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queen-of-the-avengers · 14 days ago

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Red

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: sexual assault (not quite rape), angst, feeling uncomfortable by a man touching you, minor fluff at the end

Summary: A mission calls for you to find your inner vixen to get information from a man who is known to be a womanizer. Things don’t go according to plan, so Sam has to step up and take matters into his own hands. When Bucky hears about it, he turns to you knowing you need comfort in the safest way possible.

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The short black dress stares back at you in your closet with a knowing look. You don’t want to wear this. you don’t want to go on this mission. You’d rather spend the night cuddled up next to your boyfriend and watch movies. Instead, you’re going on a mission to essentially be a vixen, not in the literal sense where you have sex with someone but in the sense where you have to seduce the target to get what you want.

It's not ideal but this is the job.

The man in question is a womanizer and is high in the weapons world. He’s one of the most well-known weapons dealers across the country. He mostly deals out of his club but whenever authorities raid his club, they can’t find anything to nail him with. That’s when they called your team to do what they clearly can’t.

You yank the dress off the hanger and quickly put it on. You haven’t worn this since before you started going out with Bucky. You can remember wearing this to the club with your friends. The material is a bit tighter than you remember but it’ll help you get what you want. You shift your boobs to make them pop more without having them completely spill out the top. You walk to your vanity and sift through your makeup.

Someone knocks on your door before walking in. You smile when you see it’s your boyfriend.

“Hey, baby.” He has a frown etched onto his face, deeper than usual. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like this plan.” You’re the only one who can get close to Mezzi. Anyone else would just tip him off. “Not that I don’t want you flirting with another man, but Mezzi is bad news. He treats women like shit. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You set down your makeup brush and walk over to him. You wrap your arms around his neck and his hands automatically settle on your waist.

“I’m a professional, baby, and a really skilled spy. I’ve gotten bigger, more tougher men to talk for less. I’ve done this before. Plus, Sam and John will be there if anything goes wrong.”

The mention of the blonde man makes his frown deeper.

“I don’t like that John is going.”

“You don’t like anything he does.”

“There’s something dirty about him. He’s not a good man.”

You pull Bucky down toward you and kiss him, keeping the kiss short and sweet.

“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine. It’s just another mission.”

Bucky slides one of his hands into your hair and kisses you for longer this time.

“Okay, I trust you,” he whispers against your lips.

“Good,” you grin and peck his lips once more.

You finish getting ready and leave with Sam and John to the car. Bucky leads his own team of soldiers who will wait outside until the cue is given. He would have gone in with you but Mezzi knows Bucky’s face. He would have ruined the entire mission before it could begin.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” you say. “I’ll go in first and distract him while you two go to the bar and pretend to be just like any other customer. Once I’m close, I’ll casually ask how my friend heard about his weapons and would like to buy some. Hopefully, he’ll be drunk enough to say where he keeps them which we would call in Bucky’s team.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam shrugs.

“We need a safe word,” you say.

“Why?” John asks.

“Because I’m a woman going in to seduce a womanizer who looks like he doesn’t like the word no. So, I need a safe word or I’m not going in.”

“Seems fair,” Sam says.

“Fine, what is it?”

“Red. I’ll work it into the conversation but if you hear me say that, move in immediately.”

John doesn’t say anything but nods in agreement. When you get to the club, you go in first. The place is already crowded with a bunch of people but you push past them all to get to the far end of the club. There is a section separated by curtains and guards which can only mean it’s the VIP section. Through the large slit in the curtains, you see Mezzi sitting back with both arms on the back of the couch.

Bingo.

You walk closer to the VIP section and start to move your body to the music. Sam and John walk in and head to the bar like they’re supposed to while keeping a close eye on you. You look up and meet Mezzi’s eyes through the slit and smirk at him. You’ve got his attention. You run your hands down your body and move sensually to the music. He leans forward and licks his bottom lip, already entranced by you.

He calls for one of his guards and whispers something to him while maintaining eye contact with you. The guard leaves and heads over to you, and you pull your eyes from Mezzi to look at the guard.

“Boss wants to see you.”

“Lead the way,” you grin.

He allows you to pass into the VIP section, and Mezzi leans back with a lazy smirk on his face.

“Up close, you’re even more beautiful,” he grins. “Drink?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He gets up and walks over to the mini bar to make your drink. You watch him carefully to make sure he doesn’t put anything in your drink, and you relax when he doesn’t. This place is so secluded from the rest of the club due to the curtains so anything can happen in here and no one would know about it. Luckily, you have Sam and John in your ear so you’ll be able to call for them if things get out of hand.

“Thank you,” you smile and accept the drink. He takes a seat next to you, a little bit closer than your liking. It’s okay. Pretend he’s Bucky. “I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so handsome before.”

“Oh, baby, there is no one else like me. You’ve come to the right section. I can blow your mind without even touching you.”

“Oh, really? Lucky me,” you giggle.

Mezzi reaches out and runs his hands over your exposed thighs, and you picture Bucky’s hands touching you. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to do this for a mission, but it is the first time since you’ve been with Bucky. You respect him too much to do things like this, but there was no other way to get close to Mezzi.

“God, you’re so sexy. Best looking girl here.”

“You’re just saying that.”

His hands briefly slide up your dress before he moves it back down. “No, I’m not. When I see something I like, I make sure she knows about it.”

“Here’s to new opportunities,” you grin and hold your drink out to him. He raises his own drink and clinks it with yours, but he only takes a sip. He’s careful not to intake too much alcohol, especially when he’s involved in so much illegal shit. “I was hoping to talk to you tonight.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“I have this friend who was asking about you.”

“What friend?”

“Oh, just a friend.” You reach over and dance your fingers across his chest, slightly sliding them through the buttons of his shirt. “He says you have a certain shipment he’d like to buy from you. He wouldn’t tell me more. He says you’d know what I was talking about.”

Mezzi’s attitude switches but it’s very subtle. You can see it in his eyes. He does not like that question. He slides his hand up your body and rests his palm over the hollowness of your throat. Not hurting you but letting you know he can hurt you if you piss him off.

“Well, you tell your friend if he wants something I have, then he should be the one asking for it, not sending his whore after me.”

“Now, that’s not very nice.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, baby, it was a compliment.”

He pulls you in closer so that you’re practically in his lap, and you suddenly grow uncomfortable. He has one thing on his mind and it’s not talking.

“Out of curiosity, what’s the shipment?” you ask, trying to get his mind somewhere else.

“Enough talking. You clearly came here for one thing and one thing only. I deliver on all of my promises, and I promise to make your time here worthwhile.”

He slides his hand up your dress and rests it very close to the one place you only ever want one man to go: Bucky. He leans in and presses kisses to your neck so lightly, and that’s when you panic. No mission is worth feeling like this. You don’t want to be here anymore.

“Red,” you blurt out.

“What?” he asks and pulls away.

“I like your red shirt. It’s very silky.”

“It looks better on the ground.”

Sam’s earpiece has been bothering him since he got here, so he’s trying to fix it. He should have gotten a new one when he had the chance since it’s not the first time this has acted up. John’s earpiece, however, works just fine. He hears your cry for help yet he does… nothing. He looks toward the VIP section and sips his drink casually.

“My favorite color is red,” you say with slight panic.

John can’t give away their position because Mezzi hasn’t given the location of his weapons yet. If they raid now, they might not have anything. Sam tweaks a few parts before putting it back in his ear. He smiles when it works but it’s lost when he hears your panicked voice.

“Has she been saying this? Why are you just sitting there?” Sam asks.

He gets up to rescue you but John grabs his arm.

“He hasn’t told her where the shipment is.”

“I don’t fucking care. Get your hand off me.”

Sam yanks his arm away and leaves to come to your rescue. John, on the other hand, finishes his drink leisurely.

Mezzi has you pinned to the couch with your dress bunched up at your hips. The only thing separating him from rape is a flimsy piece of cotton. You wish Bucky was here.

“Please stop,” you say, close to tears. “Red!”

He is about to silence you with a hand to your throat when he freezes. Sam places a gun to the back of his head.

“Let go of her.” Mezzi does and you scramble as far as you can get from him. You shake slightly and pull your dress down as much as it can go. “If you don’t want to get your head blown off, I’d suggest you tell us where your shipment is right now.”

“You’re bluffing,” he chuckles.

Sam moves the gun away from his head and aims it at his leg. He shoots once, and Mezzi jerks back in pain. The gun has a silencer on it so no one can hear how much Mezzi is in pain. The music drowns out his shouts of pain, and Sam moves the gun back to his head.

“Am I bluffing now?”

“In the basement, man. In the tunnels.”

“Come in, Buck. You’re up. It’s in the tunnels below,” Sam says into the earpiece.

“Copy that.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asks you while keeping the gun on Mezzi.

“I think so,” you whisper.

“Go. We’ve got it handled from here.”

You don’t think twice about leaving. All you want is to go home, shower, and cry.

“Shame,” Mezzi groans in pain. “She looks like her pussy would be tight.”

Sam rears his fist back and punches Mezzi hard in the jaw. So hard that Mezzi passes out right there and then. Bucky and his men found the shipment and were able to arrest Mezzi and his men on the spot. With that much evidence, no judge would ever think about letting them go. The adrenaline has worn off and the shakes have replaced it. You were almost raped. You were sexually assaulted. You might be a trained spy but that all went out the window the second Mezzi forced you on your back.

The second Bucky heard about what happened, pissed doesn’t even cover what he’s feeling. Sam had to tell Bucky what John did because it was wrong of him to hear your safe word and do nothing about it. Bucky storms into home base and makes a beeline for John. He grabs his collar and yanks him violently toward him.

“You heard her safe word and did nothing about it?”

“I knew she had it handled! He didn’t tell her where the shipment was.”

“I oughta kill you,” Bucky growls. He grabs John’s throat with his metal hand and squeezes. “She’s my girlfriend, you bastard.”

John is no match for Bucky so he doesn’t even try to fight back. Bucky is about to do more damage when Sam walks into the room.

“She’s asking for you, Buck.”

Bucky lets John go, and the latter coughs violently. “Get him the hell out. He better be gone when I get back.” He leaves the room and walks into your bedroom. The shower is going in your bathroom, and he looks inside to see you sitting on the shower floor with your knees to your chest. “Y/N?” You don’t reply. He knows how scared you must be. “He can’t hurt you anymore, baby.”

Again, you don’t respond to him. He steps inside the running shower and turns off the water, not caring if he has water on his clothes. He wraps you in your fluffy towel and scoops you into his arms. He brings you to the bed and sits you down before going into your closet. He grabs one of his big hoodies and dresses you in it.

The second he has you in his arms, you bury your head in his chest and cry.

“Shh, I’m right here. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I was so scared,” you whimper. “I thought… I just wanted you.”

“I’m here now. I won’t let him touch you again. You’re safe now.”

Bucky smooths down your hair and allows you to cry as much as you need to. He won’t tell you what John did because that would only make you feel worse.

“Please stay with me,” you whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere. You can rest knowing you’re protected. You’re safe now.”

“I love you,” you say and snuggle closer to him.

“I love you. Get some rest. I’ll be here the whole time.”

That’s all the comfort you need. He makes you feel safe, and that’s all you can ever ask for.

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clatoera · 7 months ago

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Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 8: You Knew What You Wanted, and Boy You Got Her

Heeey besties sorry for yet another middle of the night fic drop. We are back and better than ever with some Clato content. This one and the next two are just all about them so! Live laugh clato era!. The next one..is in fact the one you have all been waiting for and I think this one gives the hint as to what that will be. Fun fact about this chapter, is this is the chapter i've been scheming for over a year. It is the reason I made the twins identical. All for this chapter to happen.

Masterpost

AO3

Title from Taylor Swift So High School, because this is like..referencing the uh..we'll just say readiness of her LOL. IDK it'll make sense when you read it.

As always let me tag my beloved @kentwells and @bodyelectric77 who literally listen to me do nothing but talk about this fic. I love u thank you for sticking around.

The first thing Clove does, every time she comes home, is kicks her shoes off without untying them. In the back of her mind she can hear her grandmother, telling her that's how she ruined them, by stepping on the feel with the opposite toe and yanking her foot out by the ankle. Later, she can hear Enobaria telling her at least she’s efficient and in all areas of her life she’s a quick girl. Now, she’s twenty three and even still, it is just so much simpler to slip her foot out of her shoes than take the time to untie them.

She can always buy more.

It’s one of the many things that, after the war that upended her life, has become part of new routine. It should shock noone that the kids who were raised in the strictest, highest level of training academy of District Two, grew into adults who craved some sort of order. Ones who especially craved it once every other aspect of the world around them changed.

It was so simple, really. Clove goes on her little– little, being anywhere from four to twenty miles depending on how much her body could take– run. She comes home. She enters through the back door into the kitchen, because if she came in the front and Enobaria was home Cashmere would catch her on her way and talk to her for fifteen minutes. She took off her shoes, left then right, losing about an inch of height once the running shoes were off her feet. She takes approximately five steps to the island in the center of her kitchen, where she would take off her jacket if it were a cool day. On summer days like today, she pulls the elastic out of her hair and lets it tumble past her shoulders and to the middle of her back where it covers the exposed skin between the elastic bands of her workout clothes. Because it is the beginning of September and summer is threatening to close in on them anyday, she sometimes treats herself to the last of whatever seasonal fruit she has on hand.

Today, though, she bypasses the snack as she glances at the clock above the stove. Six thirty. Something about the time brings her pause, as she cocks her head and strums her nails along the marble countertop. Six thirty. Early September. She just has this sense that she’s missing something. Were they supposed to be somewhere today?

“Babe?” Clove calls out, distracted as she counts out something on her fingers. No. That wasn’t today. Nope, not that either. Nope, the trip to Four is next weekend. Enough seconds pass with no response that Cato either did not hear her or is not home, and at least if it’s the latter she can assume he remembered whatever she didn’t. She tries again, “Cato? Babe, are you home?”

As she calls out she makes her way from the kitchen over towards her living room, still perplexed by whatever it is she apparently forgot to write down. She’s missing something. “Cato, I think we’re supposed to be doing something?” She tries again, but as she rounds the corner she is aggressively reminded of what she was supposed to be doing today.

“Oh look, there’s your Aunt Clovey.”

Clove stops short in the doorway, taken back by Cato standing not too far from the center of the room holding not one but two little blonde babies in either arm. Six months old, almost, and yet compared to the size of him they may as well have been six weeks.

God he’s fucking huge.

Focus, Clove, Focus.

Clove pauses, leaning her head on the doorframe for just the slightest of a second before she crosses the couple of steps to stand directly in front of Cato and the girls, who even still are all significantly above her eye level. “Cato..” Clove starts, an artificially sweet tone filling her voice as she reaches up to grab the hand of one of the twins, not entirely sure which is which yet. “Where did these babies come from?”

“Uh, Glimmer? I mean technically I guess they came from Marvel first but–” Cato shrugs, in doing so making both of the twins giggle as they’re lightly bounced in his arms.

Early September. Six thirty. Three months after her wedding anniversary which is..Glimmer’s.

“No shit, I know they came from Glimmer, Cato. I mean where is their dear mother?” Clove rolls her eyes at him, but holds her hands out to the baby he holds on his left, allowing her to lean her upper body into her hands and transfer into Clove’s awaiting arms.

“She just left, literally minutes before you got home, you probably would have run into her if you came in the front.” Cato explains, though he doesn’t even spare a look in Clove’s direction. Instead he directs all of his words in the direction of the little blonde he still holds, gasping desperately for the baby’s attention. His efforts are rewarded as the baby reaches her little hand up to his face, grasping her little fingers at any part of his face she can find a grip in.

“I can’t believe she actually left them. I don’t think she can even sleep without holding them. I thought they’d be eighteen before she could step away.” Clove mumbles, running her own spare hand through the soft baby curls of whichever girl she holds. “Which one is this?”

“Oh, she didn’t want to leave them. She looked like she was going to cry so I just shut the door on her. I told her she needed to go have dinner or mediocre sex or something.” Cato waves off, peeling the baby’s hand off of his face before he flips her around to face Clove. In the same motion he settles her on his shoulders, little baby hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair in the meantime. He’s been built for a lifetime of discomfort, and so the grasp of a six month old was absolutely nothing on him. The silly smile does in fact start to fall from his face at Clove’s follow up question, and he narrows his eyes at the baby absolutely pulling at Clove’s free flowing hair. “You know, I didn’t get a chance to ask. She was grabbing their hands and I could see the tears and I just pushed her out.”

Clove raises a disbelieving eyebrow, taking the minute to narrow her eyes at her husband. “...you didn’t think to clarify which of the identical twins was which?”

“Well I would have, but I thought she was going to change her mind so. No. How about we’ll call this one Glimmer Two,” Cato holds up the baby’s arm and makes her wave at Clove, which earns an excited little babble in Clove’s direction. “And yours can be Glimmer Three.”

“She’s going to actually kill us if we mix them up. What happens when we switch them and then Stella spends her entire life thinking she’s her sister” Clove teases, but glances down at her own assigned baby who is fascinated by shoving fistfulls of dark hair into her mouth.

“Stella?” She tries, looking between the two for a reaction. Both are too fascinated with the adult who holds them to notice, so she tries the alternative. “...Aurelia?” Again, neither grace her with any sort of attention or acknowledgement, and Clove huffs in impatience. “Now I know they know their damn names.”

“Yeah, and the superior twin likes me better, but they seem pretty unimpressed right now. Do you think there's a secret third?” Cato questions, trying to turn his head to glance up at his designated twin resting around his neck. “Are you Glimmer Two or Glimmer Four?”

“...I’m color coding them.” Clove determines, glancing around the room for the bag full of outfit changes Glimmer brings everywhere she goes. “Glimmer Two is in Pink, i’m putting this one in purple or something. Also you know if Glimmer hears you call one the superior twin she’s going to lose it.”

“Oh we all know you like Stella better, Clove.” Cato flips his baby back around, quite literally, and she lands in his arms with a squeal of delight. A smug smirk finds his face as he glances Clove over from her head to her toes. “I just like to bet on the littlest ones, you would know about that. Sometimes the runt can surprise you.”

“I don’t like Stella better, Stella just likes me better. Aurelia likes you, anyway.” Clove waves off, holding back her eye roll as she gently unravels the baby’s hand from her hair. She offers him a coy smirk, looking him up and down. “Maybe I just take pity on the big ones. Especially the big dumb boys.”

“She’s just saying that, she’s obsessed with me, kid.” He directs towards the baby (who, for what it’s worth is in fact Aurelia), managing to drape the entirety of her little body over the length of his forearm. “It can’t be that bad, they can’t be gone long anyway. I give ‘em two hours max.”

“Lucky for us they actually need their mother so they don’t starve, she’ll come back soon.” Clove assures herself more than anyone else. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the girls, quite the opposite actually. She’d even go as far as to say she adores them, but only to certain people who asked. Still, it wasn’t like she had any experience with being alone and responsible for entirely dependent human beings. Unless, of course, you count preteen Cato. At that thought she glanced around, her attention honing in on the haphazard collections of knives and other weapons around the general vicinity. “...watch her. I need a minute.”

Clove slides Stella down to the floor, and once she is sitting independently on the carpet, Clove goes to step away and collect the literal weapons out of their grasp. Almost instantly a high pitched whining comes from the baby, who immediately has her hands up in the air towards Clove, baby hands clenching into clingy little grasps for attention. Clove pauses, turning in place when she feels the little hands grabbing at her sock. “Seriously?”

The whining intensifies, turning desperate and higher in pitch as Clove glances down at the baby by her leg. She notices the pouty lower lip and almost immediately freezes. “No, no no no, no crying. Please. No crying.” Clove’s eyes immediately flit up to Cato, who’s still standing by her with the smuggest grin on his face. “A little help would be nice, Cato.”

“Fuck it, Clove. They can’t move anyway.” Cato points out, nodding his head towards the whining baby at her feet. “She’s probably literally never been put down in her life, just hold her.”

Clove audibly sighs, and exchanges the handful of metal for a handful of baby. It’s like she’s hit the metaphorical off switch, and the baby immediately stops her threat of tears. Stella settles right against Clove’s hip , laying her head down on her shoulder with not a threat of shedding a single tear. “Is this a joke? Are we going to have to hold them all night?”

“That has to be Stella. She liiikes you.” Cato decides, before he decides to kick back onto the couch with the twin he has deemed Aurelia. “Don’t act like the world’s ending, there’s worst things to be doing than holding cute babies, Clove.”

“They are cute.” Clove muses, resting her cheek on top of the little blonde head on her shoulder. “It’s fucking weird, they really do look just like Glimmer. It’s weird to be holding little versions of Glimmer.”

“They’re just lucky they don’t look like Marvel.” Without much warning Cato reaches out and grabs Clove by the band of her sports bra, jerking her back towards the couch. As soon as her knees hit the edge he pulls her down and to his side, looping his free arm around her waist.

It’s instinctive, the way she pulls her feet up and tucks them over his knee, angling her body towards him like the second nature that it is. “Isn’t it like..a weird thing to you? That our friends made these. Like..literally made them. Glimmer grew these hands.” She holds up Stella’s hand for emphasis, before it once again embeds in the lengths of her hair.

“I feel like they should probably thank us for existing, I mean it was our wedding. It’s not typical that you need to ask your friends to watch your six month olds on your first anniversary.” Cato teases, before he pinches at Clove’s exposed skin.

“Glimmer doesn’t appreciate the reminder of her shotgun wedding, you know that.” Clove flinches out of his grasp, letting out a yelp that startles one of the twins out of whatever little trance they seemed to be in. “She’s a good mom though. They’re lucky girls, to have ended up with her. I think she was born to be a mother.”

She misses the way Cato seems to be staring at her with something on his mind, as she has to once again pry her hair out of the death grip of a child. This time she has to also pull her strands of hair from Stella’s fist and mouth, only barely containing her disgust at moisture in her hair. “Do you think they’re hungry?”

“Huh?” He is only half paying attention, pulled from a daydream or something as Clove brings him back to their current reality. “What did you say?” “I said do you think they’re hungry, space cadet.” Clove teases, pushing herself back off of him so she could settle the baby in her lap. “She’s trying to eat my hair.”

“..can we even feed them anything in this house? Can babies…eat? I’m sure their parents fed them, Clove. Do they even have teeth?”

“Oh they have teeth, haven’t you heard Glimmer complain about it? Besides, babe, we go to their house three days a week so I can fill their fridge with baby and Marvel safe snacks. We’ve been doing it for two months.” She points out, before she’s off the couch and heading back towards the kitchen with one of the twins still tightly situated on her hip.

Cato wastes no time following behind, albeit a little annoyed to be off the couch already after he had just started to get comfortable with her. “Are they even hungry?”

“I don’t know Cato, I just know I feel this urge to feed them, okay? Like it’s my job.” Clove waves off, flittering over to her usual side of the kitchen as Cato settles in across the island.

“Hmm..is it you who likes strawberries or are you the kiwi baby?” Clove asks the baby in her left arm, grabbing a handful of both out of the fruit bowl in the middle of the table.

“I don’t think she’ll answer you.” Cato teases, sitting his twin on the island and holding her up against his chest. “I actually don’t know when babies talk.”

“I”m surprised these ones don’t already, considering their dad never shuts up.” She comments, holding her left hand firmly down on her twin’s arms and hands, so she cannot lunge for the knife in her right hand. “They like..babble at each other though. They’re probably telling each other we’re incompetent.” As if it’s nothing, Clove easily uses the knife to start cutting perfect heart shaped slices out of a strawberry with only one hand, the other still holding Stella (she thinks) back. She lets go of her hand to give her a single sliced heart, and immediately has to grab at her little baby hand once again. “No, baby, please don’t maim yourself. You have parents who could actually try to kill me.” She tilts her head when Stella crinkles her little nose, looking at Clove in confusion before resuming her babbling at her. “...are you the kiwi baby then?”

She slides Cato the plate of strawberries for the other baby, before she resumes her one handed slicing and shaping. “How about we do Kiwi stars, since we have strawberry hearts?” Clove asks the babies, who simply continue their normal baby babbles at her and each other.

She’s distracted by her knife work, handing pieces of fruit back and forth to both of the twins, each time emphasizing the fruit and the shape before she’d hand them a new slice. She feels the sticky kiwi covered hand on her collarbone and lets out an audible groan, “That's not very nice, baby blondie.”

Clove glances up to see if Aurelia (maybe) is also covering Cato in the sugary handprints, and is instead met with Cato just staring at her with an adoring depth to his blue eyes. There's half a smile on his face, and he just looks lovestruck. Clove narrows her eyes back at him, shaking her head just a little. “What are you looking at?”

“Just you.” Cato muses, not even phased when a sticky piece of strawberry is shoved towards his mouth as he ducks out of the way. “I’m thinking, that's all. You just look really really good right now. With her.”

Clove hesitates, watching as Aurelia succeeds in shoving a now mushed strawberry into his unsuspecting mouth. Clove truly cannot help but laugh, nose scrunching up as she does so, and it must be infectious as little miss Stella laughs at Clove laughing at Cato.

He clearly decides not to push his luck with whatever he’s thinking about (and Clove, for what it’s worth can connect the dots). “Can you make some big people food, too? I don’t think I can survive on star shaped strawberries.”

“Um Educate yourself, Cato, the strawberries are hearts and the kiwis are the stars.”

“My mistake, how about some triangle shaped steak?”

Clove does make the two of them adult dinner, too. Albeit it all ends up cut into finger foods, consisting of half moon shaped sweet potato slices, perfectly square carrot chips, and yes, even triangular shaped overcooked (“Intentionally Overcooked, you can’t give a baby rare steak, Cato”) slices of steak.

Later, Clove pawns both twins off on Cato so she can rinse the traces of smushed sweet potato and carrot, along with the sweat from her much earlier run, out of her hair and off of her skin. She wins the race to the shower with the simple reminder that she fed them so she gets to have ten minutes to wash handprints off of her skin.

She comes back downstairs more than just ten minutes later, an oversized shirt she borrowed from Cato serving as a dress, wet hair wrapped in a towel atop her head and safely out of the grip of curious little babies. She’s halfway back down the staircase, when she is brought to a stop by the sound of Cato and his one sided conversation.

No, not one sided, but met with avid, nonsensical baby babbles in response.

“See, you roll the ball and it comes back and you have to get it when it comes back, you have to catch it Glimmer Two..Three..Two…Whichever Mini Glimmer.”

Clove peaks her head around the corner, to see Cato sitting less than the length of his legs away from the wall, the twins situated side by side in front of him. He’s rolling a weighted ball into the wall, letting it slowly return and land at the feet of either twin. Once the ball hits one of their feet they squeal in delight, before they both turn back to look at him sets of wide green eyes waiting for him to push it back.

“You can use your legs! Come on, kick it.” Cato tries again, this time grabbing one of their little feet and nudging at the ball, earning delighted giggles from both of them.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Clove interrupts, breaking into a bemused smile as she settles down on the floor beside them. Almost instantly his hand comes up to rest on her knee, squeezing gently before he nudges the ball away.

“This? I used to do this when Cora was little. I didn’t know how to play with her.” He explains, using his other hand to send the ball rolling back towards the baseboard again. “I still don’t know how, apparently.”

“They clearly love it.” She assures him, raising her eyebrows into a playful smile as the girls both lock in their gaze on her instead of the ball. One reaches little grabby hands towards her again, and she offers the baby her finger to hold to tie her over with Cato for just a little bit longer. “You’re good with them. Like…really really really good. You should probably do it more often.”

“I don’t think they’re going to be very athletic, which is kind of shocking considering who they came from..” Cato muses, nodding towards the baby that is so enamored with Clove. “I think they like you, Clovey.”

“They’re six months old, give them time to grow some coordination.” Her smile softens as she leans in and scoops up whoever it is, letting the baby snuggle directly into her arms. “Baby, which one of them is this?”

“I have to be honest Clove, I have no fucking idea.”

“Glimmer will be back for them soon, anyway.” Clove shrugs, taking the opportunity to lay her head on Cato’s shoulder, stifling her own yawn as she watches one of the twins do the same. “This is weirdly exhausting. Not in a bad way. Just..I’m really fucking tired.”

“It’s probably easier if there's only one.” Cato shrugs, gently pushing the ball out of reach and settling the remaining twin in his own arm. “You’re right though. I don’t know how Glimmer is literally always bouncing off of a wall with them.”

“It’s ‘cause they’re all she’s ever wanted.” Clove slurs, stifling another yawn into his shoulder, leaving her forehead pressed into him for just a minute. “It’s like she’s living a dream.”

“I mean…I get it.” He admits, keeping his eyes focused on the baby who was rubbing adamantly at her little tired eyes.

“Yeah?” Clove mumbles in response, resting more and more of her weight against Cato’s arm.

“Yeah.” He reiterates, subconsciously moving his right arm containing the baby, lulling her closer to the sleep she clearly craved. “I think we should talk about-”

Before he can finish his sentence, he feels the bulk of weight sink into his left arm. He glances over to Clove, who has fully slipped to sleep against him, as has the baby who clings to her neck.

“I guess we’ll talk about it later, huh Kiddo?” He whispers to the baby he holds, who is quickly falling asleep herself. Cato surveys between the three of them, and the tired smile he wears falls when he realizes he has more sleeping girls on his hands than he has arms.

It’s..God only knows..how long later when Clove is startled awake by a hand on her shoulder shaking her gently. “Clove..Clove, we’re back.”

She’s jolted awake, really, disoriented and confused. Somehow (Cato) she ended up in the recliner, covered in a thick furry blanket with the baby sprawled out on top of her. Her hand almost instinctively comes to the baby’s head as she’s startled awake, just naturally trying to keep her calm and sleeping in her arms. “Huh, what, what time is it?”

“It’s nine thirty one.” Comes an amused, whispering tone from her left, where Marvel’s hand still rests on her shoulder from where he just shook her awake. “The lights were all off, we knew you had to be asleep. How were they?”

“Fuck, I thought it had to be like three in the morning, what do you mean it’s only nine thirty?” Cato mumbles from across the room, where he’s fully sprawled out on the couch with the other twin asleep on top of his chest.

“We told you we’d only be a few hours..” Glimmer chimes in, the noise of sequins rustling against each other mixed with heels on hardwood announcing her entrance. “Where are my girls, I miss them!”

“Can you whisper, we just got to sleep.” Clove whines, forcing her eyes open as she feels the baby she holds beginning to move and wake at the sound of her parents. She peaks an eye open up at Marvel where he stands over her and can’t help but smirk at the ruffled hair and pink lipstick at the collar of his shirt and dipping underneath. “Looks like you had a good night.”

“Good for you, we didn’t watch them for nothing then. I’m proud of you, Marvel.” Cato mocks, though he doesn’t even bother to open his eyes to make fun of them.

Glimmer’s eye roll may as well have been audible, as she is heard tossing her shoes to the side with an audible thunk as they hit the wall. “You two are the actual worst, now give me Stella. I need her first. We’re just staying here, by the way, it’s too late to take them on the train.”

“It’s nine fucking thirty? Too late, what happened to nights starting at nine thirty” Cato questions, finally forcing himself to a half sitting position so he can fully (playfully) berate their friends.

“It’s fine, you can stay, that's..fine. Whatever.” Clove half heartedly waves a hand off in defeat. “Stella? Do you have a favorite? Is that why you need her first?”

“Don’t be silly, Clove. It’s the schedule. I feed Stella while Marvel gives Aurelia her little bath and gets her ready for bed, and then we switch before they go to sleep. It’s a little routine.” Glimmer explains, kneeling beside Clove with a tired smile. “Which one do you have?”

Cato and Clove freeze, eyes flitting towards the other just momentarily.

“Uh..yeah..I have one of them.” Clove starts, before Cato cuts her off.

“I have no idea, they’re literally identical. You didn’t color code them, how were we supposed to know?”

Marvel’s eyebrows scrunch together in real confusion, looking between their overly-tired friends. “What do you mean, they’re not identical?”

“The fuck do you mean-”

Marvel laughs, not even bothering to stay quiet for the sake of not waking the girls. It doesn’t hurt, though, because as soon as the baby in Clove’s arms hears him she is woken from her dead sleep. She lifts her little head, whipping it as fast as she can to find the source. As soon as she sees him, despite how tired she is, the widest smile breaks out on her baby face. It’s as if Clove is a stranger as soon as the baby sees her dad, when one baby hand comes up to reach for him.

He wastes absolutely no time taking his girl, and if the baby seemed to snuggle into Clove before, she practically melts against Marvel as soon as she is in his arms. If a baby could hold stress she would have just released all of it, snuggling her face into the fabric of his shirt. She absolutely clings to him, babbling softly until she’s effectively nestled into him. “Hi angel baby,” He whispers to her, kissing the top of her curl covered head as she clings to her dad. “Did you miss us too?”

“He’s kidding. But, also, I didn’t think I needed to color code them. Their earrings are their initials.” Glimmer teases, reaching down to just scoop the still sleeping Stella off of Cato. “Stella also likes to talk more, and Aurelia likes to bite on her hands more. I think she’s getting another tooth. Can’t wait for that.” She deadpans, instantly pulling her little blonde baby to eye level and kissing all over her face. Stella giggles, wrapping her little hands around the top of Glimmer’s. “God I missed you, sunshine.”

“I swear they liked us!” Clove defends, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I thought they did.” They had initialed earrings. Of course they did.

“Of course they do, we’re just their parents.” Glimmer promises, before curling up at the end of the couch nearest Clove with Stella absolutely curled up against her. “They’ve never been away from us. They probably thought we were gone forever-”

“Glimmer not this again, please don’t cry-” Marvel pleads, subconsciously swaying back and forth with Aurelia in his arms.

“I’m not crying. I’m just saying. They’ve never stayed with someone else before. Ever.”

“Not that we minded, but, wasn’t it a little freaky to leave them a District away? I thought you would have asked Cashmere, she’s right there?” Clove asks through a yawn, head resting in the palm of her hand as she rests her elbow on the armrest. “Like I said, not that we care but…”

Glimmer gives a tired smile herself, looking away from her daughter and up at Clove. She even spares a glance at Cato before letting out a little sigh. “We could have asked Cash or Gloss, sure. I dunno. They’re great. They would do everything for me. They would have said yes but…”

“We talked about it a lot,” Marvel interjects, giving a little shrug. “We barely wanted to leave them at all.”

“We just…thought they’d be better with you two. We’ve never left them, but if something had happened to us and we never came home…we knew they’d be safe here. You’d take care of them. I dunno, it just felt right. We trust you, we felt the best leaving them with you two. You aren’t like..parents. But you could be.”

“And Cato was going to force us out the door, we knew that too.”

“You’re welcome for that, you clearly benefited, Marvel.” Cato scoffs, but sits forward and digs his hands into his eyes to allow himself to stay awake. Not even ten and he’s fighting sleep, how the hell did he get here from the kid who won the Hunger Games?

“Oh. That's..oh.” Clove whispers, the gravity of their trust in her leaving her borderline speechless. They’ve seen what she was capable of and they still chose her, they still trusted her with the most important part of their lives. “..thank you…”

“At the end of the day, we love Cash and Enobaria but..when it comes to who’s going to do a better job at playing house with our babies..it’s an easy choice. It’s not even a question. You aren’t parents but you could be. Good ones, too.” Glimmer smiles, offering the words with genuine love for her friends. “And Clove knows how to cook, which is a plus too. Speaking of, honey, can you get me a snack?”

“Damn, you got Glimmer asking for food, good for you, you did something right today.” Cato practically jumps off the couch to grab Marvel by the shoulder. “I’m so proud of you. And I’d say thank you, Glimmer, but you’re right. We’ve actually never been less than perfect at anything we’ve ever done ever in our lives. We’re kind of flawless, if you didn’t know!”

“You’re the fucking worst, man.” Marvel mumbles, but does follow Cato’s guidance into the kitchen.

“He is the worst.” Glimmer tells Clove once the boys are gone, tucking her feet up into the couch with her before she shifts Stella in her arms. “Not entirely. I meant what I said. We trust you. And you would be good at it. I know you don’t want to, and I respect that. But you’d be good at it. The girls adore you.”

“...yeah, I know.” Clove admits, curling up on her side, pulling her blanket back up over her shoulder as she turns in her chair to face Glimmer. Before she thinks too long about the fluttery feeling she has in her chest, at the compliments but also just the idea of her own little blondes, she abruptly changes the conversation. “ You’re a good mom, Glimmer. The best, really. But I gotta say,I feel like it’s not the most romantic anniversary in the world, to sleep at your friends’ house with your babies.”

“Clove. I don’t know if we ever would have gotten back together if it weren’t for the girls. We would not be even having an anniversary, let alone married, if it were not for them. They are, quite literally, to thank for that.” Glimmer brushes her perfectly manicured nails over Stella’s curls, keeping her calm and comforted in the safety of her arms. “And you know, I gotta give it to them. You think you can’t love someone any more than you do, right? Like you think you’re living a dream but, Clove, it doesn’t even come close to how much I love him when I see him with the girls. There is nothing, in the entire world, better than waking up next to him with the girls between us. Nothing. It’s quite literally a dream come true. It’s better than a dream, Clove. You think you love someone..but then you make new people to love with them and it’s just…I can’t even describe it, Clove. I can’t describe it. I can only imagine that the reason I survived all of that…nightmare...was to be able to have this life, Clove. I know, it’s not my business, but I hope you get to feel it one day. There is nothing in the world like it. It is so so so worth all of it. They are worth it.”

Clove pauses for a few seconds that to her feels like hours. She could hesitate, she could start listing off all the reasons she absolutely should not (could not), she could list off the million and one unknowns that she and her routines could not account for. Maybe it’s her exhaustion, or maybe it’s the permanent look of Cato giving her that lovestruck look burned into her brain, but she doesn’t offer a refute.

“I believe you,” is all she offers instead.

#arwbfb tag #the hunger games #clato #cato and clove #arwbfb au #always remember we're burned for better tag #glimmer tag #marvel tag #glimmer and marvel tag #clato tag #the twins are the real star of this show #pfsk tag #picket fence is sharp as knives tag

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year ago

Text

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Thirty One

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends!!

As always, thank you so much for your love for this fic <3 It means the absolute world.

I really hope this all makes sense, I have spent my weekend watching the Vanderpump Rules Reunion and melting in my very hot apartment, so my brain is mush.

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

His chest burns. Pain that he couldn’t describe lancing through him, but he couldn’t show it. Couldn’t give the man perched on top of him, smirking as he pulled the knife out of his abdomen, the pleasure of knowing he was in agony.

“I wonder where that girlfriend of yours is. She’ll be here soon, won’t she?” Foyet says, his eyes sparking with something that scares Aaron more than the prospect of dying. He needs Emily to stay wherever she is, he needs her to stay distracted by whatever has distracted her to keep her away from this. Away from him.

Aaron grunts as the knife is pulled out of him again, the involuntary noise drawing a smirk out of Foyet as he leans in again.

“I’m excited to meet her properly, I didn’t realise you were together when I last saw you. I’d have had some more fun.”

It makes him furious, the threat towards the woman he loves enough to break through his stern facade. He watches as Foyet’s evil smirk spreads further over his face, delighted to have pulled a reaction from him. He opens his mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by the door bursting open.

“FBI. Put down the knife.”

For the first time since he’d been attacked, Aaron feels genuine fear. He looks at her and their eyes lock, and the determination in hers terrifies him, her grip on her gun as firm as her voice had been.

“Agent Prentiss,” Foyet says, his voice dripping with false kindness, “Nice of you to join us.”

Foyet reaches for the gun next to him, and Aaron lays there, unable to move, his body paralysed by pain and shock, as he watches it unfold. Emily is fast, but Foyet is faster, and Aaron can’t even make a noise as the guns both fire and he watches Emily fall backwards, knocked off her feet by a bullet.

___

Aaron gasps as he sits up, heaving air into his lungs as he tries to shake off the familiar nightmare, ridding himself of how his subconscious would twist the truth into something that he knew had never happened.

He couldn’t believe it had been a year. That 12 months had passed since Foyet had been laying in wait for him in his old apartment, determined to ruin his life for the sin of doing nothing other than this job. He often wondered what would have happened if Emily hadn’t arrived when she had, taking out a serial killer with a single bullet. He wondered what his plan would have been. If Foyet would have killed him or tried to take everything from him, making him wish he was dead. Foyet had planned it out meticulously like he always had, but he hadn’t accounted for Emily being as fearless as she was.

“Aaron?”

He turns at the rasping sound of her voice, smiling softly as he watches her switch on her bedside lamp before she shifts towards him, a feat that was no longer as easy as it once was, her pregnancy now in its 28th week. She blinks blearily at him, rubbing her eyes as she tries to clear sleep from them.

“I’m ok, sweetheart,” he says, reaching over and placing his hand on her stomach, smiling at the feeling of the baby moving, “Go back to sleep.”

She rolls her eyes at him and sits up, grunting as she does so, “Yeah, right,” she says sarcastically as she settles with her back against the headboard, “I’m going to go back to sleep when you’ve clearly had a nightmare.”

Despite his still racing heart and the lingering fear in his veins, he smiles. Foyet may not have accounted for her, but there was a time when he wouldn’t have either. It was strange to think how much had changed in a year. How they’d gone from moving in together to having just moved again into their new house with a baby on the way and a ring on Emily’s finger. She’d not only saved his life, but she’d changed it for the better. She loved and understood him in ways Haley hadn’t been able to, and she fought fiercely for him all the time.

Even if it was him she was fighting.

He leans back against the headboard and puts his arm around her, leaving no gap between them as their shoulders overlap as he pulls her into his embrace.

“Did you dream about him?” She asks, taking his hand and placing it back on her bump, well aware that the movement of the baby soothed him as much as it did her.

Aaron hums in response, allowing her proximity, the smell of her, to lull him back to reality, the final grip his nightmare had on him fading, “Yeah, I dreamt about him. It’s been a while.”

At the start, he dreamt about it most nights. The fleeting, vague, memories he had of the first couple of days in hospital were only of the pain he was in, the medication hardly touching it, and the dreams that he’d have when they sedated him. That’s what he remembered. That, and her.

Even now he isn’t sure how often Emily left the hospital whilst he was there. She’d disappear from his room occasionly only to return wearing new clothes with her hair scraped back into a pony tail, but she was never gone long enough to have gone back home. He knows JJ had a key to the apartment they’d just moved out of, so he’s sure she would have gone there to pack up some of Emily’s things.

She had been a constant by his side. Her hand in his or trailing through his hair when he woke up in pain and confused, her reassurances soft as she told him he was safe, that the danger was gone. He’d seen her do the same for Jack if he had a bad dream when he was over at theirs, her presence alone enough to soothe the young boy, and he knew he’d have a lifetime of watching her do it for the child she was currently carrying.

“It’s understandable,” she says, watching him carefully, her eyes lingering on the tightness in his jaw, “Anniversaries like this are hard,” she turns her head, her lip catching his cheek, “You could have died.”

She hears the catch in her own voice and sighs as she leans in closer to him, her grip on his hand tightening. He wasn’t the only one who had nightmares about that night. She still felt awful for how long she’d been on the phone to Penelope, laughing and joking about her evening plans as the man she loved was being attacked by a man intent on destroying him. Knowing that she’d killed Foyet, that she’d removed that threat from their lives before he could truly start whatever he’d been planning on, did nothing to ease her guilt.

When she dreamt of it she’d dream that she was too late. That she’d lost him and arrived at his apartment to find his body, his eyes lifeless and unseeing as he laid in a pool of blood she could still see if she thought about it too much. She knew that his dreams were similar. That he dreamt of watching her get killed by Foyet as he laid there unable to move, cursed to watch his worst fears come true in front of him.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he says, turning his head to kiss her, his lips stamped against hers, “I’m right here.”

She nods, smiling wryly, “I’m supposed to be comforting you. You’re the one who had the nightmare.”

“You are comforting me,” he replies, kissing her again, “Just by being you.”

She chuckles, shaking her head at him, but her smile slips away as she watches him rub his chest through his tshirt over the spot she knew had his thickest scar. “Is it hurting?”

He hums, nodding as he rubs at the phantom ache in his chest, “I know it’s in my head, but it hurts. I can almost feel the knife…” he drifts off as he feels her tense against him, he sighs, “I hate them,” he says, pressing the scar harder than necessary, desperate to feel anything other than the dull ache.

“The scars?” She asks, pulling his hand away from his chest before she starts rubbing at his chest herself, hoping that her touch could help in some way.

“Yeah,” he replies, tension seeping from him as he feels the warmth of her fingers through his shirt, “Every time I look in the goddamn mirror I see them and think of him.”

She pauses before she responds, making sure to use her words carefully, “I don’t,” she says softly, and he looks at her, his brow furrowed in confusion, “I don’t hate them, and I don’t think of him.”

He sighs, knowing she was trying to make him feel better, “Em-”

“I don’t hate them because they show that you survived. That I still have you,” she blows out a breath, feeling the now familiar press of tears at the back of her eyes due to her hormones, her once famous control over her emotions long gone at this stage of her pregnancy, “I don’t hate them because they are made of you, and I could never hate anything that was.”

He smiles, unsure what to say at first as what she has said sinks in. Even after almost two years together, the second anniversary of the drive back from Ohio that had changed everything just around the corner, he was still blown away sometimes by how much she loved him.

“That sounds like something you’d tell me was cheesy if I said it to you,” he replies, his smile and the shine to his eyes, the fear she had seen when she first woke up replaced by love, says everything he struggles to put into words. That he loved her and the life they were building. That he was unsure what he would do without her.

She laughs, shaking her head at him, “Well, I am pregnant with your spawn, maybe the baby is affecting my sensibilities.”

He raises an eyebrow at her, “Don’t call Nugget ‘spawn,” he says, leaning down to kiss her bump. She places her hand on the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss as he sits up straight again. “I don’t think of Foyet when I see the scars Aaron, not for a second. I only think of you. Ok?” she says, holding him in place until he nods, his forehead gently knocking against hers, “Good.” She pulls him in for another kiss, deepening it this time as she swipes her tongue over his lower lip, chasing him as he pulls back. She smiles at him, her body suddenly thrumming with need that she knew she couldn’t entirely blame on her hormones, “Want me to prove it to you?”

“It’s 2am, Em. Don’t you want to go back to sleep?” He asks, his breath catching in his throat as she grasps at the hem of his t-shirt, her fingers trailing underneath, hot against his skin.

“Yes,” she replies, kissing him again, smiling as she nips at his lower lip, “But after.”

He smiles, cupping her cheek as he pulls her in for a kiss this time, tasting her love for him on her lips. He pulls back just enough to talk, his breath skipping over her face, “After sounds perfect.”

___

Emily yawns as she settles onto the couch, her arm around Jack as he settles into her side still dressed in his pjyamas. She had a fleeting moment of regret of the very early morning sex with her fiancee when the little boy bounded into their room at 7am demanding breakfast, but it passed. A long Sunday ahead of them with the promise of pancakes made by Aaron and a nap she’d no doubt end up having in the afternoon.

It was Jack’s first weekend staying at the new house, everything now fully unpacked and the keys to the her apartment handed over to her new tenant. He loved the space he had to run around and his new room and had convinced Emily to watch cartoons with him on their brand new, very large, TV that they’d bought for the living room. She smiles as Jack settles in further to her side, his hand on her bump as he watches the TV, and she takes a moment to simply bask in her environment.

She was in her house. Her home that she shared with the love of her life. He was currently making them pancakes, the sound of his out of tune humming and the clanging of pans travelling down the hall from the kitchen. She had a little boy she loved as her own snuggled up to her side, his hair and pjyamas rumbled from sleep, and her baby shifting in her stomach. This was the life she’d always wanted, the one she thought she’d never have, and it still felt like she had to hold onto it tightly, worried that if she didn’t, if she allowed herself to get too comfortable, it would all get taken away.

“Emily?”

She looks down at Jack and is immediately met with his wide curious eyes and his furrowed brow, a thoughtful look that he shared with her fiancee. A look she hoped their baby would inherit.

“Yes, honey?”

His brow only furrows deeper and she feels a flick of anxiety rush through her, and he looks down at her stomach, “You’ll be Nugget’s mommy right?”

She nods and runs her fingers through his hair, tidying it up a little bit, “Yes, I’ll be their mommy,” she says, unable to deny that the flip in her stomach has everything to do with the thought that she’ll be someones Mom, and nothing to do with said someone doing their morning kicking routine.

“And Daddy will be their Daddy?”

“That’s right, Jack,” she confirms, wondering where he was going with this but letting him get there by himself, his need to work things out by himself something that was apparently genetic.

“So the baby will live here all the time?”

It clicks in her head and she wishes more than anything that Aaron was in the room, that he was here for the conversation she had thought was coming for weeks. She smiles softly at Jack and nods.

“Yes, sweetheart, the baby will live here with us all the time,” she replies, her heart aching as she sees something close to disappointment flash across his face, “Because Daddy and I live together. You were very small so probably don’t remember it, but you, Daddy and Mommy all lived together once.”

“When Mommy and Daddy loved each other?” He asks, and it makes her sigh. She knew she couldn’t explain to a four year old that they still loved each other, just not in the way that they needed to to make it work, the way that Aaron now loved her.

“Yes, when they loved each other,” she replies simply. It was yet another time that made her wish things were simpler. That this little boy didn’t have to ask these questions, and that she didn’t have to navigate the complications of being an addition to what had once been a family.

“But I don’t live here all the time.”

She freezes, the statement unexpected, and she nods, treading carefully as she answers, “No, you don’t,” she replies. Her tongue peeks out to lick her lower lip as she looks at him, waiting for a response that doesn’t come before she carries on, “Do you want to?”

He shrugs and then shakes his head, “I’d miss Mommy. But I miss you and Daddy when I’m with Mommy. I don’t want to miss Nugget too.”

She has to stop herself from crying, her jaw tight as she clenches it to force the tears back and she clears her throat, “Nugget already loves you so much, Jack,” she says, smiling encouragingly at him, “Daddy and I do too.”

He nods, sighing as if he had the world on his shoulders. “I wish I was here more.”

That certainly was unexpected, and she knows for a second she doesn’t cover her reaction well. Ever since she’d been in Jack’s life this had been their arrangement. They had him on weekends, and if they happened to be away on the weekend they made it up during the week. Emily knew it wasn’t enough for Aaron, that his limited time with his son was painful for him, but she had never thought it was her place to suggest they asked for more time. It wouldn’t be practical either, not with them both still in the BAU.

But that was about to change as soon as the baby was born.

“You want to spend more time with us?” She asks, making sure she’s not putting words in his mouth, something she didn’t want to be accused of by Haley if they were to discuss a change in custody with him, and he nods. Any further conversation is cut off as Aaron walks into the room, unknowingly interrupting.

“Breakfast is ready.”

Jack is up and out of the living room before anything else is said, as if he hadn’t just been talking about something serious. Aaron looks at her as she stands up off the couch, batting off any help from him, intent on not needing it until it was absolutely necessary.

“Are you ok sweetheart?” Aaron asks, looking at her curiously, and for a moment she hates that he can read her like a book. She considers telling him, but knows now isn’t the time - that it was something they’d need to discuss, and then he’d need to discuss with Haley, in more depth at a later date.

“Yeah,” she replies, walking over and kissing him on the cheek, “I’m fine.”

-x-

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electricbluebutterflies · 1 year ago

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hi!! i love your tess/joel fics on ao3, i love reading them!! so thank you for writing for a small fandom like this <3

could you write a prompt maybe about a drunk joel being very affectionate with tess?

Vaguely NSFW and also on ao3.

She gets home later, for once.

Late enough the sun is starting to set, late but bearing household supplies because she’d had the time and patience to go through more official channels for once. Ration cards do need to be used occasionally, Tess reasons, important to keep up appearances despite all their sidelines, and-

She doesn’t expect to be greeted with a bear hug as soon as she closes the door, but apparently it’s that kind of night. Lovely.

“Lemme empty my hands before you do anything,” she murmurs against her partner’s neck. Nothing particularly breakable in her bag, fine, but she can smell the slightest hint of something on him and she knows she has more control at the moment and-

He is, at least, cooperative. This is a good sign. Live ten years with another person and you get well acquainted with what they’re like when they drink, and Joel’s two possible settings in that state are affectionate or brooding. Neither is particularly problematic – neither approaches her own options of either very affectionate or slightly violent, depending on her surroundings – but too tactile is more welcome than not enough, and-

“I ever say how pretty you are?”

Tess laughs, feels herself getting all warm as she makes sure her bag is safely on the counter where she can deal with its contents… probably in the morning, the way this evening seems to be going. Far as she can remember, he hasn’t said a damn thing about her body in any context that isn’t her on top of him since their second encounter, and she knows what she does to him and that knowing is enough but still-

“Not the right way,” she says, taking two steps back towards him and moving her hips as much as her skinny body will allow. “Not like you mean it.”

He’s on her again in a heartbeat, mouth on hers how she likes, low growl as she gets her teeth around his lower lip. She can taste the liquor now, vaguely chemical and slightly too sweet, nothing she’ll complain about him not saving any for her, and she’ll ask what the occasion was later, not now, not-

“That clear for you?”

“You even know what you’re doin’ to me?” Less important with how established their dynamic is, with all of this being a normal enough evening regardless of respective sobriety levels, but still-

“Can’t I just want you?”

She knows she shouldn’t worry so much, should shut up and let what happens happen. They do have that kind of dynamic, neither of them is about to do something regrettable, and-

“Is it that easy, or am I just a good distraction?”

“You ever stop worrying?”

For this he gets an eyeroll he won’t remember – Tess will take her advantages where she can – and a few kisses along the jaw. “One of us got to,” she murmurs. “I do it easier.”

“Don’ need to right now, girl.”

She lets it go, because there’s no reason to ruin the moment with a fight, because it’s damn hard to be anything but turned on with his hands trying to get her jacket off her. She’s got on adequate layers for late fall and she likes being passive this time of year, four layers above the waist but no bra is always a fun payoff and-

“You always just skip to the good parts. No patience.”

“Why would I ever wait around for you?”

She’s sure that sounds like a compliment in his mind, even if that’s not how it came out, and… there’s something very safe about the way he wants her, how clear he is about it when it matters, and-

“Do somethin’ useful with your mouth.”

Usually she’d get backed against a wall after that kind of comment, or otherwise given some other support, but today Joel is impatient and that’s just more questions and good thing her lower layers are a lot simpler and-

“Useful like that?” he asks, enough sense to pause for a moment on his knees at eye level with her bits.

“Lemme sit down so I don’t-“

It is easier for both of them if she perches on the edge of the couch, legs parted, well aware this is almost a least-of-evils situation. It’ll be good, she knows, it’ll be good, he takes care of her so well, he-

Always so quiet when he goes down on her, always so focused, won’t ever say he loves her but does this so easily so it all balances out. All she has to do is let it happen, and she adores him so much, and-

He’s good for her. Don’t need to be more than that.

She gets through her first orgasm quiet enough, but the second hits wrong and she gets breathless for a moment and goddammit he’s not so great at comforting her in this state and-

“Get down here with me. ‘S okay.”

Her legs practically give out as she lets her body fall to the floor, and again another bear hug, again the fully-clothed warmth of that man and-

“Bad energy,” she murmurs. “Not you. Never you.”

“”S okay. I got you.”

Tess stays curled up mostly under her lover for a while, different position than they usually take but everything she needs right now. They take care of each other, she remembers in these moments, they take care of each other so well and-

Love you too, she thinks in the silence. No need to ever say it out loud.

#ebf writes fic #joel x tess #queue

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drakens-tattoo-artist · 3 years ago

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|Things they did during sex to ruin the mood💀|

Characters: Mikey, Draken, Hanma, Hakkai, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Takemichi

A/N: None of these are meant to kink-shame please💀 This is just crack and me running away from finishing some of these fics in my drafts🏃‍♀️. This is also written with a !fem reader in mind

Warnings: Mention of degradation, and smut (but make it crack) These also make more sense with a bit of context from the manga so yeah!

Mikey:

It was messy morning sex, your hair a mess, and Mikey's glorious bedhead dancing in the sunlight that was creeping in through your window. He was propped up against his pillow, still a little drowsy and groggy but he wanted you and you wanted him. You were riding his cock as sensually as morning sex goes, and he's normally pretty vocal so you look back at him hoping everything was okay.

HE WAS SLEEPING?! ಠ▃ಠ

You flicked his forehead as you got off of him as he mumbled something about I love you as he went deeper into his sleep.

Draken:

You were making the lewdest noises and he was losing it with the way you grabbed onto the sheets as he hitched your leg over his shoulder. But he went too hard as he kept going faster and you hit your head against the headboard. Hard. The both of you had to stop and ice the back of your head as he kept awkwardly apologizing 😭

Mitsuya:

You bought new lingerie for him to show off and have a good time. But you bought them a little too detailed and pretty, so as he tried to take them off you, he kept petting and tracing the patterns and designs.

"These are so pretty Y/N," his attention kept moving off of you and you sighed, a little amused but disturbed.

"Would you like me to take it off and show it to you?" ಥ_ಥ

"Yes- I mean noooo," he cleared his throat, trying to unhook your bra and pressing a kiss to your neck but he was clearly distracted.

More or less your heated session turned into a session where he told you about all the different methods and styles that the designer had used on your lingerie. You didn't know if you wanted to tell him how adorable he is and how you're oh so in love with him or just kick him out of your house.

Chifuyu:

I swear he gets a little too goofy during sex sometimes and you want to slap him. He can't help ignore the queef your pussy lets out when he pulls out of you, trying to switch positions. He imitates the queef by making a fart noise with his mouth and you just (ㆆ_ㆆ) ಠ_ಠ

The both of you laugh along with it as you hit his chest but there was no round two my guy😭💀

Hanma:

Hanma and you were in a heavy makeout session and he knew one thing was leading to the other. So, he props you on to his bed and grabs his phone to play music. My man takes too long choosing and keeps asking you which artists were good enough and you were just left high and dry as you argued about why Pitbull's probably not going to do it✋😭

Hakkai:

He loves you, he swears he does. And he shows it to you too, the way he was moving in and out of you in slow, tender strokes and telling you how pretty you sound but his phone starting ringing. There was a good long silence as Hakkai glared at you and then at his phone before awkwardly fumbling over you and picking up the phone. Mitsuya was calling...so he had to pick up (T_T)

Takemichi:

You wanted to try out degradation and had asked him to call you a few names here and there. The poor boy started stuttering and almost crying as he tried to whisper "slut" and "my pretty whore" into your ear but he really couldn't and kept looking into your eyes nervously and asking if this was okay.

He's trying his best okay?💀

Likes and Reblogs are appreciated!

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yellowstarwater · 2 years ago

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Alright time to start my episode by episode analysis of part 2 of Inside Job. By now I’m sure that most people have seen the second half of season one. But if you still haven’t (for some reason) spoilers ahead.

First up P2 E1: How Reagan got her Groove Back

I do like how it starts (mostly because it confirms my own theory) but it does feel in character that Reagan would have gone on a drunken bender. Love or hate Rand Ridley he does establish early on what he wants out of running Cognito Inc (His ex-wife and daughter) it makes sense that he would not care about what the robes want from him and only work towards his own agenda. If we go by what Brett says in the beginning of the episode then three full months have passed since the end of part one. That means that for three FULL months Reagan has been on a drunken bender and not working at Cognito!

So then why is anyone surprised that the team doesn’t back her up when she goes on a rant about her takeover plan from her father?! By all accounts Reagan left her team to deal with Rand alone and in those three months the gang is able to see that while a lot of things around the office is messed up and while they do not like Rand nothing has changed for them in terms of their jobs! Not to mention that Reagan probably created that plan when she was drunk and was still drunk when she brought it up to them!

But most people aren’t really mad at the gang as a whole. No the take that I’ve seen even some of my Breagan shippers take is that BRETT was wrong for not backing Reagan up in that situation. That it ruined his character?! What?! How does it ruin his character when he had to watch his BEST FRIEND go on a dangerous drunken bender for THREE MONTHS and has to be the one to pick her up from god knows where she ended up during that time! Because you know that it was Brett looking for her every night! Did everyone also just forgot that Brett goes to therapy?! That maybe after Brett spent three months witnessing Reagan’s behavior he would have come to the conclusion that what she needed was therapy and not to take over Cognito right now! That moment was a peak Breagan friendship moment! Brett put aside his need to please his best friend’s supposed wants and wishes and instead prioritized what Reagan needed which was therapy! And yet people have the nerve to say that BRETT was wrong for not having Reagan’s back EXCUSE ME?! How is it not having your back when you basically say hey I’m really worried about you and I think you need time to sort things out!

But I get it Reagan looked betrayed so therefore Brett must have betrayed her right? NO Brett cares about Reagan enough so that he can prioritize her safety and wellbeing over her personal wants and wishes. And if that is not solid character development right out the gate for Brett? If that is not a solid Breagan friendship moment let alone a potential shipping moment?! Then I need to hop off this ship and delete all my Breagan fics because people we are not on the same page! All I’m saying is that there are THREE full months of context that we the audience didn’t see…but Brett did!!!!😤

Okay so now that that rant is over I do like that Reagan listen to Brett and went to Anonymous Anonymous. It shows that despite being upset with him on some level she can see that she needs help. And I do think group therapy would have really helped if she stuck with it. But instead she gets distracted.

Alright ReaganxRon shippers please do not take this part of my analysis as a personal attack on your ship. You have every right to ship Reagan and Ron if you choose to do so, and I can concede that this ship is cute and that some of my opinions on this ship could be influenced by me being a Breagan shipper. But this ship rises red flag after red flag and I’m going to talk about it.

First off any progress that Reagan could have potentially made by going to therapy is ruined by Ron. Because what right does Ron have to basically say that Reagan shouldn’t be there complaining about what happened to her because she quote ‘has to wait a little bit longer for her dream job.’ I’m sorry but the F🤬. So right off the bat Ron insults her and her reason for being in therapy. And when Reagan rightfully fights back he basically says that having your memories deleted isn’t as hard as being the person who has to delete the memories?! Again the F🤬, I’m not saying that Ron’s job doesn’t take a toll on him because it did! But still, next Ron insults her intelligence which pushes her to go after her father again. This is just the first interaction though and I will get to the other red flags in this episode later on.

Okay so Rand using Reagan’s nano bots to win the competition is interesting because that would have to mean that Rand really trusts Reagan’s invention’s despite also still insulting them and her. AB pointing out that Reagan is doing a villain monologue but also showing up because he just wants to chat foreshadows a lot of changes that will take place for him in part two. The Bohemian Groove scenes are also really fun to watch plus we finally got to see the Atlanteans! Plus the entrances of every organization pretty much sums them up easily.

I love how supportive Andre and Brett are to Gigi, honestly if Breagan turns out to not be the slow burn ship of the show I wouldn’t be surprised if Andre and Gigi are. Seriously the interaction between these three are wholesome and it does show how far the gang is willing to go for each other. Oh and Myc and Glenn were at Bohemian Grove too and must have done something too I guess.

Okay now it’s time to talk about Reagan and Ron’s second interaction. So question everyone does anyone know what Ron’s motivations are for sabotaging his own company? Oh that’s right he doesn’t want to talk about it! Alright even I a Breagan shipper can admit that Reagan and Ron have some good moments I can even understand why they hooked up but I stand by my statement when I say they were never going to last. Ron admits in this episode that he was caught trying to drink an entire vat of mind-erasing liquid and that’s why he was sent to group therapy! 🚩🚩🚩Is anyone out there starting to make the connections? Because I was able to make that connection at 3:00am with only about two hours of sleep!

One of the things that I think we need to start considering is that just because two people are compatible doesn’t mean that their goals are. And this can affect their relationship, in Reagan’s and Ron’s case their romantic relationship. Yes Reagan wants revenge on her father, Ron is right about that but Reagan hasn’t given up on the world just yet. Ron has given up on the world and that’s going to be important seven episodes later. This relationship is basically a distraction for both of them until they can fulfill the plans they want to fulfill. And while I do think it is good that Reagan decided to stop trying to fight her dad and put her happiness first. I do think this also means that in that moment she decides to stop trying to come to grips with her what happened to her which is dangerous. Think about it after this episode it’s not mentioned again even though there are still a lot of things that Reagan still needs to unpack and work on .Yes moving forward is important but how you go about it is important as well. Also the two of them not noticing that the wooden owl that they are hiding in was on fire because they were too busy hooking up?😔🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

But their hook up causing Rand and his rival is funny as hell though! Oh yeah Glenn and Myc become clowns…for two minutes! And JR is still alive.

#inside job #inside job spoilers #reagan ridley #brett hand #ron staedtler #rand ridley #breagan #brett x reagan #gigi thompson #andre lee #Myc #Glenn

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straighttohellbuddy · 3 years ago

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but you're talking in your sleep {Wilbur Soot}

one. does she still think of me

Summary: Two years ago, you'd met Wil Gold in a pub shortly after moving to London, but ended up falling out of contact when it turned out your ex-boyfriend moved to try and make things work... Completely unrelated, but lately Tommy's started complaining to Wilbur about his sister bringing her insufferable boyfriend home for Christmas, and Wilbur's wondering where he's heard your name before.

Need to Know: She/Her, implied early 20s, Sister-Innit!Reader. it is never stated or even implied whether Tommy & the reader are related by blood or otherwise, so that's up to you, and while there are mentions of reader celebrating christmas, it's more because Tommy's family celebrates it. reader is said to be studying literature at university. please heed the warnings.

A/N: 8533 words. fuck it, i'm posting now unedited. part 2 tomorrow. part 3 day after that. 3 days three parts lets go. ive put my grubby little hands all over lovejoy's songs and decided many are about the reader because its my wish fulfilment fantasy and i can do what i want. if you take one look at the pacing i'll bite you, but if you comment or send me an ask about the fic i'll kiss you on the mouth. ALSO MARK IS AN OC, not a cc.

Warnings: drinking (both recreationally and Situational Alcohol Abuse*), implied emotional & verbal manipulation/abuse, emotional cheating ??

[ * while this fic deals with heavy drinking as a coping mechanism, it is situational alcohol abuse, not alcoholism, which is why, in the later parts, it appears easier to resolve (in a sense) than alcoholism. source? i'm a recovering alcoholic, trust me, i know serious alcoholism doesn't usually have an on-off switch. ]

{ masterpost : 1 / 3 }

{ p l a y l i s t }

Taglist: @marvelsmurphy @automaticcomputerpaper @kattenprinsen @parkerpeanuts @bumblebea-xo @lovehatewhateveritis @rainyaheysoe @tcphat @smol-flower-kiddo @pogface @luluwinchester @captainpuffyrp @dreamerwasfound @pepe-lepe @njhrecord @auralol @moonlightaura03 @the-friendly-ghostwrite @blaisey-bee @kingudon @friendwasfound @ahsteriawrites @eeyore-onthefloor @30-minutes-into-the-future @rexgoesrawrrrrrr @arielting @laneunderwave @axeofwars @hoezeeor @lightninginab0ttle @irwinkitten @gyneve @stoop18 @franaby @ozdramaqueen @moriiartist @ticcisimon

Taglist is always open!!

----

"Y/N is bringing Mark home for Christmas," Tommy mutters with distracted disdain one evening over a Discord VC; Wilbur's the only other one in the chat with him, the two of them waiting for Charlie and Tubbo to join to film a video. Tommy's tone comes as a surprise; for all that his online persona is boisterous and rather egocentric, the kid himself was quite kind and well mannered, so genuine dislike, bordering on actual contempt, was enough to pique Wilbur's interest.

"Not a fan of Mark, are we?"

"He's really ruining the name Mark," Tommy answers without hesitation, the thoughts clearly having plagued him for a while, "but Y/N got mad at me the last time I called him The Inferior Mark over text -"

"Sorry," Wilbur cuts him off, "Y/N?" That's what breaks Tommy from his distracted ranting, giving pause and sighing deeply. The clatter of his keyboard stops.

"My older sister;" he says, tone far warmer, "she's in London doing cool Uni things, but for some stupid reason is still dating Milquetoast Mark, who is decidedly less cool, but he was nice to her in high school so now I have to look at his face every time she comes home to visit."

"Milquetoast Mark?"

"The man is the very essence of beige, Wilbur," Tommy groaned, pitching himself back in his chair, vaguely muffled, as if holding his face in his hands, "he looks like a clown themed whack-a-mole, but I still couldn't pick him out of a line-up of one!"

There's so many things Wilbur wants to ask as he's trying not to laugh, but before he can decide which to go with first, Discord alerts them to the fact that Tubbo joined the call, and he doesn't even get to say hello before Tommy's groaning loudly.

"She's bringing Milquetoast Mark, and I'm going to eat dirt," Tommy whined, and Tubbo made a noise of understanding.

"Yeah, she warned me that she'd just told you," he says with an air of commiseration.

"Tell Wilbur! I don't think he believes me that Mark is the personification of bloody nothing!"

"Mark is..." Tubbo muses for a moment, but as soon as he can get a word in edgewise, Wilbur pipes up.

"Okay, hold on, I do believe you, but how long have we known each other? How is this the first time I'm hearing about you having a sister?" He's half laughing, though there's confusion in his voice.

"Mark's not a fan of being known or having fun, so I don't mention them a lot," Tommy mutters, "she's wanted to do YouTube for ages but -" he huffs irately through his nose, but doesn't finish his thought.

"She only made friends with me to spite Tommy," Tubbo added, "she called me The Superior Brother," his voice was gleeful, Wilbur didn't have to see him to know he was practically preening.

"I assume this was not long after Tommy called her boyfriend The Inferior Mark," Wilbur snickers, and Tommy's loud sigh, and Tubbo's delighted laughter is confirmation enough.

Charlie joins not long after, and the video goes on ahead without a hitch, though in the back of his mind, something about the name of Tommy's sister was familiar to him. He's not quite sure, but doesn't think much more about it.

Tommy messages him with various plots against this mysterious Milquetoast Mark, including serving him actual milk-drenched-toast as a snide reminder of how Tommy feels about him. It's usually accompanied by screenshots of his messages to his sister, who's already shot down whatever ludicrous idea he's had.

Wilbur's not quite sure why Tommy keeps messaging about his sister, but it's rather endearing; considering only himself and Tubbo know of Y/N's existence online, he takes it as a sign of trust. It's not often enough for him to really notice at first, once every few days, asking for advice on potential Christmas presents, or telling Wilbur about how he's excited to hang out around town with his sister and Tubbo, but as Wilbur learns more, he gets more and more of that sense of strange familiarity, like he's met this woman before. Maybe your name's familiar, or your choice of study, Literature of all things, or maybe it's a weirdly familiar sentiment he thinks he hears in Tommy's words, knowing he's heard it before -

"She wants to be a uni professor, what a nerd," despite his words, the way Tommy says them is drenched in pride and affection.

He gets a photo with two incredibly blurry, nearly unidentifiable figures in the foreground, and he only discerns the one on the left is Tommy by the height, colour pallet, the indistinct delight on his face, and the fact that he was the one literally crash tackling the second figure into a blur of motion with his hug. In the background, a man Wilbur didn't recognise with dark hair in a blue polo shirt was watching the movement with mild disdain. Three minutes after the first photo is sent, a second comes through that is just zoomed in on the man in the background's face so it filled the whole screen in a truly unflattering way, with the word 'BITCH' typed in big, red letters across the bottom of the screen. The second photo is simply captioned 'mark 😠'.

[Y/N home?] Wilbur sends, giving a faint smile at Tommy's exuberance.

[mark is in my fucking house wilbur 😠] Tommy responds, adding [and i can't call him a bitch to his face because Y/N will get upset with me so im telling you] and then sends through a second, new photo just of Mark's face with the word 'BITCH' over it. Wilbur gets new photos nearly identical to the second and third sporadically throughout the days that follow, but never any photos of Y/N herself.

But his suspicions are confirmed less than a week after your arrival at Nottingham.

[wilbur you're the only one that knows i have a sister outside of tubbo so you're also the only one who i can tell that tubbo is going to be banned from my house. i hate them both] Tommy sends to Wilbur one fine afternoon, and it's not long after Wilbur sends back a confused but amused message that he gets a video chat request over Discord.

When he answers, the entire screen is filled with Tommy's frowning face.

"You see what I have to put up with?" Tommy grumbles, flipping the camera around to where Y/N and Tubbo were sitting on the sofa, hugging each other almost comically close, with Tubbo's head on your shoulder, and your cheek resting on his head as he was quietly talking about plans he had for upcoming videos.

"What is happening?" Wilbur laughs, finally grabbing both your and Tubbo's attention.

"She called him the superior brother," Tommy huffed, "they've been like this for half an hour." Neither you nor Tubbo move, but Tubbo does wave.

"I said 'superior brother - comma - parasocial'," you clarified, "and I Tubbs is only here for a few days; you're acting like you and I didn't spend a full hour the day I got back both trying to fit on your gaming chair while you showed me memes and art people have done of you," and Tommy, at the very least, conceded on that, right before you ask who he's talking to.

Looking back to his phone screen finally, Tommy gives a slight frown; when had Wilbur turned his camera off?

"Will, you still there?"

"'s Wilbur," Tubbo clarified for you, right around the time your phone went off, and you let go of Tubbo to pick it up, eyes going wide as you quickly pressed the phone to your chest so Tubbo couldn't glimpse at the screen while you crowed with laughter.

"That Wilbur!" You exclaimed, "I was eighty percent sure it was you but not enough to -"

"What are you talking about?" Tommy asked, right as Wilbur turned his camera back on; he was sitting at his desk looking deeply shocked. You, however, were detangling yourself from Tubbo, phone still pressed tightly to your chest as you stood. Both boys were audibly confused, while Wilbur was hiding half his face behind his steepled fingers, as if waiting. He didn't have to wait long, however, as once you stand and slide your phone into your pocket, you step into the space beside Tommy as he switches the camera back around so yourself and your brother could both be seen.

"Hello Wil Gold," you say cheerfully, and before Wilbur can even splutter through his various confused and suddenly alarmed thoughts, you turned to Tommy, "Wil and I used to hang out at the same bars early in my first year."

"You know him? Why didn't you say anything!?" Tommy exclaimed, "we've had extensive discussions about my videos that he's in!" Then, after a beat, he practically yells, “is Wilbur Soot your friend ‘Tall Will’?”

"Our friend Tall Will," you correct him with sage amusement, before conceding, "and, I mean, evidently- but like I said, I wasn't a hundred percent sure -!" You fired back, a little flustered at being called out, though finally Wilbur found his voice.

"As opposed to all your short friends named Will?" He asked, incredulous.

“Tell me I’m wrong!” You crowed, responding without even missing a beat, rolling your eyes.

“It’s your name in her phone,” Tommy pipes up, nose in the air, still making an attempt at betrayal. You, however, look directly at the camera, smile all Cheshire-wide and knowing.

"I’ll let him continue to believe that," and when your words come out all kinds of smug, Wilbur’s phone seems to conveniently fall flat, now pointing at his roof.

"Then what is his name in your phone?" Tubbo asked, still intrigued and on the peripheries of this unexpected event. Wilbur himself was mercifully quiet.

"It's too mean, I can't tell you," you lied, looking at the boy over your shoulder, though were honest when you added, "and I'm going to change it anyways since I now know it's your friend Wilbur," and you pinched Tommy on the cheek for effect, even as he tried to slap your hand away, even as he automatically corrected you.

"Our," he mutters without even really thinking about it, before he's imploring you, "come on, tell us please," while he's leaning against you hard enough that the pair of you almost toppled over. Despite your laughter, you adamantly refuse, making your way back to the sofa, however as you flop back down beside Tubbo, Tommy is quick to follow suit, and throws himself like a starfish over both of you.

The sound of your bright laughter as you squabble with your brother hit Wilbur square in the chest, and he ends the call.

He's kind of grateful that it was a short call, but can't help but think about the fact that it's been well over a year and a half since the last time the two of you had spoken. He keeps reading the texts. He can't believe he hasn't deleted them, that he still has the same bloody phone.

[Wilbur: you coming out tonight? feels like forever since we've hung out]

[your future hot lit professor 🍑📚💖:it's been like 2 days 😅]

[Wilbur: still tho]

[Wilbur: don't make me say i've missed you]

[your future hot lit professor 🍑📚💖: im sorry,, mark's taking me to a movie tonight. i'll have to catch you another time]

[Wilbur: ah don't worry about it, have a good night]

And then it was nothing. Absolutely nothing for almost two years. Until today.

[Wilbur: weird question, are you currently hugging a kid called Tubbo?]

You hadn't even opened the message, which means his name is still saved in your phone, and you knew it was him the moment the message had popped up on your lock screen.

Later, he'll text you as his curiosity gets the better of him, asking privately this time what his name is in your phone.

[i can't believe you forgot! neither the name itself nor the emojis i added was something i could admit in front of my little brother and his best friend so i'm definitely immediately changing it, but......😅] and your accompanying screenshot has him blushing scarlet and putting his phone down as he took a moment to recover.

It was unfortunately, however, confirmation that you were the exact same Y/N that he'd had a six week fling with at the start of his third year of uni after meeting you at a bar, offering to show you the sights of London since you had said you were new to the area. The sights had definitely included his bedroom -

And suddenly he's reminded of the grateful surprise in your eyes when he'd brought you tea when you'd woken up, how you'd held the mug to your chest with one hand like you were afraid someone was going to steal it, phone in the other, how you half smirked as he'd settled back against his headboard carefully -

"I don't mean to be forward, but does this mean I can get your number?"

And there'd been no hesitation, no considerations for 'wait isn't this a one-time thing?' or the fact that you'd known each other for about 12 hours in total. You didn't have to stay; he's had girls leave with little fanfare, girls who tried not to wake him, and girls who whose promise to call him some time was obviously a lie. For his part, Wilbur was well aware he didn't have to get you tea, didn't have to bring it in to you while you had remained tucked under his duvet. He wasn't above subjecting girls to the awkwardly polite small talk his housemates would inflict upon them while they all sat around the table of questionable stability eating breakfast, and he's pretty sure none of those girls left with his number in their phone.

But you, new to the city and didn't owe him shit, especially not when he used that information to hit on you in one of his less graceful pick up attempts, and you turned out to be warm and funny and honest - "If you want me to go, I'll go, no hard feelings, we barely know each other, I get it dude -" and you laugh so hard you almost spill your tea when you read what he'd saved his name as in your phone.

You'd named yourselves in each other's phones almost two years ago, and now had to live with the consequences of never changing them. Was that really what he'd wanted you to remember him for at time? He's not wrong persay, but still... The guitar and eggplant emojis you've added are mocking him, he's sure of it.

And now he had to look Tommy in the eyes and act like he didn't sleep with his sister. Several times.

Fuck, the fates must be finding this funny.

[thank you for being so good to tommy] you sent, which surprised him, as does your follow up message [always knew you were a good sort]. For a few moments he blinks at the messages, still glancing at the name your future hot lit professor in bold letters at the top of his screen.

[he's a good kid] Wilbur sends back without really thinking.

[he's the best 😊] it seems that for all Tommy was excited to see you and talk about you, the sentiment was mutual; it would have been heart-warming if the new context didn't make it vaguely disconcerting.

He wants to ask - well, he wants to ask a lot of things. Do you know how Tommy feels about your boyfriend? Was the Mark you were with now the same Mark you'd gotten back with back when you knew each other? But instead, he chooses to go with -

[you really didn't recognise me before now? me and your brother have been making content for months now] he points out, and he works more on the world for his next one-hundred-player streams. It takes him a moment, but before you've sent through the response you’re working on, he can't help but add [I've MET him. i've met your dad].

[i mean i did recognise you but it would be weird trying to explain to tommy,, not even because of what happened but i really didn't want to explain HOW i recognised you. i don't even want to admit it now 😅] but of course your answer piques his interest, and he eggs you on. Which almost immediately comes back to bite him, since the first thing you send through is that you've seen a lot of the DreamSMP. Every single potential moment you would have possibly seen flashes through his mind, and he's kind of dreading which of them was the one that made you go 'oh I know him!'. Even you seem hesitant, as it's taking you an awfully long time to finish your next message, and he hasn't touched his keyboard.

[um.] It took you four minutes to send this. Four minutes. [you're gonna laugh.......]

[actually maybe i don't want to know] he responds, and the typing bubble from you suddenly stops. For a moment, he breathes a sigh of relief, content with never knowing, however you start typing again and his head hits the desk, dreading your answer. His phone buzzes several time before he feels as though he can handle whatever you've sent, and he reads the messages waiting for him from you;

[so like i said i was 80% sure i knew you]

[and also i watch most of the big smp stuff from tommy's pov obviously]

[but then i got this confirmation and it kind of made me really happy because i was sad we fell out of touch but im glad you and tom are friends you know?]

[so 80% sure ...... then 100% ,,,,, uh. not EXACTLY what I remember but close enough that i was sure it was you, yanno?]

You're stalling.

[i'm dreading this please just tell me before the suspense kills me] he sends. He's even more embarrassed than he'd predicted, staring at the link you'd sent with a blank kind of horror.

All Reactions Of Wilbur Blowing Up L'manburg During the War On Dream SMP

He knows exactly how and why you recognised him, the face he'd been making, the show he'd been putting on, and he's pretty sure he can never look Tommy in the eye ever again.

[actually the knowing is worse lol] Wilbur sends, [this is how Pandora felt].

[probably hahaha,,,] then less than a minute later, [but maybe you should look back in the box, I hear there's something good to come out of this]

[Hope?] He hopes you can read the wryness of his response, but is pretty sure it won't translate.

[something like that I guess] you send, [maybe it's just me but I'm gonna be honest I'm glad I get to talk to you again]

[hi Y/N] he can't help but grin at your earnestness as he presses send.

[hi wilbur 😊💖]

He's so fucked.

And maybe he finds your Instagram, because you and Tommy are following each other, and he knows he's can't follow you, can't even like one of your posts, because his fans watch his likes and following list with - ha - fanatical attention. But you're smiling so brightly, holding hands with the man he knows is Mark as recently as last week, and there's a strange, unwelcome sensation in his chest. He closes the app before he can scroll too far; he's not trying to be masochistic today.

It's not that he thinks about you a lot, because well, he hadn't. For a long time, he'd been very good at not thinking about you entirely, almost forgotten even, but then you'd appeared when he'd least expected it. And it's like you'd never left his mind.

[you still studying lit?] he asks the next morning. He doesn't have to. He could have left it. Could have let you message first, and have been content to never message again if it came to it. But he hits send anyways.

[yeah a bit hahaha surprised you still remember] it takes you almost an hour to respond. He looks at your name in his phone, and again doesn't bother changing it.

[tommy mentioned it] which isn't technically a lie.

[of course he did 😂😂] you send back much quicker. Then, a few moments later, a candid photo of Tommy sitting at a kitchen island, taking a too-big bite of a piece of toast, looking at the camera like he'd been caught red-handed, [snitch]. But still, he learns that you're picking up some curriculum method subjects for High School English next semester, which has a strangely sinking sense of deja vu going off in the back of his mind, but he chooses instead to ignore it.

Your replies are sporadic at best, and often vague when he asks about uni, hesitating about anything even bordering on personal that isn't your little brother. Sometimes it'll take days for a one-sentence response. When he asks if everything's okay, he's not sure what tone to read in your answer.

[its just a bit weird messaging my little brother's friend, you know? 😅]

It kind of winds him in a way that he hadn't anticipated, but he supposes he understands.

[i can stop] he offers.

[no] comes almost immediately from you, [um please no? i do like talking to you. tom's got good friends 😅] and what the fuck is that supposed to mean? As he's spent a good deal of time staring, bewildered at the message, he gets a notification from discord. It's Tommy.

[Y/N wanted me to tell you that MARK 😠is weird about her being friends with you] and okay, that makes sense... and makes Wilbur strangely uneasy. Tommy, who must have been feeling something similar, and also because he probably couldn't help himself then sends [because he's a BITCH. dont tell Y/N i said that but im right].

[tommy's a good kid] he sends back to you directly instead, and hopes you read the understanding in the message. You send back a single red heart, an agreement of the written sentiment, but also an I know, and thank you.

You have become some strange echo of the woman he remembers; two years can change people considerably, but the more he recalls about who you were, the more he wonders how you became who you are.

But there's shades he recognises; your smile in the photos Tommy sends, the kindness in your words when you talk about your brother and Tubbo and their content, and how you wax poetic when he asks you about what you've been reading lately. If you see he's been watching your Instagram stories, you don't comment on it.

With the understanding that you were trying to act as if you'd never spoken to him before now, it's much easier to talk to you. Vague seems less vague when he understands that he's back to being closer to a stranger than a former friend. But with each day comes old shades of familiarity, whether you like it or not.

Until it's Friday, a week before Christmas, and it's almost midnight and you're calling him. Your photo lights up his screen; it's a selfie you took sitting against his damn headboard back in London. He really should change that, at least to look less creepy and pathetic.

"Will! Will!" You're gasping with delight when he answers, "Will, you're real, right?" You're stage whispering without giving him a chance to get a word in edge-wise, voice still managing to echo amongst the din of background noise.

"Are you at a pub?" He yawns, though he's sitting at his computer.

"You're real! I knew it!" You cheered quietly; he can hear someone calling for you through a door, asking if you're in there, "I thought I dreamed you up!" You tell him earnestly, ignoring the other voice for the time being, but he laughs softly.

"Are you drunk?" He asks with faint fondness, but you don't seem to quite hear him either.

"Now I know you're real because I called your number and you actually answered and are real, I have to tell you that you treat Tombles - Tommy -" you corrected yourself without missing a beat, "treat Tommy good, and if you don't keep doing that I'll be- Will, I'll be so mad I'll stop imagining you! You'll stop existing, so be nice to Tom, and if you can still be nice to me that would be nice, but if I imagined you like this I think you'll keep being nice to me so I don't have to remind you -" you giggle to yourself.

"I'm still real," he reminds you gently.

"You're real," you breathe, strangely calm. You name is called from outside again. A closer voice asks if it's your name they're calling, but you say it isn't. "Hey Will, I-" you start suddenly, only to hesitate, and then, softly, he hears you sigh and say, "did you know Tom says you make music?"

"I do make music, I didn't know he was recommending it," he says after a moment of hesitation, "are you okay? Do you need me to call you a taxi or something?"

"Mark's looking for me," you mused, "is it good music?"

"I, uh, I suppose? Depends on the song, but I made it, I think you need to ask someone else for a verdict on it's quality," he huffs a faint laugh, before adding, "shouldn't... shouldn't you go to him?"

"He'll find me, he always finds me," and it's said with a gentle serenity, though Wilbur is strangely reminded of someone who's succumbing to frostbite, "of course you're real; everyone real knows the right thing to do is go to him, don't make him worry -"

"Baby, please," in the background, the noise grows louder as Wilbur assumes a door is opened, and someone calls inside, "if you're in here, please come out, it's almost your turn on karaoke."

"Be out in a minute!" You called in response.

"Mark?" Wilbur asks as the noise grows quieter again.

"Mark," you confirm, tone unreadable, as you make faint grunts, "ooh my bones," you add, presumably getting to your feet, "picked my song right before I called you, thought it would take longer."

"Why'd you call?" Wilbur hears himself ask.

"Wasn't sure if you were real," you answered honestly and easily, "why'd you pick up?" And he answers without hesitation.

"Had to prove I was real, didn't I?"

The way you laugh has him grinning from ear to ear, so loud and bright and surprised, as if it's the funniest thing in the world.

"I've missed you so much, Will, so much!" You exclaim as your laughter dies down, so fond it almost hurts.

"I've missed you too -" but as he says it, the door at your end opens again, and Mark's back, insistent, almost whining, and you cheerfully tell him that you're on your way.

And you hang up without saying good bye.

Twenty minutes later on your Instagram story, not that he's following you, it's just that you happen to be at the top of his most recent searches on the app, he sees the shaky footage of yourself attempting Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys. You're grinning so damn bright it's visible even on the poor recording, singing your heart out. He gets ten seconds into the video before he feels like he's spying on something he wasn't meant to see.

Because he knows that fucking song.

Because while you were definitely drunk, he was dead sober, and is haunted by your 'picked my song right before I called you'. Maybe he won't change your contact picture just yet.

The next day, he doesn't hear anything from you, and doesn't want to risk anything, so he messages Tommy to ask if you got home okay.

[they got in at like 3am and woke me up] Tommy messages quickly, following it up with [MARK 😠left about 10 minutes ago to go look at this open house or something but Y/N is pretty hungover so she's been in the shower for the past hour wasting all the hot water]

[kind of you to recommend my music to her 😊] Wilbur adds, mostly as an afterthought, but Tommy is quick to respond to that too.

[nah she knew you made music she was just wondering if i had any favourites] then, [she said she likes Jubilee Line, i said she should move then lol].

And Wilbur wants to respond, wants to say something, but in his mind you're looking at your hands and he's looking at you.

"I didn't pick London for the school, I picked it because it was..." you trailed off, and he watches you scrunch up your whole face as you choose to not finish that particular thought. But you steel yourself, taking a deep breath and smiling bright, bright enough that it's obviously forced, and you finally look up; when you meet Wilbur's gaze, you seem almost startled, you hadn't realised he'd actually been watching you.

"It's a good school, though, I'm glad I got in, and Mark, he's- he's really sweet. It's brave of him to move, even though I'm on campus and he's not; none of his family's lived outside of Nottingham for generations," the face you're making is close to a smile, to anyone else they might mistake it as such, but there's a wrinkle in the bridge of your nose, a tightness at the edge of your smile, "he's training to go into the same line of work as his dad, he's just glad he can do it here," you laugh, but there's no humour in it. The sky was slate grey, a chill in the air that wasn't there the day before, and you'd found out a few days ago that your - former ex - boyfriend Mark had found a place in town. You say that he's good to you, but then you use the word persistent, but it hadn't quite sounded like a compliment.

And Wilbur had been fine to be just friends with you; he did like you as a person, really enjoyed your company outside of the sex. He had no idea it would be the last time the two of you would see each other for two years. You looked tired, but still tried to smile as you started digging around in your bag.

"Hey, anyways, I was thinking -" you started, and Wilbur couldn't help himself.

"Always a dangerous pass time," he muses, but was glad to see it made you smile, even if it did have it rolling your eyes.

"Har har, you're a master of comedy," you tell him with well-worn exasperation, reaching over to take his hand, "if you get a chance between your various jester activities, I finally found that poem I was talking about in the car the other day," you're carefully writing the name of the poem on the back of his hand, grinning to yourself, "it's silly, but the last stanza especially reminds me..." and you look up, capping the pen with an air of finality, "of us, I suppose. Reminds me of hanging out with you."

You Are Jeff - Siken, you've written. You look a little less tired as he fondly calls you 'a sweet, little pretentious nerd'. But he never gets around to reading it; your words wash off in the shower. He can't remember the name of the poem after that, and you aren't around to remind him.

In the present, he's feeling masochistic, and he clicks your Instagram profile again, and your latest post where you're kissing Mark's cheek by a river, announcing that you were grateful to be back in your home town. His thumb hovers over where you've tagged Mark, and he swallows his pride and follows the link, and opens the man's story.

"'cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat," you sing as the clip begins, your eyes closed. Mark had captioned the video 'my little songbird 😍' and Wilbur feels an irrational twinge of anger in his chest.

[how's your head?]

[never had any complaints before] you send, and then almost immediately unsend [ignore that lol].

[consider it ignored]

[thank you hahaha] you message, and he's pretty sure he reads some sort of relief.

[did your very long shower help?]

In response, after a few minutes, he gets a video; it's filmed in landscape, like you had been laying on your side and hadn't been bothered to sit up, pointing the camera at the door.

"Tom-bh!" You shout, with a strangely emphasised 'b' at the end, groggy, playing at being annoyed. As if on cue, Tommy trots into the room, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yes, my dear, sweet sister?" He asks, far too innocent for it to be genuine.

"You're a dirty little snitch," you tell him, voice still groggy and hoarse, and his grin gets brighter. He waves.

"Hello Wilbur," he looks at the camera, "I assume that's why you're pointing your camera at me?"

"It's a video, and I'm gonna hang out with Tubbo today," you sulked, "since he's not a snitch-" and there's a cheer from down the hall, distinctly Tubbo.

"Can't," Tommy rocked back on his heels with a smug little smile, "not unless you wanna stream with us -" The video stops abruptly.

[so are you going to stream with them?]

[wilbur i am dying] and you send it with a reasonably unflattering and exhausted selfie of you with your blanket pulled up to your ears [nobody else is allowed to see me like this especially not the internet].

[im honoured that i get to 😂] he sends back, and pretends like the idea that you'd trusted him enough to send that photo doesn't genuinely warm his heart.

The next day, Sunday, the two of you chat all day, as if with newfound enthusiasm and familiarity, and the past few weeks' hesitation seems almost entirely forgotten. He casually tells you he's streaming later if you've got time to check it out, and you tell him you know, that Tommy asked you to pick up snacks.

[mark's with his parents and our parents are out for the evening time to do delinquent things] you send a photo with that caption, of you holding the camera out far enough to catch Tommy's bed in the shot behind you and your awkward smile, where Tommy himself is sitting with his legs crossed, hunched over and looking at his phone with a bowl of chips in his lap, and a laptop on the bed near him with the waiting screen for Wilbur's twitch stream already on.

[that's cute but it'd be cuter if you subscribed] Wilbur sends back as a joke moments before he sits down at his desk. His phone buzzes as his mouse hovers over the button for his camera to go live.

[bold of you to assume i'm not] you text back. He grins widely, sending a single word, before turning his phone over to start the stream with the biggest grin.

[simp]

He doesn't see you in the chat, and he's not sure if he's glad about that or not, but as soon as he wraps up for the night and turns his phone back over, he sees a barrage of texts from you. Once you realised he wasn't looking at his texts during the stream, and therefore you wouldn't be distracting him, you'd decided to send through your running commentary, which, even with only half-remembered context on Wilbur's part, was still endearing and amusing.

Even in the few days leading up to Christmas the rate at which you're messaging each other doesn't seem to slow. Photos of hot beverages and warm meals and blurry candids of Tommy and Tubbo are sent, with a few photos of what you were doing, selfies taken with your face right in the corner so your activity could be seen behind. Wilbur, of course, responds in kind, and is sure to keep you updated with his drink tally on Christmas Eve before the stream.

"Was such a good stream!" He doesn't even bother to say hello to you when he calls after the stream, flopping back on the sofa in his basement, legs hanging over the end as it won't even fit a person of far more average height.

"That's good to hear, dude," you sound like your whispering, which he points out almost immediately.

"You're always whispering when we talk like this, like it's a secret -" but he's cut off by someone in the background of your call, asking if everything is alright. He knows that voice; Mark.

"Just a friend who's a bit tipsy, I just wanna stay on the line with them so I know they get home safe," you assured, though you're a little muffled. As you presumably uncover the receiver, before you can even speak, you both hear Mark call out that you're just talking to one of your drunk friends.

"As if you have a myriad," Wilbur rolls his eyes with barely concealed disdain.

"You heard that?" You asked weakly.

"And I heard you lie about me; I am home," he saw fit to point out. You were quiet for a very long moment, and finally, he conceded, "I shouldn't have called. It's Christmas Eve. You're probably with your family -"

"Mark's family," you corrected faintly, and a hush falls over you both, "why'd you call, Will? Can I help you with something?"

"Well, I was just drunk, and streaming, and I remembered that you called me last week when you were drunk, and also I was hanging out with Tubbo and I was like 'you know who Tubbo adores? You', so I called."

"Not to confirm if I was real?" You asked, voice betraying your fond smile.

"Oh I know you're real; if I had made you up, you wouldn't -" but Wilbur thankfully stops himself, pivots before putting his foot in his damn mouth, probably using his last shred of good sense in the process, "have fallen out of touch for so long." It sounds lame, even to his own ears, but you've only been speaking again for three weeks, which in itself is almost half the length you knew each other originally. His mouth seems hell bent on writing checks time and common sense won't allow him to cash.

"Won't happen again," you tell him with a gentle sincerity, and the conversation falls away for a moment. Then another, warm silence echoing down the line until Wilbur starts humming a half remembered tune; he likes to think you're smiling to yourself, wonders if you'd recognise it. You'd sung this very song just a week ago.

"Sweetheart, you must be freezing, please come inside," Mark's voice on the other end of the line, in your background, is all love, is all care. Wilbur stops humming.

"Be in in a minute, dear," you tell your boyfriend, tone all kinds of warm and fond. Perhaps, Wilbur's drunken mind thinks, he should afford you the same curtsey you'd shown him while drunk, and just hang up. But he doesn't.

"I figure you heard that."

"Back in to Milquetoast Mark?" He grumbles.

"I told Tommy to stop calling him that," you huffed a deep, irate sigh.

"Tommy also calls him a bitch, so I think Milquetoast is the least of Mark's worries -"

"Wilbur!"

"Sorry," Wilbur backtracks, wishing he'd bitten his tongue, "that was out of line."

"Yes, it was."

"Tommy just loves you is all."

"Tommy loves me enough to keep that shit to himself," you sniped back, and Wilbur's jaw tightened, not quite able to decipher your implications.

"Merry Christmas," he says quietly, finally.

"Merry Christmas, Wilbur," you sigh, and even after you hang up, there's almost a full minute where he lays with the phone pressed to his ear, wishing he could have said more.

And considering the frequency of messages before today, your radio silence on Christmas itself is deafening. Perhaps it's simply that you're spending time with your family, but to see you updating your Instagram story every hour or so kind of feels like you're deliberately ignoring him.

In all the photos he sees, you're wearing the sweater he knows Tommy bought for you; the kid had excitedly sent a photo, relieved that he'd actually managed to find it. You're always smiling in the photos, or laughing, or content, but you're always happy, and that, at the very least, makes Wilbur smile. He feels like a creep and a fool for getting so pressed.

In the evening, you post a single photo to your actual page, of yourself, Mark, and Tommy, lit by firelight; Mark is sitting on the floor, back against the sofa with his legs stretched out, and your head is pillowed in his lap, while Tommy, in turn, is stretched out with his head pillowed on your stomach, blonde hair bright against the sweater he bought you, his phone pressed to his chest. Your eyes are closed and your smile's content, while Mark is looking at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, the two of you holding hands, fingers laced together.

YourInstagram: as lil nas x said, ayy its a holiday (styled by tombles who im not allowed to tag but i love this sweater and this photo and he said i could post it. if u recognise him..... no u don't)

He should delete the app; at least then he'd stop compulsively checking it every five minutes.

[tom's my little brother of course he's going to have some Opinions. don't bully my boyfriend on his behalf is all im asking] he gets the text at nine at night, and though he's had a good Christmas in it's own right, with countless calls and chats with family and friends, that message from you is a nice way to end the night.

[understood] he messages back. You send a heart emoji and a few minutes later unsend it, but he sees it. He's not sure why you'd unsent it, but he's glad he had seen it at all.

And messaging continues like before, like nothing had ever happened.

So he keeps his opinions to himself because keeping in contact means more to him than asking why the brother you love so much hates the man you've been dating for years, it means more than asking why you keep calling when you're drunk and saying that you just want to hear him talking. It means more than asking about why you only see your family at Christmas and why you only call Tommy on his birthday and don't seem to text him that often while still calling him one of your best friends; it means more, but not by much, and every day wears on his resolve.

It would be out of line to ask any of those, he's so painfully aware, but you've gone back to London and Tommy's started asking him how you're going. Tubbo hasn't heard from you, your messages to Tommy are growing more and more infrequent, but somehow you're managing to message Wilbur almost every day. Something about it feels off, feels wrong -

[hey tommy's been asking if you're okay] you'd read his message three hours ago but are yet to respond. Every time his phone buzzes, his pulse jumps, despite not really knowing what answer to anticipate. But it's not you. It's never you. There's only radio silence, and he's meant to be streaming but -

[thanks for letting me know. ive messaged him. i'll try to do that more it must have slipped my mind a little now that i'm getting back to study. sorry you had to be the go between. 😅]

He's overwhelmed by a strange, unfamiliar sense of relief. Perhaps it’s because Tommy needn’t worry anymore, or maybe he’s glad for the both of you. As long as you and your brother were still in contact, Wilbur could feel some of his own concern lift. It takes him a full day, looking back, to realise exactly why he’d felt so immediately pleased by your response, but finally it hits him. You trusted him enough to believe his message conveying your own brother’s concern; it felt like respect, that you hadn’t even thought to question him on it –

“How’d you even get up there?” Wilbur’s squinting up at you, half-shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun behind you as you grin widely at him from the top of a concrete barrier by the Thames.

“’s a good view from up here,” you declare instead of answering, “not sure if I need you after all, got all the sights of London here,” and you cast your gaze behind you, out to the city on the other side of the waterway.

“You’re probably right,” Wilbur half-smiles, still vaguely concerned about your precarious vantage point, but picking up your teasing tone well enough and playing along, “I mean, I was going to skip the sights in the Thames, but you’re one swan-dive away from the best view under the river,” and without thinking, he reaches up to offer his hand as some sort of support, still not quite sure how you’d made it up onto the barrier in the first place.

“Alright, Mister W-H-S,” you laugh faintly, finally scrambling down to the footpath, taking his hand for stability as you made the final hop to solid ground. There’s something about you, something electric, the same thing that had drawn him to you in the first place last Friday night. Part of him had been nervous on his way here, that that spark would disappear in the daylight, that he’d imagined your inherent intensity and delight –

“Oh I know that one,” you interrupt his thoughts, practically bouncing along beside him, arm outstretched and pointing to a building that looked exactly like a half dozen other buildings in the vicinity, “that’s The Eye; The London Eye.” You’re so blatantly wrong that it actually takes him a moment to gather his thoughts.

“No?” His own hesitation gives you cause to grin, a dead giveaway that you’re doing a bit, and he can’t help but smile as he shakes his head. Your joy is infectious.

“You sure?”

“Like eighty percent,” he plays along, and you cast your gaze around, before pointing to another random building.

“That’s it, isn’t it?”

“You’re getting warmer,” he appears to concede, and there’s mirth amid your disbelieving laugh.

“Really?”

“No,” he snorts.

“’cos it’s Big Ben, right?” Your grin is all teeth.

“You need my help so badly,” he actually laughs, fondly jovial, though he hears you laugh too, and is surprised by the warmth that blooms in his chest at the sound. When he offers his arm, you concede that maybe you do need him around after all, looping your arm with his, happy to follow his lead.

Moments like that, like the one he found himself in now, the moments that showed the depth of your trust and respect, even if he didn’t fully feel like he’d earned it… it had been years since he’d felt this warmth in his chest. He hadn’t even realised how much he’d missed it before he’d felt it again.

His phone buzzes.

[your future hot lit professor 🍑📚💖: heu]

[your future hot lit professor 🍑📚💖: hey]

[your future hot lit professor 🍑📚💖: can i call]

It’s a Thursday evening, almost five; the warmth is disappearing, the concern is rapidly returning. He calls you first. When you pick up, your apologies are all blurring together already; it’s different this time, there’s no delight in your answering tone when you hear him asking what’s going on.

“It’s selfish- I’m selfish – you shouldn’t- I’m sorry,” you’re rambling, “it’s weird that I miss you, I think- I know - I don’t know you so I shouldn’t call you like this…” and you punctuated your messy string of thoughts with a loud groan.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you know me,” he speaks without even thinking.

“No, I should go, I should go,” you mumbled, defeated. But there’s no dial tone. A full minute passes. You say his name so quietly, as if you’re not even sure if he’d answer, but he does, “you didn’t hang up,” is all you can think to say.

“’course I didn’t,” he says with an indescribable fondness. You won’t remember it, which is probably why he didn’t hold himself back.

“London air is grimy, ‘s all full of grit and garbage and –“ you make a rough but descriptive noise in the back of your throat, but it melts to something unhappy. Finally, you huff a sigh, “and I’m all selfish and full of grit and garbage –“

“Hey, no,” he says sharply, “come on; you know if anyone else talked about you like that Tommy would give them a solid smack, you don’t get a pass because it’s you.”

“Are you threatening to sick my own brother on me?” You asked, and though your huff of laughter sounded a little pitiful, it was still a laugh.

“If you keep talking shit about yourself,” he said with conviction, and your giggling sounds more fond than forlorn. It’s working. Finally, he asks if you’re okay. You babble with incoherent dismissal of the question for a moment before you suddenly start to make sense –

“-nd of course it’s not weird that I miss you, I know, we are friends – were friend? We’re friends now, right?“ but you didn’t give him a chance to answer, “but like, I keep thinking about wanting to see you in person and that feels weird and kind of selfish and you probably shouldn’t have picked up – I’m being weird – but I’m the one who messaged, and you’re just a good guy so of course you called when I texted–“ you cut yourself off, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, “I’m everywhere. My mind’s everywhere. The walls shout back, I didn’t realise they could do that, or start the argum- I’m not making sense. I’m sorry.”

“I’d like to see you in person,” is all Wilbur can think to say in the wake of your half-coherent rant. He has friends in London he could stay with, it’s not like he’s got a serious work schedule to adhere to, he –

“Could I come to Brighton?” Your voice is small, but there’s a note of hope, and he suddenly has an image in his head of the way you’d beam at him when he’d pick you up from the train station. He’s agreeing without even thinking, and there’s something relieved about your faint laugh. Maybe now isn’t the best time to organise this sort of thing, but neither of you seem to be able to help yourselves, suddenly excited as you ask how soon is too soon.

Smiling, Wilbur checks his calendar.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur imagine #wilbur x reader #wilbur x y/n #wilbur x you #wilbur soot #cc!wilbur #cc!wilbur soot #cc!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur imagine #cc!wilbur soot x reader #cc!wilbur soot imagine #cyltlanp #shut ur pretty mouth

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senditcolton · 2 years ago

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26 w jack hughes or willy nylander pls!

I chose Willy for this one (my first time writing for him! so exciting!) warning: it's kind of a cheating fic, not full blown but still iffy so if you don't vibe with it, I apologize. also, AM34 is in this but he's an asshole in it so, hopefully that helps? anyway, i hope you like it!

Criminal in how I crave the way she tastes.

William Nylander was in trouble: he was in trouble because he was in love.

Normally, being in love is a good thing, something to be celebrated. But when he was in love with his teammate Mitch’s best friend, a friend who was already in a steady relationship, it was nothing but trouble. And that’s exactly the situation that William found himself trapped in.

It was a specific kind of hell, one that he didn’t know how to escape. So, instead, he settled for this; watching you from across the Toronto bar, watching as you celebrated the Maple Leafs win, imagining that it was his arms around you instead of your boyfriend Justin’s, that he was the one whispering jokes into your ear. Any fantasy was worlds better than the reality.

“Yo, Willy!” The voice of his teammate pulls him out of his haze, his gaze dropping from you to the boys standing around the billiards table. “It’s your turn, man.”

William shakes his head lightly before wandering back to the table, desperately trying to concentrate on the shot in front of him. It almost works until the sound of your laughter floats above the bar, causing him to tense and ruin his play.

“Dude, what’s going on?” Kerfoot asks bewildered, walking around the table to retrieve the sunken cue ball.

“Oh, he’s just distracted because he’s obsessing over Y/N again,” Auston casually explains, taking a swig from his beer before waltzing over to the table, placing the cue exactly where he wants on the green velvet top.

“Still?” Kerfy replies to which William heaves a sigh. He wished he never spilt his secret to anyone but one too many drinks led to it slipping and the gossip spread to almost everyone on the team. “Dude, she has a boyfriend.”

“You don’t think I know that?” William retorts.

“Well, yeah but I thought you would get over it a little quicker because of that,” Alex explains and William can’t stop his eyes from rolling.

“I’ve tried.”

“Well try harder,” Auston says, his statement punctuated by the sound of clattering billiard balls. He lifts himself up from his position leaned over the table before propping himself up with the cue.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t fucking know dude,” he replies. “Get drunk. Punch and scream into your pillow. Take home a girl that looks enough like her that you’re satisfied. Just whatever you need to get over it.”

The words turn William’s stomach. He knew that Auston must have meant well but the way he talked, so carelessly and callously, made him feel sick. Instead, William places his own cue on the table, a silent forfeit to the already lost game.

“You’re a dick,” is the last thing William says before turning away and pushing through the crowd towards the bar, ignoring the shouts from behind him. He makes it to the bar, moving around before he finds a space at the end, shoved in a corner. He attempts to flag down the bartender but with the bustle of a Saturday night, William gives up quickly, in turn decides to wait.

He hopes to get a drink soon and drown his miseries with a beer, or perhaps something stronger. Something that will manage to get you off his mind.

Unfortunately, that hope is lost when he feels the delicate touch of a hand on his shoulder and the smell of a perfume that had haunted him for months fill his senses. And then your voice rose over the commotion, a simple statement laced with a concern that made William weak.

“Hey,” you say, your voice raising over the commotion of the bar as your hand tightens on William’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Some of your friends said that your constant concern for others was the cause of your problems. Even your boyfriend Justin echoed that statement from time to time, thinking that you would burn yourself out from how much you worried about others. But you had always thought that if caring about others was wrong, you didn’t want to be right. It made you feel good about being there for friends, being an ear for them to rant to, or a shoulder for them to cry on. It wasn’t that you didn’t set boundaries. You had your limits and knew when to take a step back. But more often than not, you wanted to help.

So, when you saw William storm away from the billiard tables, ignoring the cries from Auston, you knew something was wrong. And your empathy took over.

“Hey, I’m going to go to the bar,” you explain, untangling yourself from Justin’s grasp. “Won’t be gone long.” You press a quick kiss against his lips before turning away and making your way through the crowd.

You managed to spy William pressed against the edge of the bar, his body slumped forward, his long blond hair falling in front of his face. You manage to squeeze through the press of the bodies until you appear behind him. Your hand reaches out to land on his shoulder and your heart pangs when you feel his body tense underneath your touch.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask, your voice loud enough to carry over the background noise but your tone still caring. It takes a moment and a deep sigh before William responds.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbles and you almost lose the words in the commotion around you.

“Are you sure?” you ask, shoving your way next to him so you can manage to look at his face. “I just noticed you kind of storming away from Auston and Kerf and I wanted to make sure everything was alright.” Your explanation causes William’s gaze to flick up to you, his blue eyes gentle.

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Okay. But just so you know, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” You are about to retreat to your original table when you hear William’s mutter.

“That’s the problem.”

“What was that?” you question, turning back to face him, your eyes still filled with concern. William’s own eyes dart back to yours, clearly caught off guard, not expecting you to hear his last utterance. You watch for a moment, noticing an almost imperceptible shift within him as he straightens up, holding your gaze with a fierce sudden determination.

“I said, that’s the problem,” he repeats and your eyebrows furrow at his words.

“What’s the problem?”

You see William’s eyes tear away from you to dart around the bar and you are about to follow his gaze until you feel his hand grasp yours and before you can blink, he is pulling you away from the and into a secluded hallway. He finally drops your hand and spins back towards you to connect his piercing blue eyes with yours once again.

“William,” you begin. “What’s going on?”

“I do have a problem. A major problem.”

“Well, what is it? Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he says, taking a small step towards you. “Because you’re the cause of it.”

“Me? What does that –”

“I like you,” William confesses, cutting you off. You are taken aback by his words, the admission startling you but before you have time to process it, he continues. “I like you a lot. I have for a while. And now, I’m getting caught in these spirals of thinking about what it would be like to be with you. How it would feel to hear your laughter every day, to take care of you, to come home to you after a long road trip.”

“William –” you attempt to say, his words dancing around in your head as he continues his approach.

“How it would feel to wake up next to you every morning,” he breathes and you let out a sharp gasp as you feel your back hit the concrete behind you. William doesn’t slow, his body moving into your space. “How you would look tangled in my sheets, how your body would feel pressed against mine. What it would be like to kiss you.”

You knew it was wrong. You had a boyfriend. You were happy with Justin. But you wouldn’t deny the fact that you had found William attractive from the moment you met him. And in the deep, somewhat shameful parts of you, you had thought the same things. You had quieted those fantasies for months, not wanting to ruin the perfectly good relationship you had.

But now, here with William’s body leaning over yours, his weight supported by his hands pressed against the wall, his breath ghosting over your bare skin, his lips mere millimeters away from yours, it was hard to ignore those hidden wishes that were now screaming at you will full force.

“Tell me that you’ve wanted me the same way I wanted you,” he whispers.

The desperation in his voice is what does you in, causing the damn to break and all your desire to come surging forward. Your body moves without thinking, your hands tangling into his hair, pulling him that small distance closer before your lips meet.

The kiss is fevered, frantic, frenzied but you were past the point of caring. You just needed to feel his lips against yours. It is a split-second before William is returning the kiss with as much passion, his hands falling from the wall to grasp your hips. The two of you continue to kiss, becoming more desperate with every second passed. William’s lips fall from yours to kiss across your jawline down your neck. Your leg lifts to wrap around the back of his thigh, his hand coming to grip your own thigh to pull you closer. You gasp as you feel his body press against you and it seems that that sharp sound breaks through the lust.

William pauses, his lips leaving your beck, his blue irises darting up to look at you, filled with a look that you didn’t recognize. You move your head forward in attempt to kiss him again and your lips barely touch his before William is pulling away again. You try again, managing to kiss him lightly before he once again retreats. There is a small pause as the two of you look at each other before a small curse is uttered from William’s lips.

“Shit,” he murmurs, his gaze tearing from you and your eyebrows furrow at his words. “Fuck. We shouldn’t. Justin,” he continues and with that one name, you are shocked back into reality. William pulls away from you and you don’t stop him as the two of you disentangle from each other.

“I’m sorry,” William says when he steps away from you. “I’m really fucking sorry.” With that, he turns on his heel, disappearing into the crowd, leaving you breathless against the wall.

It takes you a few minutes to collect yourself enough to venture back to the table with your friends, your mind still in a haze over what just happened.

“Babe, are you alright?” you hear your boyfriend’s voice call out and you are snapped out of your thoughts, blinking dazedly to see Justin looking at you with concern.

“I’m fine,” you say, your voice not nearly convincing enough which you can see when one of Justin’s brows lift in disbelief. “I think I just had a little too much to drink. Can we go home?”

“Yeah, of course,” Justin replies, jumping out of the seat and grabbing his car keys out of his pocket. After a quick explanation to your friends and a few hurried goodbyes, Justin’s hand is pressed against the small of your back, leading you towards the exit. Before you reach the door, you glance behind you and your eyes instantly connect with William, back at the billiards tables, his gaze locked on your departing frame.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” you hear Justin ask again, his voice pulling your eyes back to his.

“I think we need to talk.”

#nicole writes #trinity of terror prompt night #a little spicy a little angsty #a combo i absolutely adore #william nylander blurb #william nylander angst #toronto maple leafs blurb #nhl blurb #hockey blurb

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usermischief · 3 years ago

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♚ Pairing: Sterek ♚ Warnings: — ♚ Words: 1060 ♚ Dialogue Prompt: “Are you getting bad again?” - “I don't know.” - "You know you're never doing this alone." (for @auriette -> prompt #39) ♚ Mini Fic Roulette: 9/∞

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Stiles is sure Derek tries to be subtle about it. He does intend to be sneaky when he crouches outside his window at night or keeps monitoring his emotions whenever they’re together. It’s funny, really, because his betas aren’t even trying any longer. They usually waltz in unannounced with snacks and movies. Boyd is by far his favorite because he’s not trying to make him talk. When Derek comes over, Stiles either is about to have a serious conversation or has to pretend for hours that he didn’t notice Derek keeping an eye on him. Right now, he probably thinks Stiles is distracted enough by the too hot water hitting his skin that he didn’t notice he’s been standing in the door for the past five minutes. He most likely thinks he’s sneaky too. He’s not. Never has been. But Stiles isn’t going to burst that bubble.

Steeling himself for the following conversation, he shuts the shower off. “If you’re creeping anyway, the least you could do is hand me a towel.” Stiles opens the curtain and steps out of the shower, water dripping onto the bathmat. He shudders as the cool air hits him.

Derek cracks the door further open, brows furrowed. He doesn’t say anything and grabs a towel from the rack. For the flicker of a second, he doesn’t move, and his knuckles turn white in the soft fabric.

“We talked about this, remember?” Stiles snatches the towel from him and wraps it around his hips after drying his hair haphazardly. “You sneaking up on me? I’m not a fan.” A conversation they’ve had before because Derek loves to appear in his apartment at random times, unannounced, and not by using the doorbell.

“How—“

“Did I know you were staring at me from behind the door?” Stiles grimaces and folds his arms over his chest. “The nogitsune ruined my life, not my hypervigilance.” No matter what the nogitsune did to him, his senses have never worked better than they do now. He’s on high alert twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Nothing gets past him. Especially not Derek trying to be sneaky. “I*m making zrazy,” Stiles informs him then and walks out of the bathroom, “you want some?”

Derek follows him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my privacy has been invaded.”

“Stiles.”

Oh, good. Someone’s got a short fuse today. “I’m a college student with mid-terms coming up, I’m working two jobs — yes, protecting this town is basically a full-time job.” Stiles leaves a watery trail as he walks to his dresser. “And I’m still waiting for our third date, Derek Hale.” Sighing, Stiles grabs his sweatpants and drops the towel. He’s spent too much time with werewolves and their lack of clothes to be embarrassed about it. Plus, it’s not like Derek hasn’t seen him naked before. He has. Multiple times. Long before they went on their first date. “How do you think I’m feeling?”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a long time, but his gaze is palpable on the back of Stiles’ head. “Are you getting bad again?”

There are times when Stiles appreciates Derek doesn’t beat around the bush. Today is not that day. He folds his arms over his chest and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Jackson asked him the same question yesterday, and Stiles wanted to kick him out of the window he crawled in through. But this is Derek. It’s different with him. It’s always different with him. “I don’t know.”

Another silence follows his words. Much shorter than the first. Derek crosses the room on quiet feet. His body is warm against his back. Familiar. Strong. “You know,” Derek whispers, curling his arms around Stiles’ shoulders, “you’re never doing this alone.”

“It’s pretty lonely in my mind.”

Derek presses a kiss to the back of his head.

Closing his eyes, Stiles falls against him and holds onto Derek’s arms. He’s pack. He’s home. He’s safe. Stiles smiles a little and leans his head against Derek’s shoulder. For all he cares, they could stay like this forever. But there are mid-terms coming up, hunters roaming their hellhole of a town, and he’ll have to start cooking the potatoes soon. Stiles opens his eyes again, studying the lights of downtown Beacon Hills. “How did you know?” How do you always know? Because Stiles certainly doesn’t notice. Not when he’s slipping.

Derek huffs. “You shot the hunter without hesitation.”

“In the leg.”

“Stiles.”

“He was running?!” Plus, he was alone. “I had to stop him somehow.”

Shaking his head, Derek pulls away and grabs Stiles’ chin instead. He raises a brow, tipping his head up. “We both know you’re faster than him.”

Stiles scrunches up his face. “I wasn’t in the mood for a chase.” Fine, maybe Derek has a point. “I have to study for my mid-terms. Criminal justice is no joke. I don’t have time to be exhausted.” Especially not with working as a server to pay for this apartment.

“You threatened to throw Jackson out of your window,” Derek adds, now raising the second brow in accusation — which, rude — and turns around to get two plates from the one lonely wall cupboard in his kitchenette.

Stiles yanks his t-shirt over his head. “I’ve threatened to do that before.” This guy is such a baby sometimes. Jackson really didn’t have a reason to rat him out.

“Maybe,” Derek concedes and continues to set the table as if he’s the one living in this tiny flat, “but this time, Jackson was worried you’d go through with it.”

Scoffing, Stiles reaches for his phone. He’s gotta start cooking the potatoes soon.

Derek grabs his arm and pulls him close, cupping his neck with the softest smile Stiles has ever seen on him. “We all struggle with our humanity sometimes.” Squinting a little, he tips his head to the side. “Not sure Jackson’s got any left.”

“Don’t let him hear that.”

“What I’m saying is, we understand.” He smiles, kissing his forehead. “And we’re never going to leave you. I will never leave you.”

Stiles smiles and wraps his arms around Derek’s waist. “You only make me wait on that third date forever, huh?”

Again, Derek kisses his forehead. “This could be our third date.”

“I like the sound of that,” Stiles smiles and leans up to steal a long-overdue kiss.

#sterek #eternalsterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #derek x stiles #stiles x derek #minificroulette #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:sterek

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jisungsmochi · 3 years ago

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nct dream reaction: them getting jealous when you are getting closer to another member

okay trust me, i’m writing some new fics, i just finished this first so here it is

mark:

i feel like he is the type of have A LOT of trust in his partner - without trust, he wouldn’t even be in a relationship with someone

he wouldn’t mind you having other guy friends, just as long as you were clear about your relationship with them

he knew that you and renjun were friends prior to your relationship

so naturally, he was aware that you guys were already close

but whenever he saw renjun lean in closer towards you whenever you were talking

or whispering small inside jokes into your ear

he couldn’t help but feel annoyed?

of course he trusted you, and he trusted renjun

but the sight of you two being so close made him feel uneasy

so he would opt to leave the room, not wanting to do or say anything he would regret

as i mentioned, he has a lot of trust in his partner, he wouldn’t want them to not trust him in return

you would run after mark the moment you heard the door close behind him

you approached him cautiously, your fingers softly tapping his shoulder

“hey, are you okay? did i say something?”

“no you didn’t say or do anything at all. it’s just me” he shrugged, fuelling your concern

“what’s up? you know you can tell me” mark begins to feel slightly embarrassed at this point

“i-i was jealous of you and renjun, okay? i know it’s silly” it caught you off guard, you never really saw mark as the jealous type

but this only meant that he really liked you

you shook your head playfully, wrapping your arms around his torso, smiling into his chest

“it’s not silly, you can tell me how you feel. i actually prefer it, rather than you leaving and staying quiet, you know?” mark just nods, his hand rubbing your back softly

he was so lucky to have someone like you in his life, everything felt complete

renjun:

hmm i have some mixed feelings about how he would react

i feel like he would go for someone who is independent and has their own strong personality

basically he would prefer a partner that isn’t too dependent on him, you know?

but when he sees how social / close you’ve become with jaemin, he’s about to lose it completely

jaemin was naturally flirty, and you were naturally enticing to be around

that mix was not a good look in renjun’s eyes

he wanted nothing more than to pry you away from his friend

but he didn’t want to be labelled as the ‘possessive’ or ‘overbearing’ boyfriend

you would always shift your eyes to make contact with renjun’s, assuring him that you were still paying attention to him

but it still wasn’t enough for him to stop feeling jealous

once jaemin laid his hand on your shoulder and moved closer to you (a little too close to comfort for renjun) — he snapped

renjun would excuse the both of you, pulling you along with him out of the room

“i-i don’t like jaemin touching you like that”

you found it slightly amusing that he was jealous. of course you took it as a friendly touch, but you understood how it looked to renjun

“that’s just how he is. you’re the only one i want to hold hands with” you link your hands with his tightly

he starts to go quiet

“and you’re the only one i want to kiss” you peck his cheek gently “like this”

renjun felt his cheeks heat up from the touch, immediately feeling shy infront of you

“o-okay, i just got jealous, that’s all” he pouted

“i know, and that’s okay! just remember that i’m all yours, and only yours, okay?”

jeno:

very very protective

makes it clear that he can get jealous but you had never seen it first hand

so when he saw you laugh a bit too hard at one of haechan’s jokes, he felt his heart slightly ache

‘i’m not as funny as haechan’

‘they looks so much happier with him’ he would think to himself

despite his tough exterior, jeno had a lot of insecurities inside

he doesn’t think he has ever seen you laugh that hard at one of his jokes before

so he starts to get quiet, distracting himself with his phone

suddenly the laugher stops as you make you way to sit down next to your boyfriend

he honestly would be a bit petty at first, only responding with one word answers, until haechan calls him out

“dude, get off your phone and talk to your partner”

“dude, how about you stop flirting with my partner then?” jeno grunts, causing the whole room to go quiet.

you felt so embarrassed, apologising to haechan quietly before dragging jeno away from the group

“what was that? it wasn’t cool, you have to apologise to him!” you folded your arms, not comprehending how jeno was feeling

“what? i’m not apologising. you obviously enjoyed his flirting!”

“jeno, you’re being quite unreasonable right now. it was just some harmless jokes, nothing more” you tried to reassure him

he knew you were right, but he was stubborn at times

“look at me” you brought his face between your palms

“go and apologise to haechan, and then we can go home and cuddle, and also have a deep talk about all of this. sound good?” you suggested

jeno nodded, placing a soft kiss to your forehead

he was whipped for you, this only solidified how he truly felt

haechan:

oh the pettiest of them all

would make it known he was NOT happy with you leaning in so close to mark

you were at a formal function for the celebration of their new album dropping

a lot of people attended, meaning you had to lean in closer than usual just to hear someone speak

haechan couldn’t hide his jealousy when you slapped mark’s shoulder playfully

“jeez, stop shooting holes into mark’s head!” jaemin joked, causing haechan to start glaring at him

renjun tried his best to call down the heated boy

“you know mark wouldn’t ever try anything, don’t get it all twisted in your head, alright?”

haechan just nodded, he knew renjun was just speaking facts

you eventually went to seek out your boyfriend, catching him by the drinks table

“hey, where have you been? i was looking everywhere for you”

“clearly not everywhere”

that caught you off guard

“excuse me? what’s your deal?”

haechan sighs at you, knowing that he shouldn’t have been snappy towards you

“let’s just not make it a bigger deal than it is, i was just jealous of how close you and mark were tonight. you barely talked to me, that’s all” he tried to shrug it off, but you knew him better than that

you placed a firm squeeze to your boyfriend’s shoulder

“if it upset you so much, you know you could have just talked to me? i would never intentionally ignore you like that, i was just so excited for tonight”

haechan nods, pulling you to his side slowly, his arm latched to your waist

“i know and i’m sorry, would you care to dance?” he slightly bit the side of his lip as you nodded enthusiastically

“of course i would” you would drag him to the dance floor as you swayed along to a random ballad playing through the speakers

the rest of the night was full of laughter and smiles once haechan realised he was worried for no damn reason

jaemin:

i see him as someone who can get easily jealous

if another guy even looked at you the wrong way, jaemin has his eyes on them

i feel like he does have self control tho and would choose to not act upon his jealousy

but one day he just snapped

you were playing video games with jeno while you were waiting for jaemin to come home

it wasn’t unusual for you to do so

but one time you didn’t greet jaemin when he came through the door because you were too engrossed in the game

he wouldn’t say anything at first, understanding that you just wanted to beat jeno’s ass

so he makes himself a sandwich before sitting down on the couch with you, pulling you to his side

you slightly shrug him off,

“hey, let me finish this round” you don’t even look at him, which made jeno chuckle

jaemin glared at his friend, but was still in shock by your reaction

“jaem, they’re good at this game, have you been teaching them?” jeno nudges you gently as he continued to play

jaemin was beyond pissed at this point

not only was his significant other ignoring him but his friend was sitting a little too close for his liking

he tries to grab your attention again, tugging on the sleeve of your hoodie, pressing his cheek to your shoulder

“baby, i missed you” he whispered in your ear, distracting you from the game, making you lose the round

“jaem, look what you did now!” you pout, turning to face him

jeno sensed there was tension and quickly scurried off to his own room

“i’m sorry i ruined your SUPER fun game with jeno” he scoffed

“oh please, you know we are just friends. the ONE time i don’t give you an ounce of attention, you wanna act up huh?”

jaemin was now pouting, fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater

you let out a sigh before moving to sit closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder

“i’m sorry, i was just getting jealous of how close you guys are now, i want you to play games with me instead! i can teach you everything he can!”

you shook your head before linking your fingers with his

“i know you can, how about tomorrow? the whole day will be just for you and me!” jaemin’s eyes gleamed at the thought, attacking you with hugs and kisses

‘well that was easier than expected’ you thought to yourself

chenle:

seems like the jealous type

idk i get them vibes ya know?

let’s say you invited jisung to go shopping with you while chenle had a different schedule

at first, he’d be like ‘oh yeah go for it!’ bc well, it was just jisung

he had nothing to be worried about

but once he saw you post multiple stories on instagram of yours and jisung’s day out, he couldn’t help but be filled with rage

from eating cute cafe desserts, to buying plushies and even going to the arcade together

chenle was upset to say the least

not only did he miss out on spending time with you, he felt you were slowly replacing him with his best friend

but of course that was the furthest thing from the truth

the tipping point was when jisung posted a mirror selfie of the two of you wearing matching bucket hats

chenle felt his heart ACHE

when you both returned to the dorms, chenle immediately snatched you away, refusing to even greet jisung

jisung stood there like 🧍🏻

anyways chenle would drag you to his room, shutting the door quickly

you were so mf confused

“be honest, do you like jisung more than me?”

you were flabbergasted, was he on crack?

“what? where is this coming from? of course i don’t like him more than you!”

chenle allowed himself to calm down before continuing, shouting wasn’t going to get him anywhere

“well then why did you do so many fun things with him today? you even got matching hats!” he frowned, folding his arms

“we were just hanging out as friends! i promise. and we actually bought you a hat too! i wanted us to all be matching, since we were like a trio. i didn’t know that upset you”

he felt like a complete idiot

“n-no i’m sorry i assumed things, please don’t hate me” chenle pulled you into his chest

“i could never hate you, even if i tried” you sighed, wrapping your arms around his torso

jisung:

oh boy

he’s the silent type,, he would want to avoid any awkward confrontation at all costs

he would bottle up his jealousy until one day he just explodes

i feel like jisung needs a lot of reassurance if he was in a relationship

he didn’t like the sinking feeling in his stomach whenever he saw you and chenle together

things such as playful hits to the shoulder or chest, loud laughter and friendly compliments were seen as subtle flirtations to jisung

you would always try your best to include jisung in your inside jokes with chenle but he’d always shrug it off

“nah it’s just a thing between you two”

comments like those, rubbed you the wrong way and you could tell chenle was slightly bothered too

each time you tried to ask jisung about it, he’d brush it off

“i don’t know what you’re talking about”

“are you sure? because you were kind of being cold to us, don’t you think?”

“doesn’t feel nice when you’re excluded, does it?” you were beyond confused

“can you please talk to me about what’s going on? i don’t like seeing you like this” you pull jisung to across from you on his bed

he avoided your eyes at all costs, fiddling with his rabbit plushie

“i’m jealous” he mumbled

“come again?”

“IM JEALOUS OKAY?” he threw his hands in the air hysterically, catching you off guard

“sometimes i don’t like how close you are with chenle. it seems like you are closer to him than me! i want to make you laugh like that, and i want to buy you nice things. and i want you to hit me playfully”

you listened closely to each concern

you brought your hand to enclose his, placing a soft kiss to his knuckles

“jisung, you’re the only person in this world that makes me laugh so hard that my ribs hurt. buying me nice things won’t change how i already feel towards you. and we can definitely try to be more playful with eachother” you started running your hands through his hair as he slowly shuffled closer to you

“t-thankyou, it’s nice to get it off my chest”

“of course, you have nothing to worry about” you placed a kiss to his forehead as you both spent the night cuddling

#nct dream #nct dream reaction #nct dream scenario #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagines #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct writing #mark lee #huang renjun #lee haechan #lee jeno #na jaemin #zhong chenle #park jisung #jisungsmochi masterlist #jisungsmochiimagines

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leviiattacks · 4 years ago

Note

Could I request a Canon levi drabble? He realises he’s in love, confesses, then thinks about how he feels guilty for loving the reader

author note :: this was super quick but here u go !! i’m working on a long fic rn which is why it may not be great my brain hurts from all the writing i had to do for the fic 😞 ANYWAYS, shy levi ahead,,,, :-(

word count :: 1.2k

levi is super shy around you. he has no idea what to do, he has no idea what to say, he’s always stumbling over his words. it’s SO obvious that erwin and hange are able to decipher the meaning behind his unsual body language in a matter of seconds

might i add he’s always trying to subtly get your attention or at least look presentable

sometimes he leans against walls with one hand to look cool but one day he misses the wall completely and falls face first into a patch of mud

not a great experience because he sees you giggle at him

levi just ends up ignoring you and avoiding you a lot in an attempt to shake what he feels away but that’s another thing about levi when he’s in love. his infatuation is stubborn and unfading. unless given a valid reason to stop liking you he literally can’t force himself to stop how he feels

but sometimes there are opportunities where he does have to speak to you and despite avoiding you he finds himself surprisingly running into you more often than he thinks is humanely possible??

he’s in the kitchen making a cup of tea and suddenly you’re there to fetch some water.

he’s in the courtyard teaching some younger cadets and you happen to pass by looking for one of your blades you accidentally left behind

like he genuinely does not understand how he’s able to run into you this much because it makes no sense

apart from that he ends up taking a keen interest in your hobbies. he’ll try to understand why you enjoy specific things because the smile that paints your face is always so bright

you have this thing for strawberry jam and he’s never got why you enjoy it so much really ???

frankly he finds it to be so sweet to the point it’s sickening to digest

but that doesn’t stop him from buying some whilst in town and placing it in front of you one day

you look between levi and the jam jar a little confused

“you’ve been working hard and i accidentally bought this and i think you like strawberry jam so take it. i don’t want it.”

his explanation is UNBELIEVABLE because it’s a big fat lie but despite everyone else in the room being able to see through his facade you nod meekly and accept it with a grateful smile

after the jam incident everyone knows about how he has to feel but even if they do they don’t gossip about it when he’s around

now,,, levi is really in touch with how you feel because most of the time the way you feel impacts the way he feels. if he sees you laughing at dinner his mind is at ease but if your head is drooped downwards looking anywhere but up he makes a mental note to talk to you later

one day at dinner he sees jean whisper something in your ear and you laugh so hard you have to apologize to those around you for creating a disturbance

he burns in slight jealousy because he wants to know what’s so funny

that’s when his resolve starts slipping. he notices he’s stopped trying to ignore you and instead he’s gravitating towards you

and he hates it

vulnerability scares him so he stays away for a while until the next time you pull him in with your magnetic smile

once again, levi’s feelings are stubborn and unwavering.

he’s protective. always checking where you are in the formation. he can’t have any biases ruining expeditions so he never changes your position (despite wanting to on a number of occasions)

however, when the corps regroup he always looks around for a second ascertaining whether or not you’re in the vicinity and safe

one time he noticed you weren’t around and only relaxed when someone informed him you were with hange

he’s confusing when in love. hot and cold. left and right. dark and light. every move he makes he’ll make another that makes no sense. it’s because he’s never certain of what he feels. all he knows for certain is that he’s crashing hard and whatever is going on will end up in disaster if he doesn’t address it

it really does take him a long time to finally become mentally prepared enough to confess to you but he realises he has to push himself to do it otherwise he’ll only end up distracting himself and making a fatal mistake on the battlefield some day

he’s very nervous about it because he predicts you’ll reject him

“i’m interested in you.”

and when you don’t understand what he means by that he has to rephrase it a number of times before you do get it

“your actions concern me.” you still don’t get it

“i think we are jigsaw pieces.” again no nod of understanding from you, instead you ask him if he’s lost a puzzle piece and jokingly you suggest that sasha could have ate it

“if you were cold i would give you my jacket.” at that you say thank you but still don’t get what it is he means

he just doesn’t want to say it outright. he thinks it’ll be unbearably awkward.

but eventually he gives in and goes for it anyway

“fuck, what i’m trying to say is that i like you and i care for you...in a romantic way.”

he’s shocked when you beam, as cheerful as ever you say you like him back. he’s totally prepared for refusal so he just kinda stands there like a statue unsure with what he should do next

you take the lead moving to hold his hand with yours and when your fingers intertwine with his something in that moment makes levi feel whole. he feels full and happy.

from then on everything is smooth sailing, you and levi are happy but as the months pass and the tensions rise within paradis, levi’s guilt kicks in

he feels guilty for loving you and having the opportunity to have you love him back

there’s constantly a seed of worry in his stomach, it forever weighs him down and many of his sleepless nights are spent thinking about how he’ll have to let you go

after all, everyone he’s ever loved has had to face death’s door before him.

his fear gets the better of him and he even reaches the point of rehearsing what he plans to say to you in the case of a breakup

but this is levi we’re talking about and despite knowing you’re safer the further away you are from him he still latches onto you like a lost child

he thinks for once everything will be different. that you’re a positive sign. he chooses to have faith you make it out of this alive with him.

because although you could die you aren’t dead yet.

and that’s all that keeps his fiery hope steady.

he’s the candle and you’re his flickering flame of hope and for as long as he stands he vows he’ll keep you burning alive.

#levi #levi ackerman #snk #aot #attack on titan levi #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #aot headcanons #levi headcanons #levi drabbles #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi fluff #levi angst #levi fanfiction #leviiattacks #levi scenario

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aalbedo · 4 years ago

Text

tartaglia x injured!reader

request: Hello! How about scenario where character offers help to injured!gn!reader, who is very mistrustful of and reluctant to accept it? I smh love the dynamic "no I don't want your help or anything to do with you but I don't really have a choice". And yeah, I feel like Tartaglia fits it well though you may choose whoever you feel like T v T

format: two-parter (part two here)

ship: tartaglia x reader

tags: reader is the traveler-ish (a completely separate character from aether and lumine, but still the traveler, does that make sense?)

warnings: blood, mildly graphic depiction of injury, stitches and needles

words: 1951

notes: this request awoke something in me, i feel like i could’ve written an entire 70k words fic on this if i had the energy. im sorry anon but i kinda went off the rails with this one hfjdkhfd i hope you still enjoy it. also yeah the header is mildly fucked up because i don’t have the energy to find a better png ok.

You fell to the ground, placing your hands right in a small puddle of your own blood, while a ruin hunter laid on the ground, defeated. Your legs had given in, as a sharp pain hit you through your entire left thigh. There was a large cut on your pants, through which you could see a long, bloody, wound on your skin left by the mechanical monstrosity. It wasn’t too deep, but damn if it hurt.

You squeezed your eyes closed, and let out a loud groan. Reaching a hand into your bag, you pulled out the antiseptic solution you always brought with you, and found out that the bottle was empty. You rummaged more through the bag, looking for a numbing cream, an analgesic potion, even just a remnant of a bandage, anything that could help. Nothing.

Panic started settling in your chest, you were completely alone, in the middle of Lisha, where Hilichurls could attack you at any moment, and you were injured just enough that you wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone run away or even fight. You laid down with your back to the ground and covered your face with your hands, as your palms suffocated another loud groan.

You would have to crawl all the way back to the city, or until you found someone willing to help you before fainting from the slow, but consistent, loss of blood. Or worse, dying from shock.

Suddenly, you heard a voice in the distance yell “hey!” Then a second time, with a clearly worried tone in their voice. The pain in your leg made it almost impossible for you to focus on recognizing who that voice belonged to, but it didn’t matter - you were about to finally get some help. You kept your eyes closed as you raised a hand and waved it, showing whoever your savior was where you were.

As you didn’t move from the ground, you heard steps, quickly getting closer to you, until you could feel the presence of someone right above you.

“Oh thank the Archons, I’m completely out of-” you opened your eyes and were met with two bright blue irises staring into yours, and all of the sudden you recognized the voice from before.

“Did that ruin hunter hit you?” Tartaglia was perched right next to your injured leg, already starting to open a backpack that you didn’t recognize as his. He moved his eyes to your thigh and reached out a hand towards it. You swiftly moved the leg away from him, forgetting that it would make it hurt even more, and whimpered when the pain grew.

“I don’t want help from a Harbinger, least of all you” you spat out as you slowly sat up and used your hands to back away from him.

“Stop moving, or you’ll make it worse,” he said plainly as he stood up and followed you, while you kept backing away ignoring the pain through your leg.

“I’ll lose a leg before I let the fatui help me.”

“Alright then, I guess I’ll just watch you crawl all the way back to the Harbor.” He crossed his arms. Oh, he thought he was being funny?

You kept backing away with your arms, until you felt something hard hit your back. A rather large rock was blocking your way, and you would have to crawl around it, and the young man laughed, slowly walking towards you as he took his gloves off and put them in a pocket. You tried moving sideways, but he was quick to crouch down and grab you by the ankle, the one on the injured side, right when you moved.

You inhaled and closed your eyes as a sharp pain shot through your leg. “Are you out of your mind? That hurt!”

He kept your ankle pinned to the ground. “Don’t move,” he ordered. He used his free hand to carefully move the ripped fabric of your clothes out of the way, and get a better look of your wound. You started to feel lightheaded as you saw him tear the fabric further.

You felt some sort of damp cloth on your skin,figuring it was being used to clean the blood off your injury. Tartaglia was being so careful that you could barely feel it, it seemed like he had done this a million times before. You closed your eyes, placing a hand over them, and tilted your head forward, suddenly feeling overcome with dizziness.

“You’re losing a lot of blood. If you hadn’t moved, it would not be this bad right n-” he interrupted himself and he called your name. “You still with me?”

“Mh- huh-uh” you started feeling uneasy. You opened your eyes slightly and caught a glimpse of the wound and immediately looked away. So much blood.

“Stay awake, don’t close your eyes again.” You heard a ruffling of fabric, the damp cloth wasn’t on your skin anymore. “Tell me about the Archons.”

“What?”

“Tell me all of the Archons’ names and their elements,” he repeated. You couldn’t figure out why he wanted you to tell him, but you followed his order, keeping your eyes away from your wound, and instead fixating on the grass beneath you. You were feeling too dizzy to protest, your only choice was to trust him, despite all of your instincts yelling at you to get away from him.

“Okay, there’s... Barbatos, god of Anemo.” You heard more fabric rustling coming from him, but you refused to look at what he was doing.

“Yes, then?”

The dizziness was still overwhelming, but you managed to keep talking, “Morax, god of Geo.” Clinking of glass, probably bottles. “Tsaritsa, goddess of Cryo.”

“Mh-mh.” He sounded… focused. What was he doing?

“Baal, goddess of- Fuck!” The skin around the wound started burning, and so did the wound itself. You bit your lip hard and groaned as the burning kept going on and on, your skin was itching and for a split second it was almost unbearable. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Antiseptic potion,” he replied plainly. “I had to find a way to distract you or you wouldn’t have let me use it.”

“Bastard.” Your skin kept burning, but you slowly got used to the pain as you watched the clear potion sizzling over your still open wound.

He barked a laugh, “I’m trying to help you over here, you’re very welcome.”

You looked at his hands as he skillfully kept cleaning your wound, now there was way less blood coming out and you were starting to feel slightly more at easy. He lifted his head and looked right into your eyes.

“It’s not too deep, but it would probably be better if I stitched it.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“Of course I have, you think these healed themselves?” he asked, pointing at the seemingly long scar that started from the base of his neck and went down under his shirt. “At some point you have to learn how to stitch them up yourself.”

You exhaled deeply, still keeping your eyes on his. You realized that his irises resembled the starconches you had seen laid in the sand of Yaoguang Shoal’s beaches.

“Do you have an anaesthetic something to make the stitching hurt less, at least?”

He looked into the bag, moving things around, as if he had no idea what was actually inside the backpack. So it definitely wasn’t his.

He shook his head, pursing his lips slightly. “No, sorry.”

“It’s…” you pondered over it. You would probably have to go all the way to Bubu pharmacy to get an anaesthetic, and on the way there you might lose even more blood. “It’s okay.”

From his backpack, that you hadn’t realized was laid on the ground by your feet, he pulled out a small tin box, and from the box he took out an interestingly shaped needle, recurved like a crescent moon, then a pair of tweezers and a thread so thin you could barely see it.

Just by looking at the needle, you felt uneasy again. “Are you sure we can’t go to the Harbour and get help there?”

“We can do that, if that’s what you prefer, but I would have to carry you - I doubt you could walk at all right now.”

Somehow, the embarrassment of other people seeing you being carried, bridal style, by Tartaglia was stronger than any pain you might have to go through to get these stitches done.

“Fuck it, do it. But be quick.”

“I will try my best,” he said, and his tone sounded genuine to you. You still couldn’t believe you were trusting him like this, after everything he had done to you. “Try to think about something else, focus on anything but the stitches, it’ll hurt less.” He passed the thread through the needle’s hole with surprising skill.

“Okay, uh-” you watched him hover the needle over your skin, probably thinking about the fastest and least painful way to do the job. You moved your gaze from the open would to look at his face, and his expression seemed calm enough to put you somewhat at ease.

His lips were slightly parted and you noticed that he was biting his own tongue, the amount of focus he was putting into helping you was so intriguing to you, you could have never had imagined that he would be so… caring. At least not to you.

You suddenly felt the needle prick through your skin and you whimpered slightly. “Sorry,” he quickly said, before using the tweezers to make the needle pass through your skin and grab it again on the other end.

He repeated the process a few times, slowly pulling the thread every now and then to make the stitch tighter. You observed him the entire time, his eyes quickly darting from one spot to the other, his nose and mouth breathing at a steady pace. You saw him scrunch up his nose a few times, probably to release tension.

Each stitch hurt, you could feel the entire needle pass through your skin and come out again every single time, but you didn’t protest at all, and instead focused on counting the freckles on Tartaglia’s nose bridge, watching the muscles under his skin move every time he swallowed, and carding your fingers through the grass, accidentally ripping some every now and then.

“Done,” you heard him say in an unexpectedly cheerful tone. “I have some bandages, but I don’t think they’re enough for this large of a cut. Though, now that it’s stitched up, it’s probably safe for you to move, and I can help you get to the Harbor where you can buy some numbing potion and bandages.”

You looked down at the wound, and to your relief the stitches looked like they would hold together pretty well. “Sure, I think I can hop for a while, if you hold me.”

He picked up both his and your bag, putting them over his shoulder, then reached out a hand towards you and you realized just how bloody his hands were, as well as his clothes. You grabbed it with your own bloody hand and slowly stood up, placing your weight on the healthy leg. He placed your arm around his shoulders and put his own behind your back, holding you up.

“Ready to go?”

“Mh-mh.” You started walking in the direction of the Harbor, hopping on one leg while Tartaglia held you up.

“Whose backpack is that?” you tried asking.

“Honestly? No idea.”

“What were you doing here in Lisha, anyway?”

“Just some Fatui business, don’t worry about it,” he quickly dismissed your question.

“Always so secretive.”

#reblogs and comments very much appreciated !!#pats my own back #yeah this is good #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact #tartaglia #genshin tartaglia #genshin childe #childe #so many fucking tags #blood tw #needles tw #injury tw

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atlabeth · 3 years ago

Text

fever - sokka x reader

this has been sitting in my drafts half finished for 3 weeks so i thot it was prime time i actually finished it

this is kinda based off the song w dua lipa and angele so you can listen to that if you want

summary: sokka's convinced there's a mystery illness keeping you from focusing, but somehow he's completely oblivious that the only 'sick' you are is lovesick, and he's the reason you can't focus.

a/n: i have never written a sickfic. but this is like. a fake sick fic. its an idiots in love fic. i mean this is coming from mr "is he taller than me? is he better looking?" himself so. it makes sense. as usual, this is not proofread bc im a lazy mf

also im sorry for being vague with the calc but i was NOT about to do math during summer who do you think i am? ??

wc: 1.7k

warning(s): mentions of being sick and 🤢calculus 🤮 but otherwise tooth rotting fluff

How could the smartest man you knew be so, so incredibly stupid?

You thought that you were being obvious, so obviously that you were sure he knew. It was embarrassing how obvious you were.

You had met Sokka in your calculus class at the start of the new semester after you ended up sitting next to each other, and it wasn’t a stretch to say that you were immediately smitten. With eyes like the ocean and a face that had to have been crafted by the gods, you were almost too distracted to respond when he asked you for a pencil. But when he winked at you after giving his thanks, it only solidified what you had already suspected: you had known this man for all of five minutes, and you already had a crush on him.

Little did you know, it was going to turn into the most infuriating crush you had ever experienced.

You and Sokka became fast friends even though calculus was the only class you had together. Unfortunately, it was also something that you completely sucked at. Bad news, it was required for your major. Good news, Sokka was some sort of genius and offered to tutor you — Wednesdays in the library turned into a weekly occasion, and served as an opening for your calculus skills, your feelings for Sokka, and your exasperation to all grow stronger.

You normally weren’t someone to beat around the bush. If you started to like someone, you told them and dealt with whatever happened after, but something about Sokka just kept you from spilling your feelings outright. You knew that if he didn’t feel the same way, your relationship likely wouldn’t change, but there was still that tiny voice that said it’s better to stay like this in case things do go wrong — and this was the first time you listened to that voice. You simply valued your friendship too much.

But that didn’t mean you were going to be completely quiet about it — you hoped that if you did enough, he would be able to realize you liked him and do the whole process for you. A bit of a dim hope, but crushes make people do stupid things.

Things like bringing an extra coffee to every session, laughing at all his jokes (even the bad ones), sitting a little closer to him than usual, not dropping out of this wretched class so you could spend time together (it might’ve been required, but you still counted it). He didn’t make a point to object to anything, so you knew you weren’t making him uncomfortable — but you had concluded after nearly a whole semester of working and studying together that he was the most oblivious person in all of Ba Sing Se. He could teach you all kinds of formulas, but had no idea that you liked him. Grand.

Today was arguably the most important session out of any of them, seeing as your next class was the final, so it was only fitting that Sokka unknowingly made himself more interesting than any material you could’ve been working with. His arms were going to be the death of both you and your calc grade. You swore that the heat rushing to your cheeks was actually emanating off of you.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sokka grinned as he saw you and raised a hand in greeting, a sentiment you would’ve returned had it not been for the coffee cups in your hands. You settled for mirroring his grin and settled down in the seat across from him. You slid his coffee cup over, set your own down, then shrugged your bag off all before taking a seat.

“You ready to study ‘till your eyes bleed?” he asked, prompting a nervous laugh from you.

“You jest, but my eyes might actually start bleeding depending on how long we go,” you sighed. “There’s a reason I got an extra shot of espresso today.”

“Come on — by now you should know that you have nothing to worry about! I am the best teacher there is, and you got me all to yourself.”

Your eyes widened momentarily and you coughed, purposefully averting your gaze to give yourself some time to recover. Okay, he was going to make it really hard to focus today. “Let’s just get into it.”

He nodded and flipped open his notebook, beginning to talk as he rifled through his bag for a few extra things. “Okay, we’re just gonna start with going over the basics, then we’ll work our way up. There’s a couple practice problems on that page, so you can go ahead and answer those as a warmup.

You slid the notebook over in front of you and after approximately five seconds of looking at the first problem, found yourself studying Sokka rather than the material. Who could blame you? In the battle of cute tutor boy versus calculus, he was going to win every time.

He turned around and you immediately averted your eyes once again, trying to appear extremely involved, but you found that your mind was empty on anything to do with math. “Hey, uh— how do you do this first one? I’m totally blanking here.”

“We use limits in everything — this is actually something you’re really good at!” He studied you intensely and frowned. “Are you okay? Like, you’re not sick or anything, are you? You seem kinda out of it.”

You choked out a laugh and shook your head. “No, no — I’m fine. I guess I’m just a little tired.” As if to demonstrate your lie, you took a sip from your coffee and cringed internally. Love had turned you into an idiot.

He seemed to buy it as he nodded and picked up the pencil, scribbling a couple of notes as he explained the first problem to you. “Does that make sense?” You nodded and he handed the pencil back to you. “Okay — the other ones follow the same kind of process. It should be easy enough.”

You managed to get a little further in the second problem, but your lovestruck mind would not stop focusing back on Sokka every time you tried to do, well, anything. Curse him and his perfect arms, and eyes, and hairstyle, and everything.

You shook your head and set the pencil down once more, letting loose a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Yes, you did. “I just can’t focus at all.” Because of you. You picked up your cup once more and took a sip, hoping it would do something to get you back into the math state of mind.

Sokka frowned once more as he put the back of his hand against your forehead. “God, you’re hot.” You nearly choked on your coffee as your eyes practically bulged out of their sockets — he had to know what he was doing by now — how could he not? “Like, you’re completely burning up. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I swear— I just…” you set your cup down on the table and heaved a sigh that was a touch more exasperated than necessary. “Are you telling me you seriously haven’t noticed? Like, not a single thing this whole year?”

“I’ve noticed a lot of things this year,” he chuckled. “It’s kind of our whole job, so you’re gonna have to be a lot more specific.”

You finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Sokka, I’m not— I’m not sick! Haven’t you noticed that I’m only ever flustered, or running into things, or forgetting info, or— or just a complete idiot when I’m around you? I like you, like, a lot, and I have for an embarrassingly long time! The reason I can’t focus is because I am hopelessly attracted to you in every single way.”

His brows creased for a moment and you clamped your mouth shut, worried that you had just ruined everything. It was only after a pause that felt like a century that he finally responded, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Well, why didn’t you just say something?”

You stared at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in pure surprise before the annoyance set in. You set your jaw as your brows furrowed and you hit him lightly on the side of his arm with the back of your palm. “You can’t be serious! You— you’ve gotta be messing with me by now. I really can’t believe that you can be that smart but this oblivious!”

He finally let the grin play across his lips in full force and he shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, I don’t know how you don’t expect me to mess with you when you scrunch up your face all cute like that every time you get mad. Besides, I started liking you after that fifth class; I offered to help you out so I could spend more time with you! I didn’t realize you felt the same way. I kinda just enjoyed the free coffee and getting to look at you all the time.”

“I can’t believe you!” you cried as you hit his other arm. “You’re telling me that I had to deal with this- this mental turmoil about whether you liked me back, while you were just enjoying the free eye candy and coffee the whole time?”

“You have nothing to worry about! I enjoyed the company far more than the coffee,” he joked, a certain twinkle in his eye. “But, you are probably out a couple twenties after all of that. So, what do you say about this Saturday, the cafe by the shoe store? My treat.”

“Damn right it’s your treat,” you shot back, though you couldn’t stop the smile forming on your face. “You owe me a lot — you have to make up for those coffees and all the emotional distress you caused.”

“Oh, I think I’ll have plenty of time to make up for lost time. After all, we do have a lot of coffee dates to get through.” And when he winked at you just like that first day, you remembered just how impossible it was to be angry at Sokka. “But first, we kinda have to get through this study date. The final’s still happening tomorrow.”

You responded with a raised brow. “This is a study date?”

Sokka shrugged and grinned. “They’ve all been study dates. You just didn’t know it.”

idiots in love idiots in love idiots In LOVe

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#sokka x reader #sokka x you #sokka x y/n #sokka fic #atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender fic #avatar x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

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