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bicycle4two · 3 years ago

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say you wanna, say you wanna be || Sam Drake x Reader || Chapter 4

Summary: Sam isn't looking for a girlfriend and, frankly, you don't think you'd be a good one anyway, but you two aren't some one-night stand and it's been a long time since either of you thought of each other as a convenient booty call. This is something more, something the two of you didn't realize would be. It's uncharted territory. And there is no other choice but to figure out how to navigate through it together.

Pairing: Sam Drake x Fem!Reader

Tags(ish): developing relationship, implied/non-explicit sexual content, romance/fluff/hurt/comfort, age difference (though reader’s age is not stated), switching povs (second person reader, third person sam), no y/n but reader has a nickname

C.1 || C.2 || C.3

Chapter Four:

Here’s the thing.

Sam always knew that he and his brother were destined for something great. And, well, he can’t say that greatness didn’t fall on them. Yeah, sure, he spent thirteen years in jail. Who hasn’t? But despite that little hiccup in his life, Sam thinks that he’s done pretty well for himself. He’s discovered a lost city or two, with and without his brother, held some artifacts that were rumored to only be from stories, and tried one of the cigars from Sully’s collection. He even has a place to call his own now, his name on the mailbox downstairs, a doorman who greets him.

Honestly, it’s all he’s ever wanted growing up. More, even. Back in Panama, all he thought he wanted, besides, well, getting out, was to find Avery’s treasure with Nathan. It was that thought that kept him going most days. The idea of finding four hundred million worth of treasure! That was the dream. He and Nathan could finally settle down, or, rather, their version of it. Because they weren’t going to have a normal life. That was never in the cards for them growing up, but it was a nice thought, not having to worry about food or a place to stay.

And Sam hasn’t had to worry about that for a long time. He felt empty after Libertalia, that his story was only just beginning while Nathan’s was coming to a close. There are still things he wants to see, to do.

Time, he realized long ago, was something that he could lose so easily and he wasn’t going to let that happen again.

So he went on more adventures, climbed higher mountains, picked up little trinkets (a habit he got from his little brother, starting his own little collection) along the way to bigger, better things. (It’s just a shame that some things were destroyed along the way, like statues and buildings, but what can he say? It runs in the family.)

But tonight, after a long flight and an uncomfortable chair, all Sam wants to do is go to her and crash on her bed.

Because although Sam has a place to call home, a big apartment that’s filled with his stuff, clothes, souvenirs, a fish…it feels empty. Cold. Even if he had all the money in the world, Sam can’t shake off that feeling that he shouldn’t have too much. That in just a blink of an eye, all this could be gone. Because that has happened before—moving from place to place, packing what you can immediately get your hands on.

Sam wants riches, searches for them all over the world, but deep down he knows he doesn’t know what to do with them. That even if he dreams of more, he only knows how to live with enough.

So, he only has one pillow, a blanket. A towel and an extra, shampoo (the kind that has body soap mixed with it. 2 in 1! What a deal) and deodorant. Clothes, he knows to get the sturdy kind, the kind that won’t rip easily, that stains won’t be too obvious on. Shoes, too. He gets the ones that have good traction, that won’t chafe his feet, won’t deteriorate when wet.

The fish, Jim Hawkins—Jimmy was an attempt to liven up the place. To make it seem homey, to keep him company. But there’s only so much you can do with a fish and Sam can’t deck out Jim’s aquarium any more than he already has. He’s afraid that something would fall on the poor thing, that maybe there’s more inside Jimmy’s castle than meets the eye.

“Welcome home.”

“I’m ho…ome?” Sam drops his bag to the floor, more from being too tired to carry it than shock. He’d resigned to seeing her tomorrow, that it was too late to go over now, but there she is, curled up on his couch, toes peeking out from under a throw blanket. It’s hers. Sam recognizes it easily. It’s the same one she has thrown over her arm chair, the same chair Sam likes to lounge on when he’s found a good book to read.

“How was your trip?” She looks so cozy on his couch. Hands wrapped around an orange mug he’s never seen before, book on her lap. She doesn’t look like she going to get up and Sam can’t blame her. He sort of wants to curl up next to her, somehow squeeze his large frame in the remaining space. “Get me anything nice?”

“I, uh,” Sam’s swallows, blinking. “I’m not dreaming, right? Like, I didn’t get knocked out when I fell off the mountain?”

“You fell off what?” She’s moving to stand up, mug thankfully placed back on the table despite her haste, and Sam doesn’t want her to do that.

“No. No, don’t get up.”

She gets up anyway, blanket falling to the floor, and, oh god, she’s wearing pajamas, oranges printed all over her cotton shorts. She’s by his side in seconds, hands reaching up to his face, bringing him down to her height so she can get a better look at him.

“Ouch,” Sam says, the movement too fast for his aching body. His muscles are sore and the trip home didn’t do them any favors. But she thinks that it’s her fault, that she’s hurt him and her hands are in the air, her eyes wide with both surprise and concern. “It’s not you. It’s just…,” Sam hates to say it, makes him feel old, but, “My back. I hit the ground pretty hard.”

“I feel dumb for asking…but are you okay?” Her hands are back on him, her touch gentle and giving comfort Sam didn’t know he needed. She doesn’t seem to know what to do first, how to check for injuries, but the thought is enough, her being here is enough, makes him feel better.

“Well, I’m alive,” Sam brings up his hand to push her hair away from her face. It’s soft, slightly damp from a shower. Oh. He probably needs one of those. “Nothing a hot shower can’t fix.”

“Can you…,” she hesitates, sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and Sam bends down on reflex, damn his back, and kisses her. She relaxes, sighs, and pulls away, blushing. “Uhm, I, huh?”

“Can I…?” Sam prompts, smirking.

“Now I’m embarrassed to ask.”

“C’mon, princess, don’t leave me hanging. What is it?”

“Can you, uh, do you need help?”

“Do I need help?” Sam grins. “In the shower? Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

…

Sam mentioned it to Nathan before, when they were in Italy, trying to find their way into the Rossi Estate. When you’re locked up with no hope of being let out, it’s the little things you miss the most.

And Sam didn’t think that there was much to miss anymore now that he was out. He can ride his motorcycle anywhere he wants, go to his own bathroom any damn time he pleases, shower, eat, sleep, drink without permission. He can call Nathan and Sully and Elena without request, without reason. He can stay indoors or go outside without a schedule. He can live. The simple joys of being alive, Sam is able to enjoy them now, in much a greater magnitude than he has ever before.

Citrus, he remembers telling Nathan, he had missed the smell of citrus. The novelty of fresh fruit. The refreshing scent, the taste. The sweetness on his tongue.

“Clementine,” Sam gasps out without thinking, his mind stuck on things he missed and maybe this last trip had gone on longer than he liked.

He’s brought back to earth when the movement stops, even when he adjusts his grip, tries to get her going again, to move her hips the way he knows they both like. He opens his eyes to look at her when she doesn’t budge and she’s frowning at him, there’s a wrinkle between her eyebrows. An angry look.

“That’s not my name,” she says and it looks like she’s going to get off of him and, goddammit, why does she keep doing that?

“What?” Sam’s confused, blood not quite in his head.

“You called me Clementine.” Her tone is upset. Hurt. Sam’s never heard her speak like this before. “Who the hell is that?”

“Shit,” Sam breathes out. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Yeah. No shit.” And there she goes, lifting herself off of him as quickly as she had sunk onto him half an hour ago. Sam lets out a grunt. His ribs are bruised yet she flattens her hands on his chest to support herself. She’s doing it on purpose. She was careful before. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to do this, but I guess I was wrong.”

Sam’s cold without her, for more reasons than one, and he knows that if he doesn’t say something, anything, now, she’s going to be out that door before he can even finish saying Hail Mary. And no amount of prayer, to any sort of god out there, is going to bring her back.

So, Sam swallows down his pride, and says, “It’s you.”

“Yeah, I heard you say that before. ‘Just you.’ How can I-I be so stu-stupid?” Her voice wavers and shit she’s crying, isn’t she? He made her cry.

“And I mean that. Hey, come here.” Sam doesn’t want to hold her too tightly, afraid to hurt her, but he has to know that she isn’t going to leave, that she’s going to stay and listen to him. She turns to look at him, tears flowing down her cheeks, nose red, lips quivering, and Sam’s heart just about breaks. He did that. He’s never felt more like an asshole. “It is just you. It has been since the start. I promise.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just waits. And Sam feels like he’s back in school, standing in front of his class, giving a presentation.

“I, uh, did I ever tell you that I was in prison once?” Sam manages to get out. He always knew he was going to have this conversation with her, knew that with how their relationship was going, he couldn’t keep her in the dark much longer, but he had hoped that he would at least be wearing pants for this.

“No,” she breathes out, wiping her nose with a tissue she got from his bedside table. Huh. Was that tissue box always there? Anyway. “But I figured.”

“The tattoos?”

“No,” she says again and by some miracle there’s a smile on her lips. It’s small, gone with a blink of an eye, but Sam knows what he saw, has all of her smiles memorized. “Someone like you just has the talent of getting into trouble.”

And Sam can’t help it. He lets out a laugh because it’s true. She knows him.

“Well, I can’t deny that. But anyway,” He clears his throat. Was talking always this hard? “When I was in prison. In Panama—that’s important. This was when I was in Panama. I was there for thirteen years and, Jesus, time moves differently there. It’s like the days can’t go by fast enough but next thing you know a year has passed by, two, three, and you’ve lost your youth because some asshole decided to get all stabby with the guard.”

The words are spilling out, like he can’t get them out of him fast enough. Because he needs her to know, to understand.

“It wasn’t my fault. Well, okay, I was there on purpose at first, but those thirteen years were like a punishment for what that asshole did. I was supposed to die there. We were escaping, we were almost there, almost free, but I got shot and I fell. The guards found me and got some ‘doctors’ to patch me up. They made sure that if I was going to die, I was going to die because I rotted in that hellhole.”

Sam can see that she’s listening, that she’s hanging onto every word so he continues, because now that he’s started, he can’t stop.

“I was only in my twenties. There was so much I wanted to see, to do. Nathan and I had plans, dreams. We were going to go all over the world. But I was stuck there. Alone. And no one knew that I was alive. It’s like I stopped existing. Sometimes.” The words are stuck. But Sam forces them out. “Sometimes I, uh, I wished it were true, that it would be better if I was just gone. That I had just died back there.”

She’s crying again and Sam wipes her tears for her, brings her closer to him. Because these tears aren’t because of him anymore, but for him. And isn’t that something? Having someone cry for you.

“You don’t realize how much you have until everything is practically ripped away from you. I didn’t have any privacy. I…I couldn’t take a leak when I needed to. You just end up thinking, cuz there really isn’t much to do but think, about what you had. How life was good. And I, I just missed everything. I missed Nathan, of course, he’s my little brother. But, it’s the small things, too. Like riding my bike into the sunset. Grass beneath my feet. A glass of cold water. And…”

“And?” She asks, eyes focused on the gunshot scars on his abdomen, fingers tracing their shape. It tickles.

“And the smell of citrus.” He makes her look at him because this is important. The most important thing. “I missed the smell of citrus. The taste. And when I was in Japan, I thought about it again. The things I missed back here, back at home. And it’s citrus—you. I missed you so much, you wouldn’t believe it. I could have called Nathan. Elena, even. To come over here but I called you because,” Sam clears his throat once more. “Because I wanted you here. I had hoped you would be here when I came back. And you were.”

She’s quiet, eyes searching. And Sam’s poured out his heart and soul and now he’s got nothing else to do but wait and see what she does with it. Is this what being honest is like? Being vulnerable? It’s torture. Sam hates it. But he can also think of worse things and that keeps him rooted in his spot, trying to keep his face as honest as he can. Years of hiding is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

“You must have been so lonely.” Is what she says, hands back on his gunshot wounds. She’s transfixed. Almost like she’s been wondering about them forever. And maybe she has. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Eh. It’s all in the past,” Sam says with a shrug. Because it is in the past. He’s made his peace with it. Mostly. Some things are harder to shake off than others but he’s okay now. He’s built from strong stuff, a sturdy breed. “But, y’know. You’re, uh, killing me here.”

“Killing you?”

“Cuz I don’t know what you’re going to do,” Sam admits. It’s all truth from here on out, huh? “I can’t read you right now. Are you gonna leave? Punch me in the face? Report me? Please don’t report me. I’d really hate to go back to jail. Nathan would kill me. And I still have a few years left to go, y’know?”

She smiles and Sam realizes that he was rambling. He takes a breath, feels himself calm down. Damn. He needs a cigarette. Maybe two. Are his hands shaking? They’re definitely shaking.

“I think you have more than a ‘few years,’” she says, fingers tracing scars. Sam twitches from her touch. Is this what it feels like when he touches her back? “Especially if you stop smoking.”

“I’ve heard it all before.”

“You should start listening.”

“Ah. Someday.” Sam takes her hand in his, mostly to stop her stop her from tickling him, but also to bring them back on topic. Because she still hasn’t said anything. Nothing to give him an idea where they go from here, if there is somewhere to go from here. “So?”

“So…” She leans close, talks in a whisper, like if she speaks any louder, something might shift, break this bubble that they’re in. “So, you have to tell me what you want, Sam.” It’s an echo of what he said to her months ago, a vulnerable, fragile moment just like this. “So I know what to give you.”

But this time is different because she’s always been more generous than him, always been willing to give.

And Sam’s always been someone to take what he wants and he’ll be damned if this time is any different.

“It would be nice if you stayed.”

“Stay? I can do that.”

...

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

...

Sam’s apartment was inspired by @missdictatorme ‘s post

#samuel drake #sam drake #samuel drake x reader #sam drake x reader #sam drake fanfiction #fanfic #uncharted fanfiction #uncharted #uncharted 4 #a thief's end #self indulgent writing

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elizabethsharmon · 5 years ago

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reblog if you feel disrespected by skam france and demand official apology

below a full list of all the offenses:

Manon going back to Ch*rbage after he emotionally manipulated her to not testify against his brother (who got her drunk, took nudes of her, and kept blackmailing her) because “after all nothing happened = he didn’t r*pe her”

Making Arthur and Alexia a couple in the first place just so he could cheat on her with Noee and lie to her for weeks and then having her break up with him, only for them to suddenly being good friends in s6 and kissing in the last clip (which ngl almost made me throw up)

Bringing up Lucas’ insecurities and abandonment issues but never letting him talk about them with Eliott; posting some damage control posts on instagram instead and pretending like Lucas is fine with Eliott kissing Lola for the film (which he clearly wasn’t, the writers seem to not know him at all)

Wasting time to edit Tiff’s head onto different animals and posting things on that cyberbullying account that no one cared about instead of posting something from the grew + the worst social media ever

Not giving us a proper goodbye to the grew and not really saying anything about their future

Lying to the fans about god knows what we will see in s6 and baiting them to watch even though legit nothing of it happened

Not continuing Arthur’s story in s6 (fine, I don’t really care about that but we were supposed to see it so ???? )

Treating some fans more privileged than the others, giving them spoilers about the new seasons, inviting them on set

FranceTV Slash and SkamLaSerie instas mocking fans in their stories - saying stuff like Lola will cause the break up between Daphne and Basile, “addiction can be useful for flirting” (yikes), creating a ship war between fans in s5 by posting two photos of Alexia/Arthur and Noee/Arthur with a caption “we love them both, we can’t choose”, the host of the live of s6 calling people on tumblr “obsessed” and not apologizing when people said they’re offended by that, blocking people who were asking questions about why the SA was never mentioned again during the live

Liking all the praise but constantly ignoring fans when they were asking questions about writing choices and then blocking them

the rest of 50 offenses under cut cause turns out they really disrespected me more than I thought

feel free to add whatever you want if i forgot about something

None of the girls really apologizing to Imane at the end of season 4 after all they’ve put her through and after they took the side of the racist (who already had a history of drama with Emma) instead of their friend

Taking away Noee’s integrity and making her say “I love you” out loud (which was totally ooc cause an episode earlier she said LSF is her language and she doesn’t like her voice) after Arthur (who was leading her on for weeks) told her they can’t be together

Male gaze in s5 because even though the sign language is a body language, the way camera was lingering on her flat, bare stomach, a few times showing a close up on her boobs during the “song-dance” scene was male gaze

Lack of beautiful, slow-mo, piano music scenes for Alexia with Arthur staring at her awestruck because apparently she’s not worthy enough

Completely sidelining the deaf/hoh storyline in favour of cheating/love triangle plot

Reducing Camille to a translator and randomly making him Mika’s boyfriend because why the hell not

Completely forgetting about Mika and Lisa after s5 (did they ever find that roommate????)

Noee kissing Arthur right after he shared his traumatic story with her and overshadowing domestic abuse with cheating

Absolutely no follow-up about P*trick and domestic abuse after s5

Having P*trick cheat on Arthur’s mom with Emma’s mom because they’re all one big family

Random crackfic farm episode that didn’t make absolutely ANY sense

Killing Fifi rip [*]

Arthur getting hit by The Car and being perfectly fine the next day

The Boy Squad becoming cheating apologists, Lucas giving Arthur the same advice he gave to Emma in s1 and Yann (who got hurt because of it back then) supporting it

Character regression, especially for Lucas, and the whole boy squad acting out of character

Continuously trying to make Lucas look like a bad guy because they knew we would forgive him everything

Arthur suddenly liking art even though it hasn’t been ever mentioned before and his whole instagram was filled with space related posts

Parallels between Eliott/Lucas and Arthur/Noee

Catherine - or lack of her - aka the queerbait from s3

Completely ignoring character’s birthdays - Basile and Manon (second year in a row)

Not introducing Lola before and making s6 about a complete stranger but still expecting the fans to like her from the get-go and watch the show by baiting the fans with the promise of “unofficial mains” (Daphne and Eliott)

Forcing the Lola/Eliott friendship and selling it in the promo as sister/brother relationship instead of writing it in a way that would make it flow naturally

Making Eliott Otteli Urbex King only to forget the plot after more or less three clips; also having Eliott hide the truth from Lucas for months and then pretending to resolve it in a text to Lola ??? which didn’t make sense in the first place but then it turned out that it was just damage control

Making Lola hook up with much older guys than her over and over again and having one of them s*xually assault just so Eliott could play the hero and save her; never bringing that up again

Making Eliott punch people left and right - anything to protect the ladies, Sofiane punching Ch*rbage in s4 can agree I guess

Letting Eliott talk about his past and insecurities only so Lola could prey on them later and emotionally manipulate him into drinking

Also Eliott not letting Lola apologize and brushing off her apologies because apparently that was nothing at all and it’s okay to let people walk you over and manipulate you

Not letting Lucas speak for himself

The whole Lux & Obscurus plot, having Eliott write the film about his and Lucas’ relationship and what his love means to Eliott only to have Lola play in it, not adjusting the script so that it would fit the change and still keeping the Eliott/Lola kiss as a big fuck you to the fandom instead of having it end with a forehead touch and fade to black especially that they haven’t even showed it to us again during the screening of Eliott’s film (but it made all the other couples turned on enough to kiss in that exact moment so maybe it had a purpose) (it didn’t what the fuck was that)

Also acting like Lucas can’t spare a few hours to film it with Eliott cause he has to sTuDy FoR tHe BaC when they were filming it in the middle of a night on Friday, how is that realistic

Not giving Eliott any friends of his own and pretending like he’s a lone wolf even though he’s the biggest sunshine ever and he’s naturally drawn to people; acting like there are no other studens at his film school who could help him film his project so instead he let Lola find random people who knew nothing about filming to help him; having a bunch of random people at the screening of his film and if they were supposed to be his “friends” from the film school then I’m gonna throw hands

Acting like we will see what “minute by minute” really means and “see Eliott like we’ve never seen him before” which never happened

Switching POV for two clips only and they all revolved around Lola because they decided to go with su*cide attempt in episode 9

Also ending that episode with a su*cide note even though the next clip was before midnight on Friday

Giving Lola the worst therapist ever and a really poor attempt at cheering her up from the nurse

Enforcing that “having a loved one” is “the real reason to change” instead of sending the message that you should change for yourself first and foremost and showing that reaching out for professional help is a good thing and can really help you

Acting like ED can be cured by italian cuisine and not mentioning it again for weeks; having Daphne ask Lola not to go to rehab because they have each other and a few clips after that she’s suddenly after her first therapy (love that for her but there’s something huge missing here)

Making Lola’s life a living hell and a misery porn for 10 weeks straight

Making P*trick, Thierry and Lola’s biological dads The Worst (men are trash but it would be nice to see some good parenting on the show)

Giving all the members of La Mif two or three personality traits and not fleshing out their characters

Giving Maya a girlfriend because a season without a love triangle is a waste

Not really developing Mayla well and having their first kiss right after Eliott/Lola cursed kiss as a preemptive damage control to shut us up

Never mentioning why Lola was doing

Wasting a good chunk of the season on Tiff and that insta account and ending it with “she’s addicted to social media”

Giving Yann like one line each season after s3

Reducing Sofiane to the background dancer in s5 and s6

Hating female characters

F/M friendships are only possible if the guy is gay, otherwise cheating always had to be involved

and you know. in general. pretty much everything they did after s3.

#skam france #skamfr

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washymylifeaway · 4 years ago

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Haikyuu SakuAtsu fanfic recs: series edition ;)

ALRIGHT LOVES, BUCKLE UP! IM FORCING MYSELF TO FIND MOTIVATION LOL

As I was making that cursed SakuAtsu fanfic rec post (it really is cursed, but it’ll get done eventually cause I do love the SakuAtsu too much, when tho? only god know LOL), I decided that if I’m gonna finish it, imma have to break it up. SO that’s why this is our lovely series edition post LOL. Originally, it WAS writers, tags, series, then single fics BUT I decided to scrap tags and even then I was like it’s too long..... And so, this post materialized LOL (mayhaps writers next? who knows anymore cause I certainly don’t LOL). These are ONLY some of the series that I absolutely adore, and I say some because 1) the tag is literally like 4k fics long and I was on like page 20 something and I have SO many tabs open rn for SakuAtsu, so chances are I missed one or five LOL :’((((( and 2) my ao3 account hasn’t been made yet (should’ve done this a looooooong time ago) and so I don’t have them all saved anywhere :( (these just sound like excuses LMFAO) So these are just the ones I saw and was like OOP I LOVE and then added LOL (and so they’re in no particular order hehe). I also didn’t *** any of them cause they’re all so freakin good and even if you randomly chose one, you will not be disappointed.

As per usual, pls check WARNINGS, TAGS, and SUMMARIES for series and each individual fic before reading and make sure you’re taking care of yourselves (since mental health is key!) Stay healthy loves <3

I would also be more careful cause there are a lot more TW in these fics than other ships!

Terminal Curiosity by favspacetwink, moonlumie (E) // CHECK WARINGS, TAGS, and SUMMARIES!!! this is one of the BEST series I’ve read for this ship and even though I tend not to read WIP, IT’S WORTH IT! Please read ALL the tags before going into any of the fics in this series because there’s some real spicy stuff that may not be your cup of tea!

your highs and lows by astroeulogy (T,M,E) // this fic made me go on a roller coaster of feels from start to (tentative) finish :))) It’s great and I love it AHHHHH The progression in their relationship is just so ajfkjsf, and I just adore how Atsumu just broke(?) during that first fic and the number of double takes he did, v relatable LOL.

Different Kinds of Dysfunctional by DeathBelle (T,E) // I LOVE the entrance to this fic and how it flowed so well. I think Atsumu is characterized really well throughout this series (I could totally see Atsumu bringing the same thing up over and over again LOL), and his development was done beautifully (You just want to make me say it.,,, Kinda, yeah.). I really freakin love this series so please go ahead and read it don’t be shy hehehe.

we call everything on the ice, "love" by awkwardedgeworth (T) // I LOVE this fic omg,,, it’s in series, but it’s only two fics LOL... Anyway, Notte Stellata is one of my favorite SakuAtsu fics and I have reread it way TOO many times and the fanpage fic IS SO AMAZING (AND FUNNY ASF PLS). I really love ice skating AU’s too so this really made this ‘series’ all the more better <333333

know you better & related stories by theglitterati (T,M,E) // this is definitely one of the best relationship development series I’ve read, I love it so much! It really touches all the bases, and the progression is just SO good. It really is the fic version of the get along shirt, extended edition LOL.

flutterbird (a collection of sakuatsu one-shots) by wordstruck (T,M,E) // this series is such an easy pick up because it’s a bunch of one-shots (esp. if you’re not into smut cause there is some), BUT all of them are def worth a read. Personally, the third one, the sakusa kiyoomi listography, is my favorite (cause imma sucker for Sakusa), but that’s just personal preference hehe :)

Atsumu + Sakusa + The National = ? by isaksara (syailendra) (T,M) // this is another stand alone fic series but with AUs :D I don’t even know like most (ie. all) of the references (LMFAO), but I still read all of them LOL. Again, a personal favorite (without any references LOL) is the second one, famous angels (never come through england), it’s really funny and good and I just love it okay?

Better For Us Both by abrandnewheart (M) // (this was CP from my angst fic rec post LOL tho it is slightly edited cause istg my writing style changes every post LOL) THE MUG FIC. There is a sequel and when I saw it, it took me another week to read it cause I was like,,, am I ready to have my heart break again? No LOL. But the sequel is actually not as angst (but there’s still angst), so if you want to be like semi-broken or whatever, just read the sequel LOL (also it’s Sakusa POV HEHE). It’s so sad and it made me physically hurt every time someone even mentioned mugs afterwards (LOL why am I so dramatic but it’s the truth :///). Go ahead and hurt with me. You should read it even if you don’t like angst because you know what they say, no pain no gain :’)

parallax error: angle of inclination by min_mintobe (T) // okay so technically this ‘isn’t a series’, but it is two fic that are related, and what is that if not A SERIES :DDDDD Anyway, I really love this fic enough that I would find loopholes in my own dang post to recommend it LOL. I really love the service ace bet between Sakusa and Atsumu (I do think it is a superior headcannon (it’s hc right?)) but I also love what’s left unsaid by both in each other’s POVs hehe. If you want to go straight to Sakusa’s POV (cause their different POVs of the same fic), here it is parallax error: line of sight. You can read either first, but I recommend you read both eventually :)

to make any other mistake by honeymilktea (rosevtea) (T) // I, myself, am a very big fan of college Haikyuu (tho idk if it seems like that LOL), and this fic is very much up my alley hehe. I really like the idea that they are both TA’s and that Atsumu would totally bribe Sakusa into fake dating him as well as Sakusa wearing his brightest outfits to spite Atsumu.

How Do You Know? by awkwardedgeworth (T) // these fics are both so funny omg. The google search histories, the trial and error, and just everything in these two fics gives me so much dopamine LOL. There’s one POV for both end of the ship, though their tragedies are slightly different.

the human disaster chronicles by firtree (G,T) // is this another Atsumu gay panic fic? Yes, yes it is and I have absolutely no shame in recommending it hehe. I realllllllly like this fic and Atsumu having a break down cause Sakusa didn’t follow his routine? It is the move. Anyway, pls read this series cause like the title suggests, it really is a disaster (but at least there’s love right? LOL).

I Love You (Though it's Inadvisable) by Anubis_2701 (T) // okay the series itself is a wip (as in only one fic for now LOL), but the fic is so good, I couldn’t leave it off :))))) First, I do love a good soulmate AU and although I’m not a big fan on the body switching AUs, THIS one was SO good!!! It gets really cheesy and fluff at the end, but the beginning of this fic was just so immaculate, that we’re gonna ignore how much the ending made me want to stick my head into a hole (cause it was so FLUFF OMG).

The Germaphobe and the Asshole by metaandpotatoes (T,E) // so this series is also actually a WIP, but it’s okay I only read the first and the last one anyway cause they’re basically stand alone’s LOL. This series focuses a lot on Sakusa’s mysophobia, so if you’re not a fan of the hc, you should prolly pass hehe. TBH, my favorite is the third one, Avoidance Behavior, but that’s mainly cause I really like SunaOsa and I love the brother bond in it!

you are the cause of my euphoria by SugarHighs (T) // ajsfljksadhjkdfk is my first thoughts while reading this series cause ATSUMU WOULD. He would start posting thirst trap pics (which really reminded me of Wonho) in order to prove he was the most good looking member of MSBY. Tho, we do love the clowning of one Sakusa Kiyoomi, as done in the third fic (PLEASE NUMBER 17 AND Cheezel). Even if you can’t get yourself to read the other fics, read the third one, 5 Ways To Tell If The Person You're Dating Is The One, for the free serotonin boost plsplspls.

'basis' - noun. the underlying foundation for an idea or process. by auvelli (T) // like I said, college AU is a great AU, love it. This one, I do love indeed. We do stan having microwaves and mini fridges hehe. I support the ramen endeavors but oatmeal is gross, I said what I said. Anyway, I love the tags in the second fic, so even if you don’t end up reading it, read the tags,,,, they’re funny okay?

and i press you to the pages of my heart by volchitsae (T) // I LOVE THIS ONE, teehee again the college AU makes another appearance LOL. I REALLY love this writer, and this one is so funny but cute at the same time. It’s another two POV fic, but you’ll want to read this one in order hehe. Again, the ending is so FLUFF, that my head wanted to take a visit to the underground BUT ITS OKAY.

affection and acid reflux by volchitsae (T) // so the first fic is ~angst~ but IT GETS BETTER OKAY, happy endings. HAPPY ENDINGS. Anyway, there’s some really cute Sakusa in this one (esp. when he talks to the boy at the village LOVE HIM) and a healthy amount of angst as well. I really like this fic and guess what it is? Say it with me, COLLEGE AU LOL.

how big the hourglass, how deep the sand by volchitsae (E) // did I just recommend the same writer three times in a row? Yup and I think that says something LOL (tbh I like some of their stand alone fics more tho LMFAO but that doesn’t mean these series are bad nononono not at ALL (this sounded sarcastic but that was not the intention LOL)). This one is ~magical~ (v literally) and has some kinky stuff (holy water ftw) in it, so tread carefully :) I would make sure to read the tags before each one because it gets kinda steamy LOL.

^^ if I had to choose between these three, I liked and i press you to the pages of my heart the most just cause the plot was my type LOL. But they’re all good hehe.

a study on you(th) and reverie by sieges (G,T) // this series is such a sad series :( The first two are the only SakuAtsu but the third one is an angst Osamu one so there’s that LOL (and ofc the fourth one is KuniYama (is that their ship name idk)) But the first one is a moving on fic (which I liked) and the second is like basically a fake break up (which I liked more LOL) and both have some nice shares of angst and fluff so choose your battles wisely (or just read both LOL).

Burden of Blame by DeathBelle (E) // CHECK WARINGS, TAGS, and SUMMARIES!!! ah yes, the mafia fic LOL. I REALLY LOVE THIS FIC. I felt so bad for Atsumu the entire fic and yes it is, ATSUMU BEST BOY time. Did I really just recommend this series AGAIN for the THIRD TIME in THREE SEPARATE POSTS? Apparently LMFAO I didn’t even know TBH LOL. I just really like this one,,,,,, okay? But pls Atsumu just here for the ride man cause he BEST BOY. Anyway, if you want to see my other comments of this fic that I forgot I did links here :D (links and here are two separate links to two separate posts LOL).

OKAY so that’s most of the series that I saw and was like gotta put this here LOL. And do you see how long this is (I know I’m missing so many series I like istg when I find them later imma cry or just make another post LOL).... Can you imagine how long my actual fic fic one is LOL (i’m not kidding tho it’s so long I might just do fics with their actual summaries instead of adding my invalid, piss poor reviews :/). Ugh the more I think about it, the more I lose motivation to finish LMFAO, so imma go be no thoughts head empty, but I hope you enjoyed reading these series! I love SakuAtsu SO much, so there’s lots more to come (is that good or bad idek). I know I was kinda lazy on the warnings (my bad), so I hope you all were attentive and made sure to check before reading! Also if there are any errors, send me a message/ask! PLS, they’re v embarrassing LOL. (Also tell me if I forget to cap my I’s bc I do that sometimes and I can’t tell cause of the font LMFAO.) The way my posts get slightly more chaotic every time I post LOL.

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joonkorre · 4 years ago

Text

its crazy late but

@drarrymicrofic prompt: blanket fort

(there’s no plot. none. just dudes being guys, guys being pals)

(caution: not very micro, more like a one shot. a whole lot of anecdotes. i’m writing this under a blanket with snow beating at my window, so of course this has to be very soft and warm. you have been warned)

“Hello?” Harry says into the dark. He’s just gotten home and instead of seeing the familiar orange hue of their beetle-shaped lamp (a gift from Luna, of course), there’s a single sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Nothing else seems to exist in the living room but the echo of Harry’s greeting. Tangerine and sage drift into his nose, followed by the bitter tang of smoke. The scent of Draco’s favorite candle, newly extinguished.

Draco just left. Discovered a breakthrough in his research and fled to the Ministry lab, maybe.

Harry sighs. Unlaces his boots and hangs up his coat absentmindedly only for it to crumple onto the floor. Another sigh. He bends and retrieves it, deciding instead to throw it in the laundry bin. Might as well; he’s been trudging around in Dayhound mucus for hours and neither his dragonhide boots nor coat were spared.

Walking into the kitchen, Harry grabs a glass from the drying rack and pours himself water from the pitcher in the fridge. It’s ridiculous how a simple act like this can drain his energy so, but it does. Curse breaking isn’t a walk in the park; even walking hurts, considering the amount of magic he expends on shite like a 500-year-old wailing locket on a day to day basis. Exposure to different kinds of magic - dark, Old Magick, elemental, countlessly and endlessly more- for 8 hours straight more often than not result in a fierce ringing in his temples and pinpricks on his skin.

After years of doing it, he can scarcely tolerate one Portkey trip from wherever he’s assigned to back to the main headquarter before getting uncontrollable shivers. Another 30 minutes on the metro, then a 10-minute walk home. In addition, Harry has to sleep for at least 8 hours every night to replenish his energy. Morning comes, he wakes up, Apparates to the headquarter, and the cycle continues.

Why does he even stick with curse breaking at this point? Right, a wry grin graces Harry’s lips, Draco thinks the uniform is hot. Oh, and can’t forget the job benefits, insurance, whole nine yards.

With the glass now rinsed and settled once more on the drying rack, Harry drags his feet to the bedroom. The clock - an antique Draco stole from his cheating ex - hits 7:18 PM, but getting ready to go to sleep sure sounds like a decent idea. Harry palms the back of his aching neck and winces. He’d go shower, scrub the dirt and tension off his limbs, and maybe heat up the leftovers from two days-

“There you are. I was wondering how much longer drinking water could take.”

Harry looks up from his slippered feet to see Draco. Or, more specifically, Draco’s silhouette. Behind some kind of white cloth. A white cloth that’s conveniently placed where the focus of the bedroom should’ve been.

The relief at seeing his husband evaporates.

“What,” Harry says, “where’s our bed.”

Draco’s silhouette crawls to the opening of the cloth… tent-shaped thing. Pewter grey eyes peer at him behind strands of near-platinum blonde, its icy color soothed by the orange tint of… ah, so he’s brought the bug lamp in here. Neat.

“I,” Draco answers. Pauses. “Might have brought it somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yes.”

Harry shakes his head. An exasperated chuckle escapes his lips.

“Is ‘somewhere else’ the recycling center?”

“Why,” Draco flops down on the floor, appearing tired of holding himself up on his elbows for more than 10 seconds. It’s peculiar to see, the gesture a bit ungraceful for someone like him. Harry is helplessly in love amused. “Do my ears deceive me? Am I being confronted, cornered, accosted for being a good husband? Were the 5 minutes it took to Shrink and Levitate the wretched old thing away from our safe haven worth your condescension, dear lover?”

“I guess I did say I hate-”

“Correct!”

“-the headboard. Nothing but the headboard. Yesterday. While I’m half asleep. Baby.”

“Oh, pish posh, I hate it too! In fact, I’m doing us both a favor disposing of the entire thing altogether.”

“God, however can I thank you? I mean, you did rid us of our bed where we sleep on.”

“You can thank me by taking off those horrid gears faster and come here,” with that, Draco crawls back to where he was sitting before.

“You love these gears,” Harry says, hanging his harnesses and tool belt in the closet and walking into the bathroom for a quick shower, “you love them against your ba-”

“Put a lock on that filthy mouth, Potter, what will the Daily Prophet think?” Draco’s yell almost drowns out the shower spray. Harry laughs, his stomach hurting for the right reason at last.

When he re-enters the bedroom, Draco is leaning out from the tent thing.

“Come, get in, get in,” he beckons with a hasty wave.

Harry points to his wet hair with the hand holding his towel. Draco clicks his tongue and waves his hand more aggressively.

His husband’s level of theatrics is directly proportional to how slow Harry is at doing what he says, so he nods, fondness overflowing, and obeys.

“What’s all this?” He crouches and crawls in, eyeing the collection of pillows and quilts surrounding Draco and what would be Harry’s seat. It seems that he had also lugged in the chairs from their dining room to provide some structural support for the tent.

“A blanket fort, lover,” Draco says, his gaze tender. Harry’s finger tips tingle with every touch of cotton, linen, silk, as he gets situated. It’s been years and years and years and years, and Harry can never get used to, can never take for granted, the weight of his husband’s undivided attention.

“Huh,” he says, sitting down with an ‘oof’, “isn’t this for kids?”

“A blanket fort is a blanket fort,” Draco takes the towel from Harry’s arm and puts the throw pillow Ron knitted in his lap. He hits a button on the laptop in front of them, and Harry’s favorite jazz collection plays. He blinks. He thought Draco would play his questionable atmospheric-white-noise-POV-you’re-having-tea-in-a-gothic-vampire-library playlist, the weirdo.

Velvety smooth sax flows through the air. Harry exhales, easy and content, and lets Draco tilt his head. He towels Harry’s hair, massaging unhurried circles on his scalp and varying the degree of pressure. In no time, his head lolls forward, eyes closed, chin a breath away from his well-worn shirt. A slender, pale hand cups his cheek and holds his head up and steady. Meanwhile, the hand’s owner leans out of the blanket fort to get something.

“Ow.” A grunt. Harry smiles; most likely a cramp from all the leaning.

Then, his husband reseats himself, this time with a smell. A mouth-watering, delicious smell, tickling the back of Harry’s nose. He opens his eyes to see Draco lifting off the lid of a ceramic bowl perched on a tray, steam floating out and fogging Harry’s glasses. It’s purple yam soup, topped with chopped up shrimp and ground beef.

“Your usual order from the Viet place nearby whenever Pepper-up isn’t sufficient,” Draco murmurs, placing a spoon in Harry’s hand, his words warm against Harry’s temple. Huh, he didn’t think Draco would notice. “You said today you’d deal with those disgusting booby traps you showed me, thus I reckoned I should put the yams on our counter into good use.”

Harry stares at the soup, stunned. Draco must have taken his expression as something else.

“Oh, right,” he says, “I heated it up on the stove, but you were taking atrociously long so I casted a Heating charm. Let me take it off, okay?”

Draco flicks his hawthorn wand, a hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder as if he could see the prickling running up Harry’s nape.

He turns to look at his husband. When Harry’s career was starting to take its toll on his magical core, Draco didn’t hesitate to dive headfirst into Muggle living. Easier said than done, and it took months for him to stop frowning at the “absolutely bizarre, Potter, bizarre” appliances, but he got there in the end. Despite his constant bitching about everything, Draco not once raised a word about the drastic switch, effortlessly guiding Narcissa to gossip about the Albescu clan’s abhorrent matriarch when she asks about how he’s faring.

“Gosh, I,” Harry says. Mumbles, really, into Draco’s collarbone, filling his brain with the woodsy aroma of potion making that no amount of expensive body products can mask, “that’s lovely, baby, thank you.”

“Eat,” Draco says, rubbing his chin on the top of Harry still-damp hair and messaging his tense neck. Harry knows he’s breathing him in too. “Or I’ll have to heat it up in the kitchen again, and forgive me but I’d rather stay here for the next 12 hours, at least.”

“Lazy arse.”

Draco laughs, a momentary rumble of his chest, then moves forward to click something on the laptop. Harry’s on his fifth spoonful of pure comfort when the jazz music stops, and on the blank wall opposite from their blanket fort is the title card of a movie. Strange, Harry didn’t even notice the mini projector. He squints.

“Why is there Korean subtitles?”

“Lover,” Draco tosses a napkin at Harry’s crossed legs, “what is watching movies online without the occasional bout of piracy?”

“Pira- piracy,” Harry chokes, the hot soup stinging his palate, “we have a Netflix subscription.”

“You can’t find shite like this on Netflix.”

“Of course we can. Baby, we don’t know anyone who’s good at computer stuff and can deal with the viruses.”

“There’s no virus here, I checked.”

“How,” Harry stresses, “and again, piracy.”

“Sometimes,” Draco says, lowering the speaker volume, “not doing crimes… is worse.”

“What the fuck,” the main character, a square-faced woman with a python around her neck, has a monologue in a completely different language. “What the fuck? Is that Italian?”

“Yes, but I’m French.”

“And?”

“And they’re both Romance languages. I can understand certain words and translate it for you.”

No, he can’t.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Keep eating,” Draco settles amid the pillows, long hair settled on his satin-clad chest, white against emerald. Harry sneers at him - an unfortunate habit he’s gotten from Draco - and turns to watch the movie.

True to his words, Draco translates every dialogue and mimics the characters’ voices with zeal, contradicting his stoic expression and somber, interlaced hands, looking like a cranky judge having to deal with reckless teenagers on their anti-authority phase. Harry can tell that he doesn’t understand a thing, and soon enough he’s woven a story about how the thriller-mystery they’re watching is actually a vicious custody battle over a duck. For each of Harry’s occasional snicker at the absurdity Draco has thought up is a playful kick at his ribs.

Minutes pass. With Harry’s bowl now emptied, he puts it on a chair and goes to wash up.

The moment he sits back down, Draco’s big toe pokes at his spine. Getting the memo, Harry grins and reclines on the pillows. His left side is flushed against Draco’s right, the kinks in his neck eased off from the angle. They, as per usual, gradually get closer to one another, and at some point, Draco lays his head on Harry’s chest and ear on his beating heart. It’s calming to him, Draco had said when Harry asked, on the third night of their honeymoon. With the war long behind them, there was nothing to fear. Only the constellations existed as their witnesses.

“You died, Harry,” he had whispered, full and tipsy. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, despite all the shite I made you go through.

“You were so far away in Hagrid’s arms, I couldn’t see your face,” the night had been blinding, but his eyes had found Draco’s anyway. “It felt like my heart died with you.”

Harry had kissed his forehead and hugged him close. His heart had always been there for Draco to take.

“What’s up with the blanket fort?”

He has a lapful of Draco, a lungful of peach and cedar scented shampoo, and the sleepy timbre of his husband’s voice against his chest. The Italian movie is the last thing on Harry’s mind.

“I wasn’t aware of its existence growing up,” Draco says. “Having anything other than an immaculate bed when one wasn’t sleeping was uncouth, see, so you could imagine my surprise when Teddy demanded to play in something as messy as a fort so often.”

Harry doesn’t need to imagine it; he had witnessed it himself. Draco, freshly released from a two-year sentence in Azkaban, mellowed and tentative, yet determined to reconnect with his mother’s sister and his nephew. Harry had been wary too, standing in the corner of Teddy’s bedroom, staring at the fuzz of blonde on Draco’s shorn head and his weak gait. Teddy, the darling boy with his clumsy hold on Draco’s thigh, afraid that the haggard man would trip without help, had led him to his play area.

“Fort, fort,” the boy had screamed in Draco’s ear, but he hadn’t flinched. He had nodded and gone along with Teddy’s babbled directions, then sat back on his heels and fixed a wide-eyed stare at the monstrosity Teddy had called a fort (his designing skills were, unsurprisingly, underdeveloped at the mere age of two).

Swiveling his head, he had gawked at Harry, who had still been standing in the corner with his arms crossed, confusion and hysteria in the arch of his aristocratic brows.

It had been the first time he had looked at Harry in the eye for years. In seconds, it was 6th Year all over again, with him watching Draco pushing his food around with a fork from across the room, unable to look away. Obsession, a voice unlike Hermione’s helpfully defined, had slithered up and under his skin. It had remained there for years, stubborn and ardent, an emotion he had tried to leave behind time and time again. He’d never succeeded.

It’s Draco, after all.

“He never let anyone but him enter the fort, remember? Back when he’s still making us build it for him?” Draco’s fingers tap a random rhythm on Harry’s stomach. Harry tightens his arm around him, shifts a bit. “So many forts and I still didn’t know what it’s like to be in one.”

Somebody downs a shot in the movie. Harry doesn’t quite register it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a proper one either until now. Didn’t have enough space in the cupboard. Plus, the hanging around the beds at Hogwarts felt pretty cozy by themselves.”

Draco hums. “Mhmm, I say. Another ‘first’ for us.”

Harry glances at the crown of his head. The man doesn’t sound surprised; Harry wagers that he already knows and decided to make one for the both of them today.

They continue to watch the movie in silence, whites and blues and purples flooding his sight, until Draco yawns and Harry blinks his eyes shut for far too long.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Where, then? We have no bed.”

“I still maintain that I made the right choice”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so rash for an academic.”

“Well, in my professional opinion, sleeping in a blanket fort every blue moon does wonders for one’s quality of sleep,” Draco gets up on his elbow to smirk at Harry, “we can look at other beds tomorrow, can’t we? Now hush. Rest.”

“Ha,” Harry says, at least 5 more words to follow up on that just on the tip of his tongue. But then Draco runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair, taking his time with it, the remaining hints of Harry’s migraine from work fading with every curl of hair carefully unknotted. He mumbles this and that, silly, insignificant things, engrossed in his task, and Harry listens carefully as his eyelids lower.

Draco takes off his gold-rimmed glasses (so sweet and soft Harry can barely feel it), cleans them and puts them on a chair. Through half-lidded eyes, Harry watches him cover them both with a quilt and return to Harry’s chest, curling up like a cat. Draco’s arm is around his midriff, peach and cedar pervading his senses anew, and Harry forgets whatever he was going to say.

Cold ankles pressed against bare calves, Harry is already deep asleep when the credits roll.

#drarry #drarrymicrofic #drarry fic #fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #blanket fort #oneshot #3k words #draco would be the type to get mushy mushy in private and call harry shit like lover darling my love #harry would say draco baby and babe everywhere #thats it hes uncreative like that #and draco wouldnt even care #both of their love languages are acts of service so draco doesnt need reassuring when he knows harry would burn cities for him #they love each other very ardently that simple gestures communicate entire sonnets #and theyre cool with that #good for them #joonkorre writes

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fromashescomephoenixes · 4 years ago

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Beauty and the Beast?

author’s note: Howdy all! This piece is a very late contribution to Reese’s disney writing challenge! This was in celebration of their achievement of 800 followers, due to their amazing fics. (find the other submissions here) I am so overjoyed I could have a part in this, and I wanted to say a very special congratulations to them! ( @probably-peeves) In the month it took me to write this, they’re only a couple followers off of 1000! So, go check them out and drop a follow! Without further ado, I present my first ever Remus fic!

word count: ~2000

summary: you’ve spent years admiring Remus from a far, but who could ever learn to love a beast? this fic is loosely based around beauty and the beast

warnings: lil bit angsty and a hint of language. also it switches pov’s every so often so I’ve put in the beginning of each section who’s pov it is :)

•••

(your pov)

“He’s so perfect,” I sighed thinking to myself. I would have told a friend, but- well, they all thought I was a bit odd.

I was currently seated in the great hall, glancing up from my thick book. I had just been traveling to the optimistic world of Anne Shirley, when I had been distracted out of the corner of my eye by Remus pouring himself a steaming mug of tea. I took a sip of my own mug and continued to discreetly peer over its rim towards Remus.

He was sat, as usual, beside Peter Pettigrew. Today he looked a little more tired than usual, but I figured that must have been exam season getting to him.

I returned to my book as I realised that the amount of staring I was doing was reaching a nearly creepy amount.

I was never going to tell Remus I liked him. He was perfect. And me?

I was just a beast.

•••

(Narrator pov)

“She’s so perfect,” Remus sighed for the fourth time so far that breakfast.

“Bloody hell mate, do you need me to ask her out for you?” Sirius smirked as he took a particularly suggestive bite of toast. Remus wrinkled his freckled nose.

“You know exactly why I can’t Sirius,” Remus said quietly. “Look at her!” He gazed steadily towards you, at your end of Ravenclaw’s table.

“She’s perfect, and beautiful, and smart, and-“ Remus looked so miserable in that moment that Sirius, James, and Peter were about three seconds from tackling him in a large group hug. His despair faded to resigned dismay, and he finished.

“I’m just a beast,” he shrugged sadly.

•••

(your pov)

The library cooled my heated forehead just enough to hear my own thoughts for a minute. This full moon was going to be a long one. I hated the way standing outside at this time of night made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. Or the way I could smell the scent of Remus’s cologne (which I normally loved) from here- even though he was still in the great hall.

I performed another subtle cooling charm and returned to the detailed essay on the precise wand movements required for jelly leg jinxes.

“Can I take a seat?” A familiar yet unknown voice asked, motioning to a chair. I looked up to see the soft honey gold eyes of Remus gazing into mine. “Your corner of the library is so cool,” he smiled in a tired manner. It was then that I noticed the flushed tone of his cheeks.

“Of course,” I answered softly, incredibly shy around anyone- especially Remus. I swallowed my heart that was trying to escape it’s rightful place, and tried to start conversation. “Long day?” I asked gently. Remus rubbed his temples before responding:

“I guess you could say that,” the small, tired smile was back again. I pulled a small mint leaf out of my tiny container.

“I find mint always calms me down,” I popped a leaf into my own mouth, and handed him one.

I turned back to my work and managed to write another line before I was distracted by a slight rustling noise. Another affect of the full moon... heightened senses. I glanced up to see Remus digging through his satchel bag for something. Triumphant, he pulled out a bar of Honeydukes chocolate.

•••

(Narrator pov)

“Oi, Prongs,” James glanced up as Sirius’s hard elbow hit his side. “He finally got the courage to sit with her!” Sirius had a gleeful grin on his face. James’s face lit up as well and he quickly got Peter’s attention. Peter let out a soft round of applause and gave a watery smile.

"Well, I ought to go help-" Sirius stood up to go talk to Remus, but James promptly yanked him back by his coller.

"You tosser! You'd make it worse!" James chuckled slightly, and they all resumed their studious work.

•••

(Remus’s pov)

I held up the bar and raised an eyebrow slightly. “Would you like any?” I held the chocolate towards her. As much as I hated sharing my chocolate, it was only kind. Especially after I saw her eyes meet mine again. Anything was worth seeing those eyes again.

She nodded shyly, and I broke off a chunk of the bar and placed it into her palm. She gratefully accepted it, and resumed her rapid writing. Godric, how does anyone write that fast?

About a half hour later, I stood up to take a break. Stretching my back out, I noticed y/n gazing at me. I couldn't tell if she was judging me, or just curious. Her eyes were so focused and clear. The golden yellow eye color suited her so perfectly. She truly was beautiful.

•••

(your pov)

Remus and I had met several more times in the library since then. In the past few weeks his face had brightened up a lot from the tired look I had seen the first time he sat with me.

"Hey Remus!" I nodded as he approached our now usual spot. It was odd how he always happened to be in the library when I was. I suppose we must have similar study habits. My heart began to beat rapidly as it always did when I was nervous. Helga, at this point I should be used to talking with people.

"Good afternoon y/n," He grinned brightly and set his books down. "Any good assignments today?" I bit my lip. Would he really want to hear my raptures on the benefits I had recently discovered of sage? I decided to give it a shot and told him my recent potion experiments.

He held on to every word as I explained. I blushed, realising that for once someone actually wanted to listen to my words instead of calling me a nerd or strange.

"Thanks for letting me talk about that," I let out a small, nervous giggle.

"It's fascinating!" He responded, his eyebrows shot up. He proceeded to ask me multiple questions, and show a bit of his own knowledge by linking it to a specific charm he had read about.

After chatting for a while longer, I focused on my work again. At this point I was simply adding finishing touches to my foot long parchment. Roughly an hour later I noticed Remus's steady gaze trained on me.

"What?" I smiled softly.

"Er-" Remus paused, blushing slightly. "Well, you're-" I smiled a little wider at his stumbling around. Although I couldn't think for the life of me why he couldn't find his words. I noticed his chest rise, as he took a deep breath.

"Would you like to go to a ball with me?" He asked finally. I blushed, and grinned myself this time.

"They're holding a ball?" I hadn't heard any announcement about a ball, but I tended to zone out during meal times anyway.

"Well, you see-" Remus took another deep breath. "It would only be us."

•••

(Remus’s pov)

And that's how, like the fucking idiot I am, I ended up standing outside the room of requirement in a slightly shabby suit. Sirius had kindly advised me that I looked like a slimy salesman, and James had helped me comb my hair before sending me out the portrait hole with a pat on the back.

"You're going to crush it mate, she'll love you." James called. Sirius leaned out after him, and shouted:

"You look hot!" I felt the very tips of my ears turn red, and jogged up to the room of requirement. I glanced behind me as I fleed Sirius's compliments, just to make sure he wasn't following me.

I finally arrieved, slightly out of breath, next to the tapestry. She came around the corner slightly afterwards, and all I could do was smile. She truly was beautiful.

•••

(Your pov)

"Sorry I'm late," I blushed. Remus looked incredibly handsome, and I I felt like all of my ability to converse had somehow disappeared. Remus kindly took my hand, and smiled. Then, just like that, my power of speech was returned.

"I had to jog here, don't worry." I laughed slightly at his admission. He held out his arm for me to take.

"Shall we?" I accepted his arm and we turned to the golden door together. It spread open right on cue, and we passed through the glowing arch. The warm yellow light reminded me of the sun, a pleasant difference to the harsh light of the moon.

The room had transformed especially for us, into a circular ballroom with high, arching walls. Gold accents and soft, creamy colored walls lit up the space, and the ceiling had tiny slivers of moonlight poking through. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle slightly, and I grasped onto Remus's arm slightly tighter to steady myself. I noticed him pause and stiffen as well, surely because of the way I had just dug my nails into his arm.

The room worked it's magic and closed the gaps in the roof, replacing them with flowery vines. I relaxed, and concentrated on thinking of a nice song to dance to.

The first few notes of a soft piano caught my ear, and I quickly realised the room was playing 'Tale as Old as Time' from Beauty and the Beast. How fitting, I thought. My beautiful Remus is here with me... a beast.

Remus placed one hand upon the small of my back, and took my other palm in his. I rested my free hand on his shoulder and let the music wash over me for a moment.

In sync, we began to glide across the floor to the soft music. I was immediately lost in the flowing and spinning, and the only thing I truly registered was the honey brown of Remus's eyes, steadily trained on my yellow toned- golden eyes. I realised as I stared that his eyes became slightly more yellow as we continued to gaze at each other. I felt my neck hair prickle again, and my cheeks flush as I felt a hint of my moon sickness. It was as if my werewolf tendencies were being amplified by Remus somehow.

My cheeks continued to flush, and we continued to dance in sync. I felt as if I was floating upon a cloud, gliding along in someone else's dream land. I was so close to Remus I could count his constellation of freckles, see the golden flecks in his, see the pinky color of his lips.

"Thank you, Remus," I whispered. I felt frozen in this moment, but I didn't mind at all.

I leaned in slightly and Remus's soft lips caught on to mine. I deepened the kiss before pulling away, the horrible truth causing my brow to furrow.

"Remus, I have to tell you something," I placed my hands on his chest as he held my waist, keeping me close against him.

"What is it my dove?" Remus frowned, and brushed a stray hair from my face.

"You can't love me!" It all became to much, I pulled away and tried to explain it all before the hot tears came streaming down my face. I felt the salty streams dash down my face, and I realised it was too late.

"I'm a werewolf," I sobbed, returning to Remus's arms despite my better judgement.

To my surprise, Remus's warm, husky laughter began to echo off of the arched wall. I weakly hit into his chest, annoyed that he was laughing. He wasn't muggle born, and his father had written a large amount of the anti-werewolf legislation that made my life living hell.

"Me too y/n," He answered, curbing his laughter. I looked into his eyes and felt the slightly woofish sides of my returning again. I hugged him even tighter.

"So we're beast and the beast?" I joked.

"Hm?" Remus's deep voice vibrated against where my forehead was tucked into his chest.

"This whole time I thought that we were Beauty and the Beast," I paused and took a deep breath. "Obviously you were Beauty," I mumbled.

"Perhaps we're both the beauty in our own way?" Remus smiled.

p.s. i’ve got another fic coming in the next few days so keep an eye out!

#remus lupin #remus x you #remus x reader #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #harry potter #disney crossover #beauty and the beast #disney x harry potter #reader insert #hp reader insert #hp #HP Fandom #harry potter fandom

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itswildwinters · 4 years ago

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Ask for writers

Thank you @theisolatedlily and @soldouthaz for tagging me, I really appreciate it! This lovely tag was created by @soldouthaz, which I think is brilliant to get to know other writers!! I love it, so thank you Sarah!

This is quite long, but I still hope it’s entertaining!

1. describe how you first started writing and when you first posted: I’ve always wanted to write. I know that I only began publishing this year (January 2020) but years back, I always would open up a blank document and just... write. Lack of confidence and language barriers (I wanted to write in English, but it isn’t my first language and I only became fluent three years ago) have made it so that I would never finish a story. I think we all had our wattpad moment but even on there I would never really publish because the platform just wasn’t right. But then I discovered ao3, where I’d read fics and also improve my English. Then I found out about fests, and I decided to participate in one last year (2019 BLFF) and my first fic then came out!

And ever since, I’ve been able to write and finish what I start. It’s as if the lock that had been put to block my creativity had been destroyed; posting my first completed fic has acted as a turning point. I was extremely nervous when I first posted, still am, but now I have this need to write and I love sharing what I write and ever since I became a writer, my life’s been a lot better!

2. which of your characters do you typically resonate most closely with? do you base any characters off of yourself?: I switch between Louis’ POV, or Harry’s POV depending on the story; I tend to sprinkle a bit of myself in the characters I write, but then again they’re also completely different from me! I’ve never based a character completely on myself, which I find quite boring (haha); sometime unconsciously, I’d write a character based on someone I knew. I think some examples on how my characters can look a bit like me, is Hamlet in a sea of mist which has gotten his clear-headedness from me; or in my Murder Mystery fic, the way I describe Louis’ fear is heavily based on how I feel whenever I’m faced with something that makes me uncomfortable.

3. where do you often find inspiration?: art (paintings, music), books, quotes, poems and movies!

4. has quarantine helped or hindered your writing process?: having so much free time on my hands has definitely helped; I would seek refuge within my stories, to spice up quarantine!

5. do you listen to music/noise while you write or do you prefer silence? I love love love playing classical music (Chopin, Saint-Saens, Debussy, Yiruma, Einaudi, Faulkner, Schumann, Tchaikovsky, Mozart to name a few) while writing. I can’t write when it’s anything else. But I can also write when there’s nothing; hearing the rhythmic clicking sound of the keyboard as I press over its keys can be relaxing to me.

6. what is your biggest writing pet peeve in your writing or in general?: hm in my writing I guess I tend to write very long sentences, and also I still do grammar mistakes. I hope to work on those points. I also find the way I space my fics very annoying (which is why I’ve begun making outlines!).

7. describe your ideal writing setup: in a couch or a bed with several pillows piled up behind my back, classical music in my ears and a steaming cup of tea next to me.

8. favorite time of day to write?: I love writing when it’s very early, usually after I’ve woken up and freshened up. I don’t like writing when it’s too late because I’m not a night owl; rather an early bird. I especially love when I write and it’s still dark outside, then slowly dawn breaks in and the sky becomes tainted in warm hues of orange, yellow and sometimes even purple and pink.

9. favorite genre to write + one you’d like to try writing in the future?: I love writing fantasy, horror, suspense, action, thrillers. Especially angst and hurt/comfort, as well as slow burn. I’d like in the future to explore sci-fi and magical realism!

10. do you struggle with writer’s block? how do you typically overcome it? I haven’t suffered from writer block so far, which I’m glad!!

11. what is the easiest part of your writing process and the most difficult? writing is the easiest, but outlining (as in, coming up with plot ideas) is quite difficult for me. Also dialogues can be a bit of a problem to me.

12. how do you come up with original characters? (if applicable): I just make them up in my mind, and create them when they’re necessary to the story, giving them personality traits that will help the story develop.

13. what is your favorite and least favorite word? it’s hard to choose cause I have several but favourite: petrichor and least favourite: big

14. what is one thing about your writing that you’re really proud of and one thing you hope to continue working at?: I am proud of the way I describe, which allows me to really settle the story in its verse. I love describing, giving importance to the ordinary. Also feelings; I love describing them and exploring how I can translate them into words, so that the reader can feel them. But I have to work on my dialogues methinks.

15. what work of yours has your favorite ‘verse/world building? how did you come up with it?: those who from the Pit of Hell, roam to seek their prey on earth. I’ve always wanted to begin writing thrillers/Murder mystery fics and with that one I think I managed to? I had read an article on forensic medicine back in the 19th century and it sparked this fic’s plot!

16. what font and size do you write in? single spaced or double?: Arial, 11pt, single spaced

17. what is a typo(s) you find yourself making consistently?: I don’t know if this can be considered as a typo but I tend to repeat, within a paragraph, A LOT my character’s name instead of using pronouns. This is because I’m afraid of confusion when another character arrives in the scene.

18. (if applicable) do you separate fic writing from fandom?: I don’t know if I understood the question properly, but yes? When I use Louis or Harry in my fics, they’re completely different from real-Louis or real-Harry; they’re my characters, they only have the same names, but their personality reflects in nothing real-life Harry and Louis.

I think to answer this better: I do separate fic writing from fandom, but I still think that fanfics are important to a fandom; I haven’t heard of a fandom without fanfics! Fanfics spice up fandoms, I reckon, they’re important to bring people together.

19. what emotion is your favorite to write? which is the most difficult?: Angst is my favourite thing to write, as well as fear. And I struggle with writing humour, I’m not a funny person to be honest

20. what is one thing you hope readers always take away from your works?: I always hope they like my writing and the plot, also the way I portray my characters. I want my readers to feel the writing, and the story in general. I just want my readers to truly enjoy what they read from me <3

21. what is the best and worst writing advice you’ve ever received?: I was told to always write very specifically and to fit my writing into a mould — don’t write ‘he’s’ but ‘he is’, or write shorter sentences, or stop describing so much. But in the end, there isn’t one way of writing — write the way you want.

22. which one of your works would you most want to see turned into a film/television show?: only one? ahhh this is hard! But I’d love to see those who from the Pit of Hell, roam to seek their prey on earth be turned into a movie. There are also a couple of wips that I could see on-screen but I’ll stick to that!

23. do you write scenes chronologically or out of order?: chronologically. Haven’t explored anachronies (analepsis/prolepsis) at all, but I might soon!

24. how do you handle criticism?: really well!! As long as they’re constructive and not mean, I love hearing what people think. Criticism is the best way for me, a person whose first person is not English, to improve!

25. what is the advice you would give to someone who is looking to start writing?: DO IT!! Honestly, don’t tell yourself, ‘I’m not good enough’. Just do it. Open a blank document and write your heart away, even if it’s not a story; just begin it. Explore your writing style, then maybe try to mould it into a plot. Writing is not limited to a certain category of people; it’s not just for those who can write. Writing is for everyone, and like most things, one must begin before improving (practice makes perfect!!) <3

26. what kind of feedback on your work always makes your day?: anything!!! Just the fact someone clicked on my story, read it, and took time to leave a comment — just that is enough to make my heart bursts with joy. I am so so grateful to every single person who’s ever read something from me.

27. which fic ‘verse of your own would you most like to exist in? which fic’s characters would you most like to befriend?: The verse I’m talking about is still a wip, but the siren/mermaid one that I’m currently building! I’d love to live in it.

28. what do you always enjoy getting asks about/wish people would ask about more?: Anything, really, my inbox is open to anyone and for everything! I love discussing books, movies and poetry as well as quotes, and maybe I wish people would come forth to ask me more about my fics or my wips, if they have any inquiries! Or I’d love to write drabbles!

29. what has writing added to your life? how has it changed you?: It has made my life so, so much better. Writing has stitched up a gaping hole in my chest. It’s permitted me to improve in English, has made me more confident and has allowed my creativity to flow. I just... I love writing so much. It has also allowed me to meet some incredible people on tumblr, which I’m very grateful for!!

30. why do you write?: for many reasons; to spice up my life, to help me develop my creativity, and because I love it. I’ve always wanted to be a writer.

boost yourself + tags!

1a. share the last sentence you wrote:

The words echo around his head and collide with his temples like truncheon blows.

2a. describe the wip you’re most excited about:

I’m excited for all of them, but I’ll go with my third BLFF fic. It’s very angsty, post-war, ABO, exes to lovers. It tackles heavy topics, it’s such an emotional fic. I’m so so excited for her (she comes out in January).

3a. share the piece of dialogue from one of your works you’re most proud of:

This is hard. But I’ll go with one from in a sea of mist cause the way Louis answers Harry... I love it:

“I feel like you want to kill me,” he pants out, using his right arm to hold himself up while his other hand comes up to rub at his burning cheek and nose, where Louis had hit him with the sole of his shoe.

“Before our date? No, never,” Louis blinks sweetly, chuckling and climbing up as Harry smiles to himself.

4a. share the best first and last lines from your work(s): I will do only those that are already published:

best first lines are from the hope that warbles in my fluttering breast: There, against the window, was stuck millions of snowflakes, their see-through quality no more as they huddled together, pushed against hard surfaces by the merciless wind.

best last lines are from in a sea of mist: It takes a while for Harry to go to sleep, elation pumping through his veins so fast that the previous tiredness he felt has flown out of the window. But when he finally focuses on Louis’ heavened out breathing, and when he breathes in Louis’ natural perfume that always acts as an ambrosia over him, he manages to close his eyes, and for the first time in a while, he dreams of a future that’s devoid of any darkness.

5a. link the last fic you read: currently reading sweet like honey by @falsegoodnight and Spoonful of Sugar by @zanniscaramouche and they’re absolutely amazing!

6a. link the last work you published: in a sea of mist

7a. link to your ao3 (if applicable): tomlinvelvet

8a. someone that inspires you: Louis <3 his music and just his personality overall leaves so much scope for the imagination. There are also so many writers (both non-fanfic writers and fanfic writers) that inspire me daily.

9a. a comfort fic/work that you’ve been grateful for this year: even the best laid plans and just a flicker in the dark both by @falsegoodnight as well as eyes off you by @soldouthaz ... these fics are just so amazing, everything about them is top tier

10a. other writers that you’d like to tag! @falsegoodnight @scrunchyharry @hadestyles @mercurial-madhouse @youreyesonlarry @raspberryoatss @jacaranda-bloom @soldouthaz @behisoneandonly @vintageumbroshirt @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @lougendarey @quelquesetoiles <3 no pressure ofc!

#tagged #interaction

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philcoulsonismyhero · 3 years ago

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Fic Writer Interview

I got tagged by the excellent @astriiformes Ages ago to do this fic writer interview thing, and I’m finally getting around it! So here goes...

Name:

Mairi (sounds like 'marry'), Kamemor over on AO3 (after a particularly cool Romulan politician in a Star Trek novel, if you were wondering)

Fandoms:

Currently, I'm writing a lot of RWBY fic and that's unlikely to change because I'm deep in Special Interest Hell with no signs of coming up for air. In the past, I've also written a bunch of stuff for Criminal Minds and The Flash/DCTV. I've got a lot of other fandoms, but those are the main ones I've written for.

Two-shot:

Assuming this is asking if I've ever written one, technically no. But I do have a series (Just Hold On, a RWBY fix-it) that currently consists of two fics which could stand alone as they are, although I have plans to continue that one for quite a few more fics if I can find the motivation and time. And I guess I also have a couple of fics that I could have split into two chapters because they switch from one POV to another about halfway through. I like to stick to third person limited POV, and that means I often have section breaks when I want to switch from one character's perspective to another's, and for a two-person scene that usually means two sections. But I like the oneshot structure, and usually I don't feel like what I'm writing is long enough to split into chapters.

Most popular multi-chapter:

I only have one true multi-chapter fic, and it's Moving Forward, a Flash fic based on the idea of Reverse Flash being taken prisoner at the end of s1 rather than being wiped from existence. It's technically still unfinished, but I got a lot of lovely comments on that one a few years back when I was posting it, including a few folks that went through and commented on each chapter and really made my day. Maybe one day I'll actually finish it...

The only other thing I have that’s multi-chapter is a collection of missing scene ficlets, also Flash fic, but that doesn’t really count.

Actual worst part of writing:

My brain tends to be very visual when I'm writing fanfic for a TV show, and few things are as annoying as knowing exactly the facial expression someone is pulling and having No Idea how to describe it in words. Same with tones of voice. Also, I tend to jump straight into writing the bits of scenes that are most interesting to me, and going back and adding in the context that you need to make something actually readable for someone that isn't you can be a bit tiresome.

How you choose your titles:

It depends, tbh. A lot of my older fics are titled with short verb phrases that are pretty straightforward (like 'Moving Forward' or 'Breaking the Cycle'), but recently I've rather enjoyed using song lyrics. Most of my RWBY fics have lyric titles either from songs from the show itself or songs that I've got on my extensive Ironwood character playlist or otherwise just quite like and feel like they fit. I don't tend to find titles all that difficult, and I've got a fair few WIPs that have them already.

Do you outline:

Again, depends on the fic. With longer ones, yes, usually as a list of bullet points describing what happens. But shorter missing scene fics or things that I bashed out in only one or two sessions and only follow a single conversation tend not to be outlined because they just flow as I write them. I've got some more extensive outlines for a few of the fix-it AUs I've been playing with, but even then they're just bullet point lists or mostly held in my own head.

Ideas I probably won't get around to but wouldn't it be nice:

I have. So many. Most of them are RWBY fix-it fic, which is fun to write at the moment of divergence but then A Huge Endeavour to follow any further than that. I’ve planned out a bunch of different shapes for where the three different versions I’ve already written and posted would go, but there’s only one of them that I’m really continuing (aforementioned two fic series). Although I have a dilemma there, because the climax of the story arc that I figured out for that ‘verse would work even better in the other one that focuses more on Penny & Ironwood. But it’s not as simple as just throwing the idea into continuity with that one, because there’s a Major difference between the two in that in one of them, Qrow was the one who got through to Ironwood, and in the other they kinda hate each other over the whole ‘I blame you (and also me but mostly you) for Clover’s death’ thing, so I’d have to plot out a completely different relationship arc there which would have a knock-on impact on how well Ironwood is dealing with everything else. Canon divergence fic! it’s a good time.

I’ve also got So Much other RWBY fic in bits and pieces in various Google docs, it’s ridiculous. (Including a superhero AU that I’m rather fond of conceptually, but don’t really have a solid arc plot for.) A lot of it would be nice to get into a publishable state, but I probably won’t ever be bothered to.

On the not-RWBY front, I've also got a big Criminal Minds/Silent Witness crossover that I've planned out all the beats of, but actually writing it means coming up with the specific details of the murders and the autopsy scenes and a whole lot of technical stuff that I'm not comfortable just winging based on what I've seen on TV. But I also don't like researching real life crime stuff even though I love a good crime drama, so you see my dilemma. I like casefic in theory, but in practice I'm probably not going to write much of it.

Callouts @ me:

Just because you’re an insomniac who mostly writes fic at night rather than sleeping doesn’t mean that every conversation fic has to happen as a result of one or both characters being unable to sleep, my dude. There are Other circumstances in which people talk to each other.

Best writing traits:

I’m good at character voice, although that’s a pretty standard thing to be good at. I also really like unconventional crossovers, I’ve gotten pretty good at playing around with conversations between characters who never met or aren’t even from the same universe and coming up with a believable dynamic for them. I also like to think that I’m good at getting into the heads of awkward characters and figuring out which bits to poke at in order to get them to do things they didn’t do in canon. (And figuring out how they rationalised the things they did actually do.) That’s a big reason why I liked writing Reverse Flash, the complicated bastard, and it’s why I’m having so much fun with Ironwood now. You’ve really got to work at him to get him to change direction, great big stubborn disaster that he is, and I think I’ve rather gotten the hang of that.

Spicy tangential opinion:

People should write more longfic focused on gen relationships. Some of the most fascinating relationships in stories, at least to me, are the ones between people you’d never expect to be friends, or between adults and the kids they feel responsible for who also feel kinda responsible for them, and that makes for a (imho) much more interesting story than most ships. I Live for a good complicated mentor/mentee relationship, but I hate looking for fic about them because then I have to deal with the fact that a lot of people ship those relationships and it squicks me out. Give me the longfics about types of relationships I actually care about!

(This whole thing is a good 40% of the reason that I’ve ended up get absorbed in planning out a RWBY Vol8 re-write where the parallels and the newly complicated relationship between Ruby and Ironwood is The Main Agenda. (The other 60% of the reason being ‘[x character] deserved better’.) There’s some Really Good Stuff there and I want to play with it in more of a longform situation than my usual oneshots.)

No pressure tagging:

@squireofgeekdom , @catgirlalchemist , and anyone else who wants to give it a go! Feel free to say I tagged you :D

#personal stuff #writing #i got tagged #astriiformes #thanks nate!

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iatheia · 4 years ago

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EDA reviews Part 6 - books 47-55

Previous part 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5

47) The Slow Empire - Uh, couldn't really follow this one at all. There are books when the first person narration works, but not here - too many jumps in setting, too little connective tissue, most of it told from the POV of a person who is barely connected to the protagonists? And that's even before they started repeating chunks of text wholesale between various parts - and I couldn't figure out if it was intended, or if it is the ebook was acting out on me. More than half way through the book, I still couldn't entirely tell what the story is supposed to be about, or if the plot has even started yet. Even having finished it, I find myself somewhat aghast. There are a few glimpses of something interesting, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what. 4/10

48) Dark Progeny - Also not really feeling it. It's not a bad story, but I do rather prefer a Doctor Who story to actually feature the Doctor and the companions front and center, whether they are POV characters or not. Here, though, they are barely in it - it's even more egregious than the previous one in actually giving the supposed protagonists stuff to do, and even on rare occasions we do switch back to them, it is all pretty generic. Anji developing telepathic abilities and the Doctor trying to calm her down all the while Fitz is freaking out in the background? Yes, please, more of that. Following around 20 interchangeable OCs that have nothing to do with the trio? No thank you. 6/10.

49) The City of the Dead - If you are invoking magic in a sci-fi universe, you need to be able to handwave it. It doesn't need to be awfully complex, "something something aliens, something something energy" is usually enough, but without it, you can't just throw magic about willy nilly. There are rules.

There are moments when it is a beautiful story, evoking a lot of dream-like wonder, and if it managed to remain a hazy dream, it probably would have been better for it. At the same time there is something very uncomfortably cynical about it, to the degree it left a bad taste in my mouth. There is a narrow line between not shying away from the ugliness of the world and deliberately making something ugly just for the sake of it, and often it felt like it was leaning towards the latter. Dunno, I started out wanting to like it, and feeling rather conflicted about it, but by the end became utterly indifferent. 7/10

50) Grimm Reality - Pure crack. Mind Robber wishes it could be as hilarious and off the wall as this story is. It throws every cliche fairy tale narrative device in the book at the characters and expects them to take it with the straight face, all the while realizing that the rules of the world are completely bonkers. And it manages to sustain this energy throughout, which is a no small feat. It's actually pretty exhausting by the end of it. Fairy tales stories do not belong to a lengthy literary genre, and even taking time deconstructing them, at 95K words becomes it becomes just too much - figuratively, and, on occasion, literally. Still, pretty great, I wish more books had its energy 9/10.

51) The Adventuress of Henrietta Street - *sigh*. My expectations were pretty low to begin with, and I still am somehow disappointed. Credit where credit's due - it is probably most coherent of the books from Miles. And at least it's better than Interference. That's really not saying much, though.

Honestly, if you've read any story about prostitutes, murder, satanic sex rituals bordering on blatant pornography, eastern culture and "mysticism of female sex" used for fetish fuel, written by a dude who clearly gets off on all of this - you've read all of them. There is really nothing revolutionary or compelling about it. On the list of "plots I never want to see in Doctor Who", they are definitely up there. And the Doctor is dying again, because it wouldn't be Miles's book without it. And he's, uh... living in a brothel, trying to marry someone, in order to, uh..... ritualistically tie himself to Earth, for, reasons? Did I read that right? After over 100 years of living on Earth and wanting to do nothing else than seeing the back of it, right. And writing books not quite about sex but definitely about sex. Because that's the thing the Doctor apparently does now. Self insert what self insert. And Fitz and Anji are just... there. On an occasion. All of it exposed on in a dull faux academic style without a shred of characterization, all the while absolutely nothing of note is happening, despite being a singularly longest EDA.

Just, if you hate the characters so much. If you don't understand what makes them tick to this degree. If you don't even care to learn. If you consider any established emotions they should have about the plot you are putting them through beneath you. Why are you writing in a shared universe to begin with? 2/10

(I did have an unintentional moment of hilarity with it, though. There is a character that is referred to as Lord ______, as if his name is censored. TTS would always pronounce it as Lord Underbarunderbarunderbar. Always gave me a chuckle).

52) Mad Dogs and Englishmen - A hilarious story, a very easy read, flowing from scene to scene. There are several occasions of fridge horror treated with levity that I would have rather have avoided. Plus, it is as incestuous as a book about books can get, and yet.... It is just absurd enough to work.

Plus, the whole, “His books are full of black magic, mind control...and perversion - moral and ethical and sexual. He is polluting the atmosphere of our group”, “What’s next? Rewrite War and Peace so it’s about guinea pigs?” - Oh, the shade. It is a good book in its own right, but just for this alone, 10/10

53) Hope - It's a pretty average book. Not outstanding, not horrible. Would have made a decent episode, all things considered, in a bread and butter sort of way. It does have some great ideas - the refuge of humanity, the conflict between Anji and the Doctor finally coming to light - not quite the type of conflict I was hoping for, though. If only it had a bit more nuisance, without neatly delineated black and white, if the antagonist didn't end up being a mustache twirling villain, if the Doctor didn't end up strong-arming everyone in a much more macho manner than he normally goes for (with a rather clunky dialogue). It had potential, even if it didn't end up being realized in full. 8/10

54) Anachrophobia - Very meh. The set up was fairly contrived, it never made me care about any of the characters, including whatever the hell the Doctor and co were doing, not to mention any of the secondary characters. Not terribly engaging, after a point I was mostly flipping through it. There is some big conflict brought up at 95% mark, and it is resolved in just couple of pages via a deus ex machina and a paradox. Overall, I might have said that I would have liked it better if I was in a mood for existential horror, but I took a break in the middle to listen to the Lease of Life - and it actually touches upon several similar themes, but with and outstanding character drama and much more graceful execution, which made this book look even more poor in comparison. 5/10

55) Trading Futures - I will give the author all the points for keeping an eye on the future. Perhaps, in 2002, predicting tablets being used as menus in fancy restaurants wasn’t that big of a reach, but I absolutely had a spit take when TTS has read to me something about “eye-phones”. There are some modestly clever moments throughout the book. Too bad that the rest of it is a complete rubbish. Not terribly original, either - a lot of ideas are copied directly from other books and other franchises. Reasonably entertaining, all things considered, but in a much more slapstick sort of way than was probably intended. 7/10

Overall impressions so far - This batch is, for the most part, fine. Some stories are worst than others, some better. With one exception, nothing horrendous, but nothing to write home about, either. They are, for the most part, serviceable. Individually, they have decent enough plots. But. There is very little character work. They can generally be read in any order, or dropped entirely, and you wouldn’t miss anything. The Doctor is mostly coasting from the excellent streak in the last batch, always in a spot light. I am starting to tire of the whole amnesia arc, though - it was good, but it ran its course, and at this point, with everything functionally back to norm, with barely a stray mention of it here and there, we are starting to be overdue for some semblance of resolution of all that. Henrietta Street is entirely a step in the wrong direction - not only it does nothing worthwhile for the characters, it’s just getting unnecessarily further into the weedworks, adding yet another plot thread that is forced on other writers to carry (they mention it occasionally, but it’s not like there is much to build upon) - rather viciously reminding of the previous mess of an ark “don’t you dare to think that it is over”. And I am so over it. Just, move on.

The companions fare rather worse. They are decent enough, they participate in action, in each book, they are mostly staying in character, with a handful of neat moments here and there (in a blink and you’ll miss it sort of way, though), they aren’t written off as an unnecessary burden to carry, which is an improvement. There is nothing meaty given to them though - they ask the necessary questions, do the things required of them, and generally stay out of the way when they are not needed. I guess Anji has at least some character driven moments, even though most of them are reduced to “I miss my dead boyfriend”. Which is... fine, we’ve all lost people, we all mourn them in our own way, but it has been 14 books since her introduction, and she is leaving in another 10. To have her character reduced to just that bit from her first book, with barely anything else to offer.... Plus, all the while, she rarely felt like she integrated into the team - because she is constantly eying her exit and returning to normality (even though she always decides to stay just a little while longer due to circumstances), it’s like from the very beginning she had one foot out of the door.

But while Anji is a bit of a one trick pony, at least she has that much. Poor Fitz gets absolutely nothing to do. The last meaningful book that addressed his character in any way was all the way back around book #42-43, and even that was just catching up on plot after his prolonged absence. He’s been essentially frozen since early 30s books. He is generally a fun character to have around, and does good supporting work, but can he please get something more impactful any time soon? Heck, by this point I’ll even take the recurrence of “finding a new love interest number 20 who will inevitably die by the end of the book” - it has been overdone, and it is certainly not a very exciting plot, not to mention reductive, but at least it’d be something. Though, I guess only one companion is allowed to carry that staple at the time, and right now Anji is it, two dead lovers is just an overkill.

And it is an absolute shame - especially when considering that on the other side, Big Finish was in the middle of streak of some of the best stories. Over the same time that these novels were published, we had audios such as Project Twilight, Eye of the Scorpion, Colditz, One Doctor, Chimes of Midnight, Seasons of Fear, which were full of character.

#doctor who #eighth doctor #eighth doctor adventures #eda

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momentofmemory · 4 years ago

Text

FICTOBER 2020 - day ten

Prompt #10: “All I Ever Wanted”

Fandom: MCU (Avengers: Infinity War & Endgame)

Characters: Gamora, Natasha Romanoff

Words: 2346

Author’s Note: Both Gamora and Natasha are stuck in the soul stone. It’s okay, though—they have a lot in common. But it’s not okay, because they have a whole lot to work through. Gamora POV. Part I of II.

>> die side by side

Gamora opens her eyes to a world painted in red and orange.

Red-orange sky, stretching out unbroken to touch a distant horizon. Red-orange water, silent and empty where they lap against her thighs. Red-orange rage, flickering in her soul and burning through the tips of her fingers; a remnant of something she can’t quite place.

A sense of lethargy clings to her as she eases into a sitting position, and her abs protest against the foreign movement. A lock of hair falls over her shoulder: despite just being pulled from the ankle-deep waters, when she touches it, both her hand and her hair are completely dry.

She cups the water in her hands. It’s cool, and wet, and the red-orange reflects against the green of her skin, just like she’d expect. But when she lets it drip through her fingers, every last drop slides seamlessly back to river, as if she’d never touched it at all.

“You’ll get used to that.”

Gamora whirls around instinctively, gathering her feet under her to fall into a defensive position. Barely a stone’s throw away, there’s yet another echo of red and orange: this time, found in a head of hair, half covering the face of a woman she doesn’t recognize.

The spectre smiles. “Hey, stranger.”

The words sound like something Peter would say, but the flat affect sounds like Gamora herself. Warning bells peal softly at the base of her skull—she wishes she could remember why.

Instead, she clears her throat, shifting into a stance that feels safer: spine twisting a little straighter, fists clenching a little tighter.

She jerks her chin in the woman’s direction. “Who are you?”

She doesn’t seem intimidated by Gamora’s demand, but a flicker of something flashes in her eyes. “The Black Widow.”

“Should that mean something to me?”

“No.” Another smile—sharper this time. “No more Daughter of Thanos will mean to me.”

Thanos.

The bells’ tolling turns into the crack of thunder; the fire in her veins to ice.

(And then the red-orange waters fade into blues and purples, brooding skies and angry mountains; a scream ripped from her chest and then the green, green blood dripping at the altar of her father’s—)

Gamora’s fingers grasp for a sword that isn’t there; she weaponizes her voice instead.

(Peter would be so proud.)

“What do you know of Thanos,” she demands, and her voice doesn’t tremble, because that’s what being His daughter means.

“That he killed you,” the woman says. “And then he killed half of everyone else, too.”

The Widow’s words cut far deeper than any sword Gamora’s ever possessed.

“You lie,” she spits, even as she bleeds out. “What is this place? Why’ve you brought me here?”

Something flickers in the woman’s eyes—equal parts determined and resigned; an emotion that feels eerily familiar. “Trust me; I’m no happier about being here than you are. This is where the Stone takes you when you die.”

No.

It can’t be.

Because if she’s here, then that means he—

(The universe has judged you.)

She switches tactics. Rotates onto the balls of her feet. “How do you know me?”

“I don’t.” The woman shifts ever so slightly in kind, enough to cover the new angle of attack. She’s good. “But I knew your sister.”

“Nebula,” Gamora breathes, before she can stop herself. Then, because she’s already revealed her hand, commits all the way. “Is she…?”

“Alive the last I saw her, yes. We worked together for a few years after Thanos.” A shrug, and the red-orange hair falls over her shoulder. “Though I guess after hasn’t happened yet.”

“The hell are you talking about,” Gamora snaps, though it’s not like she really cares.

“I’m from earth,” the Widow says. Gamora thinks, Peter. “After Thanos won, we went back in time to fix it. That meant someone had to die, so.”

“They sacrificed you?” Gamora remembers falling, falling, falling.

Then stopping.

“No,” the woman says. “I chose this.”

“Well I didn’t,” Gamora snaps.

The woman, infuriatingly, just stares at her.

Gamora breaks the standoff to gather her bearings, and this time when she looks around, spots a small structure rising in the distance.

“What’s that?”

The woman turns to where Gamora’s pointing, and a wrinkle of surprise passes her face. “I don’t know. I don’t think it was there before.”

Something like hope flares in Gamora’s chest. “A way out?”

“More likely a reason to keep you here,” the Widow says. “There’s nothing in this place that you didn’t bring in yourself. I wouldn’t go if I were you.”

Gamora’s jawline hardens. "I need to get out of here. My friends need me.”

“I don’t think so. If you’re here, that means the stone was restored to its timeline. All we have to do is wait.”

“For what?”

“For Thanos to destroy the stone,” she says. “And presumably, us along with it.”

A fresh jolt of fear runs through her. “That’s your plan? Sit around and wait for the end?”

The carefully constructed nonchalance in the other woman’s stature fractures for half a second, but it’s enough for Gamora to see it exactly as it is: constructed.

“We’re already dead,” she says eventually. “Might as well do it the conventional way, and get it over with.”

“Go to hell.”

The woman laughs: a brittle, ancient sound, and her red-orange hair ripples like water as a gust of wind blows over the lake.

“We might already be there.”

______________________

Gamora walks until the Black Widow becomes nothing but a black mark on the horizon, but no matter how far she travels, her silhouette never disappears entirely. The structure, however, becomes more defined as it looms closer: an open-walled pavilion, carved out of stone with intricate detailing on its columns, and a slanted, slate stone roof. She walks inside and spins slowly around.

Nothing.

She sighs, and stands ramrod straight at the edge, willing it to make sense. If she brought it here as the woman had said, surely it must—

“Daughter.”

It’s one word.

One word, and her entire body freezes, heart tripping over itself to climb out her mouth, chest heaving to pull it back inside.

She turns.

He’s there.

It feels like an eternity passes, the wind quietly ruffling through her hair, both ashamed to be standing in front of the other; neither of them able to speak.

Finally, the only words Gamora manages to claw past her throat:

“Did you do it?”

Did you win? Did you kill them? Did you kill me?

“Yes,” he says, and it’s in response to all of them.

He looks away, like he has the right.

Gamora’s voice trembles now, trembles with rage and hurt and the unfairness of it all. “What did it cost?”

She doesn’t know what she wants him to say. She knows what she doesn’t want him to say.

He stares straight at her, that same stare that always seemed to dissect every part of her, and yet miss her entirely, and says, “Everything.”

He vanishes, and Gamora crumbles to the floor.

______________________

She doesn’t know if the man that looks like her father is real.

All she knows is that every time she comes back to the pavilion, he’s there again, and every time, no matter how often she’s rehearsed a different set of questions, the second she sees him, she forgets all of them and the conversation plays out in the exact same way.

She doesn’t know how many times she tries; just that they never, ever work.

She’s sitting outside the pavilion after another failed attempt, watching the water flow purposelessly through her fingers, when the Widow's shadow falls over her. Gamora doesn’t bother looking up. After a moment, the shadow moves, and then the woman is sitting down beside her instead.

“Natasha,” she says.

Gamora looks up.

“It wasn’t my first name,” the woman shrugs, “but it’s the only one I chose.”

It sounds like an invitation to something, but Gamora’s not sure what. She’s too tired to puzzle it out, but she figures just waiting is permission enough.

“I grew up in a place called The Red Room,” she says, and Gamora instantly recognizes the neutral tone she uses to talk about it. “We were just kids, maybe six years old. All girls. They were training us how to dance.”

Gamora remembers Peter. “Kevin Bacon?”

“Vaganova,” she says. “And occasionally, Legat. But you’d be most familiar with Systema. We used that one to kill each other.”

The familiarity she’d recognized from before slots into place. “I was six, too. When he took me.”

Natasha nods, like she’s not surprised. She probably isn’t. “Is that who you see when you go in?”

Gamora draws her hand out of the water. She holds her five perfectly dry fingers in front of her face, and thinks about futility. “What do you see?”

The other woman looks away. “Red.”

______________________

They hang around each other a lot more after that.

It’s not like they could ever fully get away from the other, even if they wanted to. As Gamora had discovered that first day, no matter how far they walk, they can still see the other on the horizon.

The problem is that that means they can always see the pavilion, in Gamora’s case, and a dance floor, in Natasha’s case, too. They try, once, to see if the other can join them in the strange rehearsal, but however the mechanics work, they’re clearly locked to one person at a time.

Time still passes. They’re not sure how much, or how fast, because they don’t need to sleep, and it doesn’t feel long. But their hair still grows, and sometimes they’ll just braid each other’s hair, trying to one-up the other with the various styles they’ve learned.

Gamora’s in the middle of a complicated twist in Natasha’s hair when the other other woman breaks the silence.

“I had a sister once, too.” Gamora pauses, glancing down, but Natasha’s expression doesn’t change. She teases out a strand of hair and continues the braid. “How’d it work out?”

“It didn’t.”

The weight of Natasha’s words settles into her bones, and she contemplates them; metabolizes them. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Natasha plays with one of the free strands of her red-orange hair; the red-orange waves lick against the stone.

“What about you?” she asks, finally. “It work out with yours?”

Nebula.

Nebula, attacking her again and again, trying and nearly succeeding in wiping her off the face of the galaxy. Nebula, destined to never be the favoured one, always fighting against fate for just a scrap of acknowledgement. Nebula, coiled with rage and pain and hurt and still straining against everything their father built into her.

Nebula, the girl who only ever wanted a sister.

Gamora shifts the piece of hair into her other hand and grips the fastener between her teeth.

“Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

They were finally in a good place. And now she’s left her.

Natasha waits until Gamora finishes fastening the braid in place. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

______________________

Gamora wipes angrily at her eyes, refusing to meet Natasha’s pointed stare.

“I told you to stop going in.”

“There has to be a way to change it!”

“Maybe there’s not,” Natasha says. “It’s the past. You need to move on.”

“No. he can’t win.”

“By choosing to relive the same memory over and over, hoping that this time it’ll change, aren’t you the one letting him win?”

“He murdered me,” Gamora snaps. “You don’t think I deserve a little closure?”

“People get murdered every day.”

Gamora’s body tenses, ready to strike. Natasha’s responds in kind. “Don’t. Don’t—pretend like this is the same.”

“Don’t pretend like it’s special.”

Gamora launches herself at Natasha.

“Pretend?” she spits, falling into a flurry of strikes, all of which Natasha evades. “The greatest power in the universe looked at Thanos murdering me and decided to call it love, so yeah, I think I deserve the right to be a little pissed!”

Then they're rolling through the water, trading blows at frightening speeds. They’re fast and they’re strong and they’re both very, very good, and Gamora feels more alive than she has since the day she stepped on Vormir.

“It’s—a goddamn—stone, Gamora!” Natasha says, punctuating each word with an attack. “Its central premise is that love is something you should be willing to kill, and you think its approval would be a good thing?”

Gamora attempts to sweep Natasha’s legs out from under her, only to be roughly thrown to the ground when Natasha wraps her hand around her braid and pulls.

“Yield,” Natasha demands, pressing her knee firmly into Gamora’s ribcage to keep her pinned.

Gamora growls and bucks against the weight for a moment, then sags. “Yield.”

“Good.” Natasha slides off, dropping into the water before flipping onto her back and staring up at the sky. She sighs. “Why do you care so much?”

“He didn’t love me,” Gamora says, and it’s so tired; so rehearsed. Cautiously, she tries for honesty this time. “…And I hate that all I ever wanted was that he would. And maybe that’s why it worked.”

“The people who raised me were cruel, fucked up people. And I would’ve given anything for their approval,” Natasha says. “That doesn’t say anything about what love is. Just means they were important, and important things can be good or bad.”

“But the stone—”

“The stone asks you to murder someone just to prove that it’s worth more. It doesn’t know love. It knows jealousy.”

Gamora dips her hair into the water, just to watch the droplets bead and roll off without leaving it wet. “But it worked for you.”

“Yeah, well,” Natasha shrugs. “That’s as far as my advice gets you. But all I know is this: if you’re going to ask something evil to define love, don’t be surprised when you get an evil answer, too.

“So if you really want a good definition of love?” Natasha props herself up onto her elbows and makes sure catch Gamora’s eyes. “Then you go ask someone that’s also good.”

#fictober20 #gamora #natasha romanoff #mcu #soul stone #fanfiction #tw:language #memsfic

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stonyiscanon · 5 years ago

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socially awkward! peter parker x oblivious shit! reader

read: peter has a heart attack every time he talks to you because you’re too pretty and nice oof

lmfao just experimenting some new head canon//writing styles lmk what you guys think 🥺

it’s essentially a crack fic i have no regrets.

Warnings: an excessive amount of exclamation points used, overload of fluff, it might be little TOO crack-y if that’s even possible for me, a confusing amount of POV switches. ok it’s just shitty writing would you please read it.

Words: 4.8k this be a baby fic

Genre: fluffity fluff, idiots to lovers, high school! reader, god just read the title.

my masterlist is here if you want more shit

talk to me! be my friend please im lonely

peter first meets you when you’re new to midtown and you get sorted into his science class.

you sat in front of him your very first day and yeah he’s been soft™ for you ever since

like no joke the first time he saw your face he freezed up and choked on his banana

‘oh nO NED!!! she’s PRETTY!!’

‘like, REALLY pretty!!! S H I T’

‘um,,... okay ain’t that a good thing you sit behind her in class!! maybe you can ask for her number or something—‘

oh hohohohoho ned my friend,,

N O

ABSOLUTELY NOT

peter parker has spoken to you a total of twenty-two (22) times within the whole year that you’ve been... acquaintances?? classmates?? ….. friends???

and his fat secret crush on you will STAY A SECRET THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

he’ll die before he asks you out or makes a move because there’s no way in hell peter has a chance with you, the beautiful new girl.

‘i mean, she’s not just beautiful too! she’s so smart, and i know that because i can literally see all her notes from behind her and she gets like, basically all A’s, but she doesn’t even know she’s smart and beautiful?? like, she never raises her hand in class even though i know she knows all th-’

you would think ned would be tired of peter’s ‘shit I’m in LOVE’ rants by now, he’s not because we stan supportive friend ned.

hehe little does he know his big fat secret crush may not be,, totally unrequited

👀

oKAY so maybe you have a humongous tiny crush on the dorky cute guy who sits behind you in science class

WHAT ABOUT IT not like he likes you back anyways.

that one time you asked him for a pencil he looked like he was having an aneurysm!! like okay, are you that hideous or—?

(yeah it totally doesn’t hurt at all that the cute guy you like is repulsed by your presence and seems to ignore you and tense up whenever you’re around)

(t o ta ll y) 🤡

yeah y/n kinda dumb in this because the entire student body knows about peter’s (not so secret lmFAO) crush on you

everyone lOwkEy ships it

ned is president of the petery/n shipper fanclub

that may be because he’s the only member in aforementioned fanclub but you two have many supporters outside the fanclub

ned hypes peter up everytime science class comes around and peter gets kinda confident when he walks in the classroom

‘yeah! i got this!! maybe this time i won’t stare at her hair creepily and then run aw-‘

‘hey peter!’

asjkdjejnxHAUXINENEIAIRJBSJS

ABORT NEVERMIND I DONT GOT THIS ASKXISNNDKSN

peters brain has left the building

and he kinda stares at you for a sec and runs off to his seat at the back

hm, yeah he definitely doesn’t like you

you sigh as you take your seat in front of him, trying to ignore how your love for this dork is completely one sided

the entire class wants to throttle both of you

so then for the sake of the cliche and the plot (did you heart that fourth wall break?? nvm i didn’t hear nothin)

gasp group project time??!?!?!?!

dang who could have saw this coming

totally unexpected

wow

peter is half hoping to get you and half DREADING to

because he knows if he gets you he’ll be able to spend time with you but 300% won’t be able to function and will most certainly fail this project

but i mean who cares about grades.

in a plot twist that literally no one saw coming,,,

‘betty and liz, you’ll be doing yours on atomic structure,

and peter and y/n are partners! you’ll be doing...’

oh nO

you’re partnered up with peter!

i mean this is great news you get to stare at his precious face more but you’re basically forcing him to spend time with someone he doesn’t like!!

so you turn around and you give him an apologetic and (cute as FXCK) small smile

meanwhile, peter combusts

one look at your smile and he just knows he’s completely fucked

like he physically uwus so hard he slams his head on the table

‘oh! are.. you okay? i mean, is working with me really going to be that bad?’

awkward laugh to hide the pain,, quick y/n!!

‘nO!! i mean, no, absolutely not that’s not what i- it wasn’t my- i didn’t m-‘

you smile a little sadly this time and say,

‘don’t worry about it, i know you don’t like me. it’s only two weeks anyway. i promise i won’t take much of your time.’

wait. hold up. back up here. wha-? wHO doesn’t like W HO??

‘wait what do you mea-‘

‘don’t worry about it. wanna meet at the library after school to get a head start on this?’

‘uh, yeah. i mean- cowabunga…!’

wat

shit peter has never wanted to die more in his entire life

so he does what any other normal person would do and yEEts out the classroom full speed

leaving you slightly hurt but mostly just confused

peter strolls in the library casually attempting to strain his neck 360 degrees to look for you

he looks like a chicken and also that’s humanly impossible but leave him be he’s iN LOVE

he spots you on one of the study tables. he takes a deep breath,, and walks over

‘hey!! sorry i’m a little late, uh, something… came up haha’

acting like the poor boy didn’t stand outside the library for fifteen minutes thinking about what he was going to say to you

‘no worries!’ you shoot him another one of those painfully adorable smiles and peter wants nothing more but to give that smile a smooch because damn that is a face that deserves smooches

but he also has a tiny feeling that maybe you might not appreciate it if he randomly kissed you out of nowhere

(you would not mind at all but he doesn’t know that)

‘so yeah! ready to compare the wonders of chemistry and motion physics?’ peter says, bending down to snatch his backpack up to the table (effectively hiding his red cheeks)

you snort as you prop your elbows onto the table, resting your head on your hands.

‘the wonders? hm, i really can’t tell whether you’re being serious or not. guess you really are a dork.’

you giggle a little bit before you catch sight of peter looking like a gaping fish. you immediately slam your hands down, perhaps a little too loudly considering you’re in a library, and blurt out,

‘uh, I was.. joking! making a joke, in case, you know, that wasn’t obvious.’ You awkwardly hide your face between your fingers and squeak out a small apology

‘nO! no, no, don’t worry about it. yeah, I am a dork, so… yeah, i’m not offended, or anything. uh- just, yeah, don’t worry about it.’

well, that ruined the flow of conversation peter was so desperate to keep up with

none of you speak for a bit, opting to look around the very interesting library walls instead, until peter clears his throat and brings up motion physics again

yeah! this will be fine. all you have to focus on is science, and NOT peter’s very soft kissable lips and how good he looks in his light green coloured sweater

huh

oh no

desperately attempting to clear your mind, you try and focus on what he’s saying instead

it’s just SCIENCE, y/n. focus on the SCIENCE.

this distraction just-concentrate-on-the-work technique works for about the next hour or so as you guys study and work on this project

everything is going great!

you two have an organised google doc full of research and a finished introduction! you’re being extremely productive!

both of you are doing an amazing job at hiding your mutual (except none of you know it’s mutual) attraction!

so as you walk out the library beside peter some time later, you’re smiling softly, because even if your massive crush isn’t reciprocated, you and peter can maybe at least be friends by the end of this, right?

he didn’t even look like he detested you as much as usual today

maybe that’s because he was pretty much forced into cooperating with you because of this project, but you even caught him smiling at you today, so he must be warming up to you

which is great news, of course

peter swallows down his fear and the excessive amount of spit that is coating his tongue and turns to you

‘so, this was really fun’

you tilt your head, mildly horrified at his words

‘we need to stage you an intervention if a science project is something you classify as ‘fun’’

‘no, i mean, the science was kinda boring. spending time with you was really fun. ….right?’

oh good, he isn’t actually a complete monster who does science for fun

(he totally is but you don’t need to know that)

‘yeah! hanging out was really fun, even if we had to spend that time doing work’

you shudder and cringe when you mention ‘work’, because there are much more interesting things you’d rather be doing with peter

👀

‘yep.’

‘yeeep.’

‘so, we should meet up again to work on this… project. right?’ you’re shifting your weight and darting your eyes across the floor, desperately avoiding peter’s gaze.

‘yeah!!’

oof maybe that was a little too enthusiastic. maybe you didn’t notice?

‘i mean, yeah… yeah, totally. sounds… chill.’

oh god that’s worse isn’t it

‘great!’

cue awkward silence

‘so… um… can I maybe have your number?’

you stare blankly at him trying to conceal your excitement because did PETER PARKER just ask for YOUR number?!?!?!

oh no why aren’t you saying anything crapcrapcrap this is peter’s first time asking for ANYONE’S number did he mess up oh no he messed up didn’t he.

‘you know, for the project!!!!! haha!!!!’

oh. of course he wouldn’t actually want your number

*sigh these oblivious fucks I stg i’m the one who’s actually writing this and I want to throttle them*

‘oh… yeah, no problem! um, here’s my number’

‘cool! i’ll text you then!’

from peter p [12:48]

Hey y/n!! Um this is Peter btw. Peter Parker. From science class.

to peter p [12:49]

hey peter!

from peter p [12:49]

So if it’s cool w u do you want to meet up at my place? For the project haha, just figured a change of scenery might be nice. The library can get a little bit boring sometimes.

to peter p [12:49]

yeah sounds cool just send me ur address and i’ll be over after skl tdy if that’s ok

from peter p [12:50]

Yep awesome see u then

to peter p [12:50]

see u! :))

that smiley face almost makes his heart burst god he’s so whipped for you.

then the panic kicks in.

‘OHMYGOD Y/N Y/L/N IS COMING OVER.’

peter spends like three hours making sure the apartment is SPOTLESS.

spends like half an hour trying to decide whether he should take down all the Star Wars memorabilia down from his walls

like, he doesn’t want you to think he’s a DORK.

(too late peter)

but then ultimately keeps them up, partly because shit you’re coming in like 5 minutes he doesn’t have time for this

but also, you’re a nice person! you surely won’t make fun of him for having a knockoff replica of the death star in his room.

hopefully

oh god if you make fun of him for being a Star Wars nerd he will break down in tears HE HAS TO TAKE THEM DOWN

*ding*

fuck

peter stands up from his spinney chair abruptly and scrambles towards front door.

he spent some time this morning with Aunt May for girl advice and nothing really came out of that except a very traumatizing safe sex talk and some teasing that he will never be able to erase from his memory.

he takes a fast detour and quickly stops in front of the bathroom mirror on his way to open the door, desperately trying to tame the mop of curls and his head.

did I put on deodorant this morning? crap I brushed my teeth right?

*ding*

FUCK

peter stops in front of the door, takes a deep breath and-

‘hey!’ a strangled greeting comes out of his throat but hopefully you don’t notice how nervous he is.

you don’t, because this is oblivious shit!reader

‘hi peter!’

peter is suddenly very aware of how long you have been standing outside.

‘oH! sorry, um come in!!’ he says, opening the door wider and welcoming you in with (overly?) enthusiastic arms.

‘yeah! make yourself at home and everything. you want a drink or something?’

‘water would be nice.’

peter sprints to the kitchen to get you some ICE COLD water in his favourite mug.

peter parker’s apartment is covered with cosy furniture and photos of him and another middle aged woman. half those photos are him and that woman smiling brightly into the camera.

there’s a photo that’s nicely framed above the mantle that shows a young peter beaming in front of a birthday cake, with that same woman and another unknown middle aged man smiling down at him. the photo is clearly old and crumpled, even with the frame around it.

peter looks so happy in that photo…

huh. baby peter is just as adorable as he is now.

you jump away from the photo when you hear his footsteps coming back into the living room. something about the photo seemed emotional, personal. it just didn’t seem like something you should be looking at.

peter comes back clutching two mugs and hands one to you.

‘nice place!’

‘oh, thanks… yeah my Aunt isn’t home right now, she’s downtown meeting some friends, so we have the place to ourselves……’

‘so we can study uninterrupted.’ he says.

oh of course, studying!! yep that’s exactly where your mind went when peter said the apartment was empty aHaH.

peter’s room is a little less adult than the rest of his apartment, flooded with polaroids of him and Ned, with Star Wars posters on the walls.

you ignore the pang of jealousy that you feel when you spot a photo of MJ and peter grinning in front of a bowling alley.

so for the next two hours you two are in peter’s room… studying vigorously.

you would be 100% lying if you said you weren’t disappointed only studying happened.

the weird thing is???

every time you would look down at your textbook to explain something about periodic motion peter seemed to be looking at you when you looked up?

well, looking at you isn’t very weird, looking at someone while they’re talking is just basic manners. but when you looked back he would snap his eyes straight back to his own textbook, nodding and wordlessly agreeing with whatever you had just said.

maybe it’s just your imagination but the way he looked at you, it’s almost a loving, caring gaze.

oh god who are you kidding, it’s just your brain and imagination playing tricks on you.

you’re alone with peter parker in his bedroom!! these things are going to happen!

‘hey you want to take a break? we’ve been going at this for a whole hour now.’ peter says, craning his neck to take a look at the clock on the wall.

‘has it really been a whole hour?’ you lean back in your chair looking up at the ceiling.

‘yeah okay. let’s have a small break then.’

peter picks up both of your mugs and heads off to the kitchen, groaning slightly when he stretches his legs out for the first time in an hour.

*a/n: apologies in advance to those with nut allergies*

he comes back with both your mugs refilled with (water for you, gatorade for peter) and a small bag of almonds for you to snack on.

‘oh hey! almonds are my study snack of choice too!’

‘yeah, i know’ peter says carelessly, scrolling down his phone.

‘i don’t like almonds all that much, but i bought a few packs this morning on the way to school.’

hm,, wHat

‘if… you don’t like almonds why would you get them for me?’

‘because you like almonds.’

blink.

b l i n k

it takes a bit of time for peter to realise what just came out of his mouth.

‘i meAn! I’M NOT A STALKER I SWEAR. i just see you at school sometimes and you always have a small pack of these to snack on whenever you’re doing work so i thought,, you know, since we’re doing WORK, i should buy some for you… so you won’t get hungry!!!’ he’s wailing nonsensical excuses and apologies by now.

huh.

peter parker knows that you snack on almonds when you study, and bought a pack for you even though he doesn’t like them at all.

maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.

you tear apart the packaging and stuff an almond in your mouth, your traitorous lips slowly threatening to curl into a huge smile.

(despite how much you fight against it, you end up with a slightly demonic looking huge smile on your face, which you attempt to hide by stuffing more almonds in your mouth)

(you now look like a chipmunk)

(but a cute one!!!!)

meanwhile peter is trying to hide the feeling of humiliation by resting his face in his hands, because he literally just exposed himself. he will not be able to take it if he looks back up at your face and you’re laughing at him for this stupid crush.

to his surprise, he does not look up to find you mocking his love for you, but instead, he finds you with a mouth full of almonds, struggling to chew and swallow them all without looking like a disgusting fool.

oh.

that’s kinda cute.

after a good five minutes of you trying to force like 10 almonds down your esophagus, you clear your throat and awkwardly blurt out a ‘thank you’

‘for the almonds! it’s cute how you bought them for me because you knew how much i like to snack on them while i study. that’s really sweet of you. i guess you really don’t hate me all that much, huh?’ the last sentence comes out teasingly, a playful smile gracing your lips, but instead of uwu-ing over your cute smile, peter’s just confused.

‘why would i hate you?’ he says, his eyebrows laced together in confusion.

‘well, i always kinda got the impression that you didn’t like me… all that much? i never really knew why. hey, why did you hate me so much before this? if i accidentally did something at the start of the year that pissed you off, i’m sorry.’

your playful smile fades a little bit as you see peter basically collapse on himself just due to sheer GRIEVANCE.

‘WHY WOULD YOU THINK I HATED YOU?’ peter yells out, probably annoying the neighbours with how fucking loud he is, but he can’t seem to bring himself to care right now.

‘you… didn’t?’ you say, now becoming just as confused as peter.

he shakes his head aggressively, bringing his fingers up to his temples.

‘but… you always seemed so jumpy around me! and you would never really talk to me, and that one time i asked you for a pencil, you looked like you were dying or something! i always just thought you didn’t like me!’

god

peter doesn’t know whether he should be laughing or crying.

‘that’s not because I HATED YOU!! that’s because- i mean- i always thought-’ he’s still yelling and at this point one of the neighbours are definitely going to come knocking to complain, but peter still doesn’t care, because he’s currently having an existential crisis.

ohmygod all this time my CRUSH thought I HATED HER because I couldn’t function like a normal human being in front of her because of how much I liked her until i gave her some ALMONDS what is wrong with me? what kind of entity that controls the universe could hate me so much to pull THIS kind of sick prank on me?

‘wait if you didn’t hate me why would you always act so weird in front of me?’

‘BECAUSE-’ peter tangles his fingers into his hair, and he kicks his chair, sending it halfway across his room from frustration.

‘how could you possibly think I hated you??? how could you possibly think ANYONE could hate you??? you’re single handedly the only good person in this godforsaken school full of IDIOTS and BULLIES! nobody could ever hate you, y/n, and certainly not ME!’

perhaps he is using an excessive amount of hand gestures, but it gets his point across.

‘wha-? what do yo-?’

‘wHat are you TALKING ABOUT?’ you say, slowly turning just as frustrated as peter.

‘if there’s ANYONE that’s decent in this ‘godforsaken school full of idiots’ it would be YOU, peter parker!! nobody would just pay attention to what I EAT so I wouldn’t get HUNGRY during a study session oKaY!! you’re so CONFUSING! every time I accept the fact that you don’t like me back you pull this bullshit, essentially making me rethink ALL MY FEELINGS!’ you say, going through the room (stepping over the toppled chair), just to jab a finger onto peter’s chest.

suddenly both of you are aware of your flushed cheeks and your close proximity.

‘wha- WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?’ peter basically shrieks, and you would not be surprised if all of New York managed to hear that scream.

your cheeks darken as you awkwardly step back from him, realising that you accidentally outed yourself.

‘um- i mean,’ you stumble on the fallen chair as you desperately walk backwards with your hands behind your back to avoid peter’s piercing gaze.

*you’re not good at confrontation okay*

‘you like me?? wait wait, you like ME?’ you frown a little as you look at peter’s incredulous expression.

‘well yeah, you don’t have to rub it in like that, I know you don’t like me back.’ You mumble, looking away.

‘don’t like yo- OH MY GOD!’

this time peter stalks all the way across the room, looking you dead straight in the eye.

‘you better not be joking with me, y/n.’

you squeak out a small ‘no’ or something like that because you can’t really focus with peter looking down at you like that.

‘you mean to tell me, my stupid fat, nervous crush on you was mistaken for HATRED, and all this time I’ve been thinking I have no chance with you, but you’ve been crushing on me too all this time?’ his words come out jumbled, and a little fast, but you can decipher the general meaning.

peter parker likes you… too.

oh GOD WAT

he clears his throat, biting his lip and you can just tell he’s about to apologise, because peter’s a complete angel who probably doesn’t want you feeling uncomfortable.

‘um- uh, y- oomph!’

and in this shocking turn of events, you execute the only spontaneous thing you’ve ever done in your life and pray that it ends up well.

you lean forward and press your lips to peter’s, hoping to whatever superior being there is that this was a good decision.

spoiler alert: it was

peter.exe has shut down because all of a sudden your lips are against his and oh wow this is so much better than all those times he’s imagined it happening because it’s actually happening now.

your hands find their way to peter’s curls that he was trying so hard to get under control an hour ago but now he can’t remember why he doesn’t like his hair if it’s just going to be tugged on by you like this from now on.

he grabs you by the waist and pulls you closer to him, pretty much pressing his body against yours.

not that you’re complaining.

and god if peter died from suffocation right now that would be a heavenly way to go, and he would be a-ok with dying if it meant finally being in your arms.

you pull away from peter, both of you slightly panting before you burst out in giggles, resting your head and letting it fall on peter’s shoulder.

‘oh my god, we’re such idiots, aren’t we?’

peter hums in agreement before lifting your chin up to kiss you again.

bonus: boyfriend! peter

definitely still stares at you in science class except now whenever you catch him staring he just shoots you a lazy grin

because yEa he has FULL RIGHTS to stare at you now because you’re his GIRLFRIEND.

you find out he’s spiderman pretty much immediately let’s be real this boy is not the best at hiding secrets

especially from his GIRLFRIENDS whomst he loves VERY MUCH.

this boy also gives you anxiety attacks whenever you see spiderman on the news saving people, getting hurt and shit, but he understands.

sends you a text before and after he gets in the suit whenever he can.

most certainly uses his spidey-powers for things they were not intended to be used for.

to visit his girlfriend so she can give him cuddles at any time why what were you guys thinking about hMmmMMMmmmM?

likes to show you off but also gets very blushy and shy about PDA

pretty much had a seizure the first time you held hands.

ned almost fainted when he heard the news (aka peter rushed to call him the second you left that night you kissed because these bitches are very gossipy)

peter parker is the ultimate clingy boyfriend.

……

and you love it.

your science teacher no longer puts you in the same group or partners you guys up now though.

because now you can’t study together, you literally can’t keep your hands off each other.

sometimes when peter is feeling ~particularly clingy he just nuzzles into the crook of your neck during lunch, and pulls you to him so you’re pretty much on his lap.

and MJ is just like yall r disgusTING

right in front of my salad.

in conclusion, peter parker loves you and you love him.

it’s honestly kind of sickening,

but you love that too.

37 notes · View notes

themusicplayedherlife · 5 years ago

Text

Some Sugar

Part 2: I wanna hold hands with you

pairing: sugar daddy!steve rogers x reader characters: reader, steve rogers, cassandra jones (oc), selena (oc), others word count: 6k+ warnings: angst, family issues, money problems, cursing, talks of sex summary: sometimes, all we need is a someone to take our hand and help us a/n: the chapters might be getting longer than i anticipated and i might be cutting them up (had to take out Steve’s pov because wow), but it’ll really depend on the flow of the story

prev || all || next

It’s been about a week since you gave your number to Steve.

You had known not to get your hopes up, but after seeing the shy smile that appeared on his handsome face and how kind he sounded when he asked if he could call, it was hard not to get your hopes up!

Why ask for your number and then ask for permission if he’s not going to call?! Who even does that anyway? No one does!

And then leaving you a $100 tip for three beers? What the actual fuck? Not that you didn’t appreciate it but who leaves that kind of tip for three beers? Cassandra had practically hounded you after they left, thinking that you personally knew Captain America, the Falcon, and the Winter Soldier. Fuck, you hadn’t even recognized them when they walked in, so the answer was obviously not! She didn’t believe you--”or else why would Captain America have followed after you?” You rolled your eyes at the suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows and ignored her for the rest of closing.

Because of her teasing, you didn’t mention him asking for your number.

The table in front of you squeaks with your rough wiping—ugh, you have more important things to worry about than a boy—man, person, soldier, or whatever!

A sharp call of your last name causes your body to react violently, jerking your body straight and for the rag in your hand to drop to the floor.

Your boss wears a scowl, thin lips practically disappearing and gums appearing against stark yellow teeth. His beady eyes take you in and you can practically feel the heat of his glare on your face. “Be careful! If you scratch--”

“I know, I know,” you start offhandedly, reaching for the rag you dropped, “it’ll come out of my pay.” Not like you could actually scratch the glass table with a cotton rag, but whatever.

He humphs, shooting you another glare before disappearing into the back. Sighing when the door closes behind him, you share exasperated smiles with your coworkers. Your boss isn’t usually such a dick, but with the holidays coming up and the Italian restaurant getting an abundance of catering orders, he’s been a little off-kilter.

Which reminds you, you were hoping to ask him about this years Christmas bonus and if you could get it in advance, but if his little show just a couple of minutes ago are of any indication, he might not be so willing to be so kind (even if you’ve picked up more shifts this month).

There’s still so much that needs to be done.

You have to check with the bank to see if you’re eligible for another loan—this time to pay back your aunt—as your last resort.

You need to check in with Selena and her progress on the agreement she and her coworkers are working on.

You have to schedule an appointment with Esme’s academic advisor, who’ll most likely suggest that Esme join more after school activities to help her future chances with universities or to beg you to convince your sister to reconsider her decision about cheer. She’s already far behind financially that she needs to make up for it with her grades and extracurricular.

You need to deal with your phone bill, might even have to switch plans or call to ask if they have any promotions to help lower your payment for the next month, or else you and Esme will be without a way to communicate when you’re going to be home late and she’s home alone.

God, why is there so much to do?

“Why don’t you go for your ten?” your coworker Irene suggests, holding a clipboard with all of your coworker’s names and their allotted work schedule. “It’s going to get busy as soon as we open.” And you look like shit, is probably what she’s thinking.

You nod and she smiles as you make your way over to the break room. The cooks usually spend their break in the kitchen, hunched over in a corner to eat, so you and the rest of the servers have made the break-room your little reprieve. It’s small, practically non existent, really, but you and your coworkers make it work. You maneuver around the young chefs and head chef, greeting them as you go, and they return it a little distracted, prepping for today’s menu.

Your boss is in his office, fingers in his disheveled hair with piles of paperwork surrounding him. You pay him no mind as you pass by it.

The break room is empty, devoid of any life other than you.

The lockers your coworkers and you stuff your belongings in is against the right wall, next to the small microwave your boss had installed after some of you complained that you couldn’t use the kitchen to warm up your food in fear of getting in the way of the chefs.

You enter your combination, pulling out your bag to look for your old modeled phone. It sits at the bottom, under your change of clothes. The screen is black, and as you wait for it to turn on, you put everything back and close the locker.

You sit on one of the wooden stools brought in by a coworker, having grown annoyed that there were no seats in the break room. The screen illuminates your face as you wait, until finally your lock screen appears and so does a text message from Cassandra asking if you saw the show she’s been recommending and another from Selena giving you an update on the agreement she was working on, and a missed call from an unknown number who left a voicemail. Your heart leaps to your throat, anticipation growing in your stomach. Could it be…?

You quickly unlock your phone, swiping to open the voicemail. Pressing play, you press your phone to your ear and find yourself biting the skin of your thumb.

“Uh, hello—“ you hate that your heart flutters at the nervous mention of your name. He says it so carefully, gently, as if testing out the waters. “This is Steve. Steve Rogers.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. A mission we were sent on lasted longer than we anticipated.” He sighs deeply, sounding a bit tired and you grow worried. “I hope you didn’t think I wouldn’t call or that I asked for your number to mess with you.” The nerves melt into a puddle of goo as your head fills with heat, embarrassment licking your skin at having been guessed so easily. “I, um, I was hoping we could meet up soon? For coffee? Or lunch? Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He pauses and the line grows quiet. “There’s something I want to ask you, but I, uh—it might be better if I ask you in person? Call me back when you get the chance. This is my personal number, by the way. Right, then… Have a good day? Shit. Didn’t mean that as a question! I hope you do have a good day—you know what, I’m just going to hang up now.”

The voice mail ends and you pull your phone away, staring at the number on the screen, a small laugh escaping you.

He called you! Steve Rogers really called you! And with his personal number too! God, what kind of messed up dream are you in?

Your bottom lip becomes a chew toy—should you call back? Should you not? You should, right? You were disappointed that he hadn’t called, and now that he has, you should. ...Right?

You let out a loud groan and throw your head back into the empty space. What would Selena and Cassandra say if they were here? You snort. Wow, that was a dumb question. You know exactly what they would say—call him, you idiot.

Before you can let your nerves take over, you quickly press the callback button. It rings, and you swear to god your heart speeds up, a buzzing gathering around in your head as you wait for his answering machine. But that doesn’t happen.

“Hello?”

Your heart that had been lodged in your throat drops to your stomach, and you find your throat growing dry. “Steve?”

He says your name just as he had when he left the voicemail. “Hey. You heard my voicemail.” He sounds almost happy? Excited, maybe?

“I did, yeah.” You curl a strand of hair behind your ear. “You said you wanted to meet up?”

“Yes!” he suddenly squeaks. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no. I don’t.” At all. Okay. Maybe a little? Not because you don’t want to talk to him or meet up with him. But because you’re nervous now and you don’t know what to do. “When did you want to meet up?”

“Today? If you have time?”

You frown, eyes drifting to the clock on the wall, just on top of the lockers. Your ten minutes are almost up. “I don’t know if I can,” you admit. “I’m at work until 4 and then I have to head to my shift at the bar right after.”

“Oh,” he says, a little disappointed. You don’t know why, but you quickly rack your brain to try and ease his disappointment.

“Maybe during a lunch break? At either job.”

“Oh,” his voice lightens, and your chest soars at having not disappointed Captain America. “What time do you have your lunch break?”

“For my current job?”

“Yes,” he answers, papers shuffling in his end.

“Uh, usually around 2 in the afternoon?”

“Then do you want to get lunch together for your break? We don’t have to go far.”

“Okay.” Your inner Selena and Cassandra squeal with delight. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Mind sending me the address?”

“I’ll send it to you right now.”

“Okay.” There’s a tilt to his voice and you picture him smiling, your own lips lifting. “Then... I’ll see you soon?”

“Yes, see you soon.”

Work drags on, and you’re impatient, occasionally tapping your foot and staring out the door, waiting for familiar blue eyes and blonde hair to burst through it at any moment.

“And I’ll have the fig and salami pizza,” a man with a too large nose, bleached blonde hair and dull blue eyes orders. “Make sure that the chef doesn’t add garlic. I hate garlic.” You nod, about to ask if he needed anything else, but he beats you to it. “Oh, and make sure that the dough is perfectly cooked. I like it to snap.”

You nod with a patient smile. “Anything else, sir?”

He shakes his head and waves you away from him and his date.

You sigh when you reach the kitchen, giving your order to the head chef and leave as he reads out the order—making sure not to bump into anyone. Just as you step out, a coworker stops you, his face still new and his name yet unlearned.

“Irene told me to tell you someone is looking for you,” he says before entering the kitchen.

Your heart leaps, and although you know who it might be, you can’t help but ask, “Did she mention a name?”

He shakes his head and the kitchen door closes behind him.

Your feet carry you to the main station where Irene is usually positioned, and unfortunately, she isn’t with the man you were hoping to see.

It’s someone else. A stranger.

He’s tall, handsome, and rugged in a grey suit. Dark hair styled back and dark beard pristine and well groomed. He’s sporting a charming smile, eyes crinkling amicably.

Irene is blushing, cheeks red and eyes wide as they stare up at him. For a moment, she looks away from him and your eyes connect. Her brown eyes light up and she says something to him that has him looking over his shoulder.

Your feet falter, hesitating when you make eye contact with the male. Something in his gaze shifts, eyes narrowing, nothing friendly remaining on his face—it’s calculating and cold.

He fully turns to you and behind him is Irene mouthing something at you and pointing at him. You’re pretty sure she’s saying, “Who is this hottie?”

You have no idea.

“You asked for me?” You direct towards her, hoping there’s been some kind of mistake.

“Yes,” the male answers instead, and there’s a hint of an accent to his voice. It’s unfamiliar to you, just like his face. “We have some things to discuss.”

You want to ask if you know him, but before you can, his gaze returns to Irene.

“You don’t mind if I steal her for a moment?”

“Of course not,” she says. “You came right on time, anyway. I was just about to send her on her lunch break.”

Great. He could be a murderer for fucksake and she could be sending you to your deathbed without knowing!

“Perfect,” he says, eyes returning to you. He roughly grabs your arm and leans down to whisper in your ear, masking it with a jovial smile and pretending he was just moving you away from an incoming co-worker carrying plates. “If you don’t want to lose your job, I suggest you come with me.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

You muster a glare, twisting your arm out of his hold before addressing Irene. “I’ll be right back.” Removing your black waist apron, you hand it to her before following the strange male out to the front of the restaurant. She’s none the wiser, smiling brightly and giving you two thumbs up.

You stop a little off to the side, making sure to not block the way of people leaving or entering the restaurant, or strolling by. Waiting for a couple to pass you both, your eyes try not to waver as they harden. “Who are you?”

He stands straight, head held high and looking down at you—he’s trying to intimidate you, that much is obvious by his stance and the way his eyes stay narrowed. It’s working. But you’re not about to let him know that.

He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out an envelope, a familiar seal—belonging to the note that had been slipped under your door—greeting you. “Madame Magdalena—“ Madame? What the fuck? First Tia, and now Madame? Is that woman obsessed with titles? “Sends another message.”

You have got to be shitting me!

You ignore your shaking hands and rip the envelope from his hands, opening it without care; and just as you had suspected, it’s another note with the remaining amount and the due date. “She’s threatening me at my job now? Seriously?”

The male remains stoic. “She is growing impatient.”

It hasn’t even been a month since she stopped by the apartment! Hell, it hasn’t even been three weeks!

“Yeah?” You rip up the paper along with the envelope in half. “Well, tell my aunt that if she continues to threaten me, I’m going to the police!”

The man’s eye twitches, but other than that, his expression doesn’t change.

A familiar voice calls your name as a hand settles on your shoulder, guiding you back a step. “Is everything all right?”

“Steve?” you drawl, wide eyes falling on the man you had been waiting for. He smiles down at you, baseball cap barely hovering over his eyes and squeezing your shoulder gently before hardening his gaze at the male in front of you.

“I am only the messenger,” the man says, a little deflated and unsure of the newcomer.

You don’t blame him. His size could be used to intimidate you, but not Steve. Steve is taller by a couple of inches and thicker in muscles, and there’s this air of authoritativeness surrounding him that is hard to ignore. And if the man recognizes who he is, he definitely doesn’t want to mess with an Avenger.

“Then be my messenger and tell her to stop,” you snarl, grabbing the hem of Steve’s denim jacket as a foothold.

The man nods stiffly and turns on his heels. “Excuse me.”

Steve and you watch in silence, neither of you paying any mind to the bustling streets or cars. A man shouts somewhere in the distance and music is playing from the bookstore next door.

It’s not until he’s out of your sight that you take a deep breath, easing your grip on Steve’s jacket and growing lax as the nerves and tenseness leave your body.

“You okay?” he asks, and Steve’s eyes are full of concern.

You manage a smile. “I think so.”

He scans the area, face serious and devoid of any emotions. Is he checking if you’re both being watched? His expression relaxes after doing a quick sweep. “Do you want to reschedule lunch?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, no. You’d be a welcome distraction from what happened, honestly.” Your eyes automatically follow the route the stranger took. “Besides, I don’t think this’ll be the last time this happens,” you admit, trying to keep the wariness and defeat from your voice. “Anyway, lunch?”

Steve doesn’t try to hide his unease with your admission, and you’re almost positive he wants to ask you more questions, but he holds them back. “My friend mentioned there was a good bistro around here. Want to go there?”

“That’d be great,” you say, following after him, but not before throwing the ripped up note into a nearby trash can.

The bistro Steve takes you to is small, almost empty, but it has a cute rustic charm to it—all wooden, open brick, and green plants. You occupy a round table that only fits two people, choosing to sit by the back where the lighting is a little darker and the window is facing away from a main street.

You order a fruit tea, foregoing your usual heavy coffee because a nervous you and coffee don’t mix well.

Steve orders a black tea and two breakfast sandwiches, one which he pushes your way when they arrive. When you give him a bewildered look, he says, “You need to eat something.”

He’s sweet.

“Thank you.”

He just smiles, but something keeps him on edge—eyes moving from you to the door, hand wrapped around his drink but never actually drinking from it.

You sigh, placing your sandwich back on the small plate. “He’s not coming back, Steve.”

He rips his gaze from the door and blinks. “What?”

“The man from earlier?” You meet his gaze, trying to smile. “He’s not coming back. Not today, anyway,” you mutter to yourself.

Deep lines make themselves a home on his forehead and there’s an urge deep in your gut wanting you to reach out and wipe them away. “If he comes back, make sure to call me.”

“He’s not going to hurt me. My aunt wouldn’t let him hurt me just—“ your throat grows dry and his eyes narrow. “I mean—“

“Is she—did she send him to threaten you?”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything.

His face softens, trying to make himself seem more friendly and approachable—seeming like he cares. Especially when he says your name so carefully and slowly, like some kind of treasure. “You can tell me.”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “Why?” He doesn’t answer. “Why do you—you don’t even know me.”

He frowns, debating with himself until settling on, “I don’t need to know you to care.”

You retract, leaning back into your chair. That’s not good enough, even if butterflies are beginning to sprout their wings in your stomach. God, have you really been deprived of male attention for so long that you react like this at the first man that shows he cares?

“I… I overheard your conversation that night. Heard you were having trouble and…”

Of course he heard. Of course he fucking did. Fuck. “It doesn’t concern you,” you state coldly, ignoring the humming in your ear. You really don’t want his pity.

His lips purse together and his eyes lower, dark lashes curtaining over blue eyes. You worry your bottom lip, an unsettling feeling stirring in your stomach—guilt. You’re about to open your mouth to apologize but he beats you to it.

“I want to help you.” He licks his lips, meeting your gaze with determination. There’s something so intense and fiery in his eyes that your heart jumpstarts and your breath gets caught in your throat. “And I think… I think we can help each other.”

Against your better judgement, you ask, “How?”

“I can…” he swallows, nail dragging back and forth on the table. “I can provide you money, help you with your bills and your needs, and in return you give me… company.”

“Are you asking me to be your personal prostitute?” He flounders and your eyes narrow. “Because it sounds like you’re asking for sex in return for money.”

“No! No—There was a term—” He tilts his head, thinking deeply about something before shaking his head. “What I meant was that I—I sometimes have events to attend and if I don’t take a date, women at these things tend to…”

Your nerves begin to ease, amusement taking over at the sight of a flustered Steve. “Throw themselves at you?”

“Yes!” He nods vigorously before mellowing out, eyes dropping to the tea that is no longer steaming. “Yes, they tend to throw themselves at me and it”—he winces, most likely remembering an instance— “it can be too much sometimes.”

“So… you want me to be a sort of barrier between you and these women?”

He sighs in relief that you understand. “Not just that. I meant when I said I wanted company, someone I can have a genuine conversation with.” He exhales through his nose. “Being who I am doesn’t exactly give me time to… meet people.”

Your jaw slackens as it clicks in your head: he wants a sugar baby. He’s asking you of all people to be his sugar baby! “What about the women throwing themselves at you?”

He snorts, lips turning into a self deprecating smile. “Most of them are just interested in what I am. Not who I am.”

You frown. Is he sure about that?

“I just want someone to care about, someone who’ll let me take care of them, protect them and who is willing to get to know me as Steve Rogers, not Captain America.”

You mull over his words, the soft music drifting through the wooden beams of the bistro and the low chattering from the other customers suddenly seeming louder as you think. “Why me? You don’t exactly know me.”

He smiles, all soft and sweet eyes drifting over your face. “Why not you?”

That’s not exactly the answer you were expecting to hear, but you still find yourself relaxing in your seat. “How would this work?”

“Sharon”—Sharon? As in the famed Sharon Carter? Weren’t they rumored to be dating at some point?—“mentioned something about coming up with our terms and agreeing on them together. Maybe we can start there? After you have time to think about accepting my offer or not, of course.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. “Okay.”

“You’ve got to be pulling my leg!” Selena practically yells from the other line, and you pull your phone away from your ear, wincing. “Captain fucking America is asking to be your Sugar Daddy?”

You curl under your bed sheets, trying to be quiet and not wake up Esme in the other twin bed. “I know, I’m just as in shock as you are.”

“I’m not in shock. I’m excited for you!” She gushes sleepily. “Please tell me you’re going to say yes! Because if you aren’t, I’m booking a flight to New York right now to slap some sense into you.”

You laugh, voice bubbling with mild glee and nerves. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“Good! This is good for you! You deserve someone looking after you. You’ve done enough looking after.”

You shiver from the cold air seeping into the apartment, watching Esme closely—if she shivers too there’s another blanket in the closet you can put on her. “If I do say yes, it’ll be because I’ll have the ability to look after Esme and my mom, Sel.”

“And that’s fine! Not saying that shouldn’t be your driving force. But it’s about time someone looks after you, too. I mean, I know Esme and your mother do, and I know Cassandra does too, and I obviously do,” she says with a playful scoff and you chuckle softly. “But we can't look after you like Steve would. Whoa, can I call him Steve? Or is that only reserved for you?”

You roll your eyes and lift your blanket over your face, covering your cold nose. Rambling Selena is always fun. “Really?”

“Right, silly question. Of course I can, I’m your best friend.” You snort. “As I was saying. Steve can offer the attention and care we can’t, in more ways than one.” She giggles salaciously and you groan into the fabric of your blanket. “What? Is sex off the table or something?”

You breathe deeply, turning on your back. “I don’t know? Maybe? Maybe not?”

“Would sleeping with Captain America be the worst thing to happen to you?” Would it? There’s no denying that you are definitely attracted to Steve, but it’s one thing to fantasize and another to have the ability to make that fantasy come true. And what if he doesn’t want to have sex with you? She sighs, as if reading your thoughts. “Talk to him about it. He did say you could come up with your own terms, right?”

“Yeah.”

She hums thoughtfully. “I say you throw sex on the list, but add that you’ll only have sex if you feel comfortable enough to. And if he forces sex on you, fuck Captain America, not physically, but like, you know cursing him out. Or we could always curse him too, I made friends with some wicc—“

You laugh, knowing her rambling is only going to get worse as she gets sleepier, it’s the only way to stay awake for your sake. She may be three hours behind you, but she’s always been an early sleeper. “I think you and I need some sleep.”

She sighs dramatically. “You’re right. Let’s talk more about this when I’m less… delirious. This deserves our full attention, so you better call me when you’re free, you hear?”

“I promise I will.”

Cassandra’s eyes are hot on your side profile. It makes you regret asking Steve to meet you at the bar during your break this time around, but he was too busy to meet you earlier, and you were busy, too. You had a ten hour shift at the restaurant and during your break you visited your mom; and before heading for your shift at the bar you met with Esmeralda’s academic counselor, who indeed told you that Esme should think about joining more clubs and doing more activities—like cheer.

It solidified your decision on Steve’s proposal.

He takes a tentative sip of his beer, blue eyes bright even in the warm lighting of the bar—blue hydrangeas on the table pale in comparison.

You take out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of your jeans. “I’ve never actually done this, so, um they might be a little juvenile…”

His pretty eyes scan your messy and unsure writing as he drinks in your words; your fingers rubbing hastily at a spot on the table. You mentally recite your terms, helped by Selena, but mostly written by you because she was going over the top with her suggestions (e.g. a gift delivered to your door every week, must cost over $100; roses sent to your work or home every week; a gift to my best friend every month unless she says she doesn’t need one; and so on—“What? He has money!” she said after you called her out for her ridiculous suggestions. “Isn’t the whole point of this him spending money on you?”):

Clear communication about what we want going forward in this arrangement.

Treat each other with respect.

Must get to know each other.

Affection, whether public or private, is okay, as long as it’s not manhandling.

Sex is also okay, as long as we’re both comfortable with one another.

A smile blooms on his face and he chuckles, only making your face heat up. You knew it! They are juvenile! Or was it sex? Maybe he wasn’t interested in sex with you? You don’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. “I could—I could rewrite them?”

His eyes snap to yours and his laughter subsides, but not the amusement in his eyes, they’re clear as day. “No—no, they’re fine, it’s just,” he pauses to reach into his own pocket to pull out his own paper. He offers it to you and you take it tentatively.

You eye him and he gives you a small nod, smile curving his lips. You unfold it and as your eyes scan his simple terms that are an exact replica of yours (just with minor word differences) with no mention of sex in his. Your eyebrows furrow and when you look up his eyes are still on you, warmth—that you’ve come to associate with him—in his gaze. His hand reaches for yours and he coaxes your fingers to let go of the paper to take your hand in his—your heart picking up at the rough ends of his fingers smoothing over your palm.

“Just that,” he continues, eyes falling to his fingers caressing your skin, a small frown appearing on his lips, “I thought you wouldn’t be comfortable with sex being part of our agreement.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Should someone touching you as simple as this really feel this good? Are you really that touch starved?

He shrugs, still focused on memorizing the lines of your palm. “You didn’t want money in return for sex, remember?” It’s teasing the way he says it, looking up at you through his thick lashes, too long and beautiful for your liking (fuck, how can a man be so beautiful?) and a small tilt to his pink lips.

You snort, propping your chin on your hand that he isn’t touching, elbow placed firmly on the wooden table and written agreements momentarily forgotten and placed aside. “In my defense, it sounded like you were propositioning me. You could’ve just said you wanted a Sugar Baby from the start, Steve.”

He huffs a laugh, fingers dragging over your skin as he pulls away and you find yourself missing his touch. You have to stop yourself from chasing his warmth. “Believe it or not, I was too nervous to remember anything. Had a hard time forming sentences, too.”

You blink before a smile blooms on your face. “Does that mean we have an agreement?”

Blue eyes once more stare at you—no, into you. There’s concern and excitement whirling around, swimming against the currents they’ve both created around one another. “Have you really thought this through?” he asks, his voice barely heard over the music playing.

“What? This... arrangement or sex?” Because you have. You’ve probably annoyed Selena with all of your questions and concerns too.

He nods, not specifying which.

Your fingers reach for his hand resting on the table, but you hesitate before you can touch him and pull away. He frowns.

You can’t bring yourself to touch him, not yet. You focus on the LED candle lit on the table, avoiding his gaze. “Of course I have, Steve. I wouldn’t be here or have written it down if I hadn’t.” And if you’re being honest, you need this. You need the money and… and you need the affection and intimacy he could give you.

“It won’t be easy,” he tells you softly. “People are going to be prying everywhere we go—like now.” Your eyes follow his quick tilt of his head and your eyes meet the warm glow of Cassandra’s brown eyes. They widen and she quickly turns away, pretending to be cleaning the bar-top that she’s been cleaning excessively since Steve arrived.

You shake your head and smile at your boss as she looks up again and returns your smile with a sheepish one.

“She won’t be the only one wondering what’s going on between us.”

“She’s harmless.”

He sighs, both hands wrapping around the body of his bottle. “I know. But that doesn’t mean the others will be.”

“Are you trying to scare me away? Plant doubts into my mind, because—“ because you already had those before Selena managed to chase them away; Steve bringing them up will only make you anxious again.

He rests his hand back onto the table, between you and him, just out of reach. “No, that’s the farthest thing from what I want.”

“Then…”

“What I want is for you to be certain.” His eyes soften. “Because if you are, I promise you I will do everything in my power to protect you and your family, to keep you and them safe.”

A lump forms in your throat.

This time you don’t hesitate, your fingers brush against his before you’re pressing your palm against his, fingers slipping between his with such an ease that it almost scares you. But you’re not scared. How can you be scared when Steve is staring at you so tenderly? When he sounds so confident unlike when he brought up this arrangement? When he’s not only just thinking about you, but your family as well? When his fingers and yours fall into place so easily?

Yes, it might be hard, you’re aware of that, and he is too. However, if it means helping your family out of this situation, giving Esme a better chance in the future and being able to help your mom, you’re willing to try. “I’m sure, Steve.”

He squeezes your hand, a smile wiping away any visible concern on his handsome face. “Okay,” he says before repeating it again with a firm nod. His eyes move to the clock hanging next to the entrance to the kitchen and back room—your beak is almost over. “What time do you get off work? Let me take you home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you assure him, trying desperately to keep your nerves down. You really don’t want to show him where you live, it’s not exactly the best place and if Esme’s home, you really don’t want her asking questions until you’re ready. “Cassandra usually gives me a ride home after work.”

“I want to give you a ride,” he says, face becoming serious. “We still have some things to discuss… like your aunt,” his voice lowers at the end, a brief flash of anger in his eyes, not directed at you, but at the woman who has been tormenting you, even if he doesn’t know all the details.

You gnaw the inside of your cheek and then sigh gently. “I help close, so I’m usually out by two, depending on how many are closing with us.”

He nods. “You don’t mind if I wait here?”

“I don’t, but are you sure you’re okay, waiting?” You check the clock and you frown—10:36 pm. He’ll be waiting for some time. “I won’t be out for a while.”

“I don’t mind,” he reassures you, squeezing your hand once more.

You return to work, a little reluctant to leave Steve by himself, but he keeps himself occupied by using his phone and occasionally, you find him staring at you every once in a while, flashing you a small smile.

“You don’t know Captain America, huh?” Cassandra teases, elbowing you gently on your side as you make a drink.

“I didn’t,” you tell her, shifting on your feet to move away from her prodding.

Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively, her eyes shining with mirth. “And now you do?”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile, but she knows you well enough to know that twitch and roll of your lips. “I guess so.”

She laughs and bumps your hip with hers. “Rooting for you, honey!”

If only she knew.

You’re busy the rest of the night. The bar is starting to gain some popularity again, and that means having to work even faster and harder. Steve at some point moves to the bar, leaving the booth that had been occupied by you and him earlier, but you prefer him being at the bar. It means he’s closer to you and it also means having his back turned to people who could possibly recognize him.

He’s not exactly wearing a disguise, baseball cap covering golden hair and being the only thing keeping people from recognizing him, but if he turns around and someone sober had already been looking at him, they’d know exactly who he is. His handsome face is unmistakable.

He smiles at you when he catches you staring at him and you return it bashfully before sliding another beer to him, his fifth one that night. Apparently with his super soldier metabolism, he doesn’t get drunk. Or hangovers.

Lucky bastard.

It’s not until half an hour before closing time that the bar starts to clear out, making it easy for you and the rest of your coworkers to clean up empty glasses and wipe sticky tables. Your feet are aching, but not enough to bother you for too long.

You’re carrying a tray of drinks to the back when Cassandra plucks it from your hands and grins at you. Your eyes widen and you stare at her with surprise.

“Go,” she says, motioning to Steve at the bar nursing a glass of water.

As if knowing you’re talking about him, he lifts his gaze from his phone and flashes you a half smile that you return with heated cheeks.

“But I’m closing tonight.” It’s more of a question than a factual statement at this point.

“It’s fine. We’ve got things handled. Go! Don’t keep Captain America waiting,” she gushes with a wink.

You playfully groan and nudge her with your shoulder as you both slip into the back. “Will you stop?”

“Only if you leave!” she exclaims jovially, leaving the tray of glasses on top of the counter space of the small kitchen. She turns to you with a hand on her hip and leans against the counter. “Well? You gettin’ outta here or should I ask tall, blonde, and handsome to take me home, instead?”

“It’s not what you think, Cass,” you tell her as you open your locker.

“Uh-huh, sure it isn’t.”

“It’s not. We’re just getting to know each other.” Which isn’t a complete lie.

“Well, that intense hand holding didn’t seem like you’re just getting to know each other.” She’s only teasing, but something about her words have you pausing.

He might not have mentioned it, but it was kind of implied that people shouldn’t know about the kind of relationship (if you could even call it that) you and Steve have now. So it’s good that she thinks you’re together, right?

Cassandra calls your name and you turn to look at her, her brown eyes full of concern and you smile at her to ease that worry away.

“We’re just testing out the waters.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #marvel imagine #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #story: be my sugar #fablyricschallenge

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ineverhaveanynormalfans · 4 years ago

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Undisclosed - Chapter 2

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Warnings: Canon divergent, canon rewrite, hints of consentual non-monogomy, minor mentions of sexually explicit content.

Pairing/s: Emily Prentiss x Dr Olivia Prentiss (OFC), Spencer Reid x Olivia Prentiss x Emily Prentiss

Authors Note:

Spencers POV from the restaurant and a continuation of the dinner.

Word count: 1589

AO3

The woman following Emily back into the restaurant captured Spencer’s attention immediately. Part of it was the obvious bond between the two, Spencer could see the elevated heart rate at Emily’s throat and the wide pupils and broad smile evident on the new woman’s face showed a deep level of affection possibly love. She was shorter than Emily’s 5”8 even with the high wedge boots she was wearing, he estimated her to stand around 5”3 in bare feet. Wavy brown hair fell to her shoulders and her eyes were the brightest green he had ever seen on an actual human being. Her figure was closer to Penelope’s than Emily or JJs slim physiques but her style of dress wasn’t anything near as exuberant as the tech genius. She was wearing close-fitting jeans and a light grey sweater with a faded logo and the bag she was carrying looked to be a carry on for travelling. He had just noticed the matching rings they were both wearing when those unique green eyes met his and her smile shone brighter. He beamed at Emily’s wife and waved in his signature awkward style which seemed to delight her if the sweet peal of laughter was any indication. JJ reached over and squeezed his arm as she got up to go and hug the new arrival and Spencer followed, holding back a little as the team crowded in to give their congratulations and welcomes.

Between the rush of questions from Penelope and Rossi’s toast, he didn’t manage more than a verbal congratulations and a wave over heads. Emily had winked at him, she knew he would welcome Olivia when they could get a quiet minute so he sat back down beside JJ and the conversations began again. He had just cut short an explanation of the benefits of spices in a healthy diet at a look from JJ when people started switching seats to talk to others and Olivia dropped into the seat beside him. ‘Hi,’ she beamed, mirroring his wave from earlier instead of reaching to shake his hand. Emily must have told her about his aversion to bodily contact with strangers and his hand seemed to take on a life of its own, mirroring her movement. She spoke with a softly lilting accent, not English, maybe Scottish or Irish. It took him a moment to realise she had asked him a question, he had been lulled in by her voice. ‘I’m sorry I got distracted trying to place your accent.’ He could feel his cheeks flaming but Olivia laughed kindly and put him at ease, an unusual feeling for him with someone so new.

‘Go on then Dr, what’s your guess?’ Spencer was battling against being swept away in her warm smile, and focused on the few linguistic tells he had heard so far. ‘English is your first language and the tempo suggests northern British isles, although Southern Ireland could be a distinct possibility also. You’ve spent time in London, your natural accent is masked slightly and you seem to be conscious of slowing down your natural speech rhythms.’ She was nodding along, not giving him much feedback and he became aware that the rest of the table was watching them. His eyes flickered to Emily who was sitting back in a chair opposite them, a glass of wine in hand, watching their interaction with interest.

‘I think Ireland for sure, but I can’t tell what part, moved around a lot maybe?’ Tara guessed from beside Emily and that set everyone else off. Ireland was the consensus, and Olivia was giving nothing away, merely smiling and nodding interestedly as the profilers worked. Eventually, all eyes returned to Spencer who had yet to give a final answer. Emily was watching her wife and grinning widely, clearly loving the banter. ‘She’s not gonna give you any more hints Spence, I’ve played poker with her, she won’t break.’ Olivias cheeks flushed and Emily’s followed, there was a story there but Spencer would pursue that another night. ‘Northern Ireland, possibly near the border with the Republic but along the west instead of the south.’ Her eyes widened with surprise and she laughed vibrantly. ‘Bravo Dr Reid, that’s the best guess anyone’s ever given. I’m from a wee village between Derry and Donegal.’ Her true lilt shone through now and there was a chorus of ahhh and now I hear it's from around the group.

Conversations struck up again and a fresh round of drinks was ordered before Spencer spoke, softly enough to reach only Olivia's ears. ‘Do I get a prize for guessing correctly?’ His heart thumped so violently in his chest he was sure she must hear it as he did his best to sit back casually and await her response. To any onlooker, this move could seem bold, insensitive even and more definitely inappropriate but Spencer hadn’t only been placing Olivia's accent while he studied her over dinner. The dynamic between her and Emily was rooted in love, yes but it was more complex too. The way they moved, in constant awareness of the other, spoke to a different kind of relationship and Spencer was pretty sure he knew it’s nature. Before Emily had faked her death to chase down Ian Doyle they had spent a few evenings and weekends together, something Spencer was sure nobody in the BAU, not even Jennifer, knew about. Their relationship, while strengthened by friendship, was purely sexual and Emily had taught him a great deal about alternative sexualities and kinks. On her visits back here there had been a few conversations after many drinks in which Emily had admitted to having a similar dynamic with a new partner, one she was convinced he would click with too. He’d been intrigued ever since and had not missed the slight inflexions of Emily’s words when she spoke to him over the last few days.

If he wasn’t mistaken, and he rarely was, Olivias attentions on him when they walked in were as appraising as he had been. The friendly challenge to guess her birthplace had practically confirmed it, she kept his eye contact for longer than a true submissive but she did always break it first and looked to Emily for her cues. Now, with play firmly in her hands, he watched her as she carefully chose her next move. ‘That’s not for me to decide Dr Reid.’ Her voice was little above a whisper but its impact was vast. Arousal flooded his body causing his cock to chub up in his boxers and he shifted slightly to cross his legs and his it. Across the table, Emily was smiling in a way that suggested she knew exactly what was going on between them. The game was most certainly on he thought and grinned to Olivia as he willed his blood flow to return to normal. It was at this rare moment of happiness and hope that Spencer felt his phone vibrate in his jacket. Extracting it and seeing the Vegas area code brought him crashing down faster than a cold shower. Grimacing apologetically he excused himself to Olivia and slid his thumb across the screen to attempt to deal with his mother’s latest downwards spiral.

By the time he had talked her down and ensured she was safe the rest of the BAU was exiting the restaurant. Hotch passed Spencer his satchel and they exchanged small nods and tight smiles, neither wishing to draw attention to Spencers problem. A series of goodbye hugs and promises to have brunch the next time they were Stateside floated in the cool night air and suddenly Olivia was standing in front of Spencer. His eyes had been downcast, looking at nothing in particular but her height put her squarely in his line of sight. Her face was perhaps the most lovely thing he thought he had ever seen and this broke his heart a little more but with her warm smile and sparkling green eyes focused just on him he pushed all of those thoughts aside. ‘It’s been lovely to meet you Olivia. You and Emily seem very happy together.’ The short brunette grinned and looked over her shoulder to where her wife was making fervent promises to Penelope that it wouldn’t be years before they were back.

‘She’ll do.’ Olivia said jokingly, eliciting a genuine laugh from him. ‘Your prize good doctor.’ She was holding out a business card which Spencer took, turning it over in his hands. The front contained only her name, an email and a work phone number. Noting the lack of job title Spence flipped it over and saw a mobile number handwritten across the back. He looked up at her, searching her face with curiosity. ‘Thank you? I’m not sure what you want me to do with this.’ She chuckled and stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his forearm and leaning up on her tiptoes to place a kiss to his cheek. Lingering there, she spoke so softly the drumming of his heart almost eclipsed it. ‘That’s your next guessing game. Gimme a call, you can gather clues. I’ll give you a virtual Whovian tour.’ She stepped back, giving him the briefest wink that stopped his heart entirely and gave Garcia a last hug before getting into the taxi with Emily and driving away. Pocketing the card and smiling to himself Spencer clambered into the next one with JJ, Hotch and Tara to head home, the tiniest spark of hope glimmering in his melancholy heart.

#criminal minds 11x19 #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #emily prentiss x original character #Emily Prentiss x OFC x Spencer Reid #smut #spencer reid #gi writes

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years ago

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Jigsaw // Black: Part One

I’m Comin’

A/N: I struggled on how to finish off this series with these last three parts. Up until now, the whole thing has been entirely from Billy’s POV. But this last section is... a little different, so I hope you don’t mind. This immediately follows the events of Red. Billy’s taken his revenge on almost everyone. He’s just got one more person to deal with.

Warnings: character death,

Word Count: 3,368

The phone rang as his boots stepped cautiously through the door, gun raised and eyes scanning every inch of the room. Come on, pick up. The rubber sole of his right foot caught on a broken length of chain, and he immediately dropped his gaze downward. Rolling his foot off of the debris, he noticed the splintered pieces of the shattered door frame, the small brass screws that used to hold up the dead bolt. Another unanswered ring echoed in his ear. Come on Madani, answer. Come on. He’d known the door was open from down the hall, the wedge of light spilling onto the carpet a giveaway. Combined with the fact that she’d missed his last call, he knew it wasn’t good, the bullet holes in the floorboards and sheetrock confirming his assessment. The tinny sound of the ringer came through the speaker for a third time as he noticed the lamp that had been knocked from the side table, the casings on the ground, the splotches of blood, crimson against the soft white rug. Shit. Looking over his shoulder to check his corners, he crossed the room following the path of destruction.

And then someone picked up.

He froze at the click as the call was answered, squaring his shoulders and lowering his pistol, a familiar voice speaking his name. “Frank.”

Goddamn it. “Russo.” Neither of the men had bothered with preamble, neither of them questioning.

“Yeah, Frankie, it’s me.” There was hardened hatred in Billy’s tone, a harshness that amplified his accent. “Who were you expecting?” It was more than sarcastic, it was sardonic, it was a taunt and Frank felt his nostrils flare.

“What’d you do, Bill, huh? Where’s Madani, she with you?”

“Nah,” He tried for casual, but the disdain was too sharp, poking through the thin layer of pretense enough so that Frank could hear something else; a ragged breath drawn between words. “She ain’t with me.” He’s hit. His eyes darted back to the crimson stains on the white carpet as they started to dry to a crusty brownish black. “She’s with you. Why don’t you take a look around the place?” Billy took another quick, hissing inhale, and Frank guessed that he’d just dug a bullet fragment from a wound. “Are you gonna look, Frank?” There was a stifled grunt followed by a metallic clang as Billy dislodged the bullet and dropped it onto a table. It was a sound pairing that he knew well having heard it in person enough times to be sure. “Or are you just gonna stand there in front of the windows like an easy target?”

He’s bluffing. But that thought didn’t stop Frank from glancing towards the tall, wide panes of glass that made up most of one side of the room, didn’t stop him from shifting a few feet to the right and out of range. Frank knew better than to assume that he wasn’t constantly in someone’s cross hairs. Despite everything that had happened between him and the man on the other end of the phone, it didn’t change the fact that underestimating Billy Russo’s skill as a sniper could and would prove deadly. “Ah, come on, you’re not in range. I know you’re not in range.” I’d be dead if he was. “I know you’re not in range ‘cause I’m still standin’ here, Bill.” Frank raised his pistol back up and took a tentative step down the hall towards the bedrooms, still cautiously checking his corners, peering over and behind bookshelves and closet doors as he moved.

A dark, humorless laugh came through the speaker. “When you’re right you’re right, Frank. Boy. Do you know me or what?” A stretching sound followed by a quick rip told Frank that Billy had moved on to the bandaging phase of his wound care, his voice evening back out as he spoke. “I think maybe you’re the one that knows me best, actually.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Russo, I know you. I know you won’t stop somethin’ ‘til it’s finished, so why don’t you tell me where you are and we’ll finish it, huh? You and me, just like you want it. Why don’t you tell me where-”

“I know you too, Frank!” Billy growled into the phone, a primal rage corrupting his tone in a way that Frank had never heard, a way that the old Billy wouldn’t have let happen because it would give away too much. “I know you just as well as you know me. I know how you think. I know what makes you tick. I know what sets you off.”

“That right? Tell me then, what do you know, huh? What makes me tick?” He opened a door on his left with his foot, gun, then eyes, then head peering through the doorway to find an empty office, desk scattered with papers, a glass of bourbon leaving a ring of condensation on them, one drawer left hastily opened. Clear.

“Did you find her yet, Frank?” He’d reigned himself back in, regaining the icy control that was nearly synonymous with his name. “Tick tock. Tick tock.”

The door to the bedroom was open, and Frank followed the droplets of blood like a trail, eyes scanning the walls, registering the scratch marks tearing through the textured paper and gouging into the plaster beneath. A dense, heavy weight dropped through Frank’s chest as he calculated the odds of finding her alive, realizing that they were plummeting with every step he took. As he got closer he was met with the rushing sound of running water as it spilled out of the tap and onto the tiles. No, no, no. “Bill, what’d you-”

“Tick tock,” was all he responded with.

Frank moved quickly toward the open door of the bathroom and the source of the water, squelching through the shallow puddle that had spilled over the marble flooring and into the beige carpet. Glancing down he saw that it was tinted, pinkish swirls of diluted hemoglobin flowing through the stream. No. His eyes followed the bloody water back to the bathtub, where it poured over the edge of the pristine white porcelain. “No, no, no. Goddamn it Russo!” He rushed in but he already knew he was too late by the tilt of her head as it rested at an odd angle against the rim of the tub, eyes open and staring blankly into a corner, frozen in terror. He knew she was dead before he tossed his gun to the ground and plunged his arm beneath the water to grab for her wrist. He knew she was gone before he pressed his fingers to the stagnant spot where her pulse should be, before he switched to her throat finding it just as unresponsive. But instinct and habit were impossible to break, and even though he knew without a doubt that Billy had made sure there was no way she’d pull through, he had to see for himself. Goddamn it- I’m sorry, Madani. He slowly reached for the tap and closed it, cutting off the water and filling the room with deafening silence.

Blinding anger burned behind Frank’s eyes as he tore them away from her limp form, his insides vibrating. “I should have killed you, Bill,” he seethed. “I should have killed you when I had the chance and that’s my mistake. I have to live with that.” I have to live with Madani’s blood on my hands.

“Sounds like you found her, Frankie.” His tone was cold, like surgical steel, slicing through the room.

Billy’s venom-spiked casual monotony stoked that red hot rage inside of him as he rose to his feet, recovering his gun. He took a breath through his nose, top lip curling and twitching. “Enough.” He’s killed enough people, enough innocent people...women.

Either Billy didn’t hear the low, gravelly word, or he was choosing to ignore it. “Frank? I need you to tell me if you found her. I need you to-”

“I said enough, Russo!” He barked into the phone. He’s ruined enough lives.

“No, no, it’s not enough, Frank!” The steel lost its edge, turning rusty and jagged, hacking and sawing. “It’s not enough, it will never be enough! I lost everything! Everything that mattered- the only thing that mattered! I lost...I lost her, and this?” He let out a burst of air that sounded like mad laughter, a concoction of anarchy and tears mixed with the gall of a man with nothing left to squander. “This? This was nothing, Frank. This was what that...that, that bitch deserved.”

“She didn’t deserve to die! Madani didn’t kill her, she didn’t-”

“Yes she did! She did, and so did you.” Frank stiffened, chest tightening. I did. I killed her. Of all the morally questionable things he’d done, all the gray areas he’d traversed, all the dark alleys he’d gone down, the fact that it had been his bullet that had pierced your heart that night was one of the things that ate at him like acid on his conscious. If he was going to fault Billy for the innocent lives he’d taken, he was going to fault himself for taking yours. The pain and hatred he had in his heart weren’t for you. He never wanted to hurt you, would never have thought to use you to hurt Billy. It was an accident, it was...I never...but I did.

“Yeah. Yeah, Bill, it was me.” He clenched his jaw and swallowed, knowing that this guilt was part of the game Billy was playing. He left the room, suddenly unable to stand there any longer, unable to be in the room with Madani, unable to sit with the visceral reminder that he’d let her down in the most final of ways. “So why don’t you tell me where you are, huh? Tell me and I’ll come give you the chance you really want.” The chance that I want. That I need. The chance to end this.

There was a pause and he wondered if Billy had expected him to deny his involvement in your death. He sniffed, and when he responded, Frank heard something that sounded like actual sorrow in his tone. “You know where I am. Where I shoulda been. With her. Where we all shoulda been… You know where I am, don’tcha Frank?”

The warehouse. He’s talking about… He knew without a doubt that he was right, a specific conversation coming to mind that transported him through time, back to the desert, back to when he and Billy were still brothers.

“I’m workin’ on somethin’ big, Frankie,” Billy said one afternoon while the two of them were killing time, Frank messing around on his guitar and Billy with a book that he wasn’t reading propped open on his chest. He sat up and looked over at Frank who set his instrument down on his knee. With a twist of his shoulders and a lick of his lips, he continued. “Somethin’ for after, somethin’ for guys like us, like you’n me.”

After. Frank hadn’t ever heard Billy talk about an after. The Marines were his life for as long as Frank had known him, and he knew what had brought the change. It’s that girl’a his. He wants to have a real life. “Yeah?”

Billy nodded, his dark, intense eyes focused and sharp as he moved the book aside and swung his legs over the edge of his cot, planting his feet firmly on the ground. “Yeah. Private security. Somethin’ where guys can use the skills they learned, the experience they gained. Somethin’... to make us feel like we’re still worth somethin’ when this,” he gestured around the dusty tent, “is all over.”

Frank tilted his chin. “Fighter like you? Didn’t think it was ever gonna be over for you, Bill.” He moved his guitar off his lap and mirrored Billy’s position, boots to the ground and knees bent.

Billy nodded, looking down at his hands, the knuckles of one resting in the palm of the other, his elbows on his thighs. He shook his head, hair falling loosely into his face as he raised his eyes back up. “Yeah,” he let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Neither did I if I’m bein’ honest.” He wet his lips, one cheek pulling up into a smirk that confirmed Frank’s suspicion that you were on his mind. “But I got somethin’ now,” he punched his fist into his hand with a smack, left knee bouncing twice. “Somethin’ I can’t lose, somethin’ I-” He swallowed, brow furrowing.

Frank spared him the struggle of trying to find the words. This is new territory for him. He spoke your name and watched Billy’s face smooth back out. Yeah, thought so.

“She believes in me, Frank. She,” he shook his head again, sitting up straight and rolling his shoulders back. “I’m good at this,” he raised his hand and motioned down his body, indicating his fatigues, dog tags and boots. “I’m good at fightin’, good at what I do, right?” It was a rhetorical question. Billy was without a doubt the best soldier Frank had ever known. He could strike silently, could attack and keep coming, could separate himself from the task at hand and could do whatever it took to achieve the mission goals. “No one ever thought I’d be good for anythin’ else.” He shrugged, no self pity in his tone, just acceptance of the way things were. “I mean, it’s all I been doin’ my whole life, right?”

Again, he wasn’t looking for an answer, but Frank gave him one anyway. “Damn right. Toughest sonuva bitch I ever met.”

“She does, Frank. She thinks… I told her what I’m plannin’ and she…” He laughed. “You know how we spent my last day back home?” Frank’s eyebrow flew up on that word. Home, Bill? You’re calling it home now? “In a goddamn dirty old warehouse. She,” he let out a breath. “She wanted to see one of the places I was lookin’ at for a training facility and, shit I mean, I don’t have the money for it yet, but,” there was excitement in his tone, and determination in his eyes. “But she really... “ He gave another shake of his head, eyes flicking back down to his boots before they came back up to Frank’s. “I can’t lose that. Can’t lose her, and this shit?” Another wave at their surroundings. “I don’t wanna do this shit forever, Frankie. You don’t want to either.”

“You don’t want to either,” Billy had said. But if Frank was being truthful with himself, he wasn’t sure if that was the case, then or even now. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I know where you are.” Kicking aside the broken hinges and locks as he strode from the apartment, his adrenaline rose like a tidal wave. “I’m comin’.”

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

“Good.”

The phone went dead with a click and Billy dropped it on the hard concrete floor. The screen shattered in a web across the glass surface before he kicked it into the pile of plastic and wires that used to be a laptop. Flexing his injured arm and opening and closing his hand, he tested the bandage that he’d just applied, making sure it was secure enough to stop the bleeding; that it wouldn’t hinder his movement as he prepared to face Frank. Satisfied that the tape and gauze would hold, he pulled his arm back through the sleeve of his shirt, and immediately got to work.

Madani’s gun was tucked into his waistband, the steel of the barrel chilling the skin of his abdomen where a thick, jagged scar crossed his gut. It wasn’t fully loaded, and Billy made sure to keep in mind exactly how many shots he’d be able to take. It only takes one good one. The knife he’d acquired was tucked into the pocket of his jeans, able to flick open as soon as it was needed, the blade cleaned and ready to quench it’s blood lust again. One slice to the right spot. He tipped over old filing cabinets, hauled broken furniture and containers, configuring them into a makeshift barricade. One more time, Frankie, you’n me. Billy paced from window to window, blinking out at the darkening sky, at the black silhouettes of towers and smokestacks. Nothin’ to do but wait.

A sharp, blinding flash went off in his head. Nothin’ to do but wait, I guess. A cold current ran through him as he leaned back against his pillow, staring at the walls of the tent as they flapped in the wind. Frank was fuming silently a few feet away. Neither of them had said a word after leaving the briefing. They’d said all they had to say when they’d voiced their opinions. Their words, having fallen on ignorant ears, didn’t matter anymore so they kept them to themselves. There was always a level of unease in the hours before a mission. There had to be; heightened risks require heightened awareness. But Billy had never felt awareness or unease quite like this. I’m almost out and this is what I gotta deal with? I’m almost… He looked sidelong over at Frank, wondering how he’d take it when he told him that he’d requested a transfer, wondering what the odds were of him doing the same. Survival 101: When you don’t like the way something smells, get out. That’s what he was doing. Getting out, so he could get to you.

He grabbed a book from the overturned milk crate that served as a bedside table, flipping it open to page 97. The binding was weakened and worn at that point, the pages falling open loosely to reveal a picture that he’d tucked there for safe keeping. Fingers finding the edges of the glossy photo, he pulled it from its hiding place and let the book fall to his side. You smiled up at him, cheeks rosy from the chill that was in the air that day, your bright blue scarf wrapped around your neck. It was right before you’d made him promise that he’d come back to you, a promise that seemed hasty now that he was counting down the minutes before he’d be leading his men into an ambush that he might now come out of. He tried to shake those thoughts from his head. I can’t, I promised. He laid back, bringing his hands to his stomach, thumb lazily gliding over the surface of the photo. I can’t lose her.

Billy leaned hard against the brick wall of the warehouse, a gasp leaving his lungs as the memory ended. That picture, it was… He reached a shaking hand into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out the photo that had been in Kristas’s file. It was the same one he’d had with him on deployment, the same one he’d stared at that night, waiting to see if he’d live or die. That’s why I knew which picture it would be… I… I had it then. He ran his thumb over the high gloss print. Your smile, and the way that you were looking at him made it seem impossible that you were gone. But the emptiness he felt was irrefutable. He dropped his arm to his side, eyes landing on the faint markings left from where you’d sprayed that X on the ground, and for the briefest of moments he saw you standing in that beam of light, just a flicker, like the flame of a candle, and then you were gone again, taking the air in his lungs with you.

He bent forward, hands on his knees with the picture curled in his palm as he gulped big breaths of air. Pull it together, you promised. His nostrils flared as he steadied his breathing, returning to his full height. He looked down at the picture again, bringing his free hand up to run over the top of his head. I’m almost done. Shoving it deep inside his pocket, he turned back to look out the window, just in time to see a small dark figure moving in the distance. Almost done, I'm comin'.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices @obscurilicious @traeumerinwitzhelden @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @breanime @nananananananananananabatman @lexxierave @songforhema @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @luminex3 @ificouldhelpyouforget

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

#jigsaw #jigsaw // black #black part one #billy russo #billy russo x you #billy russo x reader #frank castle #the punisher fanfiction #its the final countdown

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your-fav-my-chem-imagines · 5 years ago

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gerard x f!reader || midnight visit

Imagine, your very close friend Gerard Way visits you in the middle of the night - cold, lonely, maybe a little drunk?? Song recommendations: The Sharpest Lives, Sleep, I Don't Love You, This Is How I Disappear Word count: 1,205 TWs: SAD GERARD AHEAD, Self harm, lots of blood and lots of crying.

Clink, clink, clink, clink.

CLINK CLINK.

You're startled awake from a noise coming outside of your bedroom window. Either someone is trying to break in (why on the second floor???) or you're hearing things. You slide your phone over towards you to check the time. It's 2:36 in the morning. Why the absolute FUCK would someone be doing this at this time??

There's another loud clink.

You grumble and take all your blankets off of you and pull your blinds up.

There's a blurry silhouette of someone outside of the window, backlit from the street lamps behind them - they wave??? You have no idea what the fuck is going on and you're absolutely too goddamn tired for this. Stumbling over to the light switch, you swiftly flick it up. Going back over to the window, the person is much more identifiable. Although you have no idea how he got up here - and is STILL up here, there's almost no foot room out there. You struggle to open your shitty window but you get there eventually. Yup, it's him. The man who has NO goddamn boundaries obviously. Mister Gerard Way.

"Jesus Christ, what took you so long?" he says, shooting you a grin. "Was starting to get cold feet, quite literally." You sigh as the ink haired man climbs into your bedroom through the open window, a cold draft flowing through your room now.

"So, care to explain why you're knocking on my bedroom window - which keep in mind, is on the second fucking floor - in the middle of the night?" Your tone of voice is clearly agitated as you cock an eyebrow, looking him dead in the eye. His eyes are red and puffy, yet somehow sunken in at the same time. They're dull. Empty. Tired.

He shifts uncomfortably, looking away. "..Shit, dude, you really put me on the spot here." "Answer honestly, Gee." His voice is offputtingly monotone. He hesitates, but smiles sadly at you, finally making eye contact. "I don't.. feel comfortable being alone right now," he pauses, his voice wavering slightly. You can hear his breaths become shaky. "...and you're the only person I can really trust to hang out with me at this time, y'know?"

Shit, was not expecting that. There's an awkward silence between the two of you as you ponder what to reply with. Gerard fiddles with his sleeves, tugging them down every single time he moves or fidgets. "Fuck, alright, okay, I'm definitely not going to be able to sleep now, so.. what do you wanna do till morning?" You finally speak up, rubbing your eyes as they're still foggy.

"Ah, well.. Maybe we could play video games or watch some shitty tv shows?" He says, still struggling to make eye contact with you, as he fidgets with his hands nervously. "But first, mind telling me where your bathroom is? I really need to take a piss." Gerard grins as your face scrunches up. He's so descriptive, isn't he? "God, it's the second door down the hall." He nods, giving you a slight smile as a silent 'thank you', hopping off your bed to find the bathroom. You hope he's okay. (he's not. trust me.)

------ POV CHANGE .. Gerard's PoV ((SELF HARM WARNING!!! pls pls be careful here!!!)) ------

Fuck. Shit. Dammit, that's not the bathroom. I don't even remember what she said, why wasn't I listening? I open one of the doors, FINALLY finding the bathroom. Shit, okay. Have to be stealthy about this. Don't get blood anywhere. Don't- Wait, should I really be doing this? Here? (Y/N) would admittedly fucking destroy me, and not in a good way. My hands are shaking. My chest hurts, it feels like I can't breathe. God, I really didn't wanna cry here. I manage to (somehow) raid the cupboards for.. that. Thing, that thing I need. I found it. I roll up my sleeves. Scars, fresh and old, cover my arms. All she had was a package of shitty dollar store razors, but.. I'll use what I can get. My hand won't stop shaking.

"Answer honestly, Gee." "Gee."

..I put the razor to my arm, somewhere that hasn't already been sliced open. (recently, at least.)

And I..

..there's blood running down my arm now. At this point, there's a pool of tears mixed with my fresh blood. How truly, fucking pathetic am I?

"Gee? You doing alr-" FUCK. The door the door the door the door the door-

-- POV CHANGE .. Third Person (limited) PoV --

'It's been a while. Is he doing alright?', you begin to wonder. Is he sick or something? Maybe you should check up on him - wouldn't hurt, right?

You walk over to the bathroom door, putting your ear up to it and knocking on it lightly. "Gee? You doing alright in there?" Shuffling and the closing of cupboard doors is heard from the other side. The door becomes locked- did he forget to lock it? Who forgets to lock the bathroom door? You can hear him breathing erratically and franticly, mumbling things you can't make out under his breath.

"Gerard. What the fuck are you doing?" It stops. The noise stops. He stops. There's only.. one noise now. It's worse than the others, it's worse than any other noise you've heard. He's sobbing.

"Gee.. Can I come in?" It stops for a moment, only hiccups are heard. The door unlocks. You open the door, to be met with a frazzled Gerard sitting on the toilet, sobbing silently with his hands through his hair. The bathroom is a mess - looks like he didn't do that great of a job cleaning up after himself (you were kinda sudden though.) God, he looks up at you, smiling. Fucking smiling. You feel... pity. He's pitiful, he's.. broken. You always knew Gerard was kinda kooky, maybe a little fucked up but.. Guess you two weren't that close after all. There's blood on his face, all over his arms. He's just looking at you, neither of you can talk. You're shocked, he's heartbroken. Finally, the sobbing (and or laughing noise) coming from Gee is cut off by a loud SNIFF. "So. Should we.. talk about this sh-shit or what?" His voice is still wavering, hiccuping through his sentences. He looks as if he could break out in tears at any moment. "Yeah, I think that'd be smart," You reply, walking over to him and somehow sitting next to him on the edge of the toilet. "..Can I?" You gesture to his arms. He lets out a shaky sigh and flips them over, wrist side up, hands shaking.

That's a lot more than you were expecting. There are lots of scars, but the most disturbing part is the fresh ones are still gushing out blood. "Gerard..." You start, but you're cut off by his breath hitching as he starts crying again, laughing through his tears.

"F-Fuck, god I'm sor-sorry, (Y-Y/N)," He says, struggling to get through his sobs. "I ne-never meant for this t-to happen. I.." You just shush him, rubbing his back to comfort him. "It's okay. I'm not going to lecture you, I just want you to know that I'm here for you okay?" He looks up at you with that same, sad smile from earlier, and those same eyes. But maybe, just maybe there's a little bit of hope in there.

"Thank you. (Y/N), I.. I love you so, f-fucking much," he replies, wiping his eyes and nose. You two just share a moment in silence. You loved him too, but he already knows that. "We'll get through this together, one step at a time."

((a/n: AHHHH my first story... i hope u liked it :3 IT MADE ME SAD READING IT SO II HOPE IT MAKES U SAD!!!! ty for reading ^^))

#mcr #my chem #my chemical romance #gerard way x reader #gerard way #edge fic #fanfiction #mcr fanfiction #mcr imagine #my chemical romance imagines

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