#i try to be nice but as soon as i see a new uselessly mean comment i am going to jump on you like a dog | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

Note

Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing.

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin. It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

“Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but… he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone—softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #georgie barker #rosie zampano #tma rosie #tim stoker #meet cute #blind date au #this is my love letter to TMA #prompt answer #fanfic prompt

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salandition · 4 years ago

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Its,,,,, so basic but Maybe Leon and Reader are training out near Circhester and get caught in a snowstorm? They find an old cabin amongst the trees and tHeReS OnLy OnE BED and they have to keep warm,,,, (Love your writing btw)

A/N: yes, the classic trope. I will gladly take a bite out of it :) Also this one kind of really dragged on, so it’s a bit long lol took me way too long to finish. if any of you recognize the title, ur a real one

Chilly Down (Good Times, Bad Food)

Leon x Reader

--- --- ---

You feel like you should have expected something like this to happen. Despite what a great guy Leon is and how fun it is to hang out with him, he was sort of a magnet for trouble. He had an ability to draw in unfortunate events wherever he went it seemed.

So you’re not completely surprised when you and Leon are hit with an unexpected snowstorm while training together outside of Circhester. Are you a bit miffed about it? Yes. But surprised? No, not really.

“Training with the Champion is great and all,” you yell over the storm, one arm in front of your face to uselessly protect you from the snow, and your other hand is holding tightly onto Leon’s. Grabbing hold of him was almost more important than making it out of the storm- if you lost sight of Leon during this, you might never see him ever again. He’d find some way to end up on an undiscovered continent, you just know it. “But I think I’ll pass on your invitations after this!” You finally finish, continuing to trudge through the snow with him.

“You know, usually I’d argue, but I think that’s fair,” Leon laughs, and then immediately shuts his mouth as a rush of cold air hits him and tries to travel down his throat. He hacks a few times- a few ice crystals probably hit his uvula or something- and then you feel a harsh tug on your hand. “Look!”

Leon points toward a dim but very much real yellow glow in the distance. Immediately, the two of you head for it- desperate for any shelter you could be given. Part of you was doubtful, wondering if it was just some luminescent Pokémon or a random streetlight. Though even a streetlight would be better than nothing- that would mean you were back on the route’s path and could find your way back to Circhester if you were lucky.

But it wasn’t a random streetlight. Thank whatever Gods that may exist- the light was coming from a big, sturdy wooden cabin, a sign being viciously blown by the wind read that it was even a hotel. What are the odds?

“This is literally the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Leon yells as you both make a run for the cabin.

“I believe it!”

You almost fall with the amount of force that you and Leon enter the cabin with- both frantic to get out of the biting cold. You actually do fall, tumbling into a roll on the ground and snow scattering everywhere as Leon fumbles for the door and slams it shut before you bring too much of the storm inside.

Heavily breathing, you don’t even notice the lady behind the counter before she coughs.

Leon looks up with a beaming grin, laughing as he huffs and puffs, leaning against the door. “Hell of a storm, innit?”

Not the smartest thing to say, but the lady gives out an amused snort anyway.

“I’m assuming the two of you will be purchasing a room?” She tilts her head with a gleam in her eye. Something tells you that business isn’t going so well if she’s working in a hotel in the middle of nowhere and she’s still charging when you’re both obviously stranded- but hey, that’s life. You look up to Leon as you stay on the floor, hands on your chest as you continue to try and catch your breath.

“Let me see,” you huff and wheeze, “those Champion benefits,” another huff, “big guy.”

It’s not that funny but Leon laughs so hard that he starts to slide down the door, knees buckling beneath him, and you think that’s really funny so you start laughing too, rolling on the floor. The lady watches all the while, and if you notice a flying Rotom recording you while you and Leon lose your minds over nothing, you don’t say anything about it.

Once Leon manages to shuffle over and pay the woman at the desk after your post-adrenaline delirium, she gladly shows you over to your room. You’re suddenly feeling exhausted after trudging through a snowstorm, so you don’t pay much attention to what she says as she leads you there- but it’s not like you need to. Leon does most of the talking as he keeps you steady with an arm around your shoulder.

You don’t notice the look the woman gives you, nor do you notice the look Leon gives back. All you feel is the comforting rub of his hand on your arm, and it’s nice.

“Enjoy your stay, you two,” is the only thing you pick up from her before the door is shut and you’re left alone in your newly-purchased hotel room.

There’s an important detail here, and that detail is the fact that there’s only one bed, and you’ve never shared a bed with Leon before. Sure, you’re friends, but you’ve never been the cuddling-type of friends. This detail is completely missed by both of you as luck would have it because as soon as you and Leon manage to remove your clothes, you’re out like a pair of lights the second your backs hit the mattress.

No, the problem and important detail doesn’t really announce itself in your mind until morning comes. Well- afternoon, actually, if you managed to look at a clock.

When you awake- at first, it’s not strange. It’s not strange until you recognize the hand around your waist, hair in your face, and legs entwined with yours- which is definitely not something that’s a usual occurrence for you. Recognizing all of these details, your eyes snap open, and you begin to take in the situation as it is.

Leon and you both stripped down to your underwear, definitely cuddling, and definitely in the only bed available in the room as far as you can see. And from what you can tell with how the walls shake and the windows vibrate, the storm is still going strong.

Right.

“Leon,” your voice is hoarse from sleep as you smack your lips, your hand lifting up to shake Leon’s arm that’s wrapped tightly around your waist. “Leon, you daft idiot, wake up,”

“Mmmgh,”

“I’ll… I’ll steal all your Pokémon, and run off to another country. Wake up, Leon.” The threat is creative, but lacking any real malice behind it as you continue to shake Leon’s body. A few more rough shakes and he finally blinks his eyes open.

“Where… where am I?” He mumbles almost incoherently as he blinks a few more times, lifting himself up on his elbows as he takes in his surroundings. A bit of drool falls from the corner of his mouth.

It’s kind of cute, but also kind of gross, and Leon is still kind of on top of you in nothing but his underwear. You begin to wonder if he’s ever going to notice- but finally, his expression seems to come to life as his mind wakes up and he looks up and down your body again.

“...Right. Yeah, my bad.” Grunting, Leon finally rolls off you and to the other side of the bed. You want to laugh at the pinkness of his ears and cheeks if you weren’t vividly aware you probably looked exactly the same, so you bite your tongue for now. Apparently, the both of you have agreed to ignore your partial nudity for now as Leon holds his head in his hands, keeping his gaze off you as he asks, “why on Galar am I so tired?”

“Maybe we were supposed to die,” you snicker, sitting up yourself and bringing up the covers as you do, trying to stay somewhat-modest. “And now our brains are realizing we’re actually alive and it doesn’t know what to do.”

Despite himself, Leon giggles. “Yeah, maybe.”

The window shakes from more pressure of the storm outside. It gets your attention for sure, and you realize that you should probably check your phone to see when this storm would even end. Very, very slowly, you shuffle out of bed, analyzing the floor and looking at how scattered your clothes are. It takes your tired mind a minute to find your bag, but when you do, it’s not good news.

Of course there’s no service.

“Ugh,” you groan again. “This sucks.”

“Put on some clothes,” Leon says from the bed and you roll your eyes.

“They’re drenched, mate, and so are yours,”

Leon’s head snaps up from his hands at that. “Really?” You’ve got no reason to lie about that but he scatters toward his clothes anyway, feeling the damp and dirty texture of them with his own hands, as if that would change their outcome. You’re definitely not checking out his butt as he bends over to pick them up, because that would be silly and childish.

Very nice view, though.

Leon sighs. “Of course. Don’t suppose this hotel has a store of any sort?”

“Good one,” you laugh. “Probably not, but I’ll check the bathroom for robes-“

“Oh, let me do it,”

“Why?”

“I’ve really got to pee, mate,”

“Right on, then,” you point him toward the direction of the bathroom and Leon immediately makes himself sparse. You can only laugh as you watch him go, and while you wait, you gather all of your wet clothes and start to hang them all around the room so they might dry while you wait out the storm.

“Good news,” Leon comes out of the bathroom and you look over your shoulder, seeing him hold up two white, fluffy robes. He tosses one your way and you catch it easily, wrapping yourself up quickly and Leon follows suit. “So, roomie,” Leon raises a brow at you, hands on his hips, “what do we do now?”

You wave your phone that’s in your hand. “We got no service, so we should probably check in with that lady who was at the desk if she knows anything about the weather reports.” Your eyes move to look at the bed. “And maybe you should talk her into changing us to a room with two beds.” For both of your sakes.

“Right,” Leon nods. “Let’s go, then.”

More bad news, though. The lady didn’t know anything about the weather other than the fact that these storms usually lasted a day or two, so, in her own words, ‘if you’re lucky, you won’t be here much longer, but I can’t assure that. Also, you’re charged per night, per room.’

And all the rooms in this shotty little hotel only had one bed, so the idea of getting privacy at night was a lost cause. You weren’t the biggest fan of wasting your money or Leon’s on two rooms, anyway, especially since the owner seemed to be somewhat rude. So that’s nice.

‘At least she had food’, Leon had told you positively, and you suppose he was right. She had a rather weak list of a menu, but ‘at least there was a menu’ so you wouldn’t have to eat whatever berries you had in your bag. The two of you seemed to dance around the fact that you were going to most likely be sleeping partly nude again tonight, except this time you’ll both be a lot more awake and conscious of it. You distracted yourself with the mediocre food that tasted mildly burnt or undercooked, no in-between, and playing with what Pokémon could fit in your small hotel room instead until both of your eyes were drooping and you couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer.

“So.” You stand on one side of the bed, Leon on the other. Both of you stare at each other with your hands on your hips.

“So,” Leon nods.

“Should we… make rules?” Looking down at the bed and up at Leon, you know that technically you guys could try to stay on your side of the bed and probably not touch each other all night.

But you were keenly aware that this man is a cuddler and you had a subconscious habit to scoot over to the warmest thing while you slept, so it seemed like physical interaction was going to happen one way or the other.

“I think that’s a bit pretentious,” he scratches his chin and shrugs. His nonchalance is downplayed by the heat on his cheeks and the sweat on his temple. “It’s fine if we… Cuddle. Right?”

You suppose so. “I guess,” you purse your lips. “Typically friends cuddle with clothes on, though. And these robes are too awkward to sleep in.”

“I mean, we did it before.”

That’s true, but again, both of you were a bit delirious. But you can’t really argue with that, and you’re getting tired of dancing, so you nod and sigh. With a burst of courage, you square your shoulders, narrowing your eyes. Leon looks at you strangely before he squawks, his hands flying to cover his face when you remove your robe, the material falling and pooling around your feet.

“Some warning!” He chokes and coughs. You laugh through your embarrassment, quickly getting on the bed and under the covers.

“Come on. We could be sitting here all night. Lose the robe,” you cheer him on and Leon glares at you through the spaces of his fingers. “Lose the robe! Lose the robe!”

“Stop!” He laughs and you giggle along, but it slowly ebbs and abruptly comes to a halt when Leon does, in fact, lose the robe. It’s too much to ask for him to not notice how you stare, so of course he does- humming proudly as he snuggles under the covers. “Speechless?” Leon smiles.

“Don’t push it, I saw you ogling me the first time,”

He coughs when you smirk.

“Fine. Come here and cuddle me if you’re so smart.”

“Fine, I will!”

“Do it.”

“I’m gonna.”

The two of you lay under the covers, Leon’s arms open and beckoning, and you- frozen, not moving an inch. It’s not until he gives you a cocky look and starts to wiggle forward that you finally bite your lip and shove down your ego, rolling over to his side. It should be awkward, and it is, but only because the two of you somehow manage to fit together perfectly and that’s a bit odd. Your head resting against his collarbone, his arms wrapped snugly around your body, your legs entwined in a comfortable and fitting manner. It all happens almost instantaneously as if you’d both done this for years, as if it was a habit.

“Not that bad, right?” Leon murmurs in your ear and hums when your fingers trail little patterns across the skin of his waist and back. You mostly just did it to ease your nerves, not realizing how intimate the action was, but you figure it’s fine if Leon seems to like it. His hands explore your hair and the nape of your neck, the feeling making you curl further against him with a sigh.

“Not bad,” you whisper. “Still odd.”

He hums but doesn’t prod the conversation along any further.

Several odd minutes pass, your breathing slowing as your body relaxes against Leon’s. Right as you find yourself on that warm, lulling cusp of falling asleep, there’s a brushing feeling against the top of your head. Leon’s body shuffles and lowers on the mattress and you’re about to whine a complaint about him moving around so much- but you’re silenced by the feeling of lips against your forehead.

The hand that was previously teasing the skin of your neck trailed up and lightly grazed your cheek as Leon’s lips moved across your forehead to your brow. The actions are relaxing, yes, but your body tenses regardless because friends don’t do this.

“Leon,” your whisper is like a shout compared to the dark silence in the room. Leon freezes up instantly at the sound of it and when you open your eyes, his head is angled in a way with his lips still pressed against your temple so you can’t see his expression. “...What are you doing?” You lick your lips nervously.

“...I thought you were sleeping.” Is all he has to say. You can’t say anything in reply to that because it’s fairly obvious to the both of you that no, you weren’t sleeping. “Um.” The air that leaves his mouth is hot against your skin.

From where your head rests, snug against his chest, you can almost feel the thundering pace of his heart more than you hear it. You idly wonder if it’s possible for hearts to beat in sync with one another.

“Leon,” you say again when he doesn’t offer any explanation. He sucks in a shaky breath, his arm propping up from under him as he finally comes into your field of view; his eyes downcast and refusing to meet yours as he scoots away from you and lays his head back on his pillow. His hand lowers from your cheek down to your waist, touching your skin and then jolting back and insecurely moving against his chest, instead.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “that was a bit creepy.”

You remember the feeling of his heartbeat, and you don’t think that’s creepy at all.

You reach your hand forward, tenderly cupping Leon’s jaw as he had done to you. Finally, he looks at you- his golden irises shining like glowflies in the darkness. The moment held between you now is a stark contrast to the harsh snowstorm outside- if you strain your ear, you’d be able to hear the whistling of the wind and the creaking of the trees.

For now, all you can hear is your heart in your ears and the voice in your head saying kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.

You’re aware that friends don’t do this. They don’t look at each other like this and they don’t press their lips against each other so softly- meekly. Lovingly. Maybe if you’re experimenting, maybe if you’re a different type of friend. But you and Leon aren’t like that, you’ve never been like that.

So if things are different now, that’s something that’s a treasured secret between you, him, and the snow.

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years ago

Text

Love On-Set (Pt. 01 of 10)

Pairing: Dacre Montgomery X Reader

Word count: 3K

Next part (02) ->

Summary: You knew acting on Stranger Things season 3 would be a challenge, and you also knew, from the start, you'd have to work closely with Dacre Montgomery. But is wasn't a big deal for you, since this is your job and you're determined to act professionally. You had it all figured out, or so you thought, until the moment you were out face to face with Dacre. Then, this job became a lot harder than it was supposed to be, since you can't seem to focus whenever you're around Dacre. And you'll have to be around him a lot until the end of production.

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

First Sight

The minivan stops right before entering the set as the driver speaks with one of the security guards. A huge structure was built around the area, and if it wasn't for the strong lights, you'd be in complete darkness. It's late at night, but yet, there are some journalists and a lot of cameras. They immediately surround the car, trying to see who's inside.

“Vicki, do you think I should go out and talk to them?” You decide to ask her first, because you're not as known as the other actors, and you're not sure if they'd want to talk to you.

“Sure. But don't take long.” She nods, touching the drive's shoulder and telling him to wait.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open, a smile on your face as the cameras quickly find you. Running a hand through your hair, to make sure it's not messed up, you take in all the microphones and smartphones pointed at your face.

“(Y/N), could you answer some questions?” A short, dark-haired guy asks, a camera flashing.

“It depends on the question, but I'll try my best.” This seems to please them, and you wonder if the others couldn't afford a few minutes.

“Your posted on your Instagram account that you were a Stranger Things fan from season one.” A woman asks. “How was the transition from being a fan to acting on the show?”

“It was fantastic.” The first season of the show was still driving people crazy when you got the call for an audition for the role of Amy Whitehall, for seasons two and three. Vicky, you have no idea how, got in touch with some friends when she heard they were searching of someone with physical traits similar to yours. Thankfully, the audition went well and you got the job. “It's an honor to be part of this masterpiece. The only bad part is that now I have some spoilers.”

“Your character's scene by the end of season two had any interaction with Billy Hargrove, Hawking's bad boy. Does that mean she'll be in any kind of relationship with him?”

For that, you have to think, careful not to say anything that will expose the plot.

People are very interested in Billy, not sure exactly where the character will go from now on, after his introduction on season two. He stole many hearts, for love or hate, dividing opinions. And your character had a short appearance by very end of the last episode, shown in an interaction with him. On her way to the ball, to help Nancy, Billy almost runs her over with his car, after dropping his sister. They had a small dialogue, him asking her to get out of the way and her telling him to look where he was going. Then a pause, a little bit of tension, and that was it.

“I'm not allowed to answer that, but Amy's scene was just an introduction. Her character will be around throughout season three.” Offering another smile, you turn around, giving attention to someone else.

“What will be a new threat? The season finale raised a lot of questions about–”

“Excuse me, excuse me.” Vicky pokes her head out, a hand raised. “I'm sorry, but we have to get going.”

“Aright.” You mumble. “Thank you, guys. Bye.” Politely, you wave at the reporters before going back into the van.

You're soon moving again, leaving the entrance behind and driving in darkness for some minutes before more lights come into your sight until they're all around you. The set was built around a piece of the road, where you already shot earlier this week.

“C'mon, (Y/N). Hair and make-up." Vicky urgers, stepping out of the van with you.

You easily find your way around the set, chatting with people as they do your hair and put the makeup on. There will be a tiny cut above your left eyebrow, and Ron, the guy who always take care of the fake wounds around here, takes only fifteen minutes to get it done. Once you're ready, Vicky guides you to the filming area, and you sit on your chair a few feet away, under one of the many huge tents scattered around the place.

“Hi.” Someone says, and you abruptly look up from your phone, finding your co-star. The only co-star of the day, Dacre. He's already full Billy, with the mullet wig and the leather jacket. “I didn't mean to startle you. Just thought I'd come to say hello before the scene.”

You haven't properly spoken to Dacre. The single scene you made was quick, one of the last, and the set was a mess. So you didn't have the chance to talk, and ever since, you haven't crossed paths with him. But today's scene is all about your characters. Amy's first appearance on season three will have her running from something in the woods, the Mind Flayer, and she crashes her car on Billy's, while he's on the way to meet Mrs. Wheeler. That's it for today, their first meeting.

“Hi.” Smiling back, you shake his hand. “I'm (Y/N).” You decide to remind him.

“I know.” He simply says. “Do you want to go over the lines before the real thing?”

He has such a nice voice, it's impressive. You've watched some of his movies, and he's really good. It's not like you haven't acted before, but nothing so important or famous as Stranger Things. You can't help but be a little nervous. “Sure.” Blocking your phone, you stand up, leaving it on your seat.

“Alright. Let's–”

“(Y/N)! Dacre! It's time, c'mon!” The director calls, cutting you off.

“Guess we'll go straight to the real thing,” Dacre says as you start making your way to where the cars are positioned.

Billy's Camaro and Amy's light green Toyota are placed a few inches apart, the front part already wrecked and a light smoke coming off from under the hood.

“The mechanism will push the cars on each other and the rest you already know.” Your stylist comes to check on you one last time, making sure everything is perfect. When she steps away, you get inside the car.

A few days ago you shot Amy's way over here, driving insanely fast, running from the shadows creeping. Most of the scenes where Amy will be alone were already made since there weren't many. She will be around the others a lot, as the events are unrevealed.

Once you're in the car, you take your time to get into character, ignoring the orders being yelled outside. The lights are turned off, and the road before you is almost completely dark.

“Let's get it started, everyone!” The director shouts. “Action!”

At his command, the car jerks forward.

Letting your head fall on the wheel, you breathe fast, wide eyes acknowledging what just happened, the crash, the smoke, the other car that collided with yours. Looking over your shoulder, you imagine, you picture it coming, moving through the threes, growing closer.

“What the hell!” The voice yells as you try to make your car start again, uselessly. “You could've killed me!”

“Damn it.” Cursing under your breath, overcome by terror, you step out of the car, running around it and into the other one, which is still working, opening the passenger door and rushing inside.

“What do you think you're doing? Get the hell out of my car!” Dacre shouts at your face, in Billy's voice, a little deeper.

“There's something in the woods!” You yell, looking through the rear windshield. “It's coming!”

“Are you crazy or something?! You almost wrecked my car!” As he speaks, you imagine it once again, the tentacles coming from the sky, taking over the road behind you.

Then you grab his arm, squeezing the muscle underneath the jacket. He's in the middle of a sentence when he looks back too, immediately going silent as he's eyes meet the same inexistent thing you're seeing.

“What the–”

“Drive!” You burst out, and the car starts moving.

“Cut!” The director's voice reaches both of you and Dacre hits the brakes.

Relaxing, you let go of his arm.

“That was great, but I want another take. Ryan, turn those lights down.”

The scene is repeated three more times, with different lighting until they finally decide it's perfect. Then the whole set starts moving to the next scene, which is the sequence to what just played out. It'll be shot in a street Northeast from the road, and since it'll play out from the Camaro, you're told to stay in the car as Dacre drives there, following the other cars.

“You did well back there,” Dacre says as you move, taking a different turn from the other cars to reach your mark. The street has a few small houses on one side, which will have their lights on and some people moving inside and on their balconies, and tall threes on the other.

“You too. Hope I didn't hurt your arm, but Amy was terrified.” Shrugging your shoulders, you smile to hear his giggle.

“I noticed.” He says. “But my arm will survive.”

Looking his way, you're able to have a good look at him now. It's a little dark, but you can take in his features. Dacre makes the mullet look good, which is impressive since you absolutely hate the hairstyle. But not on him. Clearing your throat, you look away. “Make sure it will. You'll need it.”

Dacre stops by the mark, everyone apparently already on their positions. “Things are about to get tense for Billy and Amy now.”

“First fight.” You say, taking a look at your outfit to make sure nothing is out of place. “Enemies to lovers is quite a good arch.”

“I like it too.”

“(Y/N). Dacre. Are you ready?” The director asks and both of you give him a thumbs up, hands off the window. The crew with the microphones and cameras are already positioned, ready for the scene. “Alright then. Ready... Action!”

Dacre moves the car forward, just enough to fake it as he hits the breaks. “What was that?” Billy asks, annoyed for some reason Amy wouldn't know.

“I don't know.” With a hand on your hair, shaking a little, you breathe fast, terrified. “Just take me home.”

“Now I gotta drive you home too?”

“Screw you.” The sudden outburst and the disgust in his voice makes you bolt out of the car, keeping in mind not to look at the cameras following you.

“Are you going to walk?” Billy yells, but you don't look back, walking fast, crossing your arms. “Wait.”

“Screw. You.”

“Don't be an idiot.” You roll your eyes when you notice he's coming closer. Dacre grabs your arm, forcing you to turn around. “Are you really going to walk home with that... Thing out there?”

You're confused at his change of moods, pushing your arm away. “Does it look like I have a choice? You just saw that–” You gesture at the threes on the other side of the road. “–and you still couldn't bring yourself to drive a lady home. You're such a gentleman.” Raising your voice, you put the same tone of disgust in your voice that you heard in his. The cameras move a little closer, and you know why. That's when the tension starts, when Amy stands up to Billy. Stepping forward, lifting your head to try and look him in the eye, you put a single finger in his chest. “You're far worse than what people say you are.” You don't get why his eyes make you nervous. Maybe this whole thing is more than you're used to, too big of a production for you after a few years away from the cameras. As much as Dacre's face being so close makes you feel funny, you gotta keep it cool, don't let it show. You're scared, terrified of a monster in the woods.

“Cut the bullshit and let's go.” He takes your arm again, but you refuse to follow him, standing your ground.

“Let go!” You struggle a bit on his grip, noticing how you actually need to act as if it's tighter than it really is. When he turns to face you again, as you struggle, his face comes close again, his eyes filled with Billy's annoyance.

“Get your butt–” Exactly in time, a crack reaches your ears, and both you and Dacre look at the woods with wide eyes, your breaths caught in your throats, unsure of what made that noise, but not excited to find out. “Let's get out of here.”

“Yeah.” You mumble, heading back into the car.

“And cut!” The director yells as soon as you close the door shut. “That was good, but I want another take. I want the same tension you both built on season 2, only now it's stronger, you're face to face. And Dacre, work this out because people need to be convinced Billy likes someone for something else than just fool around.”

You both nod, repeating the same thumbs-up gesture. Taking a deep breath you wait for the sign and starts moving, doing pretty much the same until you're both out of the car, but this time, when Dacre pulls your arm, you act as if the pull was stronger then it actually was, letting yourself collide against his chest before stepping away. “Are you really going to walk home with that... Thing out there?”

“Does it look like I have a choice? You just saw that and you still couldn't bring yourself to drive a lady home. You're such a gentleman.” Instead of just putting a finger on his chest, you push him away with both hands, not keeping the normal distance as doing so, and letting your eyes fall on his unbuttoned shirt for a couple of seconds before raising your them again. You feel the heat on your cheeks, and you know you're blushing. Checking him out was not the intention.

Dacre's eyes meet yours, and for a second they soften before the usual annoyance comes back. You wonder if he's trying to say something, give you a hint about something he wants to do, but you have no idea what it might be. “Cut the bullshit and let's go, princess.” The weight on the last word is different, lower, meant as in insult, an irony.

“Let go!” You whisper-yell, trying to pull away, but you stop when Dacre holds the other arm, trying to drag you to the car. His stare is intense, and the cameras move a little, coming closer, and you know they're focusing on your faces. “Let go.” You repeat, much lower this time, trying to put some distance between you and him, since your bodies are way too close already.

“Get your butt–” The crack again, the stare at the woods, and the sudden change of moods. Run now, fight later. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

Nodding in agreement, you give your arms one last push, and Drace's eyes come back to you as if remembering he was still holding you, finally releasing his grip. You both run to the car and the scene is over.

Despite saying it was perfect, the director wanted two more takes. He wants proximity, touching, anger mixed with a sudden, recently discovered passion from an unexpected connection at first sight. You're happy to hear that you did achieve that, not sure if it came from your skills or the funny feeling you had in your stomach through the scene. It's weird to have someone you basically just met so close, only inches away.

When it's all done, you take off the outfit and put your clothes back on after washing the make-up away. Then you wait for Vicky, leaning against the minivan, scrolling through your Instagram feed.

“Hi again.” You see Dacre approaching through the corner of your eyes, raising your head to look at him. “Have you checked in at the hotel yet?”

“Yes, just before coming here.” All the actors are staying at the same hotel, just so it's easier to gather everyone around when needed, and be sure of the time it gets for them to get on set.

“I came in my car. I can give you a ride there if you like.” As he speaks, you see Vicky coming, talking with the director. Which you still don't know the name yet.

“I came with Vicky, my agent.” Gesturing at her, you feel embarrassed to decline, and you hope Vicky will say something to help you out as she usually does. “Right, Vi?”

“Oh, no.” Waving her hand in a fast motion, she puts a lock of her blond hair behind her ear. “Remember what I told you? Make connections, friends. Don't stick with me during the whole production.” She reaches out her hand and Dacre politely shakes it. “I'm Victoria Klein. (Y/N)'s agent and her mother's oldest friend.”

“Dacre Montgomery.” He simply says.

“You may take her to the hotel. I have some things to do and she needs to rest. Long day tomorrow.”

You just watch as Vicky sets you up as if you're not even there to make your own call. But you're too shy to say anything else, to still refuse Dacre's kindness. “Ok then. See you, Vicky.”

“Have a good night.” She says after giving you a quick hug.

Silently, you follow Dacre through the set to the parking lot. His car is among several different trucks, some of them already leaving. “Nice car.” You tell him as you get into the passenger seat.

“It's rented.” Dacre turns the ignition and the car comes to life. “I can't be without a car. What if I need to go somewhere?”

“Fair enough.”

He drives through the huge set and you fall into a comfortable silence, not sure of that to say. It would help if you could see some kind of landscape or anything at all through the window. Then you wouldn't look like an idiot with eyes glued at nothing but darkness.

“Did you stop to speak to the journalists?” Dacre asks when you reach the exit, waving at one of the guards.

“Yes. You?”

“Yeah. What did they ask?”

“Spoilers.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give him a glance, and he does the same. “About Amy's and Billy's relationship. What can be expected after their meeting in the season finale.”

A low giggle escapes his lips. “Wait until they know.”

“But they will have to wait until next year.”

“You did well back there. You actually blushed. How did you do that?” He stops at the red light, and you feel when he looks at you. Running a hand through your hair, you meet his eyes.

You weren't trying to blush. You just did. “I'm a very good actress.” Giving him a sassy smirk, you see when his lips break into a smile. It's different from Billy's smile, he doesn't act like he's trying to hide some unknown meaning behind it.

“You sure are.” The red light turns green and you start moving again. “Uhm... There will be a kissing scene, you know.” Oh. The kissing scene. You read through it, of course, you just didn't give much thought about it. “Have you ever done a kissing scene?”

“No.” The answer is quick, you don't have to think much. “In my long list of three movies, in two of them my character didn't have any romantic interests and in the other one it was platonic.” Dacre had done it, you remember from some movie, not sure which one. Your mother insisted on watching some of his movies, just so you'd ‘get to know your co-star skills’ before actually having to work with him. But it's different. It's completely different watching a character on screen and then meeting the person behind it.

“Oh, ok. I hope I won't make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Don't worry about that.” You're a professional, and that's your job. It's just a kiss anyways, and the scene won't be shot any time soon. You'll have time to get used to the idea.

“I just think that since our characters arch is connected from now on, it would be good to get to know each other. It helps a lot when the co-stars are somehow friends.”

“Of course.” He has way more experience in this than you, so whatever he says, you agree.

When you get to the hotel, Dacre leaves his car on the underground parking lot, and, despite having his room key, he insists on accompanying you to the reception to get your card. Once you're in the elevator, you rest your back against the mirror, watching the numbers as they light up.

“We should exchange numbers,” Dacre says, turning to look at you. “In case some of us need to go through the lines or work on something.” He shrugs his shoulders, the light fabric of his white shirt moving. “It's a thing among us. You'll be invited to a lot of parties like that.”

“Sure.” Taking your phone off your pocket you unlock it and hand it over to him as he does the same. Quickly, you type your number and save if on his contacts list.

“That's my stop.” He says when you reach the 14th floor. “See you tomorrow.”

“Good night.” You mumble, waving at him as the elevator door closes again.

The first thing you do when you get to your room is kick off your shoes, already undressing to hit the shower before throwing yourself on bed. It's very late and you won't have many hours of sleep. You're halfway to the bathroom when you take your phone to put on some music. But you don't recognize the object in your hand. After a moment of confusion, you realize it's Dacre's phone.

“What now?” Stopping on your tracks, you start making the way back and gathering the clothes you left on the floor, putting them on again. Since you don't know the number of his room and knocking from door to door is ridiculous, you decide to call reception and just ask. But on your way to the landline they have near the couch, Dacre's phone starts ringing. You were wondering who would it be when you read your own name on the screen.

“Oh, hi.” You're quick to pick up. “I guess you have my phone.”

“Yeah, I got lucky it didn't lock, or else I'd have to call reception asking for your room.” His voice gets a lot darker through the phone. “Would you tell me which one is it? I'm already heading to your floor.”

“1703.” Already making your way to the door, you hear the soft beep of the elevator's doors opening.

“I'm almost there.” He's still speaking when he turns the corner, getting into your sight. You hang up, a shy smile on your face. “Sorry about that.” He hands you over your phone and you give him back his.

“It's alright. We're both tired.” You expect him to just say good night and leave, but he doesn't, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“Have you met the others yet? Natalia, Joe, Millie...?”

“No, not yet.” You've heard they are very close, and you're the new girl in set. Saying you're nervous doesn't get anywhere close.

“I'm your only friend so far then.” Dacre states. “I'll break the ice with the others, don't worry.” He smiles again, and now, under the bright lights of the hotel hall, you can see his face perfectly. His blue eyes, a lot kinder then they were earlier today when he was Billy.

“Thanks. Guess I'll see you tomorrow then... Pool scenes.”

“Pool scenes.” He repeats. “I'll leave you to sleep now. Good night, (Y/N). Again.”

“Good night, Dacre.” Standing by the door, you watch as the walks away, towards the elevators.

You're about to head inside when, just before he turns around the corner, Dacre gives you one last look, a smile coming to his lips when his eyes meet yours.

@baker151910 @shinydixon @dreamin-of-dacre @hanoi15 @lickmymelanin @skykittysstuff

#dacre montgomery #imagine dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery imagine #dacre montgomery x reader #dacre x reader #dacre montgomery fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x y/n #imagine billy hargrove #billy stranger things #imagine stranger things #stranger things imagine

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kurowrites · 4 years ago

Note

"Took the wrong luggage AU" or "hugged the wrong person AU" wangxian please if you are free 🥺🙏

Wei Ying will only take about half of the blame, because really, what men in this day and age walk around with long hair, tied neatly in the back with a clasp? He only knows Wen Ning who does that, and so he sees long black hair and a clasp, and he assumes that this must be his second-favourite cinnamon roll (after Jiang Yanli, of course). He doesn’t really notice that the hair clasp is white instead of Wen Ning’s customary black, because who even pays attention to details such as these?

Wei Ying sneaks behind the bench his poor victim is seated on, and does what he always does when he greets Wen Ning: in one sweeping move, he wraps his arms around Wen Ning’s broad shoulders and leans in to place a big fat kiss on his cheek. As he draws back, he crows, “Ta-dah! It’s your favourite shixiong!”

Only that he’s not greeted with Wen Ning’s usual slightly embarrassed but still enthusiastic reaction to Wei Ying’s overly affectionate greeting, but suddenly has an incredibly stiff, frozen person in his embrace. And that’s when Wei Ying notices the white coat, and the white slacks, and the light blue turtleneck sweater; all items of clothing that Wen Ning very much doesn’t wear. And then the person still in his embrace turns their head just so, and…

Fuck.

This is most definitely not Wen Ning, but a person he has never ever laid eyes on before.

An exceedingly handsome person, his brain unhelpfully adds, with clean-cut, noble features.

And Wei Ying just slobbered all over this exceedingly handsome person that’s very much a complete stranger.

FUCK.

He lets go of the stranger and jumps back in a panic, flitting around the bench as he’s stuttering out an apology. He might have a thick face, sure, but putting his mouth on innocent bystanders is a bit much even for him. And this man very much looks as if he isn’t used to spontaneous make-out sessions. Unasked for ones, at that.

“I am so sorry,” he repeats for the probably twentieth time as he hovers in front of the person he just assaulted. “I thought you were my friend. I would never – I mean, not that you’re not handsome and everything – but I would never just, without asking, you know, smoo–”

At this point, the stranger seems to take pity on him. He fishes out a handkerchief (who in this day and age owns a handkerchief made out of actual cloth?) and delicately wipes his own cheek, right where Wei Ying slobbered all over him.

“It is fine,” the stranger says stiffly. “Be more careful next time.”

“I will,” Wei Ying promises with emphasis. “Believe me, I will.”

They settle into an awkward silence, Wei Ying’s hands fluttering around in the air uselessly as he tries to think of anything else he could do to show that he’s sincere in his apologies. He’s never been very good at being genuinely apologetic, his mouth turning a ‘sorry’ into some kind of joke, and it often only serves to rile people up even more. So he stands there and flounders as the handsome stranger straightens himself out again, until he looks as unruffled as me must have before Wei Ying’s sudden attack.

The stranger then looks up at him with a critical eye, almost as if he’s fearing that Wei Ying might be gearing up for a second attack.

(He’s not.)

“You should go look for your friend,” the stranger says. It’s not exactly impolite, but the words come with a sense of finality.

Please leave so I can bleach this incident from my memory as soon as possible, Wei Ying hears.

“Sorry,” he says again.

And then, because he’s an idiot, he adds, “You have very nice hair.”

Because that’s the first thing Wei Ying noticed about him.

The stranger looks at him with a slightly incredulous gaze, probably wondering why Wei Ying won’t get the memo, and just shut up and leave.

“I tried to grow mine out too,” Wei Ying says, desperately trying to get himself to stop speaking and completely failing. “But it never works out for me.”

He flicks his own sad excuse of a ponytail, the slight curliness of his hair making it look even messier than it already is.

The stranger is quiet for a moment, probably mentally calculating if it’s worth murdering Wei Ying in broad daylight in order to get his peace back. That’s usually the reaction normal people have to him. Only this has to be a new record in how fast Wei Ying managed to get them to this point.

Then, “It suits you.”

The compliment is so unexpected that Wei Ying gapes for a moment.

Which is definitely not his best look.

“Really?” he asks, incredulous.

“Hn,” the stranger replies, nodding once. As if that was a reasonable question to ask. And a reasonable answer to give.

“Wow, that’s just sad,” Wei Ying sighs, more to himself than to anyone else. “First I assault you and then I’m even comforted by you about my looks. That’s pathetic, really. Comforted by the victim. And compared to you, I’m just a… blob.”

The stranger looks at him again, possibly starting to wonder if Wei Ying is some kind of dangerous, disturbed individual or out to mug him. Maybe both. Not that Wei Ying has any intention to mug a handsome man. Or anyone at all.

Except for stealing a few kisses, maybe. He could do that, because this stranger is, after all, handsome.

Actually, he did that already, he realises. He kissed him on the cheek. He was just apologising for that.

For a smart man, he’s really astonishingly stupid. And the man even took pity on him and told him that he looked good with a ponytail.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks again, a little desperate. After all, he does feel sorry for what he did. “I feel like I should do something for you in exchange. I’m not sure what is appropriate, though. I don’t usually go around assaulting handsome men in the streets, believe me. No matter how tempting it might be.”

One of the exceedingly well-formed eyebrows on the stranger’s face twitches lightly. That’s about the most extreme facial reaction Wei Ying has received so far, and he isn’t entirely sure how to read it.

“Seriously,” Wei Ying emphasises. “Let me do something for you. As long as it doesn’t cost too much money though – I’m hopelessly poor.”

“There is no need,” the stranger finally deigns to reply. “Your apology is enough.”

“Wow,” Wei Ying cannot help but observe. “I wish all people were like you. No demands for compensation? You’re letting me off the hook very easily. But then, I guess the longer I’m standing around here, the more of a punishment this is for you. Uh. I’ll show myself out?”

The stranger looks at him again with a critical eye.

“You were waiting for you friend.”

It is more of an observation than a question.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying answers anyway. And then, he unnecessarily adds, “He also has long hair like you. That’s why I thought you were him.”

The stranger seems to consider that for a moment. Then he gestures towards the empty half of his bench.

“Wait.”

That.

That’s strangely nice of him, Wei Ying thinks with slight confusion. And hopefully not a precursor to murder.

In any case, he’s not going to look a gift horse into the mouth. With a feeling not unlike relief, he plops down onto the free half of the bench, and then smiles at this oddly civilised stranger.

He looks even handsomer from up close, Wei Ying cannot help but notices, and from here, he’s in a prime spot to admire the light golden shimmer of his eyes.

Wei Ying is struck. Such captivating, serious eyes, with a hidden depth that momentarily robs Wei Ying of his breath.

Something warm rises in his chest, sweet like honey.

Then he scolds himself. What foolish thoughts he’s having! Getting all mushy just because of a pair of reasonably pretty eyes!

(They’re beautiful, but that is not the problem here.)

“Wei Ying,” Wei Ying says, because if he doesn’t, he’ll probably say something much worse. “I promise I usually don’t assault handsome men on the street. Well. Unless I know them. I mean–”

There is the smallest twitch in the corner of the stranger’s mouth, and Wei Ying realises with uncomfortable, sudden clarity that the stranger is probably laughing at him.

It’s mortifying.

Maybe almost as mortifying as assaulting a perfect stranger with slobbery kisses.

If he had at least made it a good kiss. But no, he had to be all gross.

“Lan Zhan,” the stranger says, his voice serene, as if he hasn’t just accepted Wei Ying’s offering of peace.

Well.

Wei Ying thinks he might be able to deal with that.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, unable to contain a smile of his own. “It’s nice to meet you. This time without physical assault.”

---

When Wen Ning finally finds him twenty minutes later, Wei Ying has somehow successfully acquired a mobile phone number he’s 60% sure is not fake.

How, he isn’t entirely sure.

#kuro writes #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #mdzs #mdzs shorts #anonymous

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happyandticklish · 4 years ago

Text

Take A Break

Notes: For the ask by @ticklish-sidekick who requested a Percy and Nico fic. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Nico needs to take a break, but is being stubborn as usual. Luckily, Percy knows just how to handle obstinate demigods.

“Hya!”

Nico lunged forward suddenly, his sword clashing with Percy’s. He grunted, attempting to untangle the block, but Percy was too quick for that. He brought their swords up suddenly, flinging the weapon from his hands. Emptyhanded, Nico dodged around Percy’s sides, attempting to wrestle the sword from him physically instead. Percy kicked his leg out from under him, causing the other to stumble and fall backwards onto the grassy field. Before Nico could regain his bearings he found a sword brandished neatly at his throat.

Nico swallowed, a hearty flush coloring his cheeks from the exercise. “Okay. You win.”

“Ah, you’ll get it next time. It just takes practice.” Percy lowered the sword, offering him a hand up. As Nico grasped his hand however, he jerked him forward suddenly and Percy yelped as he fell to the ground beside him.

“What were you saying?” Nico teased. Percy threw a handful of grass in his face, prompting the other to duck with an amused chuckle.

When Percy had first approached Nico about combat lessons, he had refused him. He figured he was already decent enough with a sword, and he had fought off enough gods and monsters to be fairly self-sufficient. Eventually though, after a humbling conversation with Hazel, he ended up taking him up on it.

He had quickly realized that it wasn’t just swordsmanship that Percy was offering to teach either, and soon Nico was learning different hand-to-hand combat maneuvers and sparring at least once a week with the other. It became almost a challenge for the two, each trying to come up with new strategies to best the other. It was fun. For the first time in a long while, Nico was genuinely enjoying himself.

As with most things though, he had thrown himself completely into it and found that he was quickly overextending himself with each session. Percy watched as Nico flopped down on the grass, throwing one arm across his face. He could see the rise and fall of his chest as the boy attempted to regain his breath and took in the other’s obviously sore features.

“Exhausted yet?” Percy questioned, raising an eyebrow. “You want to take a break?”

“Not on your life,” Nico mumbled through the skin of his arm. “I could do this forever.”

“Right...” Percy crossed his arms in skeptical disbelief. There was no way Nico could go another round, especially training as hard as he had been. Still, he knew that simply saying that to the boy would have the exact opposite effect. He had to make him come to the conclusion himself. As he watched him, splayed out and vulnerable on the grass, an idea on how to do just that slowly started to form in Percy’s mind.

“Another round, huh?” Percy repeated, leaning forward on one knee to smirk at the boy. “In that case, maybe we should take it up a notch. A new level of training, something you’ve never experienced before.”

A thrill of excitement and worry trilled through Nico’s spine at the words and he slowly removed his arm to give Percy a curious look. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“It’s a surprise.” At Nico’s unimpressed glare, he quickly added, “It only works if you don’t know about it in advance. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Nico scoffed, but he didn’t resist as Percy shifted to face him, grabbing both of his legs in an armlock. Experimentally, he tugged at his legs but found them to be truly stuck. Due to his playful and silly nature, Nico often forgot how strong Percy genuinely was after years of training. There was no way he was getting out of this.

Noticing the worried look on his face, Percy asked, “Nervous?”

Nico flushed, averting his gaze. It didn’t help that Percy’s physical proximity was doing strange things to his heart, either. “No, of course not. Bring it on.”

“Okay. Just remember that you asked for this.”

Percy’s other hand was obscured from Nico’s vision, so he was only able to watch in confusion as Percy readied his attack. One finger, quick and sudden, slid down the length of his left sole, and Nico was unable to stop his leg from jerking back at the touch.

“W-What the hell?” Nico asked uncertainly, but soon the finger continued, tracing soft and lazy spirals all over his soles. “P-Pfft, h-hey! Jahackson!”

“Hmm?” Percy shot him back an innocent glance. “What’s wrong? I thought you said you could handle it?”

“Y-Yeah, combat t-training,” Nico gritted out, stuttering over his words as he tried to hold back the laughter quickly bubbling up in his throat. “Nohot t—” he broke off suddenly, a blush spreading across his cheeks like wildfire. He cleared his throat, trying again. “Not tickling.”

“This is combat training. A form of it anyway.”

“T-Thihis isn’t trahaining! This is stuhupid!” A reluctant grin had begun to form across his features and Nico quickly covered it with one hand, using the other to prop himself up.

“It’s endurance training,” Percy corrected, changing tactics and scribbling all five fingers over his soles now. Nico choked over a laugh, attempting to cover it up as a cough. “You said you were up for the challenge. Maybe I was wrong though.” As he spoke, he spidered blunt nails all over the ball of his foot, causing Nico to squeak and fall back onto the grass, covering his face with both hands. “What do you think? Can the dark, ferocious ghost king not handle a couple of tickles?”

Nico tugged frantically at his legs, giggles spilling unwarranted from his lips. “Ihihihi cahahahan hahahahandle ahahanything—eep! Nohohoho, stahahahap!”

Percy scratched at the sensitive undersides of his toes, prompting the latter to go into a squirming, babbling fit. “How did I not know you were this ticklish? It’s adorable.”

“Nohohoho ihihit’s nahahahat!” Nico screeched with a violent blush, curling his toes uselessly. “Ahahahahand I’m nahahahat tihihihicklish!”

“No? Then why are you laughing?”

“B-Behehecause… behehehecause… behehehecause shuhuhuhut uhuhuhup!”

“I’ve got to be honest, that’s not a very convincing argument, Nico.”

Percy grinned, and before Nico knew what was happening Percy was sitting on top of his legs, effectively holding him still. With both hands free now, he quickly set to work raking nails up both feet and sending Nico into a new level of hysteria.

“Wahahahait nohohoho, hohohold ohohon ahahaha sehehecond!” Nico burst into a round of squeaky giggles, attempting to both hold himself up and cover his mouth to stop the flow of laughter from escaping, as well as somehow sit up and pry Percy off of him. “Dohohon’t!”

“You know how to make this all stop,” Percy reminded him. “All you have to do is admit that you need to rest and I’ll let you go.”

“Ihihihihihi dohohon’t neheheheed tohoho—gahahahaha, ohohoho gohohods!”

Deciding that it appeared to be his most sensitive spot, Percy had moved his focus back to his toes. Nico squeaked, launching forward to try to pry Percy off of him. Eventually, he settled on merely wrapping his arms around the other for support, burying his face in the back of his t-shirt. “A-Ahahahaha, Pehehehercy!”

“Yes?”

“Ihihihihit tihihihickles!”

“I am aware of that,” Percy agreed, biting his lip to hold back a smile at the adorable nature of his protests. “Your point?”

“Stahahahahap!”

“Are you going to take a break from training?”

“I dohohon’t neheheheed a breheheak!”

“Then no. I wonder what would happen if I did this?” Experimentally, Percy held back his toes with one hand, using the other to scratch the taut, exposed skin. The muffled shriek into his t-shirt said all Percy needed to know on how effective that particular method was.

Nico himself was just as surprised as Percy was at his apparent sensitivity. The only person who had ever tickled him before was Bianca, and after that everyone he knew was too afraid of the consequences to try. Now though, he found himself grateful that no one had, or he never would have been able to save face around any of his peers. Electric shocks seemed to shoot up his legs as Percy trailed devastating fingers over his soles in a manner that was far too ticklish to be fair.

Yet even as he protested and even as his composure trembled, he found that he was almost having fun. There was something nice about being able to freely laugh and squirm under someone else’s touch and not worry about being some tough, dark war hero.

That didn’t mean it didn’t tickle like hell though.

“I hahahahahate yohohou sohohohoho muhuhuch!” Nico giggled, legs jerking in their attempts to free themselves. “Ahahahah, ehehe, stahahahap!”

“Are you going to rest?”

“Thihihihis ihihihis stuhuhuhupid!”

“Are you?”

Percy scratched the spot right under his middle toe that had him howling, and suddenly Nico found he couldn’t take it anymore, even if his pride suffered. “Fihihihine, fihihihihine, I’ll rehehest! Juhuhuhust stahahahap!”

Finally, Percy let up and allowed him to breathe. For a couple of moments Nico stayed like that, fingers gripped tight around his t-shirt as he hugged the other from behind. He knew intellectually that he should let go of him. However, another, larger part of his brain wanted to stay curled up against him, soaking in the other’s body heat.

Eventually, Percy coughed, a faint flush tinging the ends of his ears. “Um, Nico? Are you okay?”

Nico’s eyes snapped open and he shoved Percy off him in a sudden, fluid motion, rolling over into a standing position. He brushed grass off himself, blaming the heat on his face from the tickling. “Uh, I’m going to go take that rest now. Thanks for… thanks for the training.”

“Oh.” Percy blinked at him, startled. “You’re welcome, I guess?”

Nico whirled around, picking up his sword and starting to head back down the hill towards the cabins. He paused after a second, turning back to glare at him. “Oh, and Percy? If you ever tickle me again I’ll decapitate you, got it?”

Percy opened his mouth to respond, but before he could Nico was off again.

Needless to say, Percy did tickle him again and though the other complained vehemently, he found that he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.

Not that he would ever tell Percy that.

#tickling #tickle fic #fanfiction #pjo #hoo #percy jackson #nico di angelo #percico #fanfic #fic requests #requests

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olivinesea · 3 years ago

Note

Oooh fun! Okay, do you have any headcannons or thoughts on a dyslexic Hotch? I feel like I never see dyslexia with any characters really, and I like the idea of him with it. And if you do and you want to write something about it, a dyslexic Hotch with the team (and them being the supportive and protective family they are?) Thank you! ❤️

I hope you have fun, wherever/whatever you’re doing!!

I love this so much!! Thank you :) okay I don’t have much personal experience with dyslexia so hopefully I get this decently accurate. The biggest thing that surprised me when I was doing a quick search is that it isn’t actually a matter of reading words or letters backwards? It’s more an inability to connect letters to the appropriate sounds or to break words up into component parts; a general phonological awareness struggle.

So, as with many things, it seems to me to be a matter of slowing down, learning at your own pace. This ties in nicely with so many of my other Hotch thoughts, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. Idk what this is, it’s neither headcanon nor proper story but hopefully it’s something like what you were looking for:

When he’s a kid he gets called a slow learner due to his undiagnosed dyslexia. It was much less common to get that kind of diagnosis back then in general and I am sure his dad would have hated the idea of his son needing any kind of extra help. So he’s slow to speak, slow to learn how to read, has difficulty with numbers, absolutely hates being called on to read out loud because it’s actual torture and the other kids have no hesitation about laughing at him. So he becomes withdrawn, labeled a “bad kid,” stops trying because, fuck it, he never gets any kind of support, who cares right? It’s always a fight at home, he starts hiding his work, lying about his grades. This works for awhile bc his parents are distracted by other things. His problems are much bigger than grades by the time they do notice.

However, while he hates school and the way people talk about him and his struggles, like he isn’t even there, he discovers that he doesn’t hate learning. There’s a small library in town where he found he could hide out, no one bothering him for hours if he just sat still for with a book open. He was good at sitting still, at being invisible. But eventually a librarian notices that he’s always got the same book open, some sort of technical manual, that he is rarely turning the pages. She asks him if he likes what he’s reading. He’s just alarmed to be spoken to, afraid that being noticed means he will soon no longer have this sanctuary. He nods and tries to bluff his way through but it’s obvious he hasn’t read it, despite having looked at it for weeks straight. The librarian doesn’t say anything outright, just lets him be for now.

Next time she sees him she brings him a different book, a collection of Grimms fairy tales. He wants to complain that it’s for little kids but is too nervous to refuse it. She asks if she can read him her favorite story from it. It’s dark and twisted and fantastical and he can’t help but be drawn in by it. He’s sad when she’s done reading, wants to hear it again, to capture all the details to replay to himself later. She shows him where it starts, encourages him to read it himself. He doesn’t look at her bc he doesn’t want her to see how upset he is by that, already frustrated by the anticipation that he won’t be able to get through it. But she stays with him, helping him where he gets stuck, asking him questions about the story, making sure it’s making sense to him.

They slowly work their way through the whole collection over the course of months. They spend days on each story, repeating it until he’s confident, she never makes him feel like he’s taking too long or wasting her time. Sometimes has to reread a section multiple times, gets hung up on the language rather than the story but it’s okay, she gives him a notebook to copy down parts that spin too loudly in his mind, saving them and also releasing him from their hold so he can move forward. She lets him keep the book, tells him it was too old to stay in circulation anyway, they had a new copy on order already. She’s the first person who was patient with him, that showed him he could do it, he just needed a little more time, a little more practice than other kids.

In college this is part of why he spends so much time at the library. Part of it is his natural inclination to overwork himself, push until he’s given more than he can in hopes that it might be almost enough. He knows he’s never been enough, why would that change just because he’s in a new place? But the other part is he simply needs more time to get through the coursework, to make it through the excessive amounts of reading he’s assigned. Some other students don’t even bother to read but he would never do that, he makes sure that he not only reads every chapter assigned but he reads it again, takes notes, highlights, annotates, does everything in his power to be prepared. Sure he might work himself to the point of exhaustion, to the point where he makes himself sick (though he’ll try to deny that too) but he’s never caught trying to read something while others wait for his answer, the letters and sounds meaningless, slipping away from him faster the more eyes he feels turn towards him, wondering what could be taking so long. No one ever gets the chance to laugh at him for being slow in college, he never allows them to see that side of him.

As an adult, the leader of the BAU, he’s too well respected for anyone to dare laugh at him but he still hates feeling unprepared. This ends up looking like long nights in the office, reviewing case files to the point of memorization, so that he won’t have to read any of it in front of his team. He can if he has to, he’s developed skills over the years, ways to calm the panic that only makes it harder, can fake it well enough that no one would really notice. Until one day, distracted by a migraine and the fallout of some fight with Haley, he gets stuck. He can’t remember something and he tries to read the sentence that has the information but the stupid word just won’t resolve into sounds that make sense and he just stops talking. He’s glaring at the form like it might catch fire. No one says anything for a moment while he tries to refocus, tries to work around echoes of laughter, decades long past but always ready to jump out at him if he lets his guard down, allows a mistake, a tired moment to derail the image of perfect competence that he’s built around himself. Penelope jumps in, finishing the thought, completing the list of traits shared by the victims. He forces himself to smile at her because he really is grateful, it wasn’t her fault. She scrunches her nose at him, dismissing his silent thanks with a toss of her head. It was nothing, everyone needs a little assist now and then.

No one brings it up and he doubles his efforts not to let anyone see. But he’s so tired on the plane coming back from a case, he’s been staring the same forms for an hour at least. He can feel his ears turning red with frustration. There’s really no reason he has to do this now but the fact that his mind is refusing, almost seems to be teasing him, makes him dig in harder. Emily sits down opposite him, pulling the folder away without asking. He’s about to say something sharp, something he’ll regret saying to her when he really means it for himself, but the expression on her face is so odd, smiling with a frown between her eyebrows. It isn’t pity, she respects him far too much, but there is curiosity and something else, something soft.

“Drink with me.” She slides him a glass and they don’t talk, just look out the window, look at the light playing off the ice in their glasses. He doesn’t see the file again until it appears on his desk, every form neatly filled out, the places needing his signature flagged. All but the last spot, where she’s signed his name eerily perfectly, difficult for even him to see that it’s not his own. Just so he knows she can if she wants to. Equal parts offer and threat.

Penelope and Reid start a book club. Derek joins right away. Emily rolls her eyes when she’s invited, muttering something about spending her free time on more work but they know she will join. Rossi flat out refuses to read the books but offers his house for meetings. Hotch hesitates, wanting to say yes but nervous to commit to an activity like that. He loves books, loves to talk about books. He doesn’t love a time limit on books.

The next time they have to drive to a case, Derek puts on a copy of the audiobook. It’s the first time they make it to a destination without any bickering from the backseat. They don’t get through the whole thing but later he finds a copy of the audiobook on his desk, complete with a disc player and headphones.

A different month, Reid tells him about how his mother always used to read him books and somehow finesses an offer to read to Hotch without him even realizing he’s accepted it. So Spencer comes in to Hotch’s office on lunch breaks occasionally and reads to him whatever the book of the month is. He loves it, remembering the first person who read to him, how shocked he’d been to be treated with patience, with understanding and wondering how he got so lucky to be surrounded by people like her, so ready to support him, wanting him there with them rather than off alone, uselessly fighting with himself to prove his self sufficiency over some uncooperative letters.

Okay, that was so much more than I was planning on but here we are. I hope you liked it and thank you SO much for the idea. If you ever have any others you want to share I am totally here for it. :)

Send me requests!

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basicjetsetter · 4 years ago

Text

Part II

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death, Depression, Triggering Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt

▹ Words: 3k

▹ A/N: ATTENTION! This is an emotionally heavy part. Please DO NOT READ if you know you will be affected. For those struggling with depression, I see you, I care for you, and I love you. You’re not alone and you are undeniably worthy of love.

-Five Years and Twenty Nine Days Later-

You don’t want to get up.

Your phone’s alarm clock is rounding on its tenth circuit, if your counting is correct… and there’s a good chance you blanked out for fifteen minutes while watching a strip of sunlight lethargically inch down your blanket to the foot of the bed, so your number may be off by six or seven.

It’s not that you’re tired or anything, or maybe you are and that’s beside the point. It’s just that your bed is far too comfortable for your own good and you know today is Saturday, the busiest day at Hal’s Diner, and it just so happens you’re scheduled for an 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. brunch rush. If you had a choice, you’d stay in bed.

But you don’t. And you’re running twenty minutes late… for the fourth time in two weeks.

I’ve got you.

Shut the fuck up.

You wearily snarl, snatching your pillow out from under your head and slamming it against your face, uselessly stuffing it over your ears as if that would somehow miraculously block out the words.

Usually, the voice stayed quiet. After three years of the repeated promise drifting around your brain like a lost ship at sea, you had finally figured out how to anchor it to the deepest, darkest, most unchartered recess of your mind. Every now and then, though, they’d find a way to rattle the chains, just to remind you of their eternal presence, but it never lasted long. You didn’t acknowledge them anymore. They no longer fooled you.

But, twenty-nine days ago, something reinvigorated the voice, giving them a renewed sense of purpose and a reason to break free.

Twenty-nine days ago, on the exact anniversary of their disappearance, everyone came back.

Out of the blue, in the middle of the day, all of the people Earth mourned for five years reappeared to a very, very stunned world. Celebration rocked the streets of New York and all over the globe. Lovers lost returned. Mothers. Fathers. Sisters. Brothers. Babies. Friends. They all came back. And the voice in your head broke free of its chains, rampantly bouncing around your mind as if they were on pure steroids, ready to charge forward and find the one your Destined Words belonged to.

Everything reverted back to normal.

Except, besides your newly released Destined Words, nothing changed for you.

You weren’t there when… when your best friend rematerialized in your previous apartment. You moved to a smaller, modestly priced place six blocks away. It was great for what little money you had, and your landlords, a lovely couple that always leaves you a present outside your door for Christmas and birthdays, were generous enough to accommodate for your lack of funds.

You just couldn’t keep your parents’ apartment. Not when you knew they weren’t coming back.

No one ever speaks about the casualties of the ones lost that day, the ones who perished from the effects of the blip. For a long time, you just couldn’t cope with the fact that a swerving hit from a rogue truck whose driver turned to dust was all it took to take your parents away. But you had to move on.

Ever since that day five years ago, you’ve been on your own.

You’re sure your friend tried looking for you by now, continually calling up a retired cellphone number, searching through deleted social media accounts, maybe even asking your old high school for your whereabouts to no avail. Even though you’re not far from home, she’d never find you.

You don’t want to be found. You like being alone.

With a great, gusty sigh, you roll out of bed, grab some clothes and undergarments, then pad to the bathroom, ignoring the chiming circuit of your alarm clock. It can wait. You go through the motions: washing up, putting your hair in its regular bun, brushing your teeth, and staring at your unaged face in the spotted mirror.

It’s not vanity, though it’s common knowledge that your features will be impervious to aging for a long while. You literally haven’t aged a single day since the blip.

It was an intriguing phenomenon after the first two years. Everyone your age who had heard their Destined Words but had yet to meet their Soulmate just stopped aging, and when the younger generation hit the age of eighteen, they stopped aging as well. For some, like you, the effect was felt rather than seen. Ever since the string inside you snapped, you knew that cosmic time would stand still until you connected with your other soul. You’re not holding your breath for that anytime soon.

As you step out of the steam-filled bathroom, your alarm blares out its last chime before switching to the Vmm Vmm Vmm of an incoming call.

You pick up on the sixth ring. “Good morning, Hal.”

“This is the fourth—”

“The fourth time. I know, I know. I’m on my way.”

Hal grunts into the receiver, “Don’t get smart with me, little lady. Just because you’re my best server doesn’t mean I won’t fire you.”

That’s precisely what that means, and he knows you know it. You blow out a sigh, “I’m seriously almost out the door. Like two steps.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, a hint of a grin in his quizzical noise. “Well, hightail it, would’ya? The joint’s packed already and I need all hands on deck, so scoot.”

“Scooting,” you confirm, snagging your bag off of your sofa and grabbing your keys. “Who’s with me today?” Please don’t say Wendy. Please don’t say Wendy.

“Chris and Wendy.”

You groan as you shut the door behind you. “Come on, Hal. She’s dead weight in the morning. I might as well be working with a zombie in an apron.”

Hal grumps, “At least the zombie gets here on time.”

“Have you had coffee yet? You’re not you when you’re decaffeinated.” It’s true. Even with your truancy, Hal wouldn’t hold it over your head more than twice. He’s usually as chipper as a dog in a dog park at this time, bustling and joking up a storm.

He takes a loud sip, then says, “We’re slammed, is all, and I’m missing my best hand.” Two disgruntled heys ring in the background and Hal immediately issues apologies. “Just get here, will ya?”

Before you can remind him again that you are on your way, he disconnects the call.

You’re wondering if it’s too late to go back to bed.

The little, infamous family diner is only seven blocks south of your apartment building, a nice walk when the weather’s good and a pain in the ass when it’s not. You used to enjoy the quiet mornings and the stillness that came with it, but ever since things went back to normal, you can’t survive the walk without a pair of headphones jammed in your ears and your music’s volume turned all the way up. Everyone’s just so… loud.

Thankfully, today, the walk is a straight shot and you’re in the doors within fifteen minutes.

It’s like stepping into a den full of ravenous animals. Worse, it’s like stepping into a den full of ravenous animals and being stuck with the task of serving them.

“Look who’s finally decided to show up,” Wendy chides, stifling a yawn as she shuffles to a table and places down three menus. She’s twenty-two years old and likes setting your teeth on edge.

You deadpan, “Did the cat drag you in from the front door or the back?”

“Knock it off, you two,” warns Chris, walking by with two arms balancing four plates of the Sunrise Breakfast Special. He looks at you, then jerks his chin back to the kitchen. “Boss is about to blow his top.”

Nodding, you make your way to the back, giving a small wave to some regulars. Out of breath and sweat running down his reddened neck, Hal is moving like a man caught in a whirlwind, flipping eggs and pancakes and sausages and hash browns and bacon while checking orders and filling plates. As soon as he hears the kitchen door close and sees you, he visibly sags in relief.

“Don’t bother clocking in. Just put your apron on and get out there.”

You nod. Set down your things. Put on your apron. Arrange a plastic smile.

Go through the motions.

It’s all the same thing every single day. Wake up, work, school, sleep. Repeat. Unlike the other constants, school is something you’re temporarily trying out. It wasn’t your original plan, the whole four years to a bachelor’s degree, then some more years for a master’s. You gave that up long ago. Right now, you’re just taking a free weekend art class at a community college. Oddly enough, it’s something you’re beginning to look forward to on Saturdays and Sundays.

Work, while you’re great at what you do, is never a highlight.

Hal was right. The diner is slammed, and you’re swept up in the current of rude, demanding customers, snide remarks from Wendy, cheerful shrugs from Chris, and barking orders from Hal for six whole hours. You work through your two fifteen-minute breaks. No one reminds you. You slip on spilled hash browns. No one helps you. You bring back a plate three times to satisfy a customer who kept finding fault with their eggs. No one thanks you.

Everything is back to normal.

I’ve got you.

“Fuck off,” you snap, slapping a hand to your mouth when you see the elderly woman you’re serving knit her brows in revulsion. “Oh, no, ma’am. I’m-I’m sorry, I was—”

She stands and marches out of the diner before you could explain, snatching her ten-dollar tip off the table.

“… talking to myself,” you finish under your breath.

She’s the last of the brunch rush, leaving only the regular afternoon crowd and a few stragglers. The clock near the cash register reads 2:13 p.m.

You brush off the disappointment of a lost tip and head to the kitchen to grab your things and leave, Chris and Wendy following you. Hal’s two other workers, the ones here till closing, cover the floor well. Not like they had much to do.

Hal is whistling a jaunty tune when you walk in, stopping to salute you, Chris, and Wendy with an exhausted grin. “Nice work out there, you guys. See you tomorrow.”

Wendy is out the door the instant she clocks out.

Chris catches your arm as you grab your bag from your small locker. “Hey, um, I sort of heard your little outburst, and I was wondering if you were okay.”

You nod, gently shrugging his hand off. “Yeah, it’s just a tip. I made enough.”

“No, not that,” he shakes his head, clearing his throat and pushing a hand through his choppy beach-blond hair. He ineptly bends his head down a little, getting close enough for a private conversation you do not want to have. “It’s just… you’ve done that before and I just want to make sure everything’s alright with you.”

You can’t put the plastic smile back on, he’s seen it too many times to know it’s not real, so you half-heartedly grin. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Yeah, anytime. Hey, so, me and a couple friends are hanging out tonight. There’s gonna be a music festival in Cunningham Park. Wanna hang?”

Chris tries this every week. At first, you thought it was his bashful attempt at asking you out, but he’s a happily taken man with a big heart and a lot of friends. Every customer he meets, boom, they’re friends and soon loyal customers of Hal’s. It’s a gift. You just wish he caught your not-so-subtle hints of evasion.

Tonight, though, you had the perfect excuse. “Can’t. I got class.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “On a Saturday night?”

“Yeah. It’s a free course. Get it where I can take it, you know,” you awkwardly laugh, hoping Chris wasn’t offended as you take a couple of steps back towards the exit.

His smile doesn’t falter. “Maybe next time, then.”

Not likely. “Sure, yeah. See you later.”

You duck out before he says goodbye, dashing out the front door and speed-walking home.

I’ve got you.

You stop dead in the middle of a sidewalk.

Where did that come from? It’s never said it three times in a row before. Does… does that mean something?

Your breath quickens at the thought, and you spin around, scanning the vacant street. You’re the only one occupying the sidewalk, you and a curious squirrel sniffing at the crisp air. There’s not a person in sight. When you’re certain you’re in the clear, pivoting a glance around one more time for good measure, you pick up the pace, practically running the rest of the way home.

Once you’re in your apartment and the door shuts, you desperately whisper to your mind, “Don’t say it anymore. I don’t want them, okay? I don’t want a Soulmate.”

Nothing.

“I know you hear me,” you bite out aloud, forcefully shoving back the urge to yell. “Stop saying the words.”

Still nothing.

Silence rings hollow in your mind like the voice is waiting for your temper to cool down. Like it knew it upset you and felt chastened enough to back off and take a time out in a corner.

You stand immobile in the middle of your cramped sitting area. Tense. Waiting. Waiting longer than you care to admit. The urge to fight deserts you as quick as it comes, but you’re still standing there with your fists balled up, feeling more and more defeated as the minutes drain away.

The voice isn’t going to leave you alone. You know that. It’s here to serve one purpose, and the only thing holding it up is you. You’re meant to meet whoever those words belong to… but then what? They magically fix you? They love you back to normal? Five years ago, you may have believed they can do that. But, the problem is, you’ve gone through enough life-altering events in the last five years to last you a lifetime, and this one person, this person destined to pair with your soul, won’t be your wave-of-a-wand solution.

You just want it to stop.

I’ve got you.

A lone tear slides down your cheek as you trek to your bed and climb in fully clothed.

For a long time, you simply stare up at the ceiling as the tears leak out the corners of your eyes. You make no noise, and your chest doesn’t jerk up and down with sobs. The tears gather, and then they fall. Gather and fall. Gather and fall until there are no tears left. You continue staring at the ceiling.

You think back to the days when those godforsaken words and the future they foretold brought you happiness. What a wonderful promise, pairing with someone who will always be there for you in some capacity and will instantly love you. You can’t recall any Soulmate story not working out. Maybe they just never speak about it. Why mar the fantasy?

The sun dipped below the horizon a while ago, and now the moon shines bright in the night sky. You missed your art class.

Your body is as stiff as a board when you sit up. There’s a tight pounding in your forehead, either from crying or lack of food, but you aren’t bothered enough to deal with it. Instead, you move to the only window in your room and pull back the curtains to gaze at the stars. Not many are out yet, but they glitter like gems around the moon, and the night sky nears a lovely shade of midnight blue.

The sight is so pretty; you find yourself grabbing a couple of paint bottles, brushes, and a small canvass, then heading out of your apartment, walking up six flights of stairs to reach the roof.

It’s quiet when you get up there, save for the noise of zooming cars below. The first time you came up on the roof, just out of curiosity, you loved how solitary it felt, loved the view overlooking the building-strewn skyline and the overall height of the complex. It became a nice place to visit when you wanted to be by yourself.

You walk over to the edge of the building, sitting your supplies down on the ledge, then look up at the sky for the best angle to capture the moon and the stars.

The sky is vast. So endless. So open. So free. You stop scoping out for the perfect angle and just admire the shining moon when your eyes land on it. It’s waning, only a sliver of its surface visible as it prepares to transition into a New Moon. Then you gaze at the stars as they dimly twinkle back at you… like they can see right through you.

Like they can see your sadness.

You step closer to the ledge, each step laden with the weight of smothered grief. You lost everyone. Your parents. Manda. She’d never recognize the person you’ve become.

You step onto the ledge, not looking down but up, trying to memorize the image.

You lost your Soulmate. That broken string in your chest never felt the same, even after everyone came back. Maybe you were too far gone for any connection.

You turn around. You’d thought you’d feel numb, but acceptance fills you. It’s okay to let go.

You lower your eyes, slowly lean back, and let gravity take over.

Air sails past your ears in a rush as you fall, and you can’t really focus on anything except your erratic heartbeat. You don’t struggle as your body wants. You just fall and wait.

And then, in a sudden flash of red and blue, you’re propelling sideways and swinging upwards, a strong arm pressing you against a hard chest.

“I’ve got you.”

As soon as he said the words, you knew who they belonged to, as if you knew this entire time. Even with the mask covering his face, you knew. But it still doesn’t stop you from incredulously saying, “Peter?”

His masked face snaps to yours. A small part of you tries to pin his surprise on you correctly guessing his identity, but something bigger assures you the reason for his alarm is a match to your own.

He knows you’re his Soulmate.

...

Part III

#peter parker #peter parker au #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x #peter parker soulmate au #soulmate au #spider-man x reader #spider-man x black!reader #marvel fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #peter parker angst #slow burn #black!reader

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milknette · 4 years ago

Text

chapter 01 - au

lights out solo in the blue, but now i’ve found you.

tumblr month: @adrinetteapril

links: ao3 | ff.net chapter: previous | next

HUMANS suck.

Marinette bites back the need to scream, instead settling for a cold glare pointed at anyone who dares look at her— some even having the audacity to laugh .

This is a terrible idea.

Why did she think this was a good idea in the first place?

Her mind races back to last summer, where Alya was animatedly telling her about the wonders of the human world: how it was filled with knowledge and treasures that she could never find back home, where the people were so interesting and diverse, pointing out that she’d likely never get bored with the sheer amount of things they could do way up there.

“Come with me, Mari!” Alya had begged her. “This was literally the best summer I’ve ever had and I can’t imagine going back to college without you. I swear you won’t regret it.”

But as she stands in the middle of the quad, soaking wet from head to toe, Marinette only finds that she wants to curse her best friend’s name; to grab Alya by the shoulders and shout, “I regret it, you land mammal— how do you live like this!?! ”

She really should’ve just stayed at home.

Her dad was right, after all. Marinette doesn't belong here.

(Not with creatures like them.)

The mermaids are a proud people; ever since they had shown themselves to the humans (though the land people insisted they ‘discovered’ them— Marinette has to roll her eyes, humans could be so selfish and egotistical. ), active attempts to integrate and create peaceful unions between the two species were being implemented.

It was one step further into blurring the line between the real and the mythical— though really not all that noticed, as most mermaids didn’t care about the world on land in the first place.

Only a handful were actually interested in human life, and even fewer made an attempt to live within it.

Marinette, to her deep regret, happens to be one of them.

After a fair amount of begging and convincing, her parents had allowed her to take a kind of ‘exchange program’, where she’d be attending university with Alya on land for the next year.

It's exciting, at first.

Walking on her own two feet is a struggle ( really , how humans survived with these two weak limbs, she'll never understand), but decides that it’d be worth it if Alya had been telling the truth.

Sure, there are times Marinette misses her mermaid tail.

Though, at this moment, she really could be doing without it.

Marinette growls, looking irritatedly down at her scales, gleaming pink as they reflect in the sunlight. Her tail serves her well underwater, definitely, but it has become completely and utterly inconvenient on land: flopping uselessly as she tries to make her way to her next class.

She has no intention of transforming back to her original form, of course, but some other students thought it would be oh-so-funny to force her to do so— attacking while Alya wasn’t with her, so they knew Marinette would be stuck without being able to do anything about it.

After all, it's common knowledge that a transformed mermaid exposed to water would automatically revert back to her original form, and stay like that until they dried up— which meant one thing:

Because of a couple of immature college kids with water balloons, she’d miss her next class.

Again.

They're only too lucky that a mermaid using their powers is illegal, or they’d be in a whole new hell of trouble.

The sudden ring of Marinette’s phone distracts the mermaid from her thoughts, as she quickly retrieves it and answers the call.

“Girl, where are you?” The voice asks on the other line. “I dropped by Mme. Mendeleiev’s class and you’re not there yet? You know she’s tired of you being late all the time.”

Marinette groans, running a wet hand down her face. “Water balloons.” She only responds, flatly.

“Oh.”

From the static of the phone call, she can hear a hiccup, evidently her friend's poor attempt at trying to hide her laughter.

“It’s not funny, Alya!” Marinette cries, hissing as a few teenagers point and take out their phones to record her. “I’m stuck in the middle of the goddamn quad because of you land mammals ,” she spits. “Your species sucks.”

“Hey, not all of us!” Alya protests back. “I’m a great land mammal.” The line suddenly goes silent, as Alya pauses if in thought. “Why don’t you just dry up? Where’s your towel?”

“Sure you are,” Marinette only drawls. “And it’s still wet; this wasn’t the first attack I got today.” She snarls, tightening her grip around her phone. “Now get over here and help me out. It’s hot and if another teenager tries to take a video of me, I’m going to end up breaking more than a few laws, and that’ll get us both in trouble.”

A gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

From the other line, Marinette hears sudden scuffling and books being thrown into her bag. “Fine, fine, give me fifteen minutes. I’m on my way.”

“Hurry up,” the mermaid responds curtly, before hanging up the phone.

She sighs, putting away the gadget, and looking upward. “This is so annoying,” Marinette complains, squinting as the sun shines down on her. Muttering to herself, she grabs at her tail in an attempt to drag it to some place that was shadier, with little to no success.

Marinette glares at her lower half.

Betrayal.

Humans are the absolute worst.

She decides that the next person who even attempts to look, much less talk to her, would understand why mermaids remained as creatures to be feared.

— And as it turned out she didn’t have to wait long, a cautious tap on her shoulder sending a sudden shiver down her spine.

Who the hell is dumb enough to touch a mermaid without her consent?

“What?” Marinette finally snaps, turning (with great difficulty) to the guilty party.

Only to flounder as bright green eyes meet her icy blue ones.

“I’m sorry,” the boy says, an awkward laugh escaping him. “I just thought you might need help,” he begins, clumsily gesturing at the lower half of her body, “with… all that.”

Marinette squeaks, a high-pitched sound of disbelief, before laughing— a notch too high for it to be considered genuine. “Oh, this? ” She asks, awkwardly patting at her tail. “This is nothing! No big deal! I’m cool, I’m cool, it’s cool… because I’m a mermaid, get it, it’s always cool underwater, haha …”

An awkward pause.

She cringes.

Did she really just say that?

Marinette wants to swim into the deepest trench in the ocean and stay in there.

Until she hears laughter.

The mermaid looks up, and to her complete surprise, the boy is laughing: amusement evident in his expression.

“Yeah!” He smiles ( a toothy grin that rivals even the rarest pearls she had scavenged back at home ), then continues. “That’s really funny, Marinette.”

She pauses, looking at him in disbelief. “You know my name?”

“Of course!” He replies, that same kind look in his eyes. “You did make quite a splash when you got here,” he winks.

That's corny.

Really corny.

So why in Poseidon’s name does she find that absolutely adorable?

“And I’m also studying mythology,” the apparent student continues. “I see you around the building sometimes.”

So the very pretty human boy who reminds her of sunshine (the good kind— warm and comforting, the kind of sunlight that reminded her of home; not the heated and dry sun that‘d been constantly beating her down as soon as she started living on land) knows her name.

That's nice.

Marinette continues looking at him, dumbstruck.

As if only realizing something, he smiles, offering his hand. “I’m Adrien, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

She stutters, awkwardly taking it.

His hands are smooth — nothing like the rough and calloused hands of the land people she’d met thus far.

“I— uh— Marinette.”

The corners of his mouth tilt upward. “Yes, I know.” He laughs.

Oh.

Right .

Why is she so nervous? This isn’t like her at all.

“So, about my offer?”

“Huh?” Marinette asks, still reeling from the sudden attention.

The mermaid isn’t used to his attitude, after all, knowing that most humans typically don’t take all that kindly to her species.

Friendliness, Marinette isn’t quite used to yet.

(Alya being the sole exception. If she arrives in the next five minutes, at least.)

The amused smile never leaves the human’s— Adrien’s face. “You’re a literal fish out of water. I don’t think you’re stuck here because you want to, right?”

She nods, the joke easily going over her head, as she remembers what happened. “Some girls thought it’d be funny to force me to transform back here.” Marinette growls. “You humans are all the same —.”

A pause, as she looked at the friendliness in his eyes.

There's no hostility, fear, or disgust in them.

It's a nice change of pace.

“Well, most of you are, anyway,” she amends, then gestures down the rest of her body. “I’m stuck like this until I dry up.”

Adrien hums, sympathetic. “That’s pretty inconvenient.”

“It is,” Marinette agrees. “But my friend’s on the way, so don’t worry— I mean ," she pauses, "not to say that you were worrying about me or anything, I’m just…”

The mermaid fumbles on her words, before resignedly just shutting up. “That is to say, I’ll be just fine.”

Adrien quirks an eyebrow, before looking around. “Really? Your friend’s nowhere to be seen, are you sure you‘ll be okay?” He pauses. “And don’t you have class with Mme. Mendeleiev right now?”

Okay, now he has to be some kind of mind-reader, right?

(Not all that farfetched, considering the co-existence of humans and mermaids in their world.)

“Wh— how do you know that?

“I’m actually her TA,” he explains. “I keep track of all her students and classes. So helping you would actually be doing my job.”

“No, it’s really alright—”

“I have some papers to give her anyways, so it’s on the way,” he points out, patting his messenger bag. Then, his lips quirk upward. “And besides, I’m pretty sure you’re in danger of being dropped from her class if you’re late again.”

She gulps.

Of course he’d know about that, wouldn’t he?

Marinette sighs, defeated. “Fine,” she began. “There should be some towels in the restrooms; it’s a little far, but if you could—”

“No time,” Adrien only states, suddenly kneeling down in front of her. “I think you only have five minutes before you’re late, and it’s a ten-minute walk to our building.”

He grins, before suddenly scooping his arms under her tail and waist, raising her up.

Marinette can’t stop the surprised squeak escape her throat, as she feels herself get lifted off the ground.

The cute boy is carrying her.

And not just any carry, but a princess carry .

“What are you doing put me down I’m gonna scream …” Marinette rushes to say, swatting helplessly at his chest.

This is so undignified for a mermaid, to have some human’s filthy hands on her —

Adrien smiles.

Marinette feels her mermaid-equivalent of a human heart skip a beat.

Then, he winks.

She's sure she's the color of her tail, now.

“Let’s go!” He only says, before running with surprising speed, so light and quick on his feet that she feels like she's flying. His hold on her didn’t falter either, carrying the mermaid with both strength and gentleness.

It's a strange feeling, being in his arms.

But as he easily runs into the building and up four flights of stairs, she decides that it's not entirely uncomfortable, maybe .

Marinette shows up in the nick of time, only a few minutes before she’d officially be considered late.

Mme. Mendeleiev looks at the two as they burst into her classroom, hands crossed against her chest. “Late again, Marinette?” She asks, evidently unamused.

The mermaid is about to protest, until Adrien decides to speak up:

“Actually, ma’am, Marinette’s just in time.”

“I take attendance at 10:15 sharp, Adrien.”

“And she got here at,” Adrien exhales, out-of-breath, as he looks at his phone, showing the lock screen. “10:14,” he states.

Mme. Mendeleiev pauses, eyes narrowing at the two, before sighing.

“Fine,” the professor sighs. “There are towels at the back. Dry yourself up then take your seat, Marinette,” she states, then pointedly looks at Adrien. “And you,” Mme. Mendeleiev stares at the floor, dripping wet from their entrance. “Go get a mop and clean up this mess…”

The sudden “woah!” from outside following a crash makes her frown.

“... before anyone gets hurt.”

Adrien has the decency to offer a sheepish smile, before immediately nodding, helping the mermaid to the back, then setting her down.

“Sorry for getting you in trouble,” Marinette mutters, apologetic, taking the towel in her hands. “And giving you extra work to do.”

He shrugs, visibly unbothered, as the kind smile remains on his face.

“You didn’t get me in trouble, I decided to do this myself.” He responds. “I couldn’t leave you alone helpless like that.”

“You’d be the first,” she points out, using the towel to wipe her hair. “I guess humans aren’t all that bad.”

“Yeah,” Adrien chimes, a bright laugh escaping him as he runs a hand down his wet hair. “Not all of us land mammals suck, I can promise you that.”

Marinette manages to look the slightest bit embarrassed. “You heard that, huh?”

He smiles. “Yup,” he responds easily, before leaning over to her ear. “But I get you. Some humans really stink up here.” He wrinkles his nose, then scrunches his nose up in a way that she can only describe as absolutely adorable. “Must be because they aren’t taking a bath 24/7.”

Marinette feels herself laugh, ready to reply, when—

“What’s taking so long?”

Mme. Mendeleiev finally barks, glaring at the two.

The two look at each other, then burst into laughter.

“Guess that means I have to go,” Adrien says lightly, then bends down, kissing her hand. “I’ll sea you around, Marinette!”

He runs out, and for the first time, Marinette feels like she's falling.

Or sinking , if she's being technical about it.

#hey hi hello #comeback?#adrinetteapril2021 #adrinette april #adrinetteapril #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml #miraculous ladybug #milk writes #ml fic #ml fanfic #sandbar nine

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catmaid-john · 4 years ago

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Have some soulmate gretchella content courtesy of me (elliott) and em 👀 there was a lot of projecting as far as *ahem* character traits go, hope y’all enjoy!!!!

Summary: Gretchen has grown up with a less than ideal mindset about soulmates. How will they react when they meet their own?

Characters: Gretchen, Pamella, Marion, John, Jessique (mentioned), Vesna (mentioned), Eliza (mentioned)

Pairing(s): queer platonic gretchella

Warnings: subtle(?) homophobia and internalised homophobia, and that may be it but do read with caution as it’s pretty heavy. Let me know if I missed anything!!

Word count: 1,705

Gretchen was six when they asked about the red string on their finger.

“Daddy, what’s this?” they asked, holding up their pinky.

John sighed, closing his book he’d been reading in the study. “It’s a sign that you have a soulmate.”

“What’s a soulmate?”

“Someone meant for you. Like Vesna and I. We were soulmates, but didn’t let that define us.”

Gretchen tilted their head to the side. “What’chu mean?”

“Don’t let the world fool you. Everyone says soulmates are the most important part of life. They’re all wrong. You should focus on things like work and school, not some frivolous nonsense such as one person in all the world meant to be with you. Do you understand?”

Gretchen crossed their arms. “Okay, Daddy. Can we go fly kites today?”

“No, not right now. I have work to do. Maybe later.”

John hadn’t been doing work when Gretchen walked in.

They were ten the first time they saw a pair of soulmates first meet.

They were both boys. The red string that held them together turned white and they hugged.

Could Gretchen’s soulmate be a girl?

“Daddy?” they began as John drove them home from school that day. “I saw two boy soulmates today.”

John’s grip on the steering wheel tightened a bit. “I see.”

“Could my soulmate be a girl?”

“I’m not sure. I should hope not.”

Gretchen furrowed their brows. “How come?”

“Same sex soulmates have a higher mortality rate due to disapproval and lack of acceptance from peers. Not to mention they’re prone to… well, frankly, divorce.”

“But you and Mommy divorced.”

John’s grip tightened further, and Gretchen could see the marking on his pinky finger where his string once was.

“Yes, straight soulmates do divorce sometimes, but it’s higher in same sex soulmates.”

“Why? And what's morality?”

“Mortality. What I meant is that same sex soulmates more often die young and are even murdered. I don’t want that for you.”

Gretchen was suddenly scared. “What if my soulmate is a girl?”

“Don’t worry about that for now. It doesn’t matter.”

The conversation dissipated from there.

Gretchen was thirteen when they decided they didn’t want a soulmate anymore.

The odds of their soulmate being a girl were far too high. They didn’t want to end up like the dead soulmates their dad was talking about.

They took a pair of scissors and tried cutting their string. The scissors broke and clattered to the ground.

What? This had worked for John when he didn’t want a soulmate anymore. Were they doing it wrong?

They took a knife from the kitchen and sawed it across the string. The knife became ground down and dull.

They tried to untie the string but couldn’t find the knot. This soon became a game of finding the most slippery substance to help them slip out of the string.

Nothing worked. It was hopeless.

There was a chance that Gretchen was doomed to die young and there was nothing they could do about it.

Please let my soulmate be a boy, they thought. I wanna live.

They were seventeen when they stopped caring about what their father thought.

They also started using they/them pronouns alongside their step-sibling, Marion. John had married a woman named Eliza, who he claimed he met at a “gathering” for people who abandoned the soulmate life. Her kids were Marion and Jessique, who Gretchen liked much more than Eliza. Their dad had bad taste.

Gretchen was walking home from school when they felt a tug from their string. They usually felt an occasional pull from it but this was much stronger than that. It just about knocked them off their feet.

Before they could question it further, they were being pulled into the middle of the road. Luckily no one was driving, but Gretchen was still not having any of this today.

“Let me go!” they called uselessly.

It hurt to pull against the string but they really didn’t know what else to do. It was a little while before they suddenly collided with someone and was finally able to stop. Unfortunately the two of them crashed to the ground.

“I’m so sorry!” the stranger yelped.

Gretchen put a hand to their forehead, which had bumped into the stranger’s. “No, it’s all good. No harm done.”

“I should have paid more attention but my string was pulling me away and I—”

Gretchen finally took a look at the stranger in question. Bright orange hair overtook every feature and it was radiant as the morning sun. Eyes like drops of chocolate, enticingly sweet. She was too perfect.

Gretchen looked down at their string. It was white.

“Hi,” the stranger murmured. “I’m Pamella. I guess we’re—”

Gretchen got up and ran.

They were in tears when they came to terms with what happened.

They stood in the bathroom sobbing in front of the mirror. John’s voice echoed in their head.

Same sex soulmates have a higher mortality rate due to disapproval and lack of acceptance from peers.

They shook their head to rid themself of their thoughts. They didn’t care what their dad thought. They didn’t.

Same sex soulmates more often die and are even murdered. I don’t want that for you.

No. It was all stigma. It was all lies. Shut up.

You should focus on things like work and school, not some frivolous nonsense such as one person in all the world meant to be with you.

Shut up!

Gretchen was on the verge of screaming but kept as quiet as possible. They didn’t want to worry their siblings.

They didn’t care what their dad thought. They didn’t.

Even still they couldn’t accept what they have faced.

Gretchen was eighteen when they met their soulmate for a second time.

Perhaps not entirely true, given that they had spotted Pamella at school a few times since their run-in. This, however, was their first proper encounter since Gretchen ran.

“Uh, excuse me!” Pamella’s voice called out, catching Gretchen’s attention. They realised who it was and tried to walk away faster.

Go away, go away, go away—

“Hey!” Pamella caught up with them, standing in front of them with a shy smile. “So… I, uh… wanted to give you time to process everything, but I’ve seen you avoiding me like crazy. I just… wanted to know why? At first I thought maybe you were upset about me knocking you over, but I don’t know. Man, I feel like an asshole.” She chuckled awkwardly.

Gretchen blinked. “Sorry,” they said on instinct. “Uh… it’s not you, it’s me, I gotta go.”

They walked away without another word.

Gretchen was home alone with Marion when they confessed to what had been going on.

“Wow,” Marion murmured. “I mean, obviously I knew you’d met your soulmate, I just thought… well, I don’t know. Why’d you run?”

Gretchen buried their face in their hands. “It’s complicated.”

“C’mon, talk to me, bestie.”

Gretchen sighed and sat up. “My dad scared me as a kid telling me I was gonna die if my soulmate was a girl.”

Marion paused, their expression never changing. “The fuck?”

“He was talking about, like, mortality rates of gay soulmates and divorce and shit, so… ten year old me took it to heart for some reason.”

“Huh. So when you realised your soulmate is a girl… aw, Gretch.”

“I know, it’s stupid.”

“No it’s not. I promise you, it’s not stupid. Your dad is a piece of shit.”

Gretchen snorted. “Yup, sounds right.”

“Don’t let him ruin your experience with your soulmate. I promise you, if you let your parent try to run your life, it’ll just hurt. Trust me.”

Gretchen glanced over at Marion. They couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Mari.”

“You gonna go after your soulmate?”

“I might have to.”

The next day at school, Gretchen was the one to approach Pamella.

“Hi,” they murmured shyly.

“Hey,” Pamella replied with hesitation.

“I, uh… I know I’ve been a dick… but… I wanna… try this whole thing again. You deserve better from your… soulmate.”

Pamella was clearly shocked, and Gretchen gave her time to process what they had said. She took a deep breath and finally spoke.

“Hi. I’m Pamella. He/him pronouns.”

Gretchen blinked. That was unexpected.

“Oh. Uh, Gretchen. They/them pronouns.”

Pamella smiled. “Nice to meet you, Gretchen. I’m sure you’re a bit surprised that I’m… ya know, trans. I’m not out to my parents, so that makes it a bit hard to transition, not to mention I’m scared to get my hair cut.”

“I mean, you don’t need a haircut to be trans, though. Being trans makes you trans. I mean, I’m still feminine and nonbinary as fuck, they’re not mutually exclusive.”

Pamella blushed. “Thanks. I’m glad you get it.”

Gretchen grinned. Maybe having a soulmate wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Gretchen and Pam were twenty when they decided to label themselves as platonic soulmates.

They weren’t romantically involved and they were okay with that. Gretchen was aromantic and Pam didn’t care about relationships. He really just wanted to be with Gretchen in a platonic way. They were all he needed.

They had tried to make it work as romantic soulmates, which didn’t last long.

The one thing they continued to do in their platonic relationship was cuddle.

Gretchen laid on top of Pam, who laid on his back and ran his hand up and down their back. Gretchen was having a difficult day and all they needed was cuddles on the couch with a movie on the TV.

Gretchen looked up at Pam, his new haircut still ravishing in their eyes. Gretchen had been tempted to shave their head but decided against it since they liked how they dyed it. Black on one side, their natural brown on the other.

“Pam?” they murmured.

Pam glanced down at them. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we’re soulmates because we just understand each other so much?”

Pam smiled. “I think we’re soulmates because we complete each other in a way no one else gets.”

Gretchen smiled back. They laid their head back down and closed their eyes, Pam running a hand through their hair.

“I’m glad we crashed into each other.”

Pam chuckled. “Me too, love.”

@nachosforfree

#me? projecting being aro onto gretchen? and projecting being trans onto pam?#its more likely than you think #half heart #half heart fanfiction #gretchen freasa #john freasa #pamella casson #marion enneson

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atsukashii · 4 years ago

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❝jealous, love❞ // e. kirishima

SYNOPSIS: ➛ contrary to unpopular belief, Eijiro Kirishima does get jealous, especially when sleazy guys are trying to hit on his girlfriend

» CHARACTER PAIRING: eijiro kirishima x fem!reader

» WORD COUNT: 2.1k

» GENRE: aged up characters, post u.a

» WARNINGS: fluffiest of fluff, protective kirishima, y/h/n - your hero name

« masterlist || ao3 »

Being a pro hero and trying to juggle your personal life is harder than you anticipated. There are things that you see people take for granted that pro heroes physically can’t. Like being able to plan dates with your boyfriend of three years.

You and Kirishima had learned the hard way that it was almost impossible to plan dates. This is purely due to the fact that you would and can be called into work at any moment of time. After multiple dates that ended up with either you or Kirishima having to run out because of it, you both decided the next time you really wanted to go out and do something, you were requesting the day off, so there would be no interruptions of any sort unless the world was ending.

As you glance down at your phone out of pure habit, you have a feeling that the world would not in fact end tonight. Instead, you and your boyfriend are going out to a fancy dinner that you had prepared for, two weeks in advance - just to be safe.

Threading your golden earrings through your lobes, you stand up straight and tilt your head slightly at your reflection in the mirror. You’d decided that you were going all out for your date with Kirishima tonight. Dressing yourself up with full glam makeup, and brand new red dress you know Kiri will love, that now brushes your thighs. The look completed with your nude strappy heels fastened to your feet, you were finally ready.

You check the time once more before grabbing your clutch from the dresser and leaving your bedroom, stepping down your hallway towards the kitchen. Kirishima leans against the island bench of your small kitchen, texting on his phone as you enter. As soon as he hears your heels click against the wooden floors though, his attention snaps to you and the phone almost falls from his hands. For a second, you both stand in complete silence, until Kirishima breaks by moving towards you. Gently, he takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“If you weren’t already my girlfriend, I’d date the hell out of you.” he breathes, making a giggle escape your lips.

“Well it's a good thing I’m already your girlfriend isn't it then.” You smile, looking up at him. God, he looks so attractive. He’s outdone himself for your date tonight as well. A black button-up shirt stretches tightly across his chest and matching slacks makes it all too much for your brain to comprehend.

“That’s what I tell myself every day.” He says grinning. Even after all this time, compliments from Kirishima make you blush - and really, you should be used to it with the amount of verbal loving he puts on you on the daily. The man is seriously smooth, and the ultimate confidence booster. You love him dearly for it.

“You good to go?” he asks, offering you his arm. You don’t bother to bring a coat with you as you wrap your arm around his. It’s summer and with a jacket, the heat would be way too much, which is the only reason you can afford to wear a dress right now.

Together, you leave your shared apartment and walk to the restaurant that's located just a few blocks from where you live. You’d seen it one day on your way back from work and decided that you and Kiri just had to visit. With classic white tablecloth covered tables, flowers, and dim lighting, it was the perfect romantic setting for a date with your long time boyfriend. When you’d stepped inside, you were seated at your table and quickly ordered before holding up your now delivered wine glass to your boyfriend with a small smile.

“To the first date and relaxing evening in far too long.” Gently, he touches the tip of your glass to his own and beams at you.

“And to many more.”

❀ ❀ ❀

It’s late when you leave the restaurant, but you both decide that the night itself is still young. On your way home, you decide to stop in at the store to get some wine to have at home. Walking into the store, you both give the man behind the till a kind smile before you slink down the aisle currently displaying too many types of wine for you to choose from. You are about to turn to your boyfriend for help when his phone goes off. His eyebrows furrow as he pulls his phone from his back pocket. You go to check your own, in case the world seriously has it out against you and is, in fact, about to end, but Kirishima places a hand on your arm. His phone already pressed against his ear.

“It’s not urgent, pick whichever one you want babe. I’ll be right back.” He explains and places a tender kiss to your brow before walking away for privacy. Obviously, he didn’t want to ruin your good mood with work talk, and it's that kind of forethought that is one of the reasons you love Kirishima. Your happiness and health are always at the forefront of his mind, whether it be taking care of you when you're sick or comforting you after a heavy day at work, he’s an actual godsend.

Your eyes scan over the numerous bottles of wine, still unsure of which one to get. Now that Kirishima’s gone elsewhere and not here to help, you’re tempted to close your eyes and point to one in hopes to find an option. Suddenly, the artwork on one catches your eye and you reach towards it, only to stop when a voice fills your ears. One that's definitely not your boyfriend.

“Need a hand with anything darling?” Your eyes move to the stranger, standing a few feet from you with a smile on his face. Your hand hangs uselessly in the air as you watch his eyes track slowly from your face, down your front, and back up again. Even though his smile seems somewhat kind, the look in his eyes screams creeper and is grossing you out. Your eyes track from the man, looking over the top of the aisles in hopes of finding your red-headed boyfriend, but you can’t seem to find Kirishima anywhere. Placing your attention back to the stranger, you resist the urge to wipe your now sweaty hands on your dress and instead give him a kind smile in return.

“I’m good, thanks for the offer though.” You say, hoping that this means the conversation is over. But apparently the guy doesn’t get the hint and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“Say aren’t you that pro hero, y/h/n?” He asks. You honestly didn’t think you would be noticed tonight, your boyfriend yes, but you? Not so much. Though, much like Kirishima, you were climbing the hero ranks at a speed that seemed to be catching attention. I shouldn’t be surprised, you think; as yesterday you helped your close friend and fellow pro hero Chargebolt bring down a villain that was very publicly known. The media had been spreading the story like crazy, and it wouldn’t blow over for a while. Or until you were outshined by another top hero or something major happened. You don’t mean to make it sound like it's nothing, because you’re proud of your skill and your job, you’re just not a fan of reporters and media is all.

“Yeah, that's me. But I’m off duty right now.” You explain, suddenly reaching forward and grabbing whatever bottle of wine off the shelf you can get your hand on, to get out of the conversation. As you turn to leave, the creeper’s eyes trail down your torso again, his lips lifting in a satisfied smile. He just graduated from creeper to pervert. You’ve been trained on how to best communicate with people, but pervs still and always will creep you the fuck out.

“What's a pro hero like you doing here all alone on a Friday night?” Gross.

“I’m here with-”

“Sorry about that babe, Bakugou was just having a go at me about some paperwork.” Kirishima’s voice interrupts and you’ve never been more glad for your boyfriend's presence then you are right now. Once he reaches you, Kirishima looks at the perv and instinctively wraps his arms around your waist.

“Picked one yet?” He asks you, nodding to the bottle of whatever in your hands.

“I think so.” You say, feeling a lot more relaxed with Kirishima’s arms around you.

“You’re Red Riot.” The guy says making you both rotate your attention to him. Kirishima gives him a tight smile, that to anyone but you would look completely genuine. But you know Kirishima, and he’s pissed at the way the stranger is looking at you.

“Nice to meet you.” Kirishima nods, before letting his hand slide down from its perch on your waist until it rests on the small of your back, right above your ass. It’s a possessive move and one that makes you relax slightly against him. Kirishima isn’t normally a possessive person, except for when it comes to you. You know that he hates that people tend to pay attention but he has never made it out to be your fault. It’s a similar thing when he’s in hero costume and guys and girls alike drool over your boyfriend's ripped physique - you amongst them.

Kirishima suddenly turns his back on the stranger and you instantly become weak at the heat in his eyes. It’s not just attraction swirling in his ruby gaze, but jealousy. Something that he doesn’t usually express often.

“Ready to go beautiful?” He asks, laying it on thick. You nod your head in response and begin walking to the counter with the bottle of what you now see to be red wine, with Kirishima right behind you. You know there’s logic to the reason he’s sticking to you like glue so that the perv can’t see your frame from behind Kirishima’s bulking one. At the register, you’re practically sandwiched between the front counter and your boyfriend, who somehow has the coordination to simultaneously hold you and try to tap his card to pay for the wine before you can, but he fails. He had demanded to pay for the dinner tonight, so you’d requested to pay for the wine, which he agreed to. Sighing in defeat, he slips his wallet into his back pocket as the guy behind the till wrap’s it all up. You lean back into Kirishima’s chest as you feel yourself finally relax again, Kirishima follows by resting his head on your shoulder.

“Thank you. I love you, Eijiro.” You whisper to the air, and you know he’s heard you when his arms squeeze around your middle in response, a silent code that he returns the sentiment.

Saying a kind thank you to the worker, you and Kirishima walk out of the store. Once you’re outside, he can’t help but glance over his shoulder and outright glare as if the shop has physically harmed him.

“Babe,” you say, trying to smother a giggle. Kirishima looks back at you with raised eyebrows and an innocent look on his face.

“What?” shaking your head at his antics, you both stop at the traffic lights and wait to cross the road.

“Are you jealous, Kiri?” Your tone is teasing, and the bulking man lets out a dejected sigh, pulling you once again tightly into his side as if he can’t bear the act of not touching you right now. His arm wraps around your waist as the lights change, allowing you to keep walking.

“I hate it when people stare at you like that. Can they not see that it makes you uncomfortable? And to do it so blatantly, that guy was gross as hell. Are you alright?” He asks and you nod in agreement, whilst falling for him a little bit more.

“I’m okay, and I'm glad you were there to save the day, Mr. Hero.” You smirk and the beaming grin that covers his face makes the awkward encounter completely worth it.

“Whenever you need me, babe, I'm there.” You both know it's corny as hell, but you don’t care. Kirishima practically drags you across the road before stopping you, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your lips. Your heart flips inside your chest at his actions, something that hasn’t changed since your first kiss.

“I love you so much y/n.” Grinning against your boyfriend's lips, pure euphoria floods your system.

“I love you too big guy.” You pull back, entwining your fingers with his and begin to walk backward, pulling him alone. “Let’s go home and drink this hopefully not crappy wine and watch tv.”

“Babe, you know just what to say.” He fake groans whilst walking next to you, the bottle of wine in a paper bag tucked under his arm like a ball. God, he’s perfect.

#kirishima eijiro #eijiro kirishima #eijiro kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x reader #eijiro x reader #eijiro kirishima fluff #kirishima eijiro fluff

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bnhasimpgirltm · 4 years ago

Text

Until the End [BNHA (Platonic) x Reader]

Pairings: BNHA (platonic) x reader

Warnings: a lot of death, swearing

Genre: Small Fluffy moments, and soft angst

Word Count: 3685

A/N: this idea was born from the chat between me and @jayjee.art (Instagram). She was going to draw cheerleader Bakugo and not show me, so I used my power and decided to do this. I really like writing flashbacks, so this is similar to the first fic I posted on this blog (a Todoroki fic). I’m so sorry for not posting a lot. I’ve been working on three things at once, so it’s a lot, but I hope you guys like this one! This is also a call to make platonic love a normal thing.

note: this one is a little confusing to read, so I recommend reading it a little slower than you would read other things on my blog.

———————————————

“RUN!” Todoroki yelled urgently.

“We can’t get out,” you yelled in a hoarse voice. The smoke was getting to your lungs, and everything was on fire. You could barely see Jiro and Kaminari, and Todoroki was completely obscured.

“Keep trying!” He yelled back.

You had been trying, and it was no use.

“I’m sorry guys,” Kaminari shook his head. “They blocked the radio signals, I can’t call for help.”

Jiro let out a sob, but kept mining at the walls with her ear jack.

“Can you defuse the bomb Todoroki?” You asked.

He shook his head.

“At least try!” Denki yells back.

“If I cut the wrong wire it will kill us,” Todoroki explains worriedly.

“IF YOU DON’T DO ANYTHING WE’RE GOING TO DIE ANYWAYS!” You scream while hitting the wall uselessly.

“I don’t know which one to cut,” Todoroki sweats, either from the heat or because he was nervous.

“Cut the red one! That’s what they do in the movies!” Denki cries out.

Todoroki cuts the red wire and the ticking stops.

Everyone let out a sigh of relief, glad to not die a horrible death to a bomb, and now trying to find a way out of the hot, stuffy, vault.

But then, it happened so fast. Todoroki had cut the wrong wire.

Since Todoroki was the closest, he was first.

“You do it like this (Y/N),” Todoroki said.

“This is so dumb Todoroki,” you whined. “How about we kick back and head over to hang out with Midoriya and Iida instead of doing this!”

Todoroki thought about it for a moment, wondering if it was a good idea to let you off.

“Fine, we can go watch a movie or something with Iida and Midoriya.” Todoroki sighed.

“Perfect!” You fist pumped . “You’re the greatest best friend Todoroki.”

You and Todoroki enjoyed small moments like that. They were the best examples of your friendship.

You fell to the floor laughing.

“So you’re telling me you don’t know how to ride a bike?” You asked Todoroki.

“No, I never learned,” He replied back stoically.

“We can teach you!” Midoriya offered with a smile. “(Y/n), can you get my bike?”

“Yes! Oh my gosh this is going to be so fun!” You jogged to the bike rack and took Midoriya’s bike, bringing it back to where he and Todoroki were standing.

“Lets get started,” you clapped your hands together enthusiastically.

The last thing you heard from Todoroki was “I’m sorry I let you down again.”

Jiro was next. You and she were inseparable.

“(Y/n), do you want to join me tonight for open mic?” Jiro asked you.

“Of course,” you agreed. “It was super fun last week.”

“That’s great, I get a little nervous singing in front of the class,” she admitted.

“It’s okay Jiro, you have nothing to worry about!” You reassured. “You’re a great singer.”

Music built your friendship, but it stayed up because your personalities matched so well.

“Jiro!” You screamed. “There’s a Hot Topic that opened in the mall!”

Jiro put the book down, and shot up from her seat.

“No way!” She said. “Lets go!”

“I know!” You excitedly did a victory cartwheel in the common room, then ran with Jiro out the doors.

“Oh my God is this Heaven?” Jiro asked.

“Maybe not, but it’s close,” you responded, looking up at the mass of band shirts and merchandise from your favorite shows.

“How does this look, (y/n)?” Jiro asked, holding out a My Chemical Romance shirt.

“It suits you Jiro. You should get it,” you gave her a thumbs up.

She smiled back at you, digging a Fall Out Boy shirt out from under the stack and tossing it towards you.

“We can rope Denki and Momo into this so we can be the quartet,” you joked.

“Is this an excuse for us to get more shirts?” Jiro asked.

“Maybe?” You bit your lip and let out a loud laugh.

Jiro laughed with you, and soon, you were both on the floor laughing.

The last thing you heard from Jiro was a strangled sob, mixed with the word “Help”

Then came Kaminari, your wild card of a friend.

“Haha! Nice one Kaminari!” You yelled. This was the fifth game that Kaminari had gotten a stuffed toy from, and much to Kirishima and Bakugo’s dismay, they were the ones who had to hold them,

“Kaminari, can you chill out on the games?” Kirishima complained. “I’m being drowned by these things.”

“I’m on a roll and no one is going to stop me!” Kaminari proclaimed proudly.

“How about (y/n) plays the next game, and if they screw it up and don’t win, we can go do something else?” Bakugo bargains.

Kaminari thinks about it. “Fine, (y/n) is a carnival game God, there’s no way they’re going to lose!”

“You’re going to be eating your words in a minute Dunce Face,” Bakugo retorted.

You and the Bakusqaud walked over to a game that Bakugo was sure you couldn’t win.

“This isn’t fair!” Kaminari complained. “No one ever wins this!”

“That’s the point Dunce Face,” Bakugo rolls his eyes.

“Watch and learn everyone,” you gave a ticket to the worker behind the counter and got three darts.

“There’s no way (y/n) is going to land three darts,” Kirishima said.

You lined up with the balloons and threw the first dart.

POP!

“Lucky shot!” Bakugo argued.

You looked back and grinned at him.

“We’ll see about that.”

You looked back towards the balloons and aimed again.

POP!

“I’m just super lucky, I guess,” you mocked.

“Tch, you’re not going to get the third one,” Bakugo claimed.

Rolling your eyes, you throw the last dart at a green balloon. It bounces off, and Kaminari’s excited face shifts to disappointment.

“Ha, I told you,” Bakugo says triumphantly.

While the dart falls to the floor, you use your psychokinesis quirk and lift it.

“Eh?” Bakugo asks.

Guiding the dart forward, you stab the green balloon with it.

POP!

“You were saying Bakuhoe?” You snarkily said.

“THAT’S CHEATING!” Bakugo whined.

“Nice one (Y/n),” Kirishima fist bumped you, and Ashido laughed at Bakugo’s complaining.

“Which one do you want?” The person working asked.

You looked at all of the plushies.

“That one,” you pointed.

The person working handed you the giant Ground Zero plushie and you added it to the growing stack in Bakugo’s arms.

“I hate you so much,” Bakugo groaned.

“This is awesome,” Kaminari took his phone out and took a picture of Bakugo buried under the plushies.

“I hate all of you,” Bakugo repeated.

To think that you would never have another moment with Kaminari was unthinkable. You thought you would both have forever to do stupid things together.

“(Y/n)!” Ashido called.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

She paused for a minute to take a breath. “Kaminari is going to do human tire bowling!”

“Oh my gosh, yes!” You squealed. “Lets go! Where is he?”

Ashido motioned for you to follow her, and when you two left the common room, you saw Kirishima stacking trashcans and Kaminari standing next to Bakugo.

“This is dumb, someone is going to get hurt,” Bakugo complained.

“You worry for us Bakugo! How nice!” Kaminari prodded at Bakugo.

Sero impatiently rocked the tire back and forth. “Come on guys, lets get started.”

“I’m going first, and then Bakugo and Ashido will go. That means Kaminari and (Y/n) are a team, and they’ll go third.” Kirishima explained. “It’s like normal bowling. You get two tries, and then the next team goes. The next round, the person who wasn’t in the tire gets to be in the tire. We’ll do ten frames, so each person gets to be in the tire five times.”

“Did he do the math right Bakugo?” Sero asked.

“Yeah whatever, lets just start so I can beat all of you,” Bakugo smirked.

“You’re on Bakuhoe,” you teased. “Come on Denki, let’s do this!”

The last thing you heard from Kaminari was a scream that tore through the vault and through your heart.

You were the last one hit, and your eyes teared up. It was as if everything slowed down.

You saw your mother.

“(Y/n), come over here,” your mom called. She was watching a news broadcast of heroes who had stopped a small gang of villains.

“Wow!” you had said. “Someday I’m going to be a hero just like that!”

“I know you’ll be a great hero,” your mom hugged you close to her. “I know that you’ll make me proud.”

You saw your acceptance into UA.

“Did you get that mail?” You almost tackled your mom as she came in.

“Yes, I did.” She chuckled. “Someone’s excited.”

You shuffled through the mail that she put on the table, and found what you were looking for.

When you opened the envelope, you realized that you had been accepted into UA, the top hero school in Japan. Not only had you been accepted into UA, but you were also put into the hero course, and you would be in 1A.

“Mom! I did it!” You had shrieked. “UA HERE I COME!”

“I’m so proud of you!” She jumped up and hugged you. “You’re going to be a hero!”

“I can’t wait!”

You saw short moments with your friends.

“Bakugo what are you reading?” You had asked.

“Hah? Nothing,” Bakugo sat on his book and defiantly looked at you.

You looked at him, suspicious, and using your quirk, you pushed Bakugo over and grabbed his book.

“Bakugo, you read ‘Maid Sama!’?” You looked at him, shocked.

“Yeah, what about it?” He said, trying to keep his tough guy facade up.

“Bakugo, why didn’t you tell me?” You shrilled, “We could have had so many good convertations you UWU boy!”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

You knew that Bakugo the gremlin would miss you, Kaminari, and even Todoroki. Though he would never admit it.

“How could you do this?” You asked Kirishima. “How could you betray me like this?”

“(Y/n), I’m sorry, I didn’t know-” He started.

“No! I don’t want to hear it! I despise you Eijiro Kirishima!” You yelled.

“Shitty Hair, put the damn card down,” Bakugo said, annoyed.

“NO! DON’T DO IT!” You pleaded. “I thought we were best friends!”

“We are (y/n), but I must do what I have to do,” Kirishima slowly put his second to last card down. “Uno!”

“Stop him!” Ashido begged. “Someone put a wild card down!”

“I got you!” Kaminari was after Kirishima, and he placed his wild card down, choosing red.

“Damn you,” Bakugo grabbed another card from the deck and added to his slowly growing hand of eight cards.

“I call skip!” You put a red skip card down and skipped Ashido.

“(Y/n)!” She whined.

“I had to Ashido, you could have put down a card that would lead to Kirishima’s victory!” You reasoned.

“Guess what color my last card is,” Kirishima let out a shark toothed grin.

“No!” You all yelled.

“Red seven,” he placed his card down. “I win!”

You all wailed and groaned and complained.

“Who wants to play again?” You asked.

When you needed small things, they always came through, because you always came through for them.

“Todoroki, my drink is warm,” you complained.

“What should I do about it?” He asked, stoic as usual.

“Maybe you could make me a couple ice cubes,” you prodded.

“(Y/n), you know I’m not supposed to use my quirk without permission,” he argued.

“But this is an emergency!” You dramatically said.

“Fine, only this once,” Todoroki agreed reluctantly. He made four ice cubes and put them in your drink.

“Thank you Todoroki!” You grinned at him as you sipped your drink.

Yeah your friends might have been idiots, but at least they were always there for you, comforting you in your worst moments.

“Hey (y/n), are you okay?” Midoriya asked you.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine Midoriya,” you said through sniffles.

He looked at you with wide eyes. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t need me to stay?” He asked.

“Well, I do need someone to talk to,” you patted the open spot next to you on the bench.

Midoriya sat down and hugged you. “It’s okay, you don’t even need to tell me what happened.”

“Thanks Midoriya,” you said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’ll always be there for you. You’ll always be my friend!” Midoriya smiled at you and you smiled back.

They were also there to celebrate your greatest acheivements.

“WE DID IT!” You yelled out.

“Yeah we did,” Jiro echoed.

“I’m so glad I met you guys,” you said to your classmates. “Stay in touch with me alright? And don’t be afraid to call for help! You’ll always be my girls!”

“I love you all!” Ashido squealed.

“Love you too,” Jiro repeated.

“You guys are the best,” Yaoyorozu added.

“I can’t wait to be a pro hero,” Asui said.

“I hope we can see each other again soon,” Uraraka and Hagukare said at the same time.

“Same! I’m going to miss you guys so much,” you teared up and the girls of 1A group hugged.

“(Y/n), who’s agency are you going to go to?” Uraraka asked.

“Well actually,” you started,”I think that I might start my own agency.”

They all blinked at you in disbelief, then broke out into grins.

“You’re going to be great!” Yaoyorozu excitedly said.

“I’m so happy for you!” Hagukare shouted.

“Enough about me, who wants to get the rest of our classmates and have a graduation dinner?” You asked.

Everyone cheered and hugged.

It was the end of your chapter at UA, but you would start a new one once you formed your agency.

You hoped that Yaoyorozu, Uraraka, Ashido, and Asui wouldn’t be too broken up over your death.

“mY Ex-mAn BRoUGhT hIS nEw GiRLFrieND,” you sung loudly.

“She’S LiKE oH mY GoD, BuT I’M jUST goNNA ShAKE iT,” Ashido continued.

“anD tO thE FeLLa OVeR ThEre WiTH ThE hELLa GOod HaIR,” Jiro bopped.

"Won’T yOU coME oN oVEr BAbY wE cAN shAkE, sHAke, ShAKe,” Uraraka finished.

You all burst out laughing, as Jiro danced with Yaoyorozu.

“I’m so glad we got to spend today together,” Ashido said. “Pro hero work has been exhausting!”

“Oh my gosh, you’re so right,” Uraraka sighed.

“I’m just glad that we could all make time to hang out,” you said. “We can always get together though.”

“Right, now who wants popcorn?” Jiro asked.

Who knew that would be the last time you would see them in person. It was a realization that brought on strong emotional pain on top of the physical pain that came with being in a burning vault.

Your mother spoke again, but unlike earlier, it wasn’t filled with energy. It was soft.

“(Y/n), I’m so proud of you,” your mother said.

Her voice was soft and loving. It was warm, in a good way. You missed your mom and wished that you spent more time with her after graduating.

You hugged your mom tightly and asked “Really?”

She hugged back and smiled. “My child is a pro hero that’s running their own agency. How could I be more proud?”

“I love you mom,” you said, choked up.

“I love you too,” she said.

You had so much love to spread around, and you had given it to all of your friends. They had always deserved it.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “I trust you okay, so don’t go around talking about what you saw.”

“Okay, okay,” you agreed, then more seriously you said,”I love you, Bakuhoe.”

“Eh?” He asked, clearly confused.

“I said that I love you, best friend,” you repeated.

“Yeah whatever, I tolerate you more than others I guess,” Bakugo rolled his eyes.

“And that’s enough for me,” you sat down on the couch next to him.

“Who wants to play again?” You asked.

Everyone agreed.

“Guys, I know I don’t say it enough, but I love all of you,” you quietly mentioned.

“Our platonic love will keep us all together forever!” Ashido commented.

“This is too much love, I think I’m going to fall into a hole and die,” Bakugo dramaticaly recited.

“Bakubro, you have got to join the dark side,” Kirishima said. “We know you love all of us in your own twisted Bakubro way.”

“We should make shirts that say ‘Katsuki Bakugo Wuvs Us’,” Kaminari suggested.

“Oh my God yes,” you agreed.

“Thank you Todoroki!” You grinned at him as you sipped your drink.

“That is the only time, okay,” he reminded.

“Yeah I know.” You agreed on impulse. “I love you Todoroki, you’re the best friend I could have.”

“That’s very sudden, (y/n),” he said, surprised. “What brought this on?”

“I just need to tell all of my friends how much I care about them,” you explained.

“I’ll always be there for you. You’ll always be my friend!” Midoriya smiled at you and you smiled back.

“I love you Midoriya,” you said.

“I love you too (y/n),” Midoriya said back.

You smiled at Midoriya and embraced him.

It was the end of your chapter at UA, but you would start a new one once you formed your agency.

“Girls, before we leave, I want you to know that UA wouldn’t have been the same without you guys,” you started. “I love all of you to the moon and back.”

“We love you too, (y/n),” Yaoyorozu said back.

“I know, and I’ll remember until the day I die,” you linked arms with Yaoyorozu and Jiro, then started to skip around.

“I still want food though, so lets go.”

“Right, now who wants popcorn?” Jiro asked.

You all raised your hands and Jiro counted the hands that were in the air.

“This is super random, and I know I say it a lot, but I want you guys to know how much I love all of you,” you said thoughtfully.

Uraraka didn’t say anything and hugged you tightly.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” she sobbed quietly.

“It’s okay Uraraka, we’ll be here for you, always,” you held her tightly.

Your memories finished flashing in front of your eyes, and just as fast as it started, everything was over.

And despite everything going on, you managed to smile.

Yes, you were in pain, but just like in all of your life’s special moments, you had pushed through to let your positivity shine through. You smile would be the last thing that your friends would see of you, and you knew that your job here was done.

They could live knowing that you had died loving them.

“I love you, all of you,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

Quite fittingly, those were the last words you said.

Then, you welcomed the darkness.

The next day, you and the other’s that had been trapped in the vault didn’t show up for work, so a group of pro heroes searched for all of you.

The first place they checked was the vault that you had all gone to. The door was blown off, and they found four bodies that day.

Four true heroes, lost forever.

“Who are they?” Midoriya, the pro hero “Deku”, asked.

“We haven’t identified them for for sure yet, but based on the information we know, we can assume (y/n) (l/n), Shoto Todoroki, Kyoka Jiro, and Denki Kaminari,” the police officer said.

“What?” Bakugo stood next to Midoriya, questioning the officer.

“We know that you were good friends with who we assume the deceased are, and offer our condolences,” the officer walked away, not wanting to be suceptible to the wrath of Ground Zero.

“Kacchan-,” Midoriya started.

“AGHHH!” Bakugo yelled, kicking the wall.

He remembered you and Dunce Face, and even Icy-Hot and Earjack girl.

You had all meant something to him, even if he never showed it.

“Ground Zero, sir, you and Deku have been the two requested to customize (l/n)’s headstone,” a small, wiry man said. “The police said that it’s highly likely that one of the bodies is (l/n)’s, and that we should make arrangements.”

“Give it,” Bakugo motioned for the clipboard he was holding, and the man turned it to him.

He paused on the engraving.

“Kacchan, let me,” Midoriya said, taking the pen from him and filling the engraving part out.

Bakugo read what Midoriya put, and reeled back.

“I love you? Isn’t that a bit basic?” Bakugo asked.

“(Y/n) loved us all, and was never afraid to say it,” Midoriya said pointedly.

“Give me the damn clipboard Deku,” Bakugo grabbed the clipboard and scratched out ‘I love you’, writing ‘The greatest gift to give is love, and I shared this gift with everyone.’

Handing the clipboard back to Midoriya, Bakugo folded his arms. “Well?” He asked.

“I like it Kacchan,” Midoriya approved.

“(Y/n) would have liked it too,” Bakugo looked at his feet.

“(Y/n) loved everyone, and wanted us all to get along, so why don’t we start over?” Midoriya asked.

“I guess we can do that,” Bakugo kicked at the ground, wanting to say something snarky, but refraining. He had been such an ass to Deku, so who was he to refuse a fresh start?

“Hi, I’m Izuku Midoriya, the pro hero, ‘Deku’,” Deku stuck out his hand.

Bakugo shook it.

“My name is Katsuki Bakugo, and I’m the pro hero ‘Ground Zero’,” Bakugo introduced.

“I think we have the potential to be great friends,” Midoriya smiled at Bakugo, not in admiration to worship him, but this time as an equal.

A friend.

Bakugo smirked back. “Yeah, I think I can make that work.”

With that, Bakugo and Midoriya walked away from the vault together, surprising everyone.

The pair knew that you would have been proud.

They had put aside their differences and past to create something new.

All because of you.

For even in death you were still bringing people together.

And as long as people remembered you for that, you would never truly die.

#bnha x reader #denki kaminari imagine #jiro kyoka #todoroki shoto #shoto todoroki #midoriya headcanons #katsuki bakugo imagines #platonic #fanfic #bnha imagines #bnha bakugou #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero acadamia oc #boku no hero academia #bnha x y/n #todoroki shoto x reader #denki kaminari x reader #kyoka jiro x reader

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bgn846 · 3 years ago

Text

The Science Experiment ffxv fluff cats

Noct tried not to panic as he re-read his text message. He was in a meeting and unable to do much of anything besides fidget uselessly in his seat. This of course attracted the attention of Ignis who simply scowled at him with a disapproving look. Figures Prompto would text him with something urgent when he was busy!

Waiting for the meeting to end was pure torture. Not that he knew what real torture felt like but Noct was sure it had to be close. He wasn’t even out of high school yet and he still had to sit through boring council meetings. Finally, when the meeting adjourned he quickly sent a message back to Prompto right before Ignis’ full focus was directed towards him.

“Highness, might I suggest you not play with your phone during council sessions, it does make you look rather distracted.”

“I wasn’t playing!” Noct spit back under his breath.

“Well, whatever it was you were doing shouldn’t be conducted during the meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah, gotcha, can we go home now?”

Ignis merely sighed and nodded towards the exit. The drive back home was mostly quiet. Ignis probably thought he was stewing over being reprimanded for his phone use, but Noct was really texting Prompto. He still had to figure out what to do. Ignis needed to drop him off and go home so Noct could call Prompto.

Getting Ignis to actually go home, took forever. First, he had to convince his advisor and friend that he should take the night off. Only after he agreed to eat some leftovers with actual nutritional content did Ignis agree to this idea. Noct kept saying he was only tired and didn’t want to be a bore if Ignis stuck around. The lie was weak and Noct assumed Ignis was only agreeing to keep him happy.

Nearly twenty minutes later when Ignis had gone back down to his car and the door was locked and bolted did Noct call Prompto. His friend picked up on the first ring.

“Dude! Where have you been?” Prompto wailed.

“In a meeting, I just got rid of Ignis, what’s going on? Is she alright?”

“I dunno, she’s um acting weird. I’m starting to get worried.”

“Shit, I knew you should have taken her to the vet yesterday, now what do we do? Nothing will be open now except in emergency places. Ignis will definitely know something is up if that shows up on the credit card.”

“Oh, oh, I need to bring her over, I don’t know what else to do,” Prompto replied in a rush. “I have just enough money for a cab, I’ll be there soon.”

“Wait! Prompto!” It was too late the line had disconnected. Noct considered calling back but he knew his friend was coming over no matter what he said. Nervously pacing his living room Noct couldn’t get time to go any faster. It felt like an eternity before someone called from downstairs alerting him to Prompto’s arrival.

Running to the door he waited in the hallway until Prompto’s figure appeared around the corner. He was carrying a large box and practically sprinting down the hall. “I don’t know what to do buddy, she’s not okay.”

Noct ushered Prompto inside and quickly shut the door. “Come on let’s take her into the bathroom and see, the light is better in there and it’s got all the first aid stuff too.”

Nearly two hours later Noct wasn’t sure he could unsee what he’d witnessed. Blinking slowly he took in the scene that had unfolded on his pristine white tiled bathroom floor. “How the hell am I going to explain this to Ignis? He doesn’t like animals.”

“We can clean up the mess for sure, but, um, I don’t know what to do with all the new ones,” Prompto replied gesturing towards the pile of squirming fur near the bathtub.

“How did we not know she was pregnant? Shouldn’t that be like, obvious?”

“I’ve never seen a pregnant cat before how the heck would I have known that?”

Noct hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t bother to comment further. They’d both missed this very important fact regarding their newly rescued furry friend. “We couldn’t have left her right? I mean, we did the right thing yeah?” Noct checked, suddenly worried that they’d somehow ruined this cat’s life by taking her in right before she gave birth. Finding a cute cat behind the arcade had been fun but then it had followed them, and pretty soon Prompto had picked it up and the rest is history.

“Nah, dude, she needed a nice place to rest for something like this,” Prompto defended.

“Okay, but now what? They can’t stay here.”

“What do you mean? They can’t stay here, I can’t keep them,” said Prompto with a serious expression. “I work after school, remember? I won’t be able to watch them properly.”

“What about your parents can’t they help?”

“No! Dad is working out of town this week and mom is allergic. I did well to hide momma cat from her this long.”

“Ignis will skin me alive if he finds out I’m keeping a cat in here. I can’t keep them!”

“Buddy, you have to, we don’t have a choice. Don’t you have that extra room no one uses? Can’t we set them up in there and just keep Ignis out?”

“You make it sound so easy, Ignis will find them.”

“Oh! Tell him you are doing a science project and you need a controlled environment or something and that he needs to not open the door for the next week.”

“Prompto, that is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard of, that will never work,” Noct huffed.

“Yeah, so it’s for a science project and like I need a controlled environment otherwise it’ll fail and I’ll have to um, you know, start over,” Noct rambled as Ignis stood in the hallway holding a bundle of folded clothes the next evening.

“Highness you are aware that I use the closet in that room for storing some of your extra clothing, it would have been helpful to have alerted me to this development before you started your experiment.”

“Uh, sorry about not telling you but it’s super important that you just don’t go in there. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow in judgment and watched as Noct withered under the gaze. Unwilling to fight Noct on what he was actually hiding in the room Ignis sighed and shook his head. Without uttering anything else he turned and walked away. The evening was going to be an interesting one.

It became clear that Noct wanted him to leave sooner rather than later, so Ignis decided to play along. Being an integral part of the prince's life meant he would see Noct again, whether he wanted it or not. Seeing Noct struggle to ignore the spare room was comical. Homework was even brought out as what Ignis could only guess was some form of distraction.

Noct only stared at the paper but didn’t write anything. When dinner was served he ate so fast Ignis was sure he’d make himself sick. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. Once all the dishes were clean Ignis gathered his things and bid Noct a good night.

No sooner had he shut the door behind him did he hear Noct run away from the door, he was up to something. Debating about calling Gladio to ask if he knew, Ignis decided things might be more adventurous if he let it play out naturally.

Approximately twenty-six hours later when Ignis came over to fix dinner he had his first clue. Noct’s apartment smelled fruity. The prince normally didn’t like fake scents but he’d obviously bought something. Sniffing around Ignis found the source, plugged into the wall just down the hall from the supposed science experiment room. As he was walking over to investigate further Noct came bustling down the hall and blocked the door with his body.

“When did you get here?! I told you already you can’t go in there!”

“I wasn’t going to go in, I was merely trying to figure out why you bought that,” Ignis commented as he pointed to the small device emitting the not-so-great scent. “And I’m here to fix dinner highness like I always am at this time.”

“Ah, oh, um, right, dinner.”

“So the experiment you’re conducting stinks?” Ignis asked hoping to glean more information.

“No, well not exactly, but yeah,” Noct scrambled. “Does it really matter, this is my house. If I want a smelly plug thing for the wall then I should have one right?”

Ignis raised his hands in defeat and turned away. “I’ll go start dinner then since there is nothing to see here.”

The moment he’d made it to the kitchen Ignis was sure he’d heard the door to the spare room open and quickly close. Noct came to join him about five minutes later and couldn’t focus to save his life. The boy was constantly looking towards the spare room and was unable to make conversation that consisted of anything more than three words. Giving up Ignis finished up dinner and excused himself early for the night.

One day down, Ignis wondered how long Noct would make it before he slipped up and revealed the secrets of the spare room.

It had been three weeks and Ignis was still playing Noct’s game of ‘stay out of the spare room’. Though, he had a pretty good idea of what was going on. He’d just not seen physical evidence yet. Ignis had also discovered that Prompto was part of this ruse as well. The two teenagers were constantly hanging out, more than normal, and working to keep the spare room from being noticed. The idea that making distractions around the rest of the apartment would keep their secret safe was funny to Ignis.

Having had ample time to do research on a few things Ignis was sure that life was about to get a lot trickery for Noct and Prompto. By now Gladio had been alerted and told to stay quiet. Ignis was actually having fun and looking forward to the big, or rather small reveal.

Granted he could have intruded and taken a peek in the room already, but Ignis stood by his morals, this was Noct’s home and he’d been asked to stay out of that room. The trust he and Noct shared was not something he was keen to throw away over a cat.

Settling in at the dining table that evening Ignis sat with his back to the hallway, Noct’s new seat of choice was one facing the spare room. It was just the two of them tonight; Prompto had to go home early to see his parents. Halfway through the meal, Ignis heard a faint scratching noise. “Do you hear that?” he asked pausing and tilting his head.

“Hear what? I don’t hear anything!”

“Hmm I’m sure I heard something, does your science experiment have to do with anything that moves?”

“Something moving?! Six no, its not alive. Nothing in that room is alive,” Noct answered as his face turned a rather interesting shade of red.

“I see, well then I must have heard something else.”

Noct didn’t say anything more; instead it seemed his focus had become how loudly he could eat the rest of his dinner. The idea that clinking his fork into the dishware and slamming his water glass down would do anything to mask the sounds coming from down the hall was amusing. Working hard to keep from smiling Ignis finished eating and hurried to clean and put away the dishes.

“Don’t forget we need to review the council meeting minute’s tomorrow evening after dinner.”

“Can’t we just like wait until the meeting and then I’ll take a look, I don’t really need to be that prepared. They never ask me anything anyway.”

“You will not get out of this highness, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Noct groaned in frustration but nodded as Ignis gathered his things and made to leave. Deciding to push a little Ignis paused near the door. “When will your science experiment be over?”

“Not sure, it’s sorta um an organic timed kinda thing. Ya know?”

“No not really, why don’t you explain it to me?”

Noct’s nervous laughter filled the space as he began gesticulating with his hands and trying to say something coherent. “Well, like, um, it’s science and stuff and sometimes I don’t even understand it, but there are instructions and its going well I think.”

“I see,” Ignis hummed. “I’d best be off then, good night Noct.” With nothing more than a smile, Ignis donned his shoes and left.

The next evening when Ignis approached Noct’s apartment door he could hear a commotion inside. A faint yelp indicated that Prompto was there as well. Knocking loudly Ignis took his time unlocking the door and letting himself in. He could at least give them a head start.

Once inside Ignis could tell that things had escalated. The living room was a mess and the sound of hushed voices and frantic steps could be heard down the hall. Both young men were in the spare room. The cat must have escaped the room or maybe it was trying to escape. One couldn’t keep a cat caged for too long it’d get curious and want to explore.

Deciding to start dinner Ignis busied himself in the kitchen. Looking around in an upper cabinet for a dish Ignis was startled when a door slammed. Spinning around Ignis was about to check on Noct and Prompto when something caught his eye. There on the floor was a tiny little ball of fluff. It had cute little ears and was wobbling around headed straight for him.

They were hiding a kitten, not a cat! No wonder Noct was being so protective. Slowly walking towards the little kitten, Ignis was surprised when another nearly identical kitten appeared from around the corner. Dear six, there was more than one. The first kitten had nearly made to his feet when Ignis heard footsteps approaching. Without thinking he leaned over and scooped up the little animal and promptly shoved it in the still open cabinet. Swiftly closing the door he stayed facing the wall pretending to prepare things while he waited. The footsteps became very quiet, almost like the owner was trying to hide. Ignis knew they were trying to catch the little escapee. When the door down the hall opened and closed Ignis checked to make sure he was alone before he opened the cabinet door.

A petit mew was the greeting he received from the occupant. Reaching in Ignis gave the little fuzzball a pat. “I believe they are still looking for you little one,” he whispered with a smirk. “Your sibling didn’t make it as far as you.”

Again, the door opened down the hall and Ignis quickly and carefully shut the cabinet to hide its secret. Spinning around Ignis found Noct wandering around the living room, hunched over clearly looking for the missing kitten. “Did you lose something?”

Noct straightened up and shook his head, “Nah I was um just stretching my legs.”

Before Ignis could think of what to say Prompto came running into the room without noticing him. “Did you find it?!”

“Be sure to say hi to Ignis first!” Noct exclaimed.

“Shit! Oh uh I mean hi, how’s it going?” Prompto managed as he turned to face him.

“So you were looking for something?”

“Prompto’s phone, that’s what I was looking for, it’s not here. I think we need to check the other room again.” Noct walked away and dragged a very flustered Prompto with him.

Ignis heard Noct berate Prompto for not knowing he was there. The last bit of conversation he could make out was regarding the blond having not heard the knock on the door. Remembering his own secret Ignis rushed back and opened the cabinet. Another mew sounded and this time the kitten stumbled right out and nearly hit the counter. Thinking fast Ignis caught the little thing and cradled it to his chest. “Little trouble maker you,” he cooed. “Come now, let’s have some fun.”

Dinner was truly entertaining. Ignis managed to hide the little kitten that he‘d already named Darvis in the laundry room. The basket full of clean towels was most intriguing and worked as a wonderful place for a small nap. However, the real show was getting to watch Prompto and Noct attempt to remain sane while they ate. Neither of them would maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds. They’d always break away to scan the floor around the apartment.

When dinner was over Ignis stood and stretched. “I think you two should clean the dishes while I get some paperwork ready for Noct to review.” Both boys were up in a flash and clearing away the dishes. Ignis had never seen them move so fast.

Taking advantage of the distraction Ignis calmly went to retrieve little Darvis. It was far too easy to sneak back into the living room and sit on the sofa with his back to Noct and Prompto. The kitten was enjoying the attention and clambered around on his lap until it found a nice little spot between Ignis’ leg and the sofa cushion. Getting comfortable Ignis began arranging paperwork for Noct to look at. Darvis had his eyes closed and was happily napping again. Soon enough Noct shuffled into view, still looking everywhere but Ignis. Prompto followed him and was also scanning the area.

“Sit down this won’t take long. Feel free to stick around Prompto, we’ll be done soon and then I’ll take my leave for the night.”

“Huh? Oh sure, um what do you need me to review?” Noct replied absentmindedly, his attention clearly on something else.

Ignis smiled and handed over the paperwork, Noct almost dropped the folder because he wasn’t looking. Finally, the prince sat down and made a half-assed attempt at looking through the files. Prompto continued to search the fringes of the room by idly wandering around.

Several minutes passed before Prompto froze and let his mouth fall open. He was looking right at Darvis. Noct was still distracted enough that Ignis was able to put a finger to his lips to silence Prompto. The blond kept moving his mouth akin to a fish out of water but he remained quiet.

“Ignis, um, can I look at these later I’m really not able to focus right now.” Noct lamented as he put the folder down on the coffee table.

“Certainly highness, I’ll be happy to go over it again tomorrow with you.”

“Thanks, sorry, I’m not being very helpful.��

“I understand,” Ignis supplied looking straight at Noct and waiting for him to see what was in plain sight.

Prompto had even begun to stare at his friend in disbelief. Finally, Noct’s eyes grew wide as he noticed the little ball of fluff nestled next to Ignis. “How --how long have you known?” Noct managed in a strangled voice.

“Since the scent plug-in appeared.”

Noct groaned and flopped sideways on the sofa, though he quickly perked back up and pointed an accusing finger at him, “I get to keep one, you clearly already picked one.”

“Yes, Darvis is mine and will be coming to live with me once he’s been properly nursed by his mother.”

“I thought you didn’t like cats!” Prompto exclaimed.

“I don’t, Darvis is the exception,” Ignis answered coolly.

“What about the other two, and the momma?” Prompto asked with worry. “I can’t take any of them, my mom is allergic.”

Ignis wasn’t surprised to hear there were more, but he knew what to do. “I’ll put a notice up in the office; we’ll be able to find suitable homes for all of them in no time.”

“I can’t believe you let me suffer through that terrible science experiment lie for three whole weeks!” Noct lamented.

“How did you even come up with that farce?”

Noct immediately looked at Prompto and threw his hand out, “he suggested it!”

“Next time I might suggest you fess up before making your life harder. I may not like most cats but I wouldn’t have made you put it out on the street. Though,” Ignis paused and stared at Noct intensely, “that doesn’t mean you can bring every pregnant stray you find here. Am I understood?”

“I promise never to do it again, so long as I get to keep one.”

“Can he keep another one for me too?” Prompto tried hopefully.

“Don’t push your luck young man, I think one cat between the two of you will be purrfectly fine.”

“Oh, you did not just do that!” Noct groused. “Prompto we need to get him away from the cats now, he’s only gonna get worse!”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32461276

#ffxv #fanfic #ignis #noctis #prompto

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