling slightly better but still a little concerned. But he would have May and Tony with him. It would be fine.

————————————————

“Guess we still need to tweak the anesthetic formula for you just a bit,” Mr. Stark says apologetically as he mops up the sweat on Peter’s brow with a damp cloth and supports him as he retches again. The surgery had gone well and had been quick. Waking up however?

Not so much.

“Just let it out baby,” May croons as she rubs his back, sweaty and making the thin hospital gown stick to his skin uncomfortably. Peter just gasps a little and squeezes his eyes closed, trying to take deep breaths through his nose to quell his nausea.

“I’m good,” Peter croaks a minute later, letting his aunt settle him back into the bed and fuss over him. He had barely woken up after the surgery before the vomiting started again. It had alarmed Tony but May and Dr. Cho had both determined that it was just a poor reaction to the anesthesia they used. With how fast him metabolism was, it should move through his system quickly.

“Can I get you anything sweetie?” May asked him, brushing his damp hair out of his face and sitting on the edge of the bed facing him.

“I’m okay,” Peter said, his eyes drooping from exhaustion. Tony squeezed his hand and tucked his blanket in a little tighter around him warming Peter up from the inside a little. He was so glad and thankful that he had the chance to get closer with Tony over the last couple months since the incident with the Vulture. The man was still a little awkward and learning how to be a mentor but he was trying and that’s all Peter could ask for. “Just want to sleep,” he said softly, letting his eyes slip closed.

“Okay baby,” he heard May whisper, running her fingers through his hair and Peter felt the ghost of a smile on his face. Yeah, he could probably handle this recovery.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump23 #Prompt: Sick #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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juyeoniemyhoney · 4 years ago

Text

can this morning never end

Namjoon is the most beautiful human being to ever walk the earth. It is natural that you have a crush on him. You expect that eventually, your feelings will die out but then, you find yourself squealing uncontrollably outside of the library that you and Namjoon had agreed to meet at for your pair-work assignment. You have always watched Namjoon from afar. It surprises you when you find out that Namjoon has been observing you too. Well, there’s a first for everything.

-pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

-genre: FLUFF, a lil bit of angst, high school/secondary school au (where i live high school is called secondary school;-;)

-warnings: vulgarities, pretty self-depreciating writing if im gonna be honest so be weary, Namjoon is a little bit of a simp for oc in this one, the ending is lowkey shit rip im sorry

-word count: 3208 words

-A/N: hi hi im back, this time with a Namjoon fic. i havent been writing a lot because im so preoccupied with my exams. in all honesty, i shouldnt be writing at all but i have absolutely no sense of self control, so i wrote this. it’s not my best but i really like how joon’s so soft in this so i decided to post it anyway. don’t be afraid to tell me how you liked (or didnt like) this imagine! and requests are open! hope you enjoy this one:)

--------

As you approach the entrance of the library, your heart starts beating a mile a minute.

You stall outside the automatic sliding doors, mind racing with a million scenarios. You freak out a little and silently squeal, earning you disapproving frowns and judging eyes from passers-by. But you don't care. You've waited a whole week for today.

A week ago, during English class, you were busy writing instead of paying attention, as usual, when your teacher had given the class the assignment to write a scenario, of any genre but it had to contain the writer's techniques she had taught in class. And she made the whole class pair up. You, too lost in the world of fanfiction, had not been listening and frankly, you didn't really care, passing her words off as just more homework.

The next thing you knew, Kim Namjoon had turned around in his chair, calling your name in that deep, gravelly voice. At the sound of his voice, your head immediately shot up, eyes wide in surprise.

"Do you want to partner up?" he had asked, lips slinging into an easy grin, eyes curling up and that goddamned dimple making itself made known on his left cheek. He patiently waited for your answer, eyes periodically glancing down to your desk that was in disarray, pieces of paper containing your words messily covering every corner of your desk. You pray that he didn't catch a peep of your (admittedly) cringeworthy fanfic as you tried to subtly gather the papers before he could read too much.

"Um, partner up for what?" you questioned, confused, head tilting ever so slightly to the right in question, brows furrowed in misunderstanding. He mirrored your actions and your heart had unwontedly skipped a beat. A beat of silence passed, "For the assignment?"

Before you could ask what assignment?, your teacher had interrupted your conversation with a satisfied clap and a smile. "Alright, I assume you have all found your partners. I'll give you time to work on your assignment right now. Remember that planning is the most important stage of writing. Do approach me if you have any questions."

Namjoon had turned back to you with a wry grin that looked a tad bit awkward, saying, "Well, I guess we're partners now."

Which is how you find yourself freaking the fuck out in front of a library on a Saturday morning, mind racing with different, absurd scenarios and outcomes of this meeting. You decide to take another minute to compose yourself.

You wouldn't say that you like Namjoon per se. You just think he is the most handsome man to walk on this godforsaken planet. But seriously, that man is far too beautiful to be real. From the first time you met him til now, you have no doubt that that man is a celestial being, gifted to the world from the gods, purely to cleanse the eyes of us, mere mortals. To make matters worse, he is smart too; of a wisdom thousands of years beyond his age. You still can't believe you've had the god-given opportunity to meet someone like him.

Okay so, maybe you kind of like him a lot, more than you let on, but you're not really sure if you like him because he's Namjoon or if it's because you are lovelorn, touch deprived, or both.

You reckon it has taken more than a minute to compose yourself because by the time you snap out of your daze, you are five minutes late when you had actually arrived five minutes earlier than the agreed timing. You sigh and finally walk through the doors that welcome you into the cooling library, cold blasts from the air conditioning cooling down the fierce blush that had taken refuge on your cheeks.

You immediately proceed to find a seat but Namjoon texts you, telling you that he's already a step ahead of you, having secured a seat in a room with tables on the second floor.

When you reach the second floor, and make your way towards the rooms, you can see Namjoon through the glass walls, sitting down and silently reading a book as he waits for you. The closer you draw to the room, the faster your heart pounds in your chest. The sound is deafening and distracting and you don't even realise how fast you had walked until you are finally knocking on the glass door, sending Namjoon a small smile when he looks up at you.

"Hi, Y/N," he greets, smile widening into a grin so wide that it hides his eyes. Your heart stops but you hide it with a small smile as you settle down your things and yourself opposite him.

"So, what genre did you want to write about," he asks as you take a pen and a piece of paper out from your bag. You freeze when your brain registers his sentence. "The assignment is to write a story?"

Namjoon stares at you wordlessly for a while, speechless that it's been a week and you still don't know what the fucking assignment is. You, however, have no idea that he is thinking about how stupid you are and happily stare back at him, taking in his mono lidded, almond-shaped eyes and the dark brown of his irises. His nose bridge is straight and the tip of his nose is a little flat, like a koala. You have never wanted to boop a nose so bad in your entire life.

"Yeah, that's the assignment," he responds patiently, giving you a gentle smile. You can't help but feel that it seems a little tight and forced, like he is regretting asking you be his partner, and regretting that he didn't have enough time to reconsider. You ignore the feeling of dejection that slowly bubbles up inside of you.

"I thought that it'd be easiest to write romance since you're so well versed in that.". You freeze. Time seems to have stopped and your ears refuse to register the rest of what Namjoon is saying, tuning everything out but your deafening thoughts. You have to remind yourself to breathe.

"You know that I write?" you interrupt Namjoon. He stops and fixes you a look of confusion, like it is so obvious that you write. It's not that you've been trying to keep it a secret. The thing is, for most of your stories, Namjoon is the main male character. In most of your stories, you have described every single part of him in excruciating detail, his eyes and lips especially. When your friends had first read your stories with Namjoon as the male protagonist, they had caught on quickly, almost immediately asking you if you were describing Namjoon because of how well you had described him. A bad feeling washes over you.

"Yeah, you're always scribbling away during English so I got curious and asked a few of your classmates," he responds, flashing you another lopsided smile. If this were any other situation, your heart would have been absolutely eliminated because of that smile but in this situation, all you can think about is if he's read any of your work. Because if he has, you're done for.

"What did my classmates say?" you question hesitantly, still deciding if you want to know his answer.

"Well they said that you've been writing since forever. They also said that a lot of people know that you write. Oh, and they also said that you had some published works so I went to check them out—" Namjoon's voice fades out as he continues to talk.

This is it.

It's the end of your social life. Namjoon is going to tell his loud ass group of friends that you write stalker-esque stories about him and then one of his friends is going to accidentally tell their girlfriend and then the girlfriend is going to spread it across the school and you'll be known as the loser who writes creepy stalker stories about Namjoon—

"It was amazing," you hear Namjoon say in between your mild quarter-life crisis. You pause and look him square in the eye. You want to come off as serious but you falter slightly when Namjoon stares back at you, irises a whirlpool of dark brown and glittering fascination, a swirling vortex that draws you in with a vicious intent of drowning.

"Yes?" Namjoon questions you after a beat of silence passes. You want to ask him if he knows that he is reading about himself but you stop yourself. "You like my stories?" you ask instead, feeling a tad bit shy now that you've realised that Namjoon likes what you write about him.

He lets out a small laugh, "Is it that hard to believe that I like what you write?"

"I was just surprised." He flashes you another wide grin and there it is, those cursed dimples show themselves again, grinning tauntingly at you and your heart commits the highest act of treason when it starts to beat faster. You gulp.

"You shouldn't be surprised. It was really good. I really liked it when you described the male character. It felt like I was looking at him myself. That's why I asked you to be my partner. I'm sure with your talents, we can get a really good mark on this assignment."

Your heart thuds a little faster when Namjoon tells you that his favourite part was reading about how you described him. But it falls to your stomach when he tells you that he picked you solely for your supposed talents. You don't know why, but a part of you had thought that maybe Namjoon wanted to get to know you better, and was using this assignment as an excuse. You thought that it was finally happening, someone you like has finally noticed you. But it looks like you thought wrong.

"Thank you," you say meekly, flashing him a half-hearted smile that you're sure he notices from the way he stiffens. "So, you said that you thought that romance would be a good genre, but what do you want to write about?"

Namjoon is silent for a while, lips pursed in ponder. You wait patiently for his answer.

"Well, I thought that I'd wanted to write romance too," he answers flashing you an awkward smile. The silence that follows is palpable and suddenly, you feel so very exhausted. "Well then, that's settled. Now we just have to think of a situation."

"How about this one?" Namjoon asks immediately after you finish your sentence. He says it rather suddenly and it startles you a little. You can't help but hear a certain extent of desperation in this voice. He wants to get this over with, you tell yourself.

"How do you mean?"

"Kinda like us now," he starts but stops to think about what to say next. You remain silent. "We should just write about us but make it a love story. For example, the two main characters are supposed to do a project together so they meet at a library," he pauses to gesture to the shelves surrounding the both of you.

"Then they start working on the project and they start talking. Then, somehow, the boy confesses to her. And the girl tells him she's always felt the same way. We can come up with how he confesses since I myself haven't come up with that yet," he continues, softening the last part of his sentence into a mumble that you barely hear, but still do. You pause. What the fuck?

"What did you say? I didn't hear you," you ask against your better judgement, curiosity getting the best of you. "Huh? Oh, it was nothing."

A furious blush begins to spread on the apples of Namjoon's cheeks, and for some reason, your body begins to mirror him, heart pumping hot blood to the blood vessels that lay beneath the skin of your cheeks. Namjoon shyly directs his gaze to his lap, dark brown bangs, the colour of his eyes, coming down in luxurious curls and waves to hide his eyes. You can't help but think that you like to see Namjoon like this; soft and shy and vulnerable because he is usually so confident and suave. It feels like he is showing a new side of himself to you, like he is peeling back the layers of masks and personas he has built until he is left raw and natural, allowing you to see everything that he is. The thought of that leaves you feeling winded because it is exactly what you want. And suddenly, you don't feel bashful or shy because of his words. Instead, you are determined, hellbent on making something out of this and you hope with your whole being that it is a relationship.

You are about to say something, to question him, bombard him until he is spilling his feelings in fumbled words and sentences of desperation and want, clawing at you until you too, are raw and vulnerable. But he beats you to it, speaking in a soft, hushed tone, as if you are a stern silence that he is afraid of interrupting.

"I think you're amazing, Y/N. What do you think of me?"

He stares meekly at his lap, too afraid to even spare you a glance. You remain silent, building his desperation like you are some professional flirt. In all honesty, you really just want to tell him you like him too but you're just so scared. The evidence that he at least feels something for you is right in front of you and yet your brain rejects it like a vending machine rejects a bill, walls built far too high and thick that words are no longer enough to convince you. He has to show you. And you think he knows that too.

Namjoon's head shoots up to stare you in the eyes, a new found determination and confidence burning in his eyes. The way the light finds his dark brown irises makes your heart do a million somersaults. They light up and turn into a golden brown you can't help but compare to a sweet, caramel syrup that coats your tongue in golden, sugary gratification. You swallow so hard, you feel the sides of your throat rub together painfully.

"I think you're freaking amazing, Y/N. Every time I look at you, I always want to make myself better. For you. I want to become the best version of myself in hopes that it'll satisfy you and garner your attention. And I really like that you do what makes you happy. I absolutely love it when you write in English because you're always so focused and serious, plus, you make that really cute face when you're concentrating and it always makes my heart beat a little faster and it makes me hate that I sit in front of you because I have to keep finding stupid reasons to turn around just to look at you and I just think you're the most amazing, admirable, lovable person ever," Namjoon lets out. His words are rushed and desperate and you melt like goddamn candle wax.

"I'm— Wow, I'm— thank you, Namjoon. That really means a lot to me," you stutter, not really knowing what to say at first but finding your words soon enough. "Oh, and I feel the same way," you add, somehow missing the main point of your response. It doesn't matter anyway. He knows now. That's all that matters.

"Wait, really?"

You let out a laugh. "Yeah, Namjoon. Is it that hard to believe that I like you too?" you reply, a homage to your previous conversation.

Namjoon smiles a small smile, then it widens, and widens, and widens, until he is flashing you a blinding grin that could outright beat the glare of sunlight. "You said that you like me," he points out, eyes shining.

It is your turn to blush in embarrassment, cheeks feeling hot as you begin to sink into yourself, hair falling from behind your shoulders to hopefully make itself useful as a curtain to shield your red face from Namjoon. Something in Namjoon's chest begins to splinter at the sight. He is so very tempted to pull out his phone and snap a picture of you but he holds himself back at the thought that he is positive he has many more chances to do so. His ribs nearly break in half because of how hard his heart beats.

"It's a good thing that I like you too," he says gently, smile now gentle instead of blinding. "Also, we have a plot now!" he exclaims in excitement as he slides the pen and paper closer to himself, ready to start on your assignment.

"Wait."

"Yeah?"

"So, we're, are we? You know... Um, dating now?"

Namjoon's eyes widen in horror and he deflates himself, a disappointed frown pulling his eyebrows together at the centre and turning the corners of his lips down. "Shit, I'm sorry I didn't ask— I just assumed—" he cuts himself off, clearing his throat dramatically.

"Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?" he asks. Somehow, he still feels nervous even though he knows that you answer is a resounding, "Yes, I would love to be your girlfriend."

Namjoon lets out the breath he didn't even know he was holding and it comes out in a relieved sigh. "Thank God because if not our story would have a horrible ending," Namjoon comments, picking the pen back up and clicking it open.

"Let's write that," you cut in before he can say anything else. "Write a sad love story?"

Namjoon is going to tell you no, to completely disapprove of your idea because writing a sad love story is one thing but writing a sad love story that will be handed up to your teacher for her to grade is another thing. But then, he sees your eyes glisten in determination and he dispels his thoughts immediately, folding into himself like a goddamn lawn chair. He can't believe he was just about to say no to you. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Please? I'm better at writing angst. Plus, we have a happy ending and that's all that matters," you press, trying to convince him. You don't have a real reason other than the fact that you write angst better. You also don't really know why you want to write angst right now when you feel as if you could fly. But it doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore. Namjoon is your's now.

Namjoon flashes you a dimpled smile, eyes curling up and glittering with mirth and unadulterated belief in you. You can't help but think that you want him to never stop smiling like that, looking at you like you are some sort of celestial being, hailed from the sky solely to bring him every sort of merriment known to mankind and the heavens. The thought of him thinking of you like that scares you, because you are always afraid of not being enough. But Namjoon diminishes all of your worries with a short sentence, manhandling them by the throat and shoving them off a cliff.

"Okay, I believe in you."

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livesincerely · 4 years ago

Text

it’s beginning to look a lot like... ch. 2

Also on Ao3. Chapter one here.

00000

The Third Christmas

“You’re making the left side all crooked!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are, it’s all ugly and lopsided!”

“Well, maybe if you’d stop hogging all the blankets⁠!”

“Well, maybe if you’d shut your face⁠!”

Jack’s got one eye on the chaos currently taking place in the living-room-turned-construction-site, the other on the pot of Easy Mac he’s got working up on the stove. The boys are in the middle of building the Christmas Pillow Fort, though it’s been stop and start all morning, with the two of them pausing every few minutes to argue about how the other is doing it wrong.

Jack only tried to intervene the once⁠—Tony and Charlie had called a temporary truce to team up against him instead, shooing him away with the explanation that he’s too lame and too tall to help and that ‘we’re not babies, Jack, we got it!’ Though, given that their efforts have since devolved into an impromptu pillow fight, with shouts of ‘you suck,’ ‘your face is stupid,’ and ‘because Jack said so!’ punctuated by the soft thuwmp of cushions hitting bodies, Jack thinks he can be forgiven for assuming they might’ve needed his help.

But all in all, this Christmas is looking to be one of the best ones yet, and certainly the best one that the boys can remember. Jack had finally turned sixteen at the beginning of the month, and though it was late in the season, he’d managed to pick up some temp work covering holiday rush shifts at the grocery store, so there’d been extra money for better presents and better food this year. And, judging by the wide smiles and overjoyed thanks he’d received when handing over the presents this morning—Two presents each for both of them! Jack had actually managed it!—the boys were more than pleased with their haul.

Though, really, if Jack’d had it his way, he’d of already been working somewhere—an actual part-time job, not just scrounging for seasonal work—but Snyder wouldn’t let him start working until his last birthday, afraid that if Jack had a job too young it would ‘make him look bad,’ the bastard.

Because the underfed children in his care were nothing to worry about, obviously.

Jack’s distracted from his lunch efforts by a sharp rap! rap! rap! of knuckles knocking against the front door, followed by a pause where he thinks whoever it is must’ve tried the doorbell, only to realize that it doesn’t work. He wipes his hands on a dish cloth and turns the burner down, figuring that Tony and Charlie won’t be able to kill each other in the time it takes for him to answer the door, probably, and wanders over to check it out.

He can’t imagine who’d be knocking on Christmas of all days, and especially in this weather, but when he opens the front door he finds Davey standing on the doorstep, bundled up in several layers with a large canvas bag thrown over one of his shoulders.

“Dave!” Jack says, startled but pleased. “What’re ya doin’ here?”

“Hi, Jackie,” Davey says, voice muffled by the scarf covering the bottom half of his face, bright blue eyes peeking out from underneath a woolen hat. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jack greets back automatically, then flushes, shaking his head. “Or, no, sorry, Happy Hanukkah.”

It’s hard for Jack to read his expression but he thinks he sees Davey’s eyes crinkle up at the corners⁠—an indication of a smile. Jack’s heart does a funny little hop-skip in his chest.

“Thanks,” Davey says.

“Here, come on in,” Jack says, opening the door a little wider.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude⁠—”

“You ain’t intrudin’,” Jack insists. “And besides, we’re lettin’ all the warm air out.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” Davey says, stepping into the entrance hall.

“Can you stay a while?” Jack asks, eager to keep Davey in his space for as long as he can, a soft feeling fluttering in his stomach. “I can take your coat, fix you somethin’ to drink, or get you a snack if you’re hungry?”

“That sounds nice,” Davey says, and he sounds like he really means it. “But I can’t stay for long. I had a hard enough time convincing my Ma to let me come out in the first place, what with the snow and all. If I’m not home soon she’ll be worried.”

“Oh, okay,” Jack says, disappointed, and then feeling stupid that he’s disappointed in the first place. What, was he gonna serve Davey up a bowl of Easy Mac? Show him the wonders of the pillow fort?

Davey, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice the dip in Jack’s mood. “I just wanted to make sure I got these to you,” he says, letting the canvas bag he’s carrying slip off his shoulder and into his hand, holding it out to Jack in offering. “I didn’t want to bother you over break, but you weren’t at school on Friday.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack says lamely, not wanting to get into how Charlie and Tony’s school had a half day on Friday because of the holiday, forcing Jack to cut class so he’d be able to pick them up on time. “What is it, my makeup work? Thanks for pickin’ that up for me, I really can’t afford to miss any more English assignments.”

“No, it’s not that,” Davey says. “Or, well, actually it is, but it’s not just your homework…”

Davey keeps talking but Jack doesn’t hear the rest of the explanation, though he doesn’t need to once he peers into the bag. Because it’s stacked full of presents, each wrapped in shiny blue paper dotted with silver snowflakes, tied neatly with white ribbon.

“Merry Christmas?” Davey offers, and he looks a little uncertain, fidgeting nervously with the fringe on his scarf.

“You got me a Christmas present?” Jack asks, numbly.

“You and the boys,” Davey confirms with a nod. “Just a little something for the holiday.”

“You didn’t hafta do that, Dave,” Jack says, still not quite processing. “I don’t wantcha to waste your money on me.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” Davey says. “I wanted to.” Then he reaches out and swats Jack across the shoulder with his gloved hand. “And it’s not a waste of money, it’s a gift.”

“But…” Jack’s face feels hot, some mix of surprise, embarrassment, and joy. “But I don’t got nothin’ for you.”

“Jackie, just take the presents,” Davey says, in that fondly exasperated tone that Jack has quickly gotten accustomed to over the last few months, “and don’t worry about it. I wanted to. And it’s not like I need a Christmas present.”

“But Hanukkah—“

“—Isn’t the same thing,” Davey interrupts, kindly but firmly. “We exchange presents, sure, but Hanukkah isn’t, like, the Jewish version of Christmas. Really, don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks, Davey,” Jack says, and his voice a little raspy as he chokes back a sudden wave of emotion, but if Davey notices he’s nice enough not to mention it. “Hey, are you sure ya can’t stay for a sec? Race and Charlie would love to see ya.”

But Davey shakes his head. “I really do need to get home,” he says, apologetic, turning back towards the door. “But tell them Merry Christmas from me, okay?”

“Will do,” Jack says. “And tell your folks Happy Hanukkah from us.”

“I will,” Davey says with a soft smile. “Have a good break, Jackie.”

Jack really wants to hug him, but he can’t with the stack of presents in his arms. He settles for a nod and a sort-of wave. “You too, Dave.”

Jack stands there for a short while, watching Davey’s trek down the sidewalk through the window until he disappears from view. Then he makes his way into the living room.

“Hey, Racer, Charlie,” Jack says. “Time out for a second.”

Tony’s head pops up from where he’s lying half on top of Charlie, pushing his brother’s face against the floor. “I didn’t do it,” he says.

“Well, I didn’t do it,” Charlie retorts, his indignant pout muffled somewhat by the carpet.

“Did I say anyone did anything?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. “Keep this up and you're gonna make me think I shouldn’t give ya these nice presents...”

“There’s more presents?” Tony exclaims, jumping to his feet. “Where?!”

“Slow your roll there, conejito,” Jack laughs. “They ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He gestures to the bag hanging over his shoulder. “Davey stopped by,” he explains. “He couldn’t stay but he brought us some Christmas presents.”

He waits for the boys to gather around, then hands out the presents: one for each of them, and a final one for Jack. Tony and Charlie tear right into theirs, gleeful, but Jack takes a moment to just look at his own gift⁠—inspecting the shiny foiled paper and the neatly folded corners, the curly white ribbon and the cheery holiday tag that reads ‘Jack’ in precise, rounded letters.

It’s been years since he’s gotten a Christmas present. It’s almost like his body doesn’t remember what to do with one.

The boys have no such qualms.

“Ooh!” Tony exclaims, pulling a mass of cherry-red yarn out of his package. “Jack, look!” It’s a hat, scarf, and mitten set, perfectly sized for a eight year old, soft and warm and perfect for New York winter.

“I got one too!” Charlie says, uncovering a matching set, this one done up in pine green. He tugs the hat onto his head, then wraps himself up in his scarf, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Oh, and look what else!” Tony says. There’s a pair of DVDs tucked in between the knitwear: a copy of ‘The Lion King’ and ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.’ A second glance into Charlie’s present reveals copies of ‘The Princess Bride’ and ‘How to Train Your Dragon.’

Jack takes a shaky breath, a lump settling somewhere in the back of his throat.

“Jack, aren't cha gonna open yours?” Charlie asks, innocently clueless.

“Yeah, of course I am Choo-Choo,” Jack says, and he’s glad the boys are distracted by their gifts, because while he’s managing to keep his voice steady, he’s not sure he can hide the wetness pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Cautiously, he rips the paper off his own gift. The first thing he finds is another hat, scarf, and mitten set, this one done in a rich, charcoal gray. It’s soft as anything, thick and plush, and Jack can already imagine how useful it’ll be in the coming months.

He feels something hard nestled underneath, and at first he thinks it must be another pair of DVDs⁠—he’s sensing something of a theme with all of this. But when Jack investigates further, he instead finds a sketchbook. It’s a simple, solid thing, with a sturdy black cover and creamy white pages. The label on the back tells him that the paper is weighted for pencils, charcoal, inks, and water colors⁠—all of Jack’s preferred mediums, except that he’s sure he’s never told Davey any of that.

“Jack, can we watch this?” Tony asks, holding up the copy of ‘How to Train Your Dragon.’ “It’s s’pposed to be really good!”

“Sure we can, baby,” Jack says, running a trembling finger along the first page of the sketchbook, basking in the texture and scent of the fresh, crisp paper. “Go set up the DVD player and get the fort finished up. I’ll dish up our lunch and be right there.”

Slotted inside the book’s front cover is one last surprise⁠—a $25 dollar prepaid phone card for Jack’s cell phone. There a sticky note stuck to it that simply reads:

So you can actually call me back :)

Jack huffs out a laugh, then slips the note safely into his pocket, packing his gifts carefully back into their box. “Yeah, okay,” he murmurs, smiling to himself. “I think I can make that happen.”

00000

Chapter three here

Tag List: @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside

#newsies #jack kelly #davey jacobs #racetrack higgins #crutchie morris #javid #*the writing desk #*editor's note #*final cut #the domestic au

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statticscribbles · 4 years ago

Text

Stalk

Summary: Veronica/Reader; veronica stalks/is obsessive over reader

‘Veronica?” You turn slightly when you catch the back of her cloaked figure speed walking from Pop’s.

“Hey Veronica! Ronnie; Ronnie wait; Jesus you walk fast.” You huff when you catch up to her and she smiles nervously.

“Something happen?” Your hand hovers over her arm.

“No; nothing; shouldn’t you be getting back to your date?”

“Hm? Oh; no; Reggie and I aren’t dating; I’m helping him with the English assignment.”

“Oh; he’s been telling everyone who’ll listen that you two are dating.”

“Oh my God; no; I would never date him.”

”Hey Y/N. You okay?” Betty asks and you shrug.

“Yeah just couldn’t sleep; there was a racoon running around last night; my dad managed to see it avoid the stupid trap we set out.” You laugh a little and Veronica nudges you.

“You can stay over at mine.”

“It’s a racoon Ronnie; I’ll survive a couple of nights.” She nods but you can see her frown when she looks at your face.

“What?” You ask as you’re walking with her to history.

“You look tired; seriously it’s worrying.”

“It was one; okay fine it’s been going on for the last couple nights. My dad thinks it’s gotten into the attic.”

“Oh gross.” She wrinkles her nose and you laugh nodding with her.

You wake up at two AM grumbling as you can hear the raccoon scratching over your room; you wait trying to see if you can hear more than one but decide that it’s just the one before you decide to try to sleep more. You pull your curtain closed noticing that there’s an opening that’ll end up shining directly into your eyes when the sun rises. It’s too dark for you to notice the car parked across the street.

You notice the car in the morning; it’s sleek and black and reminds you of Veronica which you shake the thought off; there’s no reason for her to come pick you up; not that she knows where you live; the car is gone when you get home and you forget about it by the time you finish your history homework.

“Hey Ronnie did you stop by my house the other day?” You look up from the homework you’re working on at Pop’s and she shakes her head looking confused.

“No; did you see me? Maybe I have an evil twin.” She laughs a little and you shake your head.

“No, I just saw some fancy black car and I just assumed it was yours.”

You catch her hanging around your house when your dad asks you to take the trash out.

“What are you doing here?”

“I got worried; I don’t like the idea of-”

“Ronnie it’s just a raccoon; or do you mean the car.” You tilt your head to across the street where the car remains parked since you’d gotten home from school.

“Yes the car; the windows are too dark to see in and I don’t like the odds of going over there.” You nod along with her explanation and invite her into your house for dinner.

You get the letter an hour later. It’s not magazine cut outs but almost Victorian style english prose in flowing calligraphy ink. The amount of pet names and sweet nothings in the letter raise the hairs on the back of your neck. The car remains where it is and none of the neighbors who were out on their porches say no one even walked past your house let alone up to your porch.

You throw the letter out glaring at the car the entire time as you walk down to the trash can at the edge of the road.

The letters still come; in your home before you leave for school and when you come home. They appear in your locker and between your book pages in class. You don’t open them; just throw them away; ripping them up or letting them be fuel for the fire pit when you hang out with everyone near the quarry.

Veronica just grows more worried for you and you try to assure her; despite being there when the original letter was delivered she bears no responsibility for what’s happening.

The letters stop for a week and a half; in their place are just pictures; blurry and out of focus but unmistakably your bedroom or right outside the community center changing rooms. There are shots of you at Pop’s everyone else’s faces scratched or scribbled out; there are notes on the back of the photos; the same exaggerated handwriting.

“Y/N; you should say something; it’s gotten to the point you’re being stalked.” Archie looks worriedly and Veronica joins his worries as she takes her break.

“Archie is right Y/N; it’s not safe.” You shrug slightly rejecting the ride home they offer to walk. Archie insists on walking you home and you don’t object; trying not to spill how terrified you really are.

“Thank you for walking me I-” You don’t finish Archie nudging you behind him as you take in the door that’s almost been smashed off its hinges; neither of your parents look to be home and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m calling FP.” Archie says and you nod walking into your room as the sheriff’s car pulls up moments later.

“Holy shit.” You stare in awe at what your room once was; it’s now a mass of photographs; pictures taken of you hanging on the wall and any trace of your friends are gone’ red scribbling them out or ripped and burned from the looks of the pile of ash in your trashcan. You can see one frame that had been knocked off your vanity; it was a picture of you and Veronica at Pop’s the day you had made the Vixens. The glass is smashed but you’re at least thankful the picture hadn’t been ruined. You frown fingers brushing over Veronica’s face; this was the only picture you’d had of the two of you together; she wasn’t in any of the others; stating she would rather make the memories in person. You brush off the thought she did this; you’d never seen her hold a camera besides to take selfies or the group shots; and you’d never seen her handwriting or her ever come up with such flowery poetry.

“Seriously Y/N stay with me; I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”

“Ronnie nothing’s going to happen to me; I’ll be fine; my parents are still at the house anyways; and FP said he’d send a guard to watch the house.”

You can’t help but laugh when you spot Veronica’s car parked next to FP’s you offer to have her in for dinner.

“Wow it looks like you got everything back together.”

“Well my room wasn’t actually that damaged; just all the photographs.” She nods looking around at all of them smiling fondly at the memories; she pauses at the framed photo of the two of you tapping the frame with her nail.

“It must’ve taken forever to ask for all the photos back from everyone, since everything was scribbled out.” She shrugs her fingers running around the photos tacked up on your wall.

“Yeah; it did.” You smile at her trying to stop the mounting dread as you remember when Alice had interviewed you for the news she’d advised you not to say exactly what had happened to the photo’s just that they had been destroyed.

“Well it’s good everything is back to normal.” She grins and you nod slowly.

“Y/N you okay?”

“Yeah sorry it’s uhhh hard to talk about still; knowing that whoever did it is still out there.”

“I can stay here if it would help.”

“No it’s alright.” You smile when she leaves and debate confronting her. You decide it’s best to just to go over to her house.

”Y/N. It’s good to see you; Veronica’s not home from Pop’s yet.”

“It’s okay; i can wait in her room.” You smile at Hermione and try not to look nervous.

You open the door slowly still nervous about her being in the room but sigh when she’s not. You can’t help but notice how her entire room is empty; it looks like a magazine; nothing to remind you of a home. You’re curious; you can’t help it; you assure yourself when you slowly pull open one of her walk in closets; you just want to look at all her fancy clothes. Instead you come face to face with the same flowery prose and blurred pictures that had been haunting you for the past few months. You exhale shakily and step out of the closet; you turn to the other one hand on the doorknob waiting to turn it but you hear the creak of a door despite your hand not moving.

“Oh Y/N’s in your room Veronica; she said she wanted to talk to you about something; your dad and I will be back in a couple of hours, have fun.” You can hear her mother’s voice floating up.

Support My Writing?

#veronica lodge #veronica lodge imagine #veronica lodge reader insert #veronica lodge x you #veroinca lodge x reader #riverdale #riverdale imagine #riverdale reader insert #riverdale request #stattic

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crutchie-with-a-y · 5 years ago

Note

Hiya Sophie🥰 how are you? Could I please request Jack Kelly x reader where he’s being touchy and begging for them to love him but reader is busy with school so they don’t give him enough attention? And then Jack gets super quiet and when reader is done with hw, reader feels super bad about not giving Jack enough attention, they treat Jack with cookies they’ve made and talk about this and the two of them end up cuddling the whole night sharing sweet kisses. Jack lays his head on reader’s chest🥺

Hey! I’m doing pretty good, what about you? Thank you for the request! Sorry for the wait, I’ve been a little pre-occupied, but I hope this is something like what you had in mind! <3

“Haha, yeah we’ll see you later, Finch!” You laughed and waved as your friend said his goodbyes and turned down his street.

“Oh thank GOD he’s gone!” Your boyfriend, Jack, said as soon as Finch was out of earshot. You and him and about a dozen other friends always walked home after school together, one by one peeling off from the group as they reached their streets. Finch was the third to last to turn onto his street, which left you and Jack to walk the rest of the way to your homes, (which is actually how you started dating in the first place). Jack, who was usually happy to have friends around, had seemed restless to get away from the group today, and once he was positive Finch couldn’t see or hear you, he pinned you against the stone wall the two of you were passing on the sidewalk. He passionately kissed you and for a moment you completely lost yourself in his rough lips that tasted of cherry coke and the cigarette he had shared with Race at lunch. Then you reminded yourself that you had some homework to complete and a test to study for.

“Jack,” You gasped when he pulled back for air and began to nibble at your ear. “Jack, Jack I don’t have time.” Jack pulled back without removing his hands from where they held your wrists against the wall and squinted at you.

“What are you talking about?” You snapped your wrists forward and glared at him as you began to walk again, him following at your side with the same look on his face.

“I have homework.” Jack stopped completely and you turned back to look at him.

“The fuck you don’t,” Jack said, obviously pissed at you, and that was rare, so it made you pretty uncomfortable, you had to admit. “You finished your math in class, you told me at lunch. Your history project isn’t due for a literal month and you’re already almost done with your poster. You wrote this week’s homework essay for English on Monday night.” He walked slowly, listing everything off on his fingers.

“Well there is more math,” You said defensively, as the pair of you turned a corner onto your block.

“More math? What the-oh my god the EXTRA CREDIT PACKET?!” He looked at you like you were insane and you bit your lip and looked at the concrete. “Y/N, you’re a straight-A student. You don’t need the extra credit. And even if you still wanted it ‘just in case,’“ He imitated you as he followed you up the stairs to your front door. “You literally have all semester to turn it in, and it’s FRIDAY. It’s FRIDAY! Can we not just relax and do couple things for ONCE.” He said, turning around to look at you while you shut your front door behind you. You glared at him. He KNEW how important school was for you and how much you stressed about getting all your work in on time, why was he being so rude about it?

“I also have science,” You responded, pushing past him and into your dining room to pull your laptop and textbook out of your bag and set on the table. Jack loudly threw his bag on the table in front of you and headed into the kitchen.

“Please tell me your kidding,” He said, popping open a can of Pepsi. You flipped through your textbook pages angrily, upset that he didn’t seem to get it.

“No, I’m not kidding.” You said sharply, only turning to look at him once you’d said it, just able to catch the sad, exhausted look on your boyfriend's face. You felt guilty, but before you could apologize, his face hardened again.

“Y/N I WAS UP TILL 3 AM YESTERDAY HELPING YOU WITH YOUR SCIENCE PROJECT. HOW DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO DO?” He yelled, which made you shrink a little as you typed your password into your laptop, but then your blood boiled.

“YES AND I AM GRATEFUL FOR THAT, BUT THERES A TEST ON MONDAY-”

“ON MONDAY?” Jack stepped up on the chair next to you and sat on the table and closed your computer in an attempt to get you to look at him, but you just crossed your arms and stared at the logo on the top of your computer. “Y/N, please, you can study all weekend for that, when your parents get back? Cmon, right now we have a little alone time and I really need-”

“Everything to be about you?” You whipped your head up to look at him. His eyes looked hurt, but you weren’t going to take it back.

“No, I’m sorry, I just, I’m really-”

“Annoying.” You glared at him, and then it was Jacks' turn to shrink, but he didn’t boil back, and you felt a twinge of guilt. “Look, just, just give me an hour.” You opened your laptop back up while Jack slumped over, flicking his pop tab in defeat. After a few minutes of the “tingggggg” noise echoing in the quiet room, you reached over, without looking up from your screen, and placed your hand on top of his fingers to stop the flicking. You kept it their longer then you meant to, and Jack rubbed your knuckles with his thumb, lightly squeezing your hand. You pulled it away abruptly, and wouldn’t let yourself look at the heartbroken look on his face.

Awhile later your phone buzzed for what felt like the thousandth time from your laptop bag and you couldn’t take it anymore. You ripped your bag across the table and dug around for it in the front pocket.

“Why the hell do you keep calling me?” You said sharply into your phone.

“I was calling to ask you why the hell Jack has been active on Instagram for the past three and a half hours?” Katherine matched your tone on the other end. You pulled your phone back from your ear to look at the time and cringed when you realized how much you’d gone over your hour. Jack had walked off into your bedroom what you thought was a few moments ago but was actually two hours ago. You were still annoyed though, and Katherine being so nosy didn’t help.

“I don’t know, he just is,” You said snarkily. “I’m studying,”

“Your parents are out of town and you SERIOUSLY, SERIOUSLY are studying on a Friday night instead of spending time with your boyfriend?” She sounded shocked, and you didn’t appreciate her judgment.

“Look, Kath, I-”

“Especially after he got fired yesterday.” Your heart dropped.

“Wait, what?” You prayed that you had misheard her.

“Yeah, I guess he forgot to call in yesterday, so when he didn’t show up his boss told him to, and I quote, ‘not bother showing up anytime after that either.’“ Katherine explained exasperatedly. You wanted to vomit. “Wait, how did you not know about this?”

“Um, ahhh, I gotta go,” You said, standing up quickly and hanging up as you walked towards your bedroom. You slid your phone into the pocket of your jeans and lightly tapped the closed door to open it a smidge. Jack was sitting on your bed, on the phone with someone, his back propped up against the wall, looking out the window with his forearms resting on his knees which were bent up so his feet were on top of your comforter. You pushed your door open a little more to see that he had taken his shoes off so he didn’t get dirt on your bed, which he knew you detested. A small smile pulled at the edges of your cheeks; even who he was upset with you, he went out of his way to please you. He was so selfless. Your smile fell. And because of that selflessness, he had ended up sacrificing his job to help you out. You looked back at your laptops glowing screen in the dark dining room, the blue light reflecting off the cover of your textbook. School stressed you out so much. So, so much. You had always been a very good student, but a slight dip in your performance the semester before had lead to a stern talking-to from your parents that made you absolutely terrified to get anything lower than a perfect 4.0.

You looked back at Jack, who was still on the phone, flicking paint out from under his nails, oblivious to you in the doorway. He gets that, you thought to yourself. Jack understood the pressure from your parents and the immense fearful stress school put you under. Jack was always willing to be a supportive boyfriend, no matter how hard you made it.

“Oh yeah, no (he’s/she’s/they’re) busy studying right now. (He’s/She’s/They’re) really stressed about school,” Jack said into the phone. “Hey, hey, (his/her/their) parents are really strict and put on a lot of pressure, it’s not (his/her/their) fault. Besides, I’ve never seen you turn in homework once so shut up.” Oh my god, You thought, feeling yourself tear up. He was literally standing up for you over something that you had just argued about, and on top of it, he didn’t know you were watching him, so he did this out of sheer integrity. You let your guard down for a second and let out a loud sniff, and immediately darted behind the door, hoping he didn’t see you. He continued talking to whoever it was he was on the phone with, causing you to let out a sigh of relief. Then you just stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. You peaked around the door again, just as he started to laugh.

“Hahaha, yeah me too, I haven’t had dinner yet, I’m starved.” For a moment you felt even more guilty, knowing he was waiting for you to eat, but then you felt a light bulb click on over your head. You headed into the kitchen and began to quietly open and shut cabinets, gathering the ingredients you knew you would need to surprise Jack. Your boyfriend was often fairly mysterious, but one thing everyone could tell you about him was his obsessive and at times even frightening love of snickerdoodles. As you quietly dumped cups of flour into a bowl, you couldn’t control the small giggle that escaped your mouth as you remembered what an important role snickerdoodles had played in your relationship.

“You have some snickerdoodle crumbs on your lips,” Jack had said after diving into the cookies you had made for him on his birthday. But before you could reach for a napkin, he had stopped you. “Actually, let me take care of that.” And the next thing you knew you were having your first kiss with Jack Kelly.

You carefully pulled the pan of cookies out of the oven and slid them onto a plate. You clicked the oven off and picked up the plate, your hands protected by polka-dot oven mitts. You knew you should probably wait for them to cool, but you were too impatient. You walked over to your bedroom and bumped the door open with your hip. Jack’s phone call had ended awhile ago, and he was laying on his back on your bed, his knee propped to support the notebook he was drawing on with the stub of a pencil. He looked up when you walked in, and quickly set aside the drawing materials.

“Snickerdoodles?” He looked at the plate and then back up at you. “I always welcome humankind's best invention but what is the occasion?”

“A sincere apology,” You said, you had practiced what you were going to say while you were baking.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, you don’t have to-” Jack started, shaking his head.

“No, I do.” You said, setting the plate on your comforter and gesturing for him to take a cookie. “I was being a self-centered asshole, and for that, I am so deeply sorry.” Jack began to shake his head again as he slowly broke his snickerdoodle in half. “No, I was.” You said, sliding your hand under his chin and lifting it up so he was looking you in the eye. “I am so sorry about your job, Jack. That was completely my fault and I take full responsibility. I promise I will call your boss and try and talk him into taking you back, and if he won’t I will find you another job. A good one, that you like. I promise.” Jack set his cookie back on the plate and turned his head away and swallowed hard. You moved the plate to the floor and reached your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer to you.

“You are just so selfless. Truly, the sacrifices you make for everyone else, without a second thought amaze me. If you lost your job to help me with a science project, I cannot imagine the other things you have given up to make other people even the slightest bit happier.” You heard Jack choke into your shoulder, and you planted a soft kiss on his head. “You are the best person I know, Jack Kelly.” And with that, your boyfriend let out a broken sob and his shoulders began to shake as he cried. You slowly leaned back on your bed so that Jack’s head rested on your chest and his tears dripped onto your T-shirt. You rubbed his back and kissed his head, careful to be delicate. Eventually, his sobs stopped and the two of you sat in connected silence.

“Where are those snickerdoodles?” Jack sniffed. You laughed.

“They’re on the floor.” You lifted your arms so he could lean down and get them. He picked the plate up and set it up over your shoulder, grabbing the one he broken in half earlier. He kissed you sweetly before laying back down on your chest and nibbling on the cookie contentedly. You looked down at him with a warm smile on your face and in your heart.

“I love you, Jack.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

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