#my brain is always so fried after. and the fic ends up needing a lot of edits. why do I do this to myself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldeneyedgirl · 2 years ago

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Alright! That's the first time I send an ask message to someone I don't know and probably the last one (because, honestly, is kinda scary) but listen, baby, you had NOT the right to make me addicted to a fic where the mass-murderer-nightmare-of-the-south Major Jasper Whitlock is a whole ass baby daddy!!!! Seriously, I'd never imagine I'd read something like that and LOVE IT??? I mean, I could picture Alice being a mom in some aus, since her character seems to be very attached to the idea of having a family, but Jasper???? The one who killed a thousand of vampires and non-vampires with no mercy???? I have only one thing to say: I need more.

There is no way you're as scared of me as I am of you. I think we should just agree to be scared together.

Anon, THANK YOU for your message. All my messages mean so much to me, and to know that I've written something that you didn't expect to love? Ugh, made my day. My week.

The thing about babyverse is that I smashed out like 8k words of it during a Bad Time; I was having some kind of mental breakdown and writing the OG version was my way of mainlining a carton of ice cream and a bucket of fries to cope with my woes. I actually fucking hate baby fics because Jasper and Alice are not parents. Every single baby-related fic that I read on FF.Net pissed me off. But my brain ran away with me and then I decided to riff on the concept and we ended up with five or six variations on a theme, one of which you guys *love*.

I think the thing that is important to remember about Jasper is that he is an ice-cold killer, one of the most dangerous vampires on the continent with a strong reputation even though he walked away over *eighty* years ago.

In Hybrid-verse, this means there are people in the known that lie away at night wondering exactly what happened to Maria's Major because his reappearance would be catastrophic. None of his past changes because he has a son and a partner; it arguably makes it worse. He still suffers from depression, he still has guilt and shame, and now he's somehow ended up with a mostly-human son to raise.

And the fact that he wasn't close to his father, and has vague memories of Civil Era parenthood has him crazy unprepared for being a dad (he is totally stunned the first time Alice just casually breastfeeds Ollie in front of him one night; she teases him mercilessly that they can have sex and have a kid, but breastfeeding shocks him.)

As for Alice, she's just always an agent of chaos. I have a very, very hard time imagining her as a mother - baby-verse and the AH tattoo fic are the only two I ever bothered attempting that (and tattoo-verse is kind of a riff on a lot of the AH fics written in '05, so it doesn't really count.) Alice is always going to be authentically herself, and being a mother doesn't change her. Ollie is just the best-dressed kid in the room.

So have a little snippet of the OG, Official (if there ever is such a thing) Babyverse

“Oh my god, Jasper.”

I gaped at him as Ollie babbled at me, his chubby hands patting at my cheeks.

It had been two months since the Cullens had arrived back in Forks, since Jasper had come home to me - and to Ollie. It had gone by faster than I thought possible, honestly.

Edward and Bella had decided to get married in the last weeks of August - the plan was the wedding, a quick honeymoon somewhere in South America (a surprise for Bella, apparently), and home just in time to start freshman year at Dartmouth. Well, ‘home’ would be the house that Esme had picked out in New Hampshire. I didn’t know if they were even planning to come back to Forks after the wedding.

It felt like a strange and rushed choice after being apart for a year, but I had congratulated them and was pitching in with the wedding planning. They were happy about it, and that was the most important thing.

My own college plans were a lot more diaphanous than Bella and Edward’s, and I was mostly content just to work out my new normal with my son and my quasi-boyfriend. The summer wasn’t over yet, and I knew I’d have to have a few hard conversations before it was over - mostly that if the Cullens wanted to go to New Hampshire and play college students, I would be staying here in Forks with my family - Simon had suggested taking a bunch of community college credits online to stretch my college fund a little further and to keep me close to home for a while.

Adjusting Ollie on my hip, I gave Jasper a Look, as he tried not to meet my gaze. Since we’ve gotten home, he’d been… well, amazing. No one had ever taken co-parenting as seriously as Jasper was, and I had never seen as many parenting books as Jasper had somehow collected that first week. The Cullen house suddenly boasted an unnecessary amount of baby paraphernalia (right down to the framed photographs that Esme had asked Dad and I for - I had been mildly horrified to see my first photo with Ollie framed on the upstairs console table; my sweaty, disorientated, and white as a ghost face with Ollie on my chest immortalised next to Rose and Emmett in a Venetian gondola had really done a number on my self esteem.)

But Jasper had give me an insane amount of things since he’d gotten home. First it had been a new baby swing when mine ended up dying spectacularly. Then - when Esme found out that Ollie was an unenthusiastic sleeper at the best of times - there had been an insanely expensive cot that was meant to encourage him to sleep. Then there were books and toys - most of them under the guise of bonding with him. And then a second set of everything at the Cullens because Jasper didn’t want me lugging so many things with me every time we came over.

(Rosalie had - with all the subtly of an infomercial - asked me if I preferred bracelets or rings, and I had had to squash the idea of any kind of jewellery as a gift. Both of the Cullen women had grown up in an age where the birth of a healthy son and heir would have come with a sparkly piece of jewellery and I thought that was so gross. Jasper had listened to me rant for nearly fifteen minutes, bewildered, after Rosalie and Esme had been insisting he had to gift me some kind of diamond for Ollie - preferably in blue - for weeks. Cynthia had thought I was insane to refuse. The first and only gem I would accept from Jasper would be an engagement ring - when we were ready.)

And now, there was the latest - and most expensive - of his gifts.

“You bought me a car?” I said dumbly.

The blue SUV parked out the front looked perfectly normal; shiny and new but not out of place. It was no Mercedes Guardian or Aston Martin or whatever BMW Rose was driving. And I kind of liked that - no one would give it a second look in Forks.

The thing was, a car had been a much contested item in my family - the ancient little car Cynthia and I had been sharing had finally crapped out beyond repair and we had ended up pooling our savings to save for a new one. We were about three thousand dollars off something decent - Dad and Simon were vetoing anything that they didn’t deem safe enough. Simon and Dad were generous enough to occasionally loan me one of their cars, and Jasper had been more than willing to chauffeur me around.

Until now.

“I know you and Cynthia were saving for one,” Jasper began, reaching out to tuck one of Ollie’s curls out of his eyes. I was putting off getting his hair cut because his messy hair was too cute to lose. “But I was thinking…”

“Jas.”

“Cynthia has so many co-curriculars, and spends so much time on the Res that it felt like you’d be spending a lot of time in the car - or not getting to use it as much.”

I was still giving him a Look as Ollie had moved on to grasping at my necklace, fascinated.

“…I wanted to make sure you were safe,” Jasper said finally. “Rose helped me pick it out - and the carseat. Both have the best safety ratings on the market.”

Walking closer, I could see the carseat already fitted in the backseat. It was, frankly, perfect. I was concerned about the qualifier ‘on the market’ - I wouldn’t put it past Jasper to try and get some kind of unreleased bomb-resistant baby carseat.

“The car or the carseat?” I asked, looking back at him - he was finally looking a little bit guilty.

“What?”

“Which is the safest you could find - the car or the carseat?”

“Both.” Jasper looked at me and offered out the keys. Ollie reached out for them with a squeal of delight. “Let me do this for my family, Alice. I want to make sure you have what you need.”

It was hard to argue with him when he called us his family. It always made me melt a little, that he thought of us that way. I had had to squash more than one of his old-fashioned ideas of babies and parenting over the last two months, but his staunch determination to take care of us always made me give in.

The car was staying. I didn’t have it in me to argue when he was looking at me with that oddly hopeful gaze. And he wasn’t wrong - I did need a car, I wanted it to be a good and safe one, and it wasn’t like he’d gone out and gotten me something ultra expensive…

“HE BOUGHT YOU A CAR?”

The front door banged, Cynthia bolted onto the street, her eyes huge and her hands on her hips.

“All your brothers are married, right Jasper?” She asked before darting over to the car to inspect it.

“Nearly.” Jasper was trying very hard not to laugh; he really did get a kick out of Cynthia’s Teenage Drama Queen brand of dramatics.

“I am doomed to forever have to work for my money,” Cynthia sighed, pulling back and looking over at us. She’d gotten a job at Forks’ bakery slash ice cream slash coffee shop and had spent the last month acting like she was being forced to work in the mines in the dead of winter. It was eternally entertaining, and she was keeping the house supplied in free pastries, ice cream, and bread. “Give the baby to Jasper, Alice.”

I looked over and Jasper looked so hopeful, his hands already twitching.

“He always just stands there with this half sad-puppy, half-hopeful look that you’ll read his mind,” Cynthia said bossily. “Every single time, you wait for her to offer. Just take him - I do.”

Ollie let out a crow of delight as Jasper took him, babbling happily and waving my new car keys in one hand. Jasper had a look of such tenderness on his face that I felt bad he thought that I had some kind of ownership over the child we shared. That he felt he couldn’t just ask to hold Ollie.

“Hello Oliver,” he said, holding him so carefully. “Are you being good for your mother?” He got a spit-bubble reply; it had only taken two months for Ollie to recognise that Jasper was one of his people.

“You can ask me for the baby, Jas,” I said softly, leaning against his other side; his arm wrapping around my shoulders automatically. “You can hold your son, you don’t need my permission.”

“I don’t like to upset him; he’s always so happy with you,” Jasper murmured, nodding as Ollie brandished the keys at him importantly.

I rolled my eyes fondly. Ollie was happy when Jasper held him. Our son had taken like a duck to water at the sudden reintroduction of the Cullens to our lives; Esme was good for cuddles, Emmett was the one that would give me a heart attack by tossing him in the air and swooping him around until Ollie was red in the face and laughing, and Rosalie was someone that he was entranced with - something about the way that she was with him made Ollie go all soft and angelic when he was with her. Little ratbag had Auntie Rose wrapped around his little finger - probably why she had helped Jasper with the car.

Ollie still held a grudge against Carlisle for giving him his shots last month, hiding his face every time he saw him. Edward and Bella were terribly awkward around Ollie, but kind to him. Ollie adored Edward playing the piano, and every time Edward had played for him, he had been transfixed.

Whilst Jasper might have been one of Ollie’s people, he was only just grasping the concept of ‘Daddy’ and Jasper being one and the same. We would get there eventually. He was only a baby.

“Thank you for the car,” I said softly. “You didn’t have to, but I love it.”

“You do?” Jasper adjusted his grip on Ollie, before pulling me closer.

“I do. But you don’t need to buy me or Ollie all these things.”

He really didn’t. About two weeks after he got back, Cynthia had read him the riot act and pointed out that since he didn’t sleep, he could be pulling the nightshift, and maybe slip me the occasional twenty so I could buy diapers. That had resulted in him giving me a credit card, the acquisition of the sleep-training cot, and him literally expecting to sit in the tree outside my bedroom and watch over me and Ollie. He’d been surprised when I’d given him a set of house-keys, and allowed him to bring books and a laptop over so he didn’t have to actually watch us sleep. More than one night, he’d ended up in the living room giving Ollie a bottle and reading him back to sleep. There was nothing cuter than going downstairs in the morning to find Ollie passed out asleep on Jasper’s chest, as Jasper read some heavy book over his head.

“I want to. I love you both so, so much. This is nothing, Alice. This is just a car,” he said softly.

“Can you two kiss so we can go inside and I can make Dad and Pa feel bad for me?” Cynthia called and I started laughing, Ollie cooing at us before giggling along with me.

The rest of the Cullens had given no indication whether or not they would be relocating to New Hampshire any time soon, and I hadn’t asked because it wasn’t a conversation I wished to have: I was staying in Forks with my family and my son for the foreseeable future, and no amount of bribery would make me budge.

Not that Jasper would even try, I knew that. We had talked in through and he understood that I wanted this time with my father and with Simon and with Cynthia.

Jasper had been spending every spare moment with us, and desperately compensating for leaving me; I knew that Carlisle and Esme had given my parents half of the cost of my medical care for the pregnancy (which neither of my parents wanted to accept until I pointed out that the financial hit would affect Cynthia’s college options, not to mention finishing the house renovation. It might have been loose change to the Cullens, but that money made a difference to us.)

#when it comes to fit i am that food critic from ratatouille #my fic: hybrid babyverse #just imagine rosalie quizzing jasper on infant care #both of them taking it more seriously than the mcats #also push presents are gross #alice is a strong independent eighteen year old #jasper is so out of his depth and he loves it

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usermischief · 3 years ago

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♝Pairing: Stisaac ♝Warnings: - ♝Words: 1943 ♝ Dialogue Prompt: “(x)” ♝ Mini Fic Roulette: 26/∞ | ao3

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kissing criminals

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Stiles licks his lips, watching Jordan type up a report. “Is he cute?”

Jordan whips around to stare at him, while Tara, a lot more used to his shenanigans, howls with laughter at her desk. ‘What the hell?’ Jordan mouths, gaping at Stiles as if he’s suddenly grown a second head. At this point, he should at least be less surprised about the stunts Stiles pulls.

His question is followed by a contemplative silence on the other end of the line, and Stiles can only imagine his father staring at the guy in the rearview mirror. “My son wants to know if you’re cute.”

---

“Please, tell me you didn’t set the house on fire again.”

Jordan tries and fails to hold in a laugh, almost choking with effort. Asshole. That extra portion of fries is certainly not going to him tonight.

Huffing out a breath, Stiles pulls the bag of takeout closer to him. “That was one time,” he retorts, scrunching up his face. “How long until you be here? Dinner’s getting cold.” He taps a finger against the side of the bag, hating the anxiety tugging on his too-tight skin. His father always makes it in time for dinner. The one time he didn’t, he ended up at the hospital. Despite having him on the phone, hearing he is alright, Stiles can’t fully stifle that fear.

His father’s voice softens. “I’ll be there in ten. Had to go collect a young man trying to break into the school.” Even though his tone is stern, there’s something fatherly in it, almost gentle. His dad might be the sheriff, but he’s always been fair — even to people who broke the law.

Stiles licks his lips, watching Jordan type up a report. “Is he cute?”

What.

Stiles flails in his chair. This time, Jordan laughs too. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. His dad can’t just tell a random criminal his son wants to know if he’s cute. That’s just— that’s so many shades of rude.

After another pause, during which the ground did not open up under Stiles — a pity, really — a timid voice responds, “I’d like to say yes, Sir.”

I’d like to say yes, Sir.

Stiles sinks deeper into his chair, resisting the urge to hang up or bang his head against Jordan’s desk. This is horrifying. Why would his dad do that to him? What was he thinking? No, fuck. What was Stiles thinking? A young man trying to break into the school. If that’s one of his classmates, Stiles will throw himself off the nearest cliff. Where the hell is his last brain cell when he needs it? But… but it can’t be someone he knows. This is fine. It’s fine. No student would voluntarily break into Beacon Hills High School. This place is a nightmare by day, only someone truly desperate would dare to go there at night.

Clearing his throat, Stiles tries to regain what little dignity he has left. “Ten minutes you said?”

His father chuckles, probably delighted his lesson — because that’s what this has to be — came to fruition. “See you in a bit, kiddo.”

The call ends, leaving Stiles alone with Tara and Jordan enjoying themselves a little too much for his liking. Yeah, he’s not going to live this one down. He grabs the bag of takeout, pointing back and forth between Jordan and Tara, who have become friends way too quickly, mind you. “I hate both of you,” he informs them, raising to his feet, “and I do not make Jagodzianki for people I don’t like.”

Jordan’s laughter dies instantly. “Hey, hey. Woah. Let’s not rush this.”

“Don’t fall for it!” Tara yells, pointing a pen at Stiles. “Don’t let him emotionally manipulate you.” It’s not fair she knows all of his tricks. Jordan should have to learn everything by himself just like everyone else here.

Sighing, Stiles turns around and heads for his father’s office. “I’m just saying.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jordan whispers in horror. “He wouldn’t, right?!”

It probably says a lot about him that Jordan’s agony over potentially losing his source of Jagodzianki makes him feel a lot better before he even enters his dad’s office.

— — —

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Stiles walks up and down in front of the desk. The next few minutes are going to make or break him. Hopefully, this guy is just some random idiot from Devenford Prep or any other surrounding school who lost a dare. He’s gotta be lucky, right? For once in his life? It’s bad enough that Jordan and Tara bore witness to his sudden loss of every ounce of thinking capability he fucking owns. If he has to face someone from his school, he’s going to lose his mind. He’s going to switch schools. He should be able to get a scholarship for Devenford, right? Pursing his lips, Stiles pulls out his phone. He should probably look into that, just in case.

Movement in front of the office catches his attention. Isaac is standing there, both arms firmly crossed over his chest, looking awfully small despite his six-two. He glances around the station, his expression almost haunted.

Stiles tosses his phone on the desk and heads for the door then stops abruptly when he spots his father standing right behind Isaac, talking to Tara about something Stiles can’t hear. She points at the office, and Stiles barely manages to suppress the urge to drop to his knees in an attempt to hide from reality. Isaac. Isaac. His dad caught Isaac trying to break into the school, probably to get away from Coach Lahey — and Stiles wondered if he was cute. Stiles asked if he was cute. The cliff sounds very alluring right now. Sure, Isaac is very cute, but that’s so beside the point.

Groaning, Stiles collapses into the chair and covers his face with both hands. This is the worst.

The door opens and closes. One set of footsteps approaches and the chair right next to him scrapes over the floor. Well, that’s definitely not his father. “I think you need a better method of flirting,” Isaac says, sounding more than a little amused.

Stiles never wanted to be somewhere else as badly as he does right now. “I don’t usually do that.”

“No?”

Clearing his throat, Stiles looks up, more than aware that his cheeks are probably more than a little red. “No.” He glances at Isaac out of the corner of his eye. There are no visible bruises, and his shoulders are a lot more relaxed than upon entering the station. That’s probably a good thing.

Isaac quirks a brow. “So, you don’t usually ask your dad if the criminals in his car are cute?”

“I was bored.” It’s a weak defense, but it was at least partially the truth. “Also relieved to hear my dad’s voice. He’s not usually late, so…” Grimacing a little, he makes a weak gesture. Stiles doesn’t even know why he tries. He’s never gonna get out of this one. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You don’t think I’m cute?”

Stiles squirms, gaze darting to the window in hopes to find his father somewhere. But his father seems to have disappeared. Traitor. “I didn’t say that.” Wait. Fuck. Can his mouth cooperate with his brain for once in his life?

“So,” Isaac drawls and leans closer with a smirk, close enough that the light moles and his cologne suddenly become very present in Stiles’ life, “you do think I’m cute.”

Licking his lips, Stiles looks at Isaac, whose eyes are very bright and very blue. He’d be lying if he said Isaac isn’t cute. But he’d also be lying if he said Isaac’s just cute. There’s no correct answer to this question unless he’s going to start embarrassing himself even further. He tugs on his shirt and grimaces. Where the fuck is his father? Dinner is getting cold, and he’s about to make an absolute ass out of himself.

“’Cause I think you’re cute.” Isaac taps a finger against his knee. “Have been for a while, actually. I just… haven't found the right time to approach you."

Stiles swallows, his throat painfully dry. "Approach me?"

"Talk to you." Isaac grimaces a little, almost as if that’s not quite what he actually wanted to say.

For a moment, Stiles isn't sure how to reply. They've been talking plenty of times. Well, mostly in a school setting, but still. They did talk. He cleared his throat, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. It doesn’t make any sense, not at all, unless…unless Isaac means something very different. Would he— no. Unless, unless maybe he does? Stiles licks his lips "You mean…” he trails off again, fidgeting with a string of his hoodie, and takes a deep breath, “You mean, ask me out?"

Isaac blinks.

Oh shit.

Stiles opens his mouth, but of course, now, his entire being has forgotten what talking is. His brain is stuck in absolute horror. He did misinterpret it. Right? Right. Fuck. How could he be so fucking stupid? How could he misread that? He can’t be that far gone.

“Would you…” Isaac runs a hand over the nape of his neck, furrowing his brows slightly, and tugs on his earlobe, eyes directed at something “would you go out with me?��

“I—“ Stiles swallows, ducking his head a little. “Depends. Are you asking me out?” Licking his lips, he turns to look at Isaac again, noting the other’s gaze dropping to his mouth. Fuck. He’s not misreading this. He can’t be misreading this. “Please, tell me you are.” The words are out of his mouth so much faster than Stiles would’ve liked. In fact, he wished he would’ve never said them in the first place because this is just fucking embarrassing, but his mouth clearly has decided that now is the time because he keeps talking, “because, I do very much think you’re cute, a— and… and, like, hot, and—“

And suddenly, his mouth was occupied with something else.

Isaac is kissing him. He’s— fuck. His heart lurches in his chest, and Stiles grabs Isaac’s shirt, curling his fingers tightly into it, pulling him closer. This is everything he’s wanted since moving on from Lydia. He’s been dreaming about kissing Isaac more times than he can count; and now it’s happening. It’s happening. Isaac is cupping his neck too, and Stiles wishes he could climb on the other boy’s lap.

But they’re still in his dad’s office.

Clearing his throat, Stiles pulls away. He licks his lips again and grins, tugging on the collar of his shirt.

“So,” Isaac says, brushing his thumb over Stiles’ jaw, “you kiss a lot of criminals?”

Stiles puts a hand on Isaac’s cheek and pushes him away. “Shut up,” he says, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Why were you at the school?” Furrowing his brows, he places his hands on Isaac’s knee. “Is… are you okay?”

The smile on Isaac’s lips dies slowly. “My dad heard I’m planning on moving out in two weeks. He, uh… he didn’t take it very well.” That’s exactly what Stiles was worried about. Isaac just wanted to get to a place to stay the night, to escape from his father’s wrath. It isn’t a secret at all, but it is the first time Isaac is hinting at something his father is doing to him.

Cupping Isaac’s hand, Stiles smiles. “Stay with me.”

“I—“

“I mean it.” Stiles squeezes his hand and presses a kiss to his palm. “You’re 18. You can stay where you want to. We have a guest room too if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

Isaac smiles and kisses Stiles again. “Thank you,” he whispers against his lips.

“Always.”

#stisaac #isaac lahey #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #stiles x isaac #isaac x stiles #minificroulette #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:stisaac

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darthkruge · 4 years ago

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Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Help

Summary: The five times the Senator!Reader needs Anakin’s help but refuses to ask for it and the one time they do

Warnings: Language, reader is afraid of vulnerability, reader is going through it, angst, violence, fluff (it ends on a positive note, I promise)

Words: 4k

A/N: This idea has kinda been bouncing around my head for a hot minute and I finally decided to just go ahead and write it. And somehow it became the longest fic I’ve ever written! Is this self-indulgent? Who’s to say?!

(not my gif)

Okay, so a right, then a left, then another left, then-

You groaned. You’d been going over the cryptic instructions Padme gave you back at the temple but they were, unfortunately, not helping. It was your first time alone in Coruscant and you were completely lost in the painfully literal sense. You had just been given your first actual mission with the Council as a senator, something you’d worked your entire career for. As an added bonus, you were on the same planet as your boyfriend, Anakin Skywalker.

You’d gotten close over the last year and were elated when he asked you on a date the last time you were in the same place. This was the first time you were together in the two weeks it had been since then.

Anyway, you were currently wandering around the bustling Coruscant streets, looking for the market. Well, you were looking for the market. Now, you realized you would probably never find it and were just trying to make your way back.

You debated calling Anakin. You could. He would be able to guide you home easily, you rationalized. But it’s Coruscant! How difficult could it be? If people came here for missions all the time and didn’t get hopelessly lost, so could you! And Anakin was probably busy anyway, you didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, the relationship was so new! You didn’t want to annoy him. After weighing the odds, you pushed down the urge to reach out and decided to just find your own way.

This logic was ridiculous, you realized far too late. Fuck. There was no way around it, you were going to be late. Or at the very least, cut it exceptionally close. You started running, heart racing. It would be so stupid to be late to your first actual Council meeting because you got lost. You wanted them to take you seriously and think of you as a professional. Tardiness as a first impression went against all of that!

After sprinting and taking several aimless turns, by some stroke of magic you found your way to the Temple. You checked the time and realized you had two minutes to make it to up several flights of stairs.

Fuck it. You decided, taking off in a run. You took the stairs two at a time, stumbling occasionally before unceremoniously bursting through the doors to the meeting.

You gulped in air quickly, chest heaving while you desperately tried to calm your heart. You inelegantly brushed a hand through your hair and gave an awkward smile.

“Hi, uh, everyone! Hi! I’m,” You took a quick break to breathe in some more oxygen as your gaze shifted to Anakin. He looked amused and concerned as he took you in. He gave you a discreet and supportive smile and head nod. You gave your own in return. He believes in me. “I’m Senator Y/N L/N”

II.

Honestly, you didn’t know how your speeder had broken. You’d been flying them for years and, despite being a senator, you were pretty damn good at it. It was something that gave you solace as a kid, those little moments of freedom. Even then, though, you were a decently cautious person and didn’t break many of them.

Thus, you ended up in your current predicament. Staring at the fried wires under the hood of your speeder, trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong. You knew Anakin was freakishly talented at fixing basically everything. He could probably look at the speeder for 10 minutes, know what’s wrong with it, and get it back to you in perfect shape.

You think this is why you don’t want to tell him. What if he thought you were stupid? Shouldn’t you be able to figure this out yourself? You fought with your instincts, feeling the conflict build inside you.

You knew he wouldn’t judge you. You knew he’d be glad you came to him for help. Even so, you felt physically incapable of moving to call or find him.

Frustrated, you turned back to your work. You decided to pull this one gear, thinking it might do something. Well, you were right about that. A stream of oil sprayed out of the speeder, coating you in its thick, black paint. You stood there frozen for a second, trying to mentally comprehend that you had just been sprayed with oil because you were too afraid to talk to the man you were in a literal relationship with!!

You groaned, wiping your hands on your pants before grabbing a towel to wipe some of the grease off your face. You walked back into your apartment quickly, praying to the Maker that no one would see you like this. Honestly, they’d probably smell you first and run the other way.

You finally got back without problems and made a bee-line straight to the bathroom. Pulling off your clothes and turning on the hot shower, you sighed as you finally felt the oil washed off your skin. You spent about twenty minutes in there, scrubbing furiously to ensure you didn’t smell like a fucking garage.

Finally, you went out and saw Anakin sitting on your bed, messing with a piece of wiring.

“Hey, Y/N! Did you know your speeder was broken? It looks like you blew a cable, easy fix, don’t worry. I’ll have it ready for you by tonight.”

He looked up and saw your exhausted state and the clump of dirty, grease ridden clothes you were holding.

His brow furrowed, trying to piece it together. “Maker, what happened to you?”

“I had a fight with the speeder. And lost”

Anakin bit back a laugh before his confusion compounded. “Wait, you know I can fix this, right? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was an idiot. I mean, I did something and broke an entire speeder and somehow didn’t even know what I broke! It’s humiliating!”

“Cables are hard, it’s not your fault you didn’t know what to do, love.”

“Really?” You asked, unconvinced.

“Really. Come on, let’s go throw those clothes in the wash and I’ll get back to fixing this.”

“Oh, no, Ani you don’t have to-”

Anakin cut you off with a kiss, distracting you enough to quickly take the clothes from your hands.

“I’ll have it ready within the hour, my love.”

III.

Who the fuck decided to put the plates that high up?!

You jumped again and again, arm outstretched as far as possible. Once again, you didn’t even get close. Sighing, you looked around the apartment and noticed a ladder. It looked a bit unsteady but you would be fine, right? You were a whole ass senator, you were sure you could handle an old ladder.

Pulling it over to you, you climbed up and reached out. Much closer this time, but you still couldn’t reach them. You went on your tiptoes, eyebrows furrowed and lip bit in concentration. You angled your body just a little further, a little further-

The ladder was suddenly ripped out from under you and you desperately shot your arms out, hands clawing to try and stop your imminent fall onto the hard kitchen tiles. Bracing yourself for the inevitable pain, you squeezed your eyes closed.

“Y/N!!” You heard as your fall suddenly stopped. You opened your eyes and noticed you were barely floating above the floor. Anakin ran toward you and noticed the ladder strewn on the floor beside you.

“What the hell were you doing?” He said, offering you his hand and pulling you up.

“I was just-” You gesture lamely to the plates, realizing how ridiculous you must look.

“Y/N, no one can reach those! Next time, just call me, I’ll get them for you!”

“But-” You sigh, hating this. “I wanted to be able to do this, I don’t want to rely on you and your Jedi powers all the time”

Anakin’s gaze softened. He knew you had trouble relying on others. Even so, he couldn’t even start to think of what would have happened if he’d arrived home even 10 seconds later.

“I know, baby, I know. But, please, try. You’d have to rely on me a lot more if you break your legs falling off a ladder.”

“I know” You reply softly, giving him a shy smile. “I’m working on it, I promise”

IV.

You’d been up all night working on a new presentation for the Council. You’d spent hours going over it, the facts, the plans, the details. Everything was set. Well, everything except one little piece. To make your point stronger, you needed the statistics from the latest Jedi missions.

The only people with access to those were Anakin and Obi-Wan. You knew, logically, that if you asked Anakin he’d give them to you without hesitation. He supported you always and knew that you only used your power as a senator to improve lives.

Even so, there was that part of your brain that told you he wouldn’t give them to you. He would think you’re just trying to use him for his connections as a Jedi. Or perhaps he simply wouldn’t care enough to search through the reports to find the information.

All of this was, of course, completely inaccurate. But you’d never had someone who actually wanted to help you. It's always been “okay I’ll do this for you but only if you do this for me, too.” No one ever looked out for you and you’d grown accustomed to it. It’d become almost comforting, in a way. At least you knew what to expect.

This was how you ended up seeing your beautiful boyfriend across the halls of the Jedi temple and walking another way. Your heart tugged painfully and your brain screamed at you. Why don’t you allow yourself to trust him? Why would you assume the worst? Why can’t you fight these thoughts?

You took one more look back at him. You didn’t want to be closed off by any stretch of the imagination. You wished you could turn off the thoughts and the doubt. You knew Ani didn’t deserve it. You sighed. There he was, training by himself in the courtyard. You looked away and took a moment to compose yourself before your legs carried you away and toward your good friend.

“Hey, Obi-Wan, could you help me with something for the next Council meeting?”

You were running. You were running and as fast as you moved, you never got closer to him. You were never safe. A masked figure was chasing you and you just couldn’t get away. Your legs burned with the effort, your lungs straining to grasp oxygen. You were exhausted to your core, your sheer panic the only thing keeping you awake.

You looked back and saw the man gaining on you. Tears started streaming down your cheeks. You knew what he was capable of and had no doubt he would kill you if he caught you. You didn’t want to die, not like this. You didn’t want him to beat you. You were so, so scared. You screamed as he caught up to you, your body no longer moving. You pleaded with your legs to work, reasoned with the heavens, did anything you could, and yet you wouldn’t budge.

The stranger’s claw of a hand twisted around your neck, squeezing. You fought. It was pointless. You began to black out, feeling the life slip out of your body. Dark spots appeared in the corners of your vision and you tried once again to kick your way out of his grasp-

You bolted awake, eyes shooting open. Your chest was heaving and tear stains marked your cheeks. You placed your hands on the bed sheets, bunching them up and trying to feel the texture to remind yourself that you were safe. You tried to breathe, tried to calm yourself but nothing was working.

You got up, pacing quietly. Out of all the nights to have a nightmare, it had to be today. The one night you and Anakin weren’t together. Since you had to hide the relationship, you couldn’t technically share an apartment. This didn’t stop you from spending basically every night together, though. His chambers became yours after the first month or so of dating, neither of you wanting to spend time apart.

But, unfortunately, the Council seemed more cautious as of late and you didn’t want to risk it. Thus, you decided to spend tonight apart. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now. You grabbed one of his Jedi robes, pulling the black fabric around your body. You were immediately calmed by his scent and wrapped it closer around you. You started to make your way down the hall. You knew it was risky but after that nightmare, you just needed him.

You made it to his apartment, went to knock on the door, and abruptly stopped. What are you doing? You can’t just go to him! He’s exhausted, he’s been working all week! He finally got home from a mission and you want to wake him up in the middle of the night because you had a nightmare? It wasn’t even real! Maker, get a hold of yourself, Y/N!

Your hand hovered over the door. You wanted him, you did. But those lingering thoughts, those lingering emotions remained. A childhood of neglect, of constant feelings of unimportance left scars you couldn’t avoid. You hated that your parent’s inability to show you affection or care manifested in your inability to be vulnerable. Despite this, you somehow understood. You’d spent years letting them in and only getting invalidated in return. Like all patterns, this one wouldn’t go away just because you wanted it to.

Now, every time you tried to let Anakin in, it’s like an alarm was tripped in your brain. Every part of you that wanted to allow him to know you was combated with the overwhelming fear that, if you did, if you went to him for comfort or help, he would think of you as a burden. He’d leave, just like the rest of them did. So you pushed the urge for comfort aside, dropped your hand, and made the lonely walk back to your room.

You got back to your room, mentally beating yourself up. You wished your brain worked differently. You wished you would allow yourself to be loved. You wished you could trust, fully and completely. You sighed. Knowing you wouldn’t be getting any sleep, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat on your cough, the room solely illuminated by the moonlight. You kept Anakin’s robes around you, wishing it was his arms. You sat like that until morning, sipping the drink on and off until it grew cold. You were zoned out, staring out the window at the Coruscant traffic. Your thoughts either drifted to him or your past trauma. Maker, you wished you could change it.

Fuck. You’d been driving around on your speeder, zipping in and out of alleys, for the last twenty minutes. There was a bounty hunter after you. A damn good bounty hunter, at that. Being a high profile senator, it made sense you’d run into the occasional person trying to kidnap you. Or kill you.

Damn, this bitch is good. You kept trying to lose them but you couldn’t shake them. You didn’t even know who they were but it didn’t matter, you supposed. At the end of the day, regardless of who was in that speeder, they wanted you dead. And if you didn’t figure out how to get out of this mess, you would be.

They’d been shooting at you for a while now but you’d been able to avoid the blasts. Whether it was skill, luck, or a combination of both, you weren’t sure. Even so, you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shoot back at them, as you stupidly forgot your blaster. Who could blame you, though? All you wanted to do was go for a ride to clear your head, you didn’t expect to be fucking shot at!

You continued like this for a while. All you had to do was get back to the Temple. You were probably about 10 minutes away if you continued at this pace, 7 if you really pushed it. You looked ahead and saw the walls of it come into view and suddenly safety didn’t feel so far away. Despite the circumstances, a smile graced your face. You could do this.

Or maybe not. As you tried to swerve between more buildings, they hit you. You felt your speeder plummet 10 feet instantly and screamed. Your engine sputtered and your heart dropped. Mind racing, you tried to drive but came to the chilling realization that there was no way you’d make it back. Your engine was done for, it wouldn’t make it 3 minutes, yet alone all the way back.

Your mind went to him. Anakin. Fuck, you loved him. You let out a humorless laugh. Since you started dating, you almost never asked him for help. You couldn’t let him in. Something in your brain stopped you every single time. And yet, now, all of that felt stupid. It felt juvenile. When you looked at your speeder, slowly but surely stalling and the bounty hunter approaching, you felt this overwhelming sense of clarity.

You were going to die. This person, they would get to your speeder and shoot you. You didn’t have a single weapon. It was inevitable. Your mind, however, wouldn’t relent. It was stuck on him. In this moment, you pressed the comm button in your speeder, hoping beyond hope that it would still work.

“Y/N?” Anakin’s staticky voice cut through the speeder and went straight to your heart.

“Hey, Ani” You said, your voice broken up with unshed tears.

“Y/N? Where are you? What’s happening?”

“I’m- Anakin, I’m in trouble. A bounty hunter is after me, my speeder is hit and going to stop working probably within the next 20 seconds. I don’t have any weapons to defend myself. I, I, uh, I need your help”

“I’m coming to get you, stay where you are.” His voice was firm, his need to protect you overruling everything else in his body.

“I’m just a few-”

“I’ve got you, love. I can sense you in the Force. I know where you are”

Of course he could. You took a few deep breaths and you speeder sputtered out, stopping in a deserted alleyway. You looked around and saw the bounty hunter, now obviously male, stepping out and making his way towards you.

“He’s here, Anakin” Your voice was tight, anxious. You were quiet, paralyzed by fear.

“Please, Y/N, fuck! Hold on, I’m almost there”

“Ani, Anakin I’m scared! Ani! Ani!” You were hysterical now, screaming and sobbing his name as the man punched the top of your speeder, fracturing the glass. He pulled you out of it by the hair and threw you harshly onto the concrete.

You yelped in pain as he kicked you directly in the ribs. He backhanded you across the face, the power from his hit making blood pool in your mouth. Harshly you spit it onto the ground, looking up at him with pure hate.

He placed the blaster to your head, right on your forehead. You let your eyes flutter closed. Your knees were scraped, legs bruised. You were sure at least one of your ribs was broken. You could feel blood running from your temple. Your arm was radiating pain from landing on it. Despite all this, the only thing you thought of was Anakin. Funny, you thought, how the brain chooses what to focus on in its last moments. All you hoped was that he didn’t feel responsible for your death. All you hoped was that he knew you loved him.

“You’re finished, Senator”

“I don’t think so” Anakin’s smooth voice, tight with anger, cut through the air. His lightsaber unsheathed, he swung it directly into the man. You gasped, everything happening so quickly. As soon as the blaster was gone from your forehead, you scrambled back.

Anakin walked up to you but, from the shock, you pulled back even further.

“Hey, hey, it’s me, it’s Anakin, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you”

You whimpered, looking at him and placing a hand on his jacket before harshly jumping into his arms. He gripped you to him, both of you sighing in relief.

“You came for me”

He looked at you like you were insane. “Of course I did! You needed me, you called! I’m always going to be there for you, Y/N. I am always going to show up”

“Thank you” You said, voice muffled against his chest. His hands raked through your hair while you just breathed him in. His scent comforted you, his strong chest and large arms grounding you after a day so intense and horrifying that nothing felt real.

You were still trembling, the aftershocks quite apparent.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. You’re safe, he’s dead, he’s gone. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again, I promise.” Anakin whispered these affirmations into your hair, holding you until the shaking ceased.

“Thank you for calling me, Y/N. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“It wasn’t that hard, to be honest, I- wait? What do you mean, you know it couldn’t have been easy for me?!”

Anakin looked at your sheepishly. “You honestly think I haven’t noticed your problems with asking for help? We’ve been together for almost a year and, contrary to popular belief, I can be quite perceptive. I didn’t want to call you out on it, I assumed you’d be embarrassed. But I’m glad that when it actually came down to life or death, you called me.”

“I’ve always known I could call you, Anakin. Please, I don’t want you to ever think my inability to be vulnerable is rooted to anything you do. You’re, fuck, you’re perfect. You’re kind and compassionate and caring and you’re always looking out for me. Look, I know I haven’t been too open about my past and I still struggle with that. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’ve never had someone who actually wanted to be there for me. This thing where you care and want me to come to you when I’m hurting or simply just want affection or company or help with the little things, it’s foreign to me.”

Ani’s heart broke at your words. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you back then, Y/N. I hate that this” He said, gesturing between you both “is unique to you. But, seriously, anytime you need anything I’m someone you can come to. I honestly want you to come to me. Regardless of if you think it’s something small or this life-altering favor, ask me. I doubt I’d turn you away and, on the off chance I do, I’m not gonna hold that against you.”

“You won’t leave? Even if I show you all of me? Even if I rely on you?”

“I won’t leave you, beautiful. So long as you allow me to show you all of me, too. And you let me rely on you, too.”

Your eyes widened at his words. “Of course! Of course, Ani! I’m here for you, I got you, too, always.”

“I know you do” His flesh hand went up, cupping your cheek.

“I know you do, too.” You sighed into his touch. You were exhausted beyond belief, your body and mind pretty much shutting down from the stress of it all. Even so, you relaxed further into his body. Yeah, this was new. Yes, it was scary. But you were going to try. Even though it terrified you, you wanted to be loved. You wanted to be loved by him.

tagging julia bc she asked when i was textpost-complaining about having to edit this <3

@anakinswhore

#megan writes #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x gn!reader #anakin skywalker x gender neutral reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker angst #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker

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juniperhillpatient · 2 years ago

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heyyyy girllll

talk about jdronica to mee pleaseeeee i'm dying rn i just need to hear some good shit about it lol

Hii 😀💖 I hope your night improves soon 🥺

Hmmmm well I am having a rough night myself irl (nothing too terrible just annoying ass customers getting on my nerves & family obligations stressing me a bit) & my brain is tired & fried so I’ll be honest my thoughts are not smart or original right now but how about I just ramble a bit about why I love them 🥺

I love a good twisted love story about love that corrupts okay. You see the thing about JD & Veronica is that they are THEE corruption ship like they are literally dramatic bitches who immediately fell hard & fast for each other & made it everyone else’s problem. That right there is love bitch! Some may not like it but it’s the blueprint. We love toxic bitches who make each other worse 💖

I think what people miss about them is that the love is ✨real.✨ It’s toxic & fucked up & that leads to people wanting to pretend it’s not really love, but that is fundamentally misunderstanding the story. YEAH JD gets so angry & violent at the end including toward Veronica but he’s ALWAYS doing everything he does out of love for her in his own sick & twisted way 💖And Veronica loves him back & that’s very underrated & often misunderstood. The story just doesn’t work if Veronica doesn’t love JD. It’s why the line “I wish we’d met before they convinced you life is war” makes me SO fucking crazy because JD is literally trying to blow up the school with them in it & she’s STILL lamenting that they never got a normal life together like FUCK 😭

But you know… I think in a way Veronica never understood that her dream of “normal” was an impossible fantasy. She & JD bonded specifically over violence. Even the line when she’s breaking up with him in ‘I Say No’ “‘cause I believe that love will win & hate will earn you nothing in the end’” is VERY interesting in the context that JD is in FACT doing everything he does out of love. I mean “Our Love is God” is literally extremely explicitly spelling this this out for Veronica & the audience. JD does have a lot of hate but it’s so important to understand that that that’s NOT what motivates him. What motivates him is LOVE. If JD just wanted to kill people cause he’s filled with hate he’d do it. But no - it’s Veronica awakening something in him that motivates him to start killing for HER. But I’m not sure that Veronica ever really understands this tbh & maybe it’s for the best because can you imagine her struggling even years later, afraid to ever let anyone love her again because she remembers what loving her does to a person? Annnnd I just made myself emo thinking about that & now I kinda wanna write a fic about Veronica years after the events of the musical / movie struggling to ever accept love again because her love corrupts & leads to violence & loss & tragedy….

A N Y W A Y that’s why JD & Veronica make me SO crazy insane because their love is God & God is cruel & merciless & chaotic 💖💖💖

#jdronica #have some incoherent ramblings from me why not muah 😘#heathers anon

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years ago

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´till death do us part

@911lonestarangstweek day 4 - m is for...mcd, mourning

if you saw my posts about the 'crying fic'... this is it

thanks to liz and @halsteadmarchs for the beta!

ao3 | 5.5k | major character death, hurt/comfort, mourning, non-linear narrative, car accidents, hopeful ending

This is a mistake.

It’s been a long time since Carlos last did this, but not long enough at the same time. His friends would disagree with him—they tell him he needs to get back in the game, and it’s well-meaning, but they don’t get it. They don’t know how hard these past few years have been for him.

They don’t know what it’s like to lose the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with; they don’t know what it’s like to go from being engaged one day to alone the next. In fact, there’s only one person Carlos knows who even has a hope of understanding, and he really doesn’t appreciate the irony that it’s the one person he’s guaranteed to never see again.

It’s not that he meant to turn himself into a recluse after it happened; he knows that’s not what he would want for him.

Thing is, Carlos isn't sure that he gets to have an opinion anymore, since he was the one who left. Carlos doesn’t blame him for what happened—that would be stupid—but sometimes, sometimes, he just gets so damn angry at him.

(he always feels guilty for it after, which is equally as stupid as the anger. there’s no one left for him to direct it at, after all)

Carlos sighs, shaking his head as he steps into the bar. He doesn’t want to be here—he wouldn’t be here, but Michelle had threatened to make a special trip back to Austin specifically to kick his ass if he didn’t at least give this a try.

This, being the blind date his friends had insisted he go on. Technically, he could leave and still not be lying when he tells Michelle he went—he is in the bar, after all—but Carlos has never liked the idea of standing someone up, no matter the circumstances.

So here he is. Alone at a bar, nursing a lukewarm beer, and wishing he were anywhere else.

Someone slides into the seat next to him, and Carlos barely gets a second to prepare himself before he’s met with a winning smile and sparkling green eyes.

God, why did they have to be green?

“Hey,” the guy says, still smiling. “Carlos, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Domenic.”

Carlos is still trying to catch his breath, his head thumping back against the wall of the bathroom stall they’ve ended up in, when lips brush his ear, hot breath sending electricity down his spine.

“I’m TK, by the way.” The whisper is rough, a smirk laced into it, like TK knows exactly what he’s done to him.

And Carlos is so far from fully-functioning that the only response he can come up with is a breathy, “I know.”

TK pulls back, his brows furrowing though there’s a wry quirk to his lips. “Didn’t take you for a Star Wars fan, but okay.”

Now it’s Carlos’s turn to frown as his addled brain struggles to put together TK’s thought process there. “What?”

“Never mind.”

Well. This took a turn. Carlos has no idea what’s going on, but there is something in the back of his mind that tells him he must have sounded like a creep, telling this guy he’s pretty much only just met that he already knows his name. He gestures lamely towards TK in explanation. “Your turn-out coat at the scene the other night. I thought it probably stood for something but then one of your team—Marwani, I think?—called you. So.”

Carlos shrugs, embarrassment quickly catching up with him, which seems absurd given what they just did. Then again, it’s been a long time since he’s done anything like this; he’s more of a wine-and-dine kind of guy than the type to make out with a near stranger in a less-than-sanitary bathroom.

But there’s something about TK Strand that has Carlos wanting to know everything about him.

And if everything starts here, well. He’s more than happy to take it.

Thankfully, TK seems to pick up on the sudden awkwardness in the stall. He takes a couple of steps back until he’s leaning against the opposite wall, which doesn’t really put that much space between them, but Carlos appreciates it all the same.

“So, do I get a name, or…?”

The question has Carlos flushing all over again, turning a bright red when he sees TK’s smile. He clears his throat and smiles, trying not to wince. “Carlos.”

“Carlos,” TK repeats, dragging the syllables out like he’s testing the sound of them on his tongue. Carlos shivers a little, his breath catching in his throat at the small smile that spreads across TK’s face.

Then a phone is being thrust in his hand, unlocked and opened on the Add contact page. “Put your number in,” TK says. “In case you ever, you know. Feel like doing this again.”

A thrill runs down Carlos’s spine at the thought that TK wants to do this again. Maybe he’s not the only one who feels this connection. Maybe…

Well. It’s too soon for that. But as he types in his number, Carlos can’t help but wonder where, exactly, this road might lead.

His house is quiet when he gets home. It’s a familiar kind of quiet, one that’s lain over the place like a blanket ever since that day three years ago. Carlos has gotten used to it over time, and he thinks that maybe it’s eased a little—but only a little.

Things haven’t changed much over the years. TK’s stuff still decorates the house, not as much as it used to, but Carlos hadn’t been able to bring himself to remove the stuffed bear that sits on the chair by their bed, or the plastic duck TK had insisted they have in the bathroom for ‘the vibes’, or the hand-sewn heart a little girl whose parents TK had saved had gifted him, which hangs proudly in their front window.

And the pictures; Carlos refuses to take the pictures down. The one sitting on his nightstand had been turned over for a long time after the accident, but now he can’t imagine going to bed each night without seeing it. It’s from their engagement party, a candid captured by Evie, a professional photographer in the making according to Tommy.

Carlos is inclined to agree—the photo, showing him and TK looking at each other, wide smiles on both their faces, is his favourite thing in the world.

His phone rings, making him jump. Carlos sighs heavily when he sees Michelle’s name flash up on FaceTime and he briefly considers declining, but there’s no way she’d be deterred so easily.

He takes a second to get himself together, then answers, plastering a smile on his face. “Hey chica.”

Michelle doesn’t waste a second in getting to the point. “So,” she says, leaning forward and grinning, “how’d it go?”

“It went.”

Her smile falters and she frowns, scrutinising him. “Did you even go?”

“Yes.” Carlos purses his lips, not wanting to get into it anymore, but Michelle is insistent and he’s too tired to make excuses right now. “His name is Domenic, he’s nice, I’m not seeing him again.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Carlos.” Michelle sighs, her voice going quiet. “It’s been three years.”

“That’s not a long time.”

“I know.”

“I still dream about him, ‘Chelle,” Carlos cuts in, sudden tears overwhelming him. “I still—I still think about what I could have done differently to save him, I still imagine the future we could have had. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop. I don’t know if I can stop.”

“When Iris disappeared—”

“It’s not the same,” he snaps, harsher than he means to. “You always had that hope, right? Everyone was telling you Iris was dead, but you always believed that she would come back. And she did, and I am so happy about that, I am, but guess what, Michelle? TK is dead. He’s dead. I’m never gonna see him again—in fact, the last time I did see him, it was when his body was lying in a morgue, and he was so cold and so still and so—so not TK that I could barely believe it was him.

“But it was, because he’s dead. It’s not the same.”

He’s properly crying by the time he finishes his speech, and Michelle has tears in her eyes too. Carlos feels a little guilty now, but he can’t bring himself to be fully sorry for what he said. Still, Michelle looks crushed, and Carlos can’t lose his best friend.

One more loss would kill him, he thinks.

“Michelle, listen—”

“It’s fine, Carlos,” she interrupts, swiping a hand under her eyes. “You… You’re right. It’s not the same. I’ll just. I’ll leave you alone now. I’m sorry the date didn’t work out.”

Then she’s gone, and Carlos is alone again, the weight of it settling uncomfortably on his shoulders.

Their first real date is painfully awkward, reminiscent of covert high school meet-ups with boys in the nearby diners, or like that one time Carlos tried using a dating app. That had been an experience he’d wanted to forget, but now he finds himself recalling it in horrific detail as he and TK sit on opposite sides of a table, a plate of limp fries slowly cooling between them.

“So—”

“I was thinking—”

They both speak at the same time, and an embarrassed flush rises on Carlos’s cheeks. He swallows past the lump in his throat and gestures to TK, barely able to look him in the eyes. “You should go first.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “I was about to tell you the same thing. Since when have things been this awkward between us? We fucked on the floor of your front room about a week after meeting, surely we should be well past this stage by now.”

He has a point.

Carlos laughs too and finally works up the courage to meet TK’s gaze. “I mean, it’s not like we were doing much talking back then.”

“Things are a lot simpler without clothes,” TK agrees, a suggestive lilt to his tone and, somehow, it’s all that’s needed to break the tense silence they’d previously been suffering in. Carlos grabs a fry, grimacing at the grease that instantly coats his fingers, and points it at TK.

“Cool it, Strand,” he warns. “You aren’t going to find it that easy to seduce me anymore.”

TK grins, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, we’ll see about that, Officer.”

Carlos is surprised when he wakes up the next morning to a text from Domenic.

Hey, it reads. Sorry about last night. I know that you’re not into me or whatever and that’s cool, but I like you. Do you think we could maybe still be friends?

He sighs and drops his phone onto his bare chest, arm flopping onto the other side of the bed. It’s funny, he thinks idly; before TK, he’d tended to sleep closer to the middle and it had never bothered him. Now, it feels weird to break from the way things used to be—in Carlos’s head, the left side is still TK’s, and the right his.

He knows what Domenic’s text implies. ‘Let’s be friends and then we can see how it goes’. Carlos could tell him now that it’s not going anywhere and save them both the trouble, but he kind of...wants a friend.

It sounds pathetic, even to his own ears, but all his friends are either fellow cops, the 126, or Michelle, who’s in another state. And Domenic was nice. So, really, what’s the harm?

Twenty minutes later, they have plans to meet at a coffee shop.

Ten minutes after that, Carlos arrives.

Carlos startles as TK’s arms suddenly slip around his waist, his chin pressing into Carlos’s shoulder. He quickly relaxes into the hold, covering TK’s hands with his own, but TK isn’t fooled.

“Where did you go?” he murmurs, breath tickling Carlos’s neck.

“Nowhere,” Carlos answers. “I was just...thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well…” He hesitates, biting his lip, then spins to face TK, letting their still-joined hands swing in the minute space between them. “This is crazy, right? Not, like, bad crazy—well, a little bit bad crazy; our last place did burn down—but all of this. Getting a house together. Three bedrooms. All of it. It’s crazy.”

TK grins, the little frown that had emerged at Carlos’s first words quickly melting away. “Completely,” he agrees. He kisses Carlos briefly, then steps away, breaking their hands apart to tread a slow circuit around their new front room. Carlos watches him fondly, somehow falling even more in love with him.

“You know,” TK says suddenly, his eyes roving around the empty space, “I’ve never actually done this before.”

“What do you mean?”

He waves his hands, gesturing at the flaking paint on the walls and the lack of furniture. “Decorated a house. I had an apartment in New York but that came fully-furnished and I didn’t exactly have a ton of stuff to add. And then when I moved here with my dad, I didn’t care too much about how the house looked, and you know how my dad is about interior design. It’s a little...scary, thinking about doing it now, with you.”

Carlos’s eyes widen, his heart clenching at the words. “Do you… Do you not want to do this?” he asks, half-dreading the answer. He’d thought they were both on the same page here, but what if… What if…

“What?” TK frowns, crossing the room in three quick strides to meet Carlos. “Babe, no, of course I want to. It’s a good kind of scary, I promise.”

“You sure?” Carlos scans his boyfriend’s face, searching for any hint of doubt or anxiety. But there is none, and TK just smiles, kissing Carlos’s cheek.

“A thousand percent,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

(‘Fun’ isn’t the word Carlos would give to what came next. ‘Frustrating’, possibly. Or ‘exhausting’. Maybe even ‘interminable’.)

(But, at the end of it all, they have a home. Their home. And Carlos can see their future taking shape before his very eyes.)

Domenic grins when he sees Carlos approaching him, and a part of Carlos regrets even agreeing to come. But he can hardly turn around now, so he forces a smile and slides into the chair next to him, extending a hand to shake. Domenic sends him a strange look at that, but obliges anyway, shaking Carlos’s hand with a surprising firmness.

“Hey,” he says, still smiling.

“Hey.” Carlos sighs, taking in Domenic’s bright eyes and warm, hopeful face, and decides, fuck it. “Look, before you say anything, I just want you to know that I’m not looking for anything right now. My friends set me up on that date with you—and it’s not that I don’t think you’re a good guy, I honestly do, but—”

“Carlos.” Domenic appears to be fighting off laughter, though he’s not entirely successful in it, a brief chuckle slipping past his lips. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I know it sounds hard to believe, but I really am okay with being friends. Not that I wouldn’t mind seeing where it goes, but…”

He trails off, seeing what must be obvious doubt on Carlos’s face. “Look, I’m kind of new in town, alright? I don’t really know many people around here, and I’m just...fuck, man. I’m lonely. So if you wanna be friends, then that’s incredible and more than enough for me. I swear.”

And Domenic is looking at him so earnestly that Carlos really has no choice but to believe him. He feels himself flushing a bright red, embarrassed at how self-centred and narcissistic he must have seemed, and a stammered apology is halfway out of his mouth when Domenic reaches over and lays a firm hand on his arm.

“It’s no big deal,” he says, patting once before drawing back. “I do want to ask, though, if you don’t mind? Why did you come on the date if you didn’t want to? Not many guys would.”

Carlos huffs a laugh. “My friends think I’m turning into a hermit. It’s an assessment that I...wouldn’t disagree with. Let’s just say you’re not the only one looking for a friend.”

Domenic’s eyebrows quirk up in interest. “Oh? Anything to do with your unwillingness to date? I mean, a guy like you—it’s hard to imagine that you don’t have men practically throwing themselves at you. Maybe even literally. How come you’re still single? Is there...someone else?”

Carlos’s whole body tenses at the question, his gaze dropping to his hands and his heart in his shoes. Tension lies thick in the air, and he feels the sudden urge to flee, but he’s rooted to his chair, stuck under Domenic’s scrutiny.

“Shit,” Domenic says, voice hushed. “Carlos, I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… Fuck, forget I said anythin—”

“I was engaged.”

Carlos hadn’t meant to say it. He doesn’t know why he did. It’s just… He hasn’t really talked about TK properly with anyone in the three years since; his friends were all TK’s friends too, and they all knew him—knew them.

This is the first time he’s actually spending time with someone who didn’t know, and it’s not freeing exactly, but it’s the first time he feels free to speak about TK the way he wants to, without anyone else’s memories looming over it.

“I’m not anymore, obviously,” he laughs wryly, finally managing to look back up at Domenic, finding shock on his face. “It was… It ended.”

Domenic’s mouth opens and closes several times before he’s able to pull himself together enough to speak. “Who called it off?” he asks—which was not what Carlos was expecting. “Because if it was him, man. He really missed out there.”

Carlos hesitates a moment, then answers, “It was him. But it wasn’t on purpose.” He breathes out shakily, swallowing hard. “He died a month before the wedding.”

Carlos smirks as he hears a groan at his back, glancing over his shoulder to find TK pretending to bang his head on the table. “Having fun, babe?”

Another groan. “Let’s just elope. Let’s get married in some random courthouse by some random Texas official. That way we wouldn’t have to figure out stuff like a seating plan or—or what kind of cake knife to use. I mean, babe.” TK sends a pleading look in Carlos’s direction, and Carlos can’t help but laugh, cruel though it feels when TK’s wounded expression just gets worse.

“I’m pretty sure my mother and your dad would kill us if we did that,” he points out, causing TK’s mouth to twist.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“No, you don’t.” Grinning, Carlos turns back to his chopping, except, when he reaches out for the next ingredient, he only meets empty space. “Mierda. TK, babe, can you run to the store? I forgot the chilis.”

“Can’t you just leave them out?”

There’s a hopeful note to TK’s tone, but Carlos stands firm—his cooking is the one thing he’s able to resist TK for. “You’d think you’d be used to spices by now,” he comments. “And the answer is no; go on. You’ll barely even taste them.”

TK mutters his disagreement, but he gets up and leaves anyway. Carlos watches him go, shaking his head fondly before returning to dinner. Technically, he could leave the chilis out, but he’s been brought up to consider even the mere suggestion as sacrilege, and he’s not planning on letting TK persuade him otherwise any time soon.

Twenty minutes later, he’ll regret that decision more than anything else in the world.

“Carlos, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to—”

“I want to. As long as you’re okay with it; I don’t want to just unload all over you.”

“It’s okay, I promise. What are friends for?”

Carlos frowns, checking the clock. TK should have been back by now; the store is only a five minute drive from their place, and surely he would have texted if he was going to be delayed. He’s about to call him himself when his phone starts ringing, TK’s name flashing up on the screen.

He sighs in relief, answering the call. “Did you get lost or something?”

Silence.

“TK?”

Nothing again, and Carlos’s panic starts to skyrocket. “TK!”

And, this time, he gets an answer.

“C-Carlos.”

Carlos’s heart drops into his stomach at the rasp of TK’s voice. He sounds like he can barely breathe—in fact, if Carlos strains to listen, he can hear stilted, ragged breaths coming through the phone’s speakers. TK is hurt, probably seriously, and, fuck, it was Carlos who sent him out in the first place, this is his fault, he—

“Carlos, please.”

He breaks out of his spiral and clutches his phone tight to his ear, racing around the house to get his shoes on and grab his keys. “TK, where are you? I’ll find you, I promise I will, and you’re gonna be just fine, okay?”

TK doesn’t speak for a few seconds, before, “No.”

Carlos screeches to a halt. “What?”

“I don’t—I can’t tell you where I am. I don’t know. And there’s—there’s no time. No— Someone found me, they called 9-1-1, but they won’t—there’s no time.”

“TK, don’t you dare give up, okay, don’t you dare talk like that. You just need to focus on my voice and stay awake for a little while longer and then they’ll get you to a hospital where they’ll fix you up. You’ll be good as new right in time for the wedding.”

“The wedding. Carlos, I—”

“And if this is your way of getting out of making all the decisions, then it’s a little bit over the top, you know? I mean, point proven and all that, but you could have just told me.” He’s getting hysterical now, he can feel it, standing in the middle of his front room trying to keep his fiancé alive and talking when he’s god-knows-where in god-knows-what condition.

But, as always, TK is there to centre him again. “Carlos, stop, please.”

Carlos doesn’t know if it’s the way TK’s voice is getting quieter and quieter, his energy obviously flagging, or if it’s his pleading tone, but he’s suddenly struck completely still. He can’t move a muscle, every sense tuned into whatever is happening on the other end of the phone.

“I don’t—I don’t want to spend the time we have left lying to each other,” TK eventually says, his words riding on broken breaths now. “I don’t want to leave you, but I think… No, I know that I have to now. I’m s-so sorry. I wish… I wish we…” A gasp, and a horrific cough that sounds like it’s tearing TK apart. “I love you.”

Carlos doesn’t get a chance to reply before there’s a loud thud, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out what caused it.

TK dropped the phone.

TK passed out.

It’s salt in the wound when, seconds later, Carlos hears the wail of sirens approaching the scene.

There are tears dripping down his face as he tells Domenic of the sheer, gut-wrenching panic and fear of those next few minutes.

How he’d been unable to put the phone down, instead listening as the screech of machinery and the raised voices of firefighters and paramedics drifted through the speakers.

How the noises had dimmed when they extracted TK, and how Carlos had strained to listen as the paramedics began to work on him.

And how, when he’d heard those final words, his world had come crashing down.

“I’m calling it. McRae, radio it in to the ME’s office.”

This isn’t happening.

Carlos cannot be sitting in his parents’ backyard, at his fiancé’s wake, in the same place and wearing the same suit that he was supposed to be getting married in a month from now.

He—

Fuck.

Carlos presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and curls in on himself, barely suppressing a moan of agony at the pain in his chest. He’s distantly aware of everyone’s gazes on him, but he can’t stop this tidal wave of emotion anymore than he can turn back time and change the fact that TK is dead and that Carlos failed him.

TK died all alone, and Carlos didn’t get the chance to say goodbye or tell him that he loved him. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak at the funeral—the one thing, the last thing he could do for the love of his life.

Instead, when it was his turn to speak, he’d been frozen in his chair, eyes locked on the coffin—(and, fuck, TK was in there, that was TK, fuckfuckfuck)—and Judd had had to take over.

Carlos hadn’t heard a word he'd said, though he’s sure it was beautiful, and everything that TK deserved.

Everything that Carlos couldn’t give him.

He failed him, he failed, he—

“No,” a hushed voice says, warm arms pulling him into a tight hug, and Carlos must have been talking aloud without realising because the voice keeps reassuring him. “You didn’t fail, sweetheart, you didn’t, I promise. You were there for him at the end and that’s all that matters; that he wasn’t alone when it happened. I know it hurts but it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay.”

Carlos tenses, wanting to scream at whoever’s holding him because how could anything possibly be okay? But when he pulls out of their grip, he sees that it’s Gwyn, her eyes red and cheeks tear-stained, and all Carlos can do is fall apart in his not-quite-mother-in-law’s arms.

She keeps whispering that it’s okay, and Carlos knows that it’s as much for her own benefit as for his.

“Hey sweetheart,” Carlos whispers, getting out of his car and leaning against the closed door. He always comes here when he wants to remember TK; it is where they said goodbye to him after all. And it’s the place where they had so many important moments—it’s where they became official, and where they finally spoke openly and completely with each other for the first time, and where they got engaged.

It’s their place, ridiculous as it might sound.

“Remember that night?” he asks, even now feeling a little self-conscious talking to the air. “I made you a picnic and we came out here to eat it and you somehow managed to get chocolate on your nose from the chocolate-covered strawberries.” Carlos chuckles, then sighs wistfully. “You were so beautiful. I had this whole plan to propose to you, but one look at your face and that damn bit of chocolate and I forgot the entire thing.

“I just blurted it out, right there and then. ‘Marry me, Tyler Kennedy’, and you said yes, and it was perfect.”

He blinks furiously, tears beginning to blur his vision. “I thought… But it was too perfect, I guess. Perfect things never last, and since I was never going to leave you, the universe forced you to leave me.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. It’s nothing you don’t already know, and I’m not sure if I even believe that you can hear me. I never used to, back when we were together, but things change when suddenly the one who’s gone is someone you love. I’d give anything, Ty, anything to talk to you again, so I’m here.

“You know… Just in case.”

His hands tremble and he swallows reflexively against the pain and grief crawling up his throat. He reaches inside the car through the window and grabs the bouquet of flowers he brought with him off the passenger seat.

It’s the same one he always brings whenever he comes out here—red camellias, hydrangeas, blue salvias, and forget-me-nots—all flowers that have meaning to them and their relationship. Hydrangeas for understanding; it had been the first flower TK had given him, his way of saying thanks for sticking around even after their disastrous beginnings.

The camellia, Carlos had gifted TK one anniversary. It means ‘you’re a flame in my heart’, which TK always was, always, and Carlos had found it a little funny too, given TK’s background. TK had loved it, and had made sure to tell Carlos in as many ways as he could think of that he felt the same.

The salvias were something they both did, often and at random, sometimes with no particular reason. Just whenever they wanted each other to know they were thinking of them—though, that was something they knew anyway.

Carlos had added the forget-me-nots himself after… After it had happened. It’s a reassurance, both to him and to TK, that he’s not forgetting; that he never will.

That he can’t, even now, three years down the line.

On shaky legs, he walks over to the tree a little distance away, laying the bouquet between the roots almost reverently. Carlos stares down at them long after he’s straightened back up, leaning against the tree, and he allows the memories and the pain to overwhelm him for a moment.

“Can you believe it’s been three years?” he asks the empty air, shaking his head. “I swear, I still miss you like it was yesterday; it doesn’t seem real that I haven’t seen you or kissed you or heard your voice in three whole years.

“I’m going to see your dad later. He’s… He’s doing okay, all things considered. He misses you—we all do—but I think he tries to hide it, like he has to be the strong one for everyone else. Don’t worry though, Ty, we’re looking after him. Making sure he doesn’t, you know. Do anything stupid.

“Your mom helps out a lot too, her and Enzo and Isaac. God, TK you’d be so proud of Isaac now—he’s started school, making loads of friends, and he’s just… He’s such a good kid. I wish you could see him; he was so young when you— You’d be amazed at how big he’s getting. And, hey, we’re making sure that he knows who his big brother was, so...so don’t worry about that either.”

Carlos hesitates before continuing; it feels weird to talk about Domenic here. He doesn’t need to, he knows—technically, there’s nothing even going on between them, though Carlos couldn’t deny how good it had felt when Domenic had hugged him when they parted ways after coffee. But there’s been a weird lump of guilt sitting in his stomach since that first date at the bar, and Carlos figures that TK deserves to know about it.

Even if he’s three years dead and probably can’t hear any of this.

“I met someone, you know,” he says, trying to keep his tone light. “It’s not like that, we’re just friends, but I think… I think maybe it could be like that? Maybe? I don’t know, Ty. I thought I’d never be able to love anyone in that way ever again, but Domenic is so kind and sweet and he makes me wonder if there’s a chance.

“I’m terrified. It’s—It’s stupid and selfish, but I’m so scared of getting hurt again, of having to go through what I went through with you again. Not that I blame you for the accident, it’s just… I can’t do it again. I can’t.

“God, even considering this feels like I’m betraying you. I do hate you a little for that; you still own so much of my heart and I’m never getting it back, whereas all I have of you are your hoodies and your mugs and that goddamn stuffed bear. Why did you have to go and ruin me like that, huh? Why, TK?”

He’s almost shouting now, but the question fades unanswered into the air, and Carlos’s anger vanishes with it. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I don’t hate you. I love you so much, and I always will, but I think maybe it’s time for me to let some of that go. I can’t carry on like this for much longer; you understand that, right?”

And maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe it’s just a coincidence, but the breeze picks up a little then, gently ruffling Carlos’s curls, and it feels like… It feels like peace.

He closes his eyes, and for a moment, it’s like he can feel TK there, like he never left at all.

I know, it feels like, his voice ringing loud and clear in Carlos’s head. I love you.

“I love you, too,” Carlos whispers, opening his eyes. TK isn’t there, of course, but, somehow, he doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

Then, with one final glance at the flowers, Carlos turns and walks away, his heart feeling lighter than it has in three years.

#911lsangstweek #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #michelle blake #lone star #911ls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #userbones #userjillian #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #reyeslonestartag

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patt-writes-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Pink (Hawks x gn!Reader)

Pairing: Hawks/Takami Keigo x gn! Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: cursing but that’s about it!

Genre: Fluff, slight angst, Romantic/Relationship

Tags/Aus: boss x secretary, pining, slow burn, slight cannon divergence probably

Summary: 5 times your boss, Hawks, made you flustered + the one time you made him flustered

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! This is my fic for the Attack on Academia server’s Secret Santa Event!! This is for @sugacookiies !! and I really hope you like it!!!

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 1

“Thank you so much for coming today, we’ll be sure to get back to you soon,” the lady who had been interviewing you said, smiling at you. You bowed your head slightly, thanking her for her time with a small smile on your face.

After exiting the room and closing the door, you took a deep breath, as if to calm your still very present nerves. You had been up for a job as a secretary at pro hero Hawk’s agency, something you were more than thrilled about.

Growing up, you’d always been immensely intrigued with the world of pro heroes. Your room had been decked out in hero figurines and posters, the whole nine yards. Hell, even your comforter was hero themed at a certain point in time. It had just always fascinated you how these people would use their quirks for the good of humanity and to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Sadly, your quirk, MoodLocks, wasn’t very useful in crime-fighting. All it did was allow your hair to change colors depending on your mood. It was pretty, of course, but you had a hard time controlling it and it could never help you beat an opponent. If anything, it would give the villain an insight into your thoughts and put you at a clear disadvantage.

So, as time passed, your childish fantasies of becoming a hero did as well. It didn’t bother you anymore, as you were more than happy with the career you’d chosen. Your love of heroes was still very much present, hence why you were so nervous about today’s interview. If you got the job, not only would the pay be incredible, but you’d also get the chance to help an actual hero. Maybe you’d even get the chance to meet more of them!

You were pretty sure you had made a fairly good impression so hopefully, you would indeed get a call from the agency soon.

Walking out of the agency, you couldn’t help but let out a yawn. You’d stayed up far too late last night googling commonly asked job interview questions so you wanted nothing more than to get back to your apartment and catch up on some much-needed rest. Maybe you and your roommate could order in.

“Oh God, I am so sorry that was my fault. I just finished this super stressful interview and I’m super tired so I was not watching where I was going-” your babbling came to a sudden halt as you looked up, brain losing all ability to form coherent thoughts.

Right before your very eyes was the man who’s “a bit too fast” in all his red-winged glory. You’d seen him in interviews online, of course, you kept up with most pro hero interviews, so you knew he was handsome. However, the cameras most certainly did not do the man justice. His yellow glasses were resting on his forehead, pushing his messy (and very soft looking) blond hair back. His gold eyes seemed to be looking right into your soul, calculating yet calm.

God, you wished you could make your eyeliner look remotely similar to his.

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you realized that you’d been staring for what you could only describe as an uncomfortably long amount of time.

Before you could embarrass yourself further, the winged hero placed a gloved hand on your shoulder. He looked at the top of your head, an intrigued expression adorning his face before morphing into an easy smile, he spoke, “‘S no problem, chickadee. Good luck with your interview.”

And just like that, the hero went along his merry way.

Curious what he’d been staring at, not to mention the nickname, you looked up at your hair, which had previously been a bright shade of orange due to being anxious, was now very pink. You blanched at the thought of having lost control of your quirk so easily, in front of a cute guy pro hero who might be your future boss no less.

‘Well,’ you thought, ‘at least I can say I met Japan’s #2 hero even if I don’t get this job.’

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 2

Much to your surprise, and pleasure, you had indeed received a call from Hawks’ agency about a week later. After several follow up interviews (much more than you were expecting, honestly, but you suppose it made since he’s such a high ranking hero) a very thorough background check, you had gotten the job.

When you had gotten the job, you had been hoping that the blond would have forgotten your first encounter, since you had literally malfunctioned right before his very eyes. The chances of him forgetting weren’t exactly small, after all. You were sure he met plenty of people every day and your interaction had been incredibly brief.

A month into your job as his secretary, you seemed to be in the clear. Sure, he knew about your quirk, since he was your employer and the ever-changing array of colors in your hair aren’t exactly subtle, but seeing as he hadn’t mentioned it so he’d probably forgotten.

You’d stayed at the agency long after your shift was overdue to a couple of low-ranking villains attempting to rob a bank. It had been an easy win for Hawks, he was in and out of there long before his sidekicks had even gotten there, but the villains had caused a lot of unnecessary damage to the building, so there was a ridiculous amount of paperwork.

You couldn’t wait to get home and change out of your stuffy work clothes and into the comfiest pair of PJs you owned. Your roommate, always a sweetheart, had been kind enough to save you some leftovers from her dinner so all you had to do was warm it up, eat, shower, and crash on your bed.

Whilst you were getting ready to head home, your boss had decided that it was only fair to walk you home, seeing as it was late. You had insisted that he didn’t need to do that, even showing him the can of pepper spray you carried around your person at all times. Still, he’d insisted, and who were you to say no?

The winged hero had originally offered to fly you home, but you’d profusely told him it wasn’t necessary. So, the two of you ended up taking the train. The two of you got a couple of weird stares from your fellow passengers, seeing as the flying hero was taking a train instead of y’know… flying and his wings took a significantly large part of the seat the two of you were occupying (it seemed uncomfortable but he didn’t mention it). Hawks seemed to either not notice or not care, opting instead to have an animated conversation with you about the best fried chicken places in Fukuoka. It was mostly him talking, but you’d add to the conversation every once in a while, and sometimes people would interrupt and ask for an autograph, which he’d sign with a carefree smile on his face.

“You don’t have to walk me home, sir,” you told him after the two of you had exited the station closest to your apartment.

“What kind of hero would I be if I let a civilian walk alone across the dark streets of Japan?” He asked you, tone light and teasing. “Also, didn’t I tell you to call me Hawks? Sir makes me feel old.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at his words, turning to the left towards your apartment. You’d get there soon and a small part of you wanted to keep the banter going for as long as possible.

“I don’t think that would be very professional of me, sir,” you said playfully. He laughed and the two of you settled into a comfortable silence while you walked.

After a moment, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and he spoke up, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, how exactly does your quirk work?”

“Oh well, y’know, it changes color depending on my mood, so red means I’m angry, blue can mean I’m sad or calm, pink means I’m flustered or embarrassed, purple means I’m scared, etc.”

“So your hair went pink the first time we met because you were starstruck by my devilishly good looks?” He asked in a faux haughty tone. “Don’t worry, I don’t blame you.”

The asshole remembered your first encounter.

Your hair turned pink and you celebrated inwardly as you approached your apartment. As you opened the glass door to the complex, Hawks laughed at your hurry.

“Good night,” you stated, tone indignant at his laughter, as you made your way inside.”

“‘Night, Pinky.”

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 3

Working for the red-winged hero himself was both everything you were expecting it to be and completely the opposite of it at the same time.

The hours were crazy, something you were anticipating considering villain activity had been increasing and your boss was a busy public figure. What you were certainly not anticipating, however, was that Hawks would be such a teasing little shit.

Not only had the man remembered your first encounter, but after you had explained your quirk to him (he’d asked you about it despite it being in the agency’s records since you had applied for the position, you guessed he’d done it as a way to break the ice) he’d taken it upon himself to fluster you to get your hair to go that embarrassingly bright shade of pink.

He’d call you all sorts of nicknames ranging from pinky to songbird (your favorite was by far Pinky since it feels so personal. Not that you’d ever tell him that). He’d also gotten into the habit of trying out all sorts of ridiculous pick up lines on you. The greater majority of them were bird-related, of course. Those never really got you but they did make you laugh.

The one that probably got you the most was when he’d bring you your favorite drink or lunch from a place you’d mentioned you’d like offhandedly, saying he had just been “flying by” and remembered your conversation.

You didn’t mind his flirtatious banter in the slightest. He never crossed any boundaries and kept things professional when it came to business. It was pretty fun to see what nicknames or pickup lines he had up his sleeves.

The only downside was that you’d begun to develop a slight crush on the red-winged hero. It would never lead to anything, you were well aware of that. He was not only a famous hero who was constantly under public scrutiny, but he was also your boss.

It can’t hurt to dream though.

“What’s got you so distracted?” An all too familiar broke your very him-centric train of thought. You looked up from the paperwork you’d been blankly staring at. You’d been trying to multitask between eating and doing paperwork so you wouldn’t have to take any work home. After much insistence from your roommate, who was well aware of your crush on Your boss (she’d teasingly gifted you a pair of Hawks themed PJs on your birthday), you had finally given in and agreed to let her set you up on a date with a former schoolmate of hers.

“Nothing, just thinking about a date I have tonight,” you lied, looking up from your desk to meet those lovely honey-colored eyes you spent more hours than you’d care to admit thinking about. You scanned his body language, trying to gauge his reaction. Not that you could ever get a read on him. More often than not, it was impossible to get a read on him under the visage of carefree indifference he was so well known for. In the almost half a year you’d known him you’d never once seen the hero lose his cool or show any emotion other than the ones he wanted to portray. It was kind of unfair seeing as he could get a picture-perfect look into your thoughts and emotions just by looking at the color of your hair and here you were, left grasping at straws.

He seemed to have no outward reaction other than his shoulders tensing and his eyebrows scrunching up a bit in mild distaste. It was gone so fast you were sure you must have just imagined it.

“Pinky’s got themselves a date?” he said after a moment, a slightly forced teasing tilt to his voice. He crossed his hands and placed them on the taller part of your desk and leaned his weight on them, staring down at you with a cheeky grin.

“I guess so,” you said, fiddling with your chopsticks as you continued, “I’m kind of nervous though. I haven’t got on any dates since I started working here, I’m a little rusty.”

“How come you haven’t gone on any dates?” he asked, staring at you with an intensity you weren’t quite expecting from him. “Had a special someone in mind?”

The roots of your hair went white in surprise before you managed to school them into going back to your natural hair color. It was brief but he had surely noticed.

“I’d go on lots of dates if my boss gave me more days off,” you said, pushing past the momentary lull in the conversation and giving him a pointed look.

He let out a laugh, a real and genuine one, unlike the ones he’d let out during interviews or out in public. The thought made your face heat up. It made you feel special. Even if he didn’t see you in the same way you saw him, he at least trusted you enough to be real around you. That was enough for you.

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about, kid, any person would be lucky to land a date with someone as beautiful as you,” He stated, looking at you with a certain emotion behind his gaze that you couldn’t quite decipher. “If your date happens to go south, just give me a call and I’ll pick you up. After all, what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t look out for my secretary?”

You looked at his retreating form, your hair as pink as bubble gum and heart threatening to beat out of your rib cage. He’d just called you beautiful. He’d also said that anyone would be lucky to date you. Did that include him? Did he like you?

“Hey Hawks,” you called out, surprising both him and yourself. Despite him telling you to just call him Hawks instead of ‘sir’, you’d stuck to calling him sir for the sake of professionality. “Thanks for the offer.”

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 4

You let out a tired sigh as you watched the number of floors go up on the tiny screen atop the doors of the elevator you were currently in.

When you had signed your contract to work at Hawks’ agency, you were aware that you would need to be accessible 24/7, however, you thought that if he did contact you at an ungodly hour, it’d be for something important, perhaps something along the lines of a press scandal or a massive villain attack that you’d need to start filing paperwork promptly so that the agency could report the casualties or cost of the destruction. You had highly doubted Hawks, Japan’s literal #2 hero would call his secretary at 3:00 a.m. in the goddamn morning and order them to bring him a bucket of fried chicken from fucking KFC.

You clearly hadn’t known the man at the time, you thought as you stared at the red and white bucket in your arms.

The elevator dinged, alerting you that you had arrived at your destination. Making your way through the hallway, you tried to figure out why your boss would be so cruel as to make you get him fast food when he had two perfectly capable wings that could take him to and from the nearest KFC faster than you ever could. You bet it’d even be warmer.

You’d need to download UberEats on his phone.

Before your fist could make contact with the door, it was swung open, surprising your half-asleep brain. Before your eyes there was a very awake looking Hawks, his eyes zeroed in on the bucket you were holding

“Hey there, chickadee,” he said in a teasing tone, resting his arm on the door frame in a very attractive manner. God, if you were just a bit more coherent and a little less sleep-deprived, your hair would be the most embarrassingly bright pink color imaginable.

Thankfully, you weren’t and you could hear your bed calling your name from across the city, so without bothering to answer, you shoved the bucket of chicken into his arms before turning around to speed your way back to your at this point cold bed.

Before you could get very far, however, Hawks had grabbed your wrist with your free hand.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?” He asked you, letting go of your wrist.

“It’s 3 in the goddamn morning, Hawks,” was your deadpan answer.

“C’mon, you wouldn’t let your poor boss eat all alone would you,” you could tell his tone was meant to be light and playful but it was lacking his usual flare.

Your concern for the overgrown pigeon won out, and with a defeated sigh, you walked into his apartment, Hawks trailing behind you, visibly pleased that you stayed.

Despite all your time working for Hawks, you’d never actually been inside of his apartment. You had come here several times before to drop off documents he needed to sign or a new schedule (because the Hero Commission apparently couldn’t send emails directly to him) but you had always left the things at his building's front desk.

Hawks’ apartment was… emptier than you had expected it to be. It was nice, the furniture was obviously high quality, not that it was surprising considering he was a high ranking hero, but it lacked a personal touch. It had no pictures or knick-knacks in sight. It felt more like a house instead of an actual home.

“So, how’d your date go?” Hawks inquired once the two of you settled in his living room, him on the couch and you in the armchair next to it. He picked up a piece of chicken, offering it to you. However, it was far too early to even think about consuming food, so you politely declined.

“It was fine. He was nice,” you answered.

To be honest the date had gone well. He’d been nice, a complete gentleman. He’d taken you to a nice restaurant, he was great in conversation, he’d even walked you home but at the end of the night, the two of you had agreed that there was just no chemistry between the two of you whatsoever. You had decided to just stay friends.

“There won’t be a second one, though,” you added after a beat of silence.

“Good,” your eyes widened at his words and suddenly you had an epiphany.

Hawks had been jealous. He was jealous because he liked you. That’s why he had asked you to come here.

Before you could voice your thoughts, he spoke again, a sly smirk on his face, “By the way, I love your pajamas. I wasn’t aware you were such a fan.”

Your hair turned pink, as it often did whenever Hawks was around when you looked down at your clothes. In your haste to get Hawks his food so you could go back to bed, you had forgone changing clothes. You hadn’t realized you were wearing the Hawks themed PJs your roommate had gotten you as a gag gift. They were mustard-colored with lots of cute red feathers and tiny Hawks chibi heads scattered around the fabric.

He would never let you live this down.

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 5

Following the KFC event, the two of you hadn’t spoken about the situation further. At this point, you were well aware of his feelings for you, and you hadn’t exactly been subtle about liking him. The two of you just hadn’t spoken about it. You weren’t official but there was an unspoken rule that neither of you would go on dates with other people.

You were fine with it. Really, you were.

Except that you were definitely not okay with it and you were very much upset that he had just answered that he was single when the lady that had interviewed him had asked him if he was seeing anyone.

Rationally, you understood why he said no. You weren’t official and saying yes would just throw the media into a frenzy while they speculated who he was seeing. You remember how crazy everyone went a couple of months ago when pictures of Mirko and Hawks in their street clothes hanging out started circulating on Twitter. They were trending for weeks, and you had had to answer call after call, explaining that no, they are not dating and no, they don’t have time to go on the 8:00 a.m. news to answer questions about what it was like to date as pro heroes.

On the other hand, you were tired of dancing around each other. You were aware that dating a pro hero would come with hectic schedules and even some danger, but you didn’t care.

“So I was thinking you could come over and we can watch that hero documentary you told me to watch- hey are you mad at me?” Hawks asked, brows furrowed as in confusion.

“No, I’m not angry at you,” you answered, putting your stuff away and heading to the agency’s doors. You were more than ready to go back to your apartment and there was a pint of your favorite ice cream waiting for you in the freezer with your name on it.

“You totally are,” he scoffed, following after you.

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I am not.”

“Yes, you are.” Your overgrown pigeon of a boss insisted, mimicking your tone, “If you’re not angry then why is your hair red?”

With a sigh, you spoke, failing to hide the snarky tone to your voice “So what if I am angry? Why do you care? It’s not like we’re dating or anything.” You walked out onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, that’s what you're upset about?” He asked, realization dawning upon his features. When you didn’t answer he kept talking, “You of all people know why I didn’t say anything.”

“I know. It’s just- nothing, never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” You told him, looking away with a defeated sigh.

You were about to walk away before he stopped you by placing his glove cladded hand

“At least let me take you home,” it wasn’t much of a question, but you nodded anyways.

All of a sudden, you let out a shrill scream when he picked you up bridal style, hands instinctively clasping on to his coat to assure you wouldn’t fall.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you home,” he explained as if it were obvious. Before you had a chance to argue he set off into the sky.

You couldn’t hear anything but the wind in your ears and his heartbeat, but you finally understood why he loved flying so much. Exhilarating was the only word you could use to describe it. And cold. It was also really cold. You understood why he walked around with such a heavy coat now. You snuggled more into him, trying to get some more warmth, which caused Hawks to tighten his hold on you. The affectionate gesture alone had your hair going a shade of pink.

You got to your apartment building much faster than you ever would by taking the train, something that you regretted a bit since it meant he’d let go of you.

“Look, Hawks,” you started, “maybe we should-“

“Keigo,” he said, effectively cutting you off,

“W-what?” You spluttered, caught off guard.

“I want you to call me Keigo,” he said with a sense of finality, looking into your eyes with an emotion you couldn’t quite read, or at least one that you were just choosing to ignore. It’d just make what you were about to suggest harder.

“Look, Hawks,” you started, opening the door that led to the stairs, “I really like you, hell, maybe even more than that, and I want to be with you but I don’t want to be whatever we are right now forever.”

Ignoring the way his wings physically dropped at your words, you closed the door behind you and headed to your apartment.

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

Event No. 1

Once you got home, you immediately stripped out of your work clothes and into your Hawks-themed pajamas (because they're the comfiest, not because they remind you of him, obviously) and you’d taken out your ice cream and went to town on it. Your roommate had noticed the dark blue that had taken over your hair but you’d brushed her off, saying it was nothing to worry about. She’d been doubtful, but she had a night shift so she left, but not before making you promise to call her if you needed to.

You’d spent the rest of the evening eating your ice cream and watching tv before deciding to get some sleep so you would feel at least a little less sorry for yourself tomorrow.

You were currently in your room, scrolling through your phone on your bed before calling it a day when you started to hear a tapping sound. You’d ruled it out to be some tree branch knocking against your window due to the wind. However, the longer you ignored it the more incessant it became.

You nearly fell out of your bed when you realized it was Hawks, your boss, the #2 pro hero of Japan, tapping on your window while squatting on your fire escape.

You got up, heading towards your window and unlocking it before pushing it up. You helped him in before sitting down on the bed and motioning for him to do the same. An awkward silence filled the air, neither of you was quite sure of what you should say.

“Hawks, what are-“ you started before being cut off by him.

“Look, Pinky, I love you so much it scares the shit out of me,” he declared. Your hair went the brightest shade of pink it had ever been at his words.

He played with the embroidered design of the throw blanket you kept in your bed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the red-winged hero so vulnerable in all your time knowing him.

“But there’s a lot of crap that comes with my job and I could never forgive myself if I brought you into it and you got hurt. So-“ before he could finish speaking, you grabbed onto his coat’s collar with both of your hands and crashed your lips against his.

You’d waited almost an entire year for this. One thing was for certain, it was well worth the wait. You loved every single thing about him. And he loved you. That was all you needed.

After a beat, you pulled away, choosing instead to cup his cheek in an adoring manner. The two of you looked at each other with nothing short of pure unadulterated adoration.

“I love you Keigo,” you spoke his name for the first time, “as long as you’re by my side I don’t care about what happens.”

His reaction was, for lack of a better word, cute. His honey eyes were wide in shock, his face as red as his wings, and his aforementioned wings were puffed up in shock. Now you understood why he loved teasing you so much.

“So, do you wanna watch the documentary?” You asked him, walking out of your room and into the living room with a victorious smirk.

~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸~🌸

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #takami x reader #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #secret santa fic #patt’s creations

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ruzek-halstead · 4 years ago

Text

meet me in the afterglow: first date

request from @felicitysmoaksx: i would like to see a continuation of the “i’m so stressed out during finals that i show up to the exam in my onesie and you tell me i look cute” university au. maybe like their first date?

read the original fic here

Luke and Julie ended up at a 24-hour diner a few minutes off campus. There was a light wind blowing through Julie's curls, and she was glad her onesie was so warm and fuzzy. Luke seemed perfectly at ease in his sleeve tank, but then again, she could feel his warm skin every time her wrist knocked against his arm. Her hand was still loosely clasped in his. She expected it to be slightly awkward; she had just met Luke and this was unlike anything she had ever done before. In her past four years of studies, she didn't have much time for a social life, much less a boyfriend. But there was no way she could've turned down his invite after the entirety of the situation.

When they reached the exterior of the diner, Julie spotted various empty booths. There were a few students who were quite obviously studying, what with their textbooks and highlighters strewn around the table, but it was generally quite empty. Even though it was relatively empty, Julie was still hit with a wave of anxiety with being seen in this onesie by everyone in the diner. It was dumb, she knew that; she had completed her exam in front of people with this onesie and even walked across campus with it. But for some reason, she couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling. When Luke moved forward to open the door, he stumbled back and realized Julie had stopped walking. Their intertwined hands pulled him to a stop. He noticed Julie's worried eyes and moved closer, ducking his own head to catch her gaze. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?" God, Julie wanted to scream. This is not how their first date was supposed to be going. "This is going to sound weird," Julie laughed nervously. "But I'm feeling super self-conscious about this onesie right about now." Luke's facial features softened, and he stepped even closer. He let go of her hand to bring it up close to her face; Julie's breath hitched and he stopped his movements. "Julie, believe me when I say this, you look stunning in that onesie. Honestly, I’m too distracted with your beauty to even notice anymore.” Her brain was short-circuiting and no words were coming to mind. His green gaze was so captivating, she couldn't look away. But they were standing outside the diner and she had to do something. His hand that stopped mid-air dropped back down, outlining her arm through the onesie to intertwine their pinkies. Julie felt her knees begin to shake. She swallowed hard. “Well, I am pretty hungry.” That was the most her incapacitated brain could come up with currently, but the comment sent a brightening smile to Luke’s lips. “Great,” he added, once again pulling open the front door. Julie took a deep breath to regain her confidence. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought; it only mattered how she felt. And if she was being honest, she felt pretty damn good after hearing what Luke had to say. There was a sign at the front saying ‘seat yourself’ so Julie slid into a widow booth. Luke slid in across from her, his vibrant smile still on full display. It had been quite some time since Julie went on a first date. It was also pretty obvious that she was out of her element, but Luke seemed perfectly okay with taking the lead. “So, what’s your major, Julie?” He waited until their waitress came over to hand them menus and bring two glasses of water to ask his question. He was casually perusing the menu, but inside, he was dying to know more about this mysterious girl. “You mentioned something about an Evidence course?” Julie glanced up from her menu with a soft smile. She hadn't really gotten a chance to celebrate the fact that she was officially finished her major, (however, she couldn't think of a better way to celebrate than a date with an incredibly cute and caring guy). "I was in Criminology. That was my last exam ever, actually." Luke's eyes widened comically, a large grin spreading over his face. "Congratulations, that's amazing!" He cheered, reaching over to softly squeeze her wrist. "Wow, I should be taking you out to a five course meal — not this." Julie's eyes snapped up to meet his. He was grinning and he looked confident, but Julie could see the underlying insecurity beneath. It was intriguing to see, given how comfortable he had been since they'd met. "This is perfect," she replied evenly, meeting his eye with assurance. Luke matched her smile. The waitress came back to take their order, smiling knowingly at the adorable couple. Luke ordered a chocolate milkshake with a cheeseburger and fries, while Julie also ordered a chocolate milkshake and a chicken caesar wrap with sweet potato fries. “Perfect. I’ll put that order in right away and it’ll be out soon,” their waitress assured them with a bright smile. “What about you?” Julie asked, straw between her lips. She didn’t miss the way Luke’s eyes flickered down for a nanosecond; it gave her all the confidence in the world. “Your major?” Luke took a moment longer to reply (yes, he was composing himself, what about it?). “I’m actually a music major.” Julie’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh, really?” “Yeah. I was just taking that course as a filler,” he explained. “That was my final exam too.” Julie’s face lit up in excitement. “Doesn’t it feel great?” “Unbelievable,” he chuckled. “A little scary because what the hell am I supposed to do now?” Julie’s smile dimmed a bit. She was in the same boat and she had been avoiding thinking about it for as long as possible. However, she was still young and there was always the possibility of going back to school (although, her current outfit and mental stability would argue against that). “But we’re not going to think about that right now,” she replied with a coy smile. Luke opened his mouth to rebut, but he was instead distracted by the mouthwatering scent of their food arriving. He was mesmerized, but Julie was straight up emotional about it; she truly thought she might cry. “Oh God,” she mumbled, her senses completely overloaded. “It’s been so long since I’ve had proper food. Does coffee count as a food?” Luke was already shoving fries into his mouth. “Definitely not,” he replied through a full mouth. It definitely wasn’t first date etiquette but Julie was so hungry, she couldn’t be bothered to notice. Not that she cared anyway, she was quickly gnawing down her wrap, nearly forgetting to breathe. Once Julie was satisfied that her hunger was appropriately satiated and she could finally multi-task again, she took a sip of her milkshake and turned her attention to Luke once again. “So, music. How’d you get into it?” Luke was momentarily surprised at the question, but he was more than happy to speak about it. Music was everything to him; he could talk about it all day. “Honestly, it kind of just happened. A cousin of mine used to have a guitar and we taught ourselves to play.” “Are you any good?” Julie meant it to come out teasingly, but it really ended up sounding more flirty than anything. “Maybe you should find out.” Luke very easily matched her tone and Julie found herself sweating before him. “How do you propose I do that?” Well, she may as well continue with the ruse. She had leaned forward in the booth, resting her chin in her hand. “Lucky for you, I have a band.” Julie’s brain immediately stopped all function. He was attractive, he had amazing biceps, he was sweet and respectable and he was in a band? “You — you’re in a band?” Julie cringed at the obvious fumble in her words. He can’t just drop that on her and expect her to be okay though. An unconscious smile spread across his features. “My best friends and I are in a band. We try to play gigs whenever we can; you know, exposure.” “Oh — you play gigs,” Julie swallowed. God, her throat was dry. “Does that mean you have original songs?” Luke nodded again; he looked so excited. “My band calls me the Shakespeare of songwriting. Can’t help myself.” Julie’s brain started screaming at her again: HE WRITES SONGS. Julie grabbed her glass of water and drained it halfway. “That’s awesome. Uh — so, are you the guitarist?” “Lead guitarist,” he smirked with pride. “I’m also the lead singer.” Julie squeezed her water glass so tight, her knuckles turned white. Luke’s eyes dropped to her hand and his smirk only widened. He was full-on torturing her now and he knew it. “How the hell are you even real?” Julie was never known for her subtlety. Luke should know that by now since she basically went off on him in the exam room already anyway. He wasn’t, however, expecting that random question. His eyebrows rose in surprise, but Julie didn’t elaborate. Instead, she seemed to be almost glaring at him. He laughed, a hint of nervousness in his tone. “Excuse me?” “You’re a guitar player in a band, you write songs and you sing them. You’re ridiculously sweet and kind and I haven’t seen any red flags yet, which is literally unbelievable nowadays. You’re somehow interested in me and you’re ridiculously hot. There must be something else going on here because there is no way in hell that this is real.” Luke could only blink at her. He took a moment to mull over his next words before he relayed them with a frown. “If you’re impressed by my kindness, which should just be basic human behaviour, then men clearly need to do better.” Julie bit her lip as she sighed. “Sorry. That was a lot. I just mean—” Luke interrupted. “You seem to be really surprised that someone like me could be interested in you and I just don’t understand,” he explained, brows furrowed together. “What you and I see is clearly different. I see someone intelligent and dedicated enough to her studies to block out everything else and get it done. I see someone beautiful, no matter what they're wearing. I see someone who doesn't think as highly of themselves as they should because I've only known you a few hours and that's enough for me to know that I want you in my life." Now it was Julie's turn to blink. "Sorry," Luke popped out a smirk, "That was a lot." "Listen," Julie breathed, openly avoiding eye contact as she started her explanation. "I'm not, nor have I ever been, that successful in the dating department. This," she motioned between her and Luke, "Has never happened to me before and I'm not entirely sure how to handle it. So, I'm sorry if I'm butchering this." Luke instantly reached forward to grab her hand. "You're not." "Are you sure?" She laughed nervously. "I've given you more than one reason tonight to think I'm certifiably insane." Luke looked up from their conjoined hands with an earnest smile. "I hate to break it to you, but it's going to take a lot more than that to drive me away." Julie considered it for a moment. "You know what, I'm okay with that." "Good," he laughed. He stood up from the booth. "I'll be right back." Julie took this opportunity to momentarily reflect. In the span of twenty-four hours, she had gone through a range of emotions like something she'd never experienced before. But she had successfully completed her exams, and thus, completed her major. She could now take a break from school and decide how she wanted to proceed. Somehow the worst week of her life ended up as one of the best. Luke returned a few moments lately, shoving his wallet back into his back pocket. "Alright, we're all squared away. You ready to go?" Julie nodded with a smile, easily following him outside. "Thanks for the meal, Luke. I needed it." "Of course." He was unable to lose the grin from his face. "Hey, is it alright if I get your number?" Julie almost tripped over herself in taking out her cellphone from the pocket of her onesie. They exchanged phone numbers with a smile. "I live just around the corner over there," Julie motioned with her index finger. "But tonight was great, and I had a lot of fun." Luke's eyebrows furrowed together. "Oh, that's great. But I'm walking you home." "You don't need to do that," she replied automatically. "I want to." Well, Julie couldn't dispute that. Luke once again reached for her hand and Julie led the way. She knew it would be an exceptionally short walk, but he kept the conversation going for all of it. It felt like he couldn't get enough of talking to her and it seriously made Julie's heart squeeze with affection. When they reached the doorstep of Julie's building, she turned to him with nervous eyes. "I would love to take you out again," Luke murmured quietly. The energy around them had suddenly changed and Julie was hyper aware of his thumb stroking her palm. "I would love to see your band," she replied, because honestly, she still hadn't gotten that image out of her head. An immediate grin broke out on Luke's face. "Then it's decided," his eyes softened once again as he took a step down. "Get some sleep, Julie. Celebrate your achievements by forty-seven hours of sleep." "You know what?" Julie threw her head back in a laugh. "I think I just might." His eyes were sparkling as he observed her laughing. It was the best sight he'd seen in ages. Julie could see his hesitation and decided he'd done enough already (especially through her multiple freak-outs over the course of the day). With his small step down, he was finally at her height. She took a small step forward and pulled him closer with a soft hand of the back of his neck. She met his wide eyes as she moved closer and pulled a smile as she pressed her lips dangerously close to his lips. She kept her hand where it was and only moved back to glance in his eyes. His own hand slid behind her back and she savoured every moment of his touch. No words were needed. All they needed was the mere presence of each other. Julie finally pulled away, throwing a shy smile in his direction. "Goodnight, Luke." He was grinning the widest she'd seen since they met. "Goodnight, Julie."

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #juke #juke fics #jatp fics #juke au #jatp au #luke patterson #julie molina #julie x luke #luke x julie

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aethersea · 4 years ago

Note

May I request 41 - First Kiss and 94 - Hair Brushing/Braiding for the Leverage OT3, please? (Also extra bonus points if you give Eliot beads in his hair like in The Ice Man Job, because we didn't get NEARLY enough of that in the show) Thank you!

I cannot believe I wrote this whole thing out and then never published it. I’m so sorry, it’s been at least twenty-four years since you sent in this ask, please accept my humble apologies and also this ficlet.

However, this prompt is just pure fluff, and I hate to tell you this but I am not a fluff writer. I just can’t pull off that unadulterated sweetness. I am in this fandom for the shenanigans, first, last and foremost! So this fic is now a 5+1 of Eliot and Parker trying to seduce Hardison.

1. Parker thinks they need to give him gifts, so she goes through her stash and picks out the largest, fanciest jewel she’s ever stolen. Then she realizes: Hardison likes stories. He spends hours giving their aliases histories and pets and allergies and favorite foods, he can get a whole sordid history of jealousy and betrayal from a single corporate email chain, and Parker knows for a cold fact that he writes little stories with his online friends about being wizards together.

She goes through her stash again and picks out the most cursed thing she’s ever stolen.

It’s a jeweled statuette, almost as tall as her forearm, made of gold and studded with precious and semi-precious stones. Mysterious deaths have befallen five separate owners of this thing. Its base is dented from the time it was used to bludgeon Owner Number Three to death. The tiny rubies it has for eyes follow you across the room.

Parker puts a bow on it and leaves it in Hardison’s room while he’s sleeping. He wakes up to this horrible little statue watching him from his bedside table.

He texts the group chat, Hey did anyone put an evil little gold guy in my bedroom last night? But Parker chickens out and says nothing (drunkenly betting Eliot that she can seduce Hardison is one thing, but admitting that she likes him is something else altogether). Everyone else texts back variations on “nope.” (Except Sophie, who just sends back a string of heart eyes emojis and a wikipedia link. She loves cursed artifacts.) So Hardison puts the statue away in a closet somewhere and figures he’ll deal with it later.

Parker is mildly offended that he put her gift in a closet. She goes into his room the next night and puts it back on the bedside table, where it clearly belongs.

This goes on for a week. Hardison puts the statue in a desk drawer, then in one of the cabinets in the office downstairs, then in the dumpster down the street. Every day he wakes up to those glittering red eyes watching him sleep. He’s asked his internet buddies if anyone knows a good exorcist. Hardison doesn’t really believe in curses, but also? What the fuck. What the fuck.

2. Eliot assumes the drunken bet will be forgotten by morning. What kind of world would it be if people always followed through on promises they made while they could barely stay vertical? So he spends the morning nursing his hangover and cleaning his knives. Cleaning guns is no good while hungover—all the snaps and clicks of popping things in and out of place sound like actual gunfire when you’re hungover, it’s a nightmare—but knives are quiet and have no moving parts. Buffing and polishing them is soothingly repetitive work, and every once in a while he can throw one at one of the dartboards on the walls and reassure himself that his reflexes are still sound even after that much tequila.

It’s only when he gets Hardison’s text about the golden statuette that magically appeared in his room overnight that Eliot realizes Parker’s actually going for it. After some internal debate about whether he’s going to stoop to this or not, Eliot decides what the hell and starts making plans.

Eliot agrees that gifts are the way to go, but not stolen gifts. Not things. Anyone can give a thing. Proper wooing is about giving experiences.

Eliot plans for three days. On the fourth day, he and Hardison have their irregularly scheduled monthly coffee date, and Eliot texts him beforehand to say he wants to do it at the brewpub this time. Hardison arrives to find a deceptively simple meal: basic country fare perfected through years of experimentation, made with the best ingredients Eliot can get his hands on. And Eliot, after all, is still a retrieval specialist. There’s very little in the world he can’t get his hands on.

And yet the night ends and somehow he has not gotten his hands on Hardison.

This is just not right. Eliot knows how to deploy a smolder, okay, Tangled reference aside he is damn good at flirting and he knows the looks he’s giving Hardison are clear as day. It’d be one thing if Hardison had turned him down, or if he’d been uneasily unwilling, or even if his eyes had widened slightly in suppressed panic and he’d abruptly found a reason to leave. Eliot can take rejection, bet or no, and he’d have bowed out graciously without a fuss. But this was much, much worse.

Hardison didn’t even notice he was flirting.

He’s going to have to up his game.

3. “How do you seduce people?” Parker asks bluntly, turning up at Sophie’s door just past midnight.

Sophie, despite the hour, is utterly delighted by the question.

This goes as well as you would expect.

4. Eliot’s taken a lot of dates to sports games. Hardison may prefer sparkly elves with purple lightning magic to a decent MMA fight, but baseball is the American pastime. Eliot gets them perfect seats, hot dogs from the best vendor in the stadium, even chilled beer that he smuggles in without letting it get warm. It’s going to be a perfect game.

And it is. At first. Hardison, it turns out, has a lot of opinions about baseball. What he does not have is an understanding of the rules. They’re not even into the second inning by the time Eliot finally snaps and starts arguing with him about it.

They make it all the way to the fifth inning before Eliot realizes that Hardison’s basing his complaints off the rules of a game from a Star Wars novel.

They’re at the bottom of the eighth before Eliot will speak to him again.

5. Eliot and Parker are drunk again. This is not intentional. They didn’t even mean to come to this bar, but the smoothie place with the fried oreos that Eliot had brought Parker here to try was playing such incredibly bad music that they’d ordered the oreos to go and fled. The bar was just the coziest looking place on the block, and of course they’d ordered drinks to avoid being rude––Eliot had entertained himself for a few minutes scouring the menu for something that would pair well with fried oreos and popcorn chicken.

And now they’re drunk. The conversation has, perhaps inevitably, turned to the ongoing bet.

“I tried everything!” Parker wails. “I laughed at every joke, I touched my hair constantly, I got him talking about things he likes.” She thunks her forehead on the bar. “All that happened is now I know the complete history of orcs in western literature.”

“Hardison wouldn’t know flirting if it pinched him on the ass,” Eliot grumbles.

Parker slaps his arm. “No pinching Hardison!”

“I’m not going to—I don’t pinch people!”

Parker’s ignoring him. Eliot pouts and takes another sip of his drink. He’s not entirely sure what this one is––it’s blue and kind of fizzy, that’s all he can say for sure. Parker took over the drinks menu several glasses ago, and she’s been picking them based on what has the most fun name to say. Eliot’s pretty sure the alcohol content’s been doubling with each order.

“Eliot,” Parker slurs, “we need to work together.”

“What?”

Parker lifts her head from the bar and frowns at him, the way she does when she’s figured out the obvious solution and is just waiting for everyone else to get on the same page. It’s adorable. It’s always adorable, but right now her eyes are wide and slightly unfocused from the alcohol and she’s listing sideways a little, almost as if she’s unbalanced, and it is the most adorable thing Eliot has ever seen. Parker’s never unbalanced, but some part of Eliot’s fuzzy brain thinks she’s about to fall on top of him and cannot wait to catch her.

“You can’t seduce Hardison,” Parker points out. Eliot is drunk enough to get offended by this, but too drunk to get out a complaint before she continues, “I can’t seduce Hardison. But if we work together, the two of us can definitely seduce Hardison. Together.”

Eliot stares at her. Then he takes another sip of his fizzy blue drink. Later, when questioned, he will blame his next words on that drink.

“Worth a shot.”

They take Hardison to a movie. They research for three weeks beforehand. They find the best movie theater in town, with the nicest seats, the biggest screens, and concession snacks that Hardison likes, and they buy tickets for the midnight premiere of the superhero movie that Hardison hasn’t shut up about for the past month. Parker even hacks into the theater’s computers in a last-minute fit of nerves and cross-references the credit cards with drivers’ licenses to make sure the people sitting in front of them won’t be too tall.

Parker witnesses a kidnapping in the parking lot while the boys are getting popcorn. They don’t even stay long enough to catch the commercials.

+ 1. “Hey Eliot,” Hardison says during movie night, a little over a week later. “Remember the Ice Man Job?”

Eliot groans. “I try not to.”

Hardison throws a piece of popcorn at his face. “Shut up. Remember how you did your hair for that one? With the little—those little beads on, like, a braid?”

Eliot shoots Hardison a suspicious glance. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Teach me how to do that.”

Eliot shoots Hardison another, more deliberate look, this one pointedly directed at Hardison’s complete lack of braidable locks.

Hardison rolls his eyes as if that’s a silly detail to get hung up on and leans forward to dig around in one of the boxes he has under his coffee table. He emerges with a ziplock bag of plastic beads in no time flat and hands it triumphantly to Eliot. Then he yanks a few cushions out from behind Parker, who’s sitting on his other side, and puts them on the floor in front of him. “Sit here?” he asks Parker, patting the cushion pile.

Parker takes a moment to consider being offended at having her cushions stolen, but curiosity gets the better of her and she just plops down between Hardison’s legs, grabbing the bowl of popcorn as she goes, and waits.

Hardison lifts her hair with sudden gentleness, drawing it over her shoulders and letting it fall down her back in a golden wave. His fingers brush against her neck. Parker shivers. Eliot is distantly aware that he’s gone perfectly still, focused with a hunter’s intensity on Hardison’s dark, graceful fingers carding through Parker’s hair.

Hardison leans back, hands on his knees, and Eliot breathes again. “Well?” Hardison looks over at Eliot, a tiny smirk of challenge on his lips. “Show me how it’s done.”

Eliot is suddenly, brutally aware of how close they are. Hardison’s couch is obscenely comfortable, which is half the reason movie nights are at Hardison’s in the first place, but it is not large. Their thighs are touching. Hardison leans away, to give Eliot access to Parker’s hair, and he’s still so close that Eliot would barely have to reach out a hand to—

Eliot ruthlessly shoves that thought down into the dark where it belongs. He dealt with this, he dealt with this years ago, and accepting Parker’s stupid bet doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the way Hardison and Parker look at each other. It just means he doesn’t mind losing for a good cause.

So he keeps his tone steady and his fingers brisk as he shows Hardison how to braid the clunky plastic beads into Parker’s hair, and if he flushes with heat when their hands brush each other, well, nobody has to know. He’s been trained to withstand eight different schools of torture. It won’t show on his face. His voice never once falters.

Parker has had no such training. Her lips have parted, and her breathing is shallow. She’s staring glassy-eyed at the TV. Hardison can’t see her face, sitting behind her, but Eliot watches her carefully, worried that they need to call this off. Parker’s not used to intimacy, to closeness that means something, and for all the three of them have spent half their movie nights literally on top of each other, this is something else. This has weight.

Eliot puts a hand on her shoulder, pressing down just enough that Parker startles and cants a glance over at him. Eliot raises his eyebrows in question, and Parker glares back: don’t you fucking dare. Eliot backs off. Hardison, frowning in concentration as he threads a wisp of Parker’s hair through a green bead, graciously pretends he didn’t see the exchange.

Hardison gets the hang of the beading fairly quickly, and Eliot shows him a few different techniques. He’s almost managed to convince himself that nothing is actually happening when Hardison says, conversationally, “You two are really bad at this.”

Eliot glowers his confusion. “At movie night? You started this, if you wanted to actually watch Alien then you shouldn’t have—”

Hardison’s smile is soft, but Eliot decides for his own safety to focus on the laughter at its edge. “No, at this.” And then he slides his hand onto Parker’s neck, caresses her cheek, and isn’t the slightest bit surprised when she gasps.

Parker whips around, and there’s hurt on her face but it dies in the glow of Hardison’s gentle, unteasing smile. Hardison pulls her up with the lightest of touches, and she goes, eyes fixed on his like salvation.

They kiss sweet and slow, and Eliot’s heart twists in his chest and he can’t breathe. He needs to leave now before he shatters in half, but if he moves then they will look at him, and he would rather never breathe again than meet their eyes right now.

Hardison breaks off the kiss, gazing at Parker with something just this side of wonder, and then he does look at Eliot. Eliot flinches. He opens his mouth to…say something, make some joke or hasty excuse and scramble out the door, but Hardison raises a hand to Eliot’s face, slides his long fingers to cup Eliot’s neck, and pulls him forward, as gently as he did Parker.

It’s a chaste kiss, no more than a soft press of lips, because Eliot is too stunned to respond and Hardison doesn’t push. It lasts a long time. A whole era of change happens in the span of that kiss, as everything Eliot thought he knew tears out of place and then settles, gingerly, into a new understanding.

Hardison pulls away, his hand still warm on the back of Eliot’s neck. His smile is pure sunshine. Eliot finds himself smiling back, helpless.

Hardison’s grin turns smug. “And that,” he says, looking between Eliot and Parker, “is how you do it. Y’all are disasters, honestly, I can’t believe two master criminals working together couldn’t manage a single real date—”

Eliot heaves a deep sigh and drags Hardison into a headlock, pinning his arms when he flails. Parker surges to her knees and starts tickling him mercilessly.

They don’t finish the movie.

#finx writes #I didn't quite get Eliot's hair in there but I hope this works anyway #leverage #leverage fic #leverage ot3

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srose-foxfire · 4 years ago

Note

Can you write a Damirae prompt on like their first date??

A/N: I been wracking my brain all day to pick just ONE idea for this particular prompt and being Valentine’s Day today. I wanted to give you all a small gift that I hope will bring you smiles. ^_^ Happy Valentines Day!!!

Enjoy!!!

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

“Hold me, whatever lies beyond this morning,

Is a little later on,

Regardless of warnings,

The future doesn’t scare me at all,

Nothing is like before.”

~ Simple and Clean by Hikaru Utada

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

A soft summer breeze swept Raven’s short hair, the young mage allowed the night cool air to sweep away her worries she had that evening. She didn’t understand why she was feeling uneasy. She has faced countless enemies before, and they would bring even the best hero some fear. But tonight, was a different battle, one she had never experienced before and could only rely on the knowledge she knew from her books. Her first date.

Raven always imagined and even dreamed what her first date would be; spending valuable time with someone who would understand better than she understood herself. Perhaps reading certain novels together, going to watch some movie at the cinema, or even just having a drink outside a nice small café. Raven had dreamt her first date would be awkward since it was just the start of their relationship, but she wasn’t sure if the feelings she was currently feeling were right. Raven felt restless, like she had no control over anything happening tonight. To make matters worse she felt her stomach turn inside of her, making Raven fear she would ruin the night if she hurled whatever she may consume.

Raven had prepared herself mentally not to act different. To keep being true to herself, but no matter how much she had meditated earlier that day it didn’t help. Who could act like nothing had changed when her date was none other than Damian Wayne? Publicly he was seen as Bruce Wayne’s second son and the heir to Wayne Industries. Internally? Raven knew him as the new Robin who had joined the Titans just five years ago.

The two would train and patrol together Jump City most nights. Now it was all different, Damian had come to her room one night asking for her presence in the training room. When Raven had gotten there, she assumed he wanted to continue her lessons in close combat training. Instead Damian wasn’t dressed in his Robin uniform he was wearing his civilian clothes with a bouquet of assorted purple flowers in his hand. His face had turned the strangest shade of red, before handling her the bouquet.

“I have feelings for you, I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I needed to tell you. Raven would you like to go out with me?”

And here she was. For their date, Damian had brought them to the same amusement park they had gone when he first joined the titans. Raven was sitting while Damian had gone off to get a snack while they rested. Raven lowered her head onto the cool metal table, she had acted foolish around him all night. First of all, for transportation Damian brought them on his cycle. Making Raven hold him tight for dear life and also making her very well aware of his hard abbs. Then throughout the evening she tried making small talk and somehow confess her own feelings. Though every time they got around to that specific topic Raven would go silent or change the topic. What was she evading? Did she not like him? Damian did make her feel differently, but she couldn’t quite put the words to it. Maybe-

Her train of thought was stopped as someone cleared their throat behind her; “I thought you would like something to drink?” Damian placed a soft drink in front of her.

“Thanks.” With shaky hands, Raven grabbed the drink from him. Damian sat down on the chair next to hers and opened up a small box of fries and onion rings. He gestured to her with a nod of his head and Raven timidly gave him a small smile before grabbing a fry, dipping it into some ketchup. They ate in silence, yet Raven wished she had the courage and speak to him about how she truly felt.

“Is there a particular ride you want to get on?” Raven looked up to find Damian looking through the park’s map. “We have three hours till the park closes.” He then added.

“Um… there’s that new rollercoaster Gar mentioned, we can do that?” Raven suggested, she put her drink down and she scooted her chair closer to his to take a peek at the park’s map and schedule. She found an event that would be good to end their most awkward night. “And there’s a firework show happening at midnight we can watch that… if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Damian added gently, without even realisng it Raven had rested her head onto his shoulder. Raven looked up, to see his emerald eyes looking down warmly at her. Raven had never noticed how green his eyes had been or how they seem to almost glow. She could feel her own face start to flushed, she quickly sat up and took the final sips from her drink.

Damian stood up and went to throw away their trash, he then returned extending his hand towards her. Raven took it but she couldn’t help but look away from him as her face grew hotter when Damian tighten his grip. He gently pulled her and the two started walking towards the rollercoaster. Was this it? She questioned herself, would her spun her around spontaneously and crushed his lips onto hers? No Damian wouldn’t do that, deep down she could feel he wanted to respect her and give her all the time she needed. Damian would act like a complete jerk to the team sometimes but underneath the bad boy act he was kind. Raven had seen it first hand.

Screams of terror were heard from above, she looked up as a speeding coaster whooshed by very quickly. From this point she saw two loops and a few spiraling twists. The ride looked amazing. Raven felt all giddy and before she knew what she was doing she gave Damian a big smile and pull him towards the ride’s entrance.

“I am glad to see you smiling and enjoying yourself.” Damian said in between huffs after the ride. They both had screamed their lungs out and now they were out of breath. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve seemed distant all night.”

“I am not good with all this, it’s new to me and I just want to- I don’t know make it memorable for you as it’s for me.

“Raven, you accepting my invitation is most memorable for me, these past few hours with you have been amazing. Shall we continue?” Raven could only smile and take his hand once again.

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

The night was nearing to an end, the fireworks were about to start, Damian had gotten them on a Ferris wheel before the show. Damian had even given a generous tip to the ride operator to have the ride stalled for when the fireworks started. They sat their together, awkwardly glancing around. This made Raven remember the first time they had share a ride on a Ferris wheel. From the corner of her eyes, Raven noticed Damian hand was trying to reach for hers while he looked away.

Raven could see his cheeks start to flush, she smiled as she reached and took his hand in hers. She looked up into the night sky and saw the full moon radiate of its silver glow. She turned her head and saw Damian was also looking up to the sky. That’s when it all made sense to her.

Raven let go of his hand, Damian turned looking at her with a lifted brow. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his very loud beating heart.

“I have feeling for you too, Damian Wayne.”

Raven couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh as she buried her face into his hard chest. As Damian wrapped both his arms around her, holding her tight against him. She felt silly to think she was dreading this night at the start, but now here in his arms Raven felt nothing but peace consumed her very soul. It made all sense now, when she and her friends imprisoned her father Raven had felt she couldn’t have a home anymore. That she would have to live out her days in Trigon’s hellish dimension, all alone. Then Damian came, in her darkest moment he brought a small speck of light that warmed Raven’s world. Damian Wayne brought her home, he was home.

Raven was content and she couldn’t stop the tears streaming down her face as the night starry sky was illuminated with thousands of fireworks. But she couldn’t see them, all Raven could see was Damian. Carefully Raven slipped her hands up to cradle his face, she smiled and pulled him in for their first kiss.

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

A/N: This was the second prompt that was requested. Feel free to send me any prompts ideas you may have though my next plan is to update the next parts to “First Impressions” and “Under an Autumn Moonlight” afterwards share the first two chapters to a longer Damirae fic (aprox. 15-20 chapters). So I have lots to write and I am very excited to share with you all what I have envisioned in my brain! Till next time!

~~S.Rose

#damirae #damirae fan #tumblr request #demonbirds #Damian Wayne #raven roth #damian x raven #i had too much fun with this #hope you enjoy #dc fanfic #fanfic writer #happy valentine's day 2021

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herstarburststories · 4 years ago

Text

Merry... Birthday?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: You love christmas, but Dean doesn’t. Yet, he might make an exception for your birthday this year.

A/N: This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr ‘s secret fic exchange. My secret Santa was @katymacsupernatural. Hey, honey! I hope you enjoy this and happy birthday! You deserve double presents, so here’s mine. All mistakes are mine!

Divider by @talesmaniac89 !

You loved Christmas.

It was probably a nostalgic longing for your long gone urban life. Just in the same way you’d still catch yourself looking through the news for election results or feel your stomach twist if you didn’t eat homemade food at least twice a week. You were dead to the government and certainly spent more on the road than in a home. Besides, you had met up with God enough times to know him. All the encounters and screaming and unapologetic abandonment should make you want to throw any baby Jesus against a wall or even climb on a Christmas tree just to shout about all the hoaxes so perfectly molded in patterns through our brains like braids.

Yet, something about you loved christmas.

The pretty lights always shining, it didn’t matter where you go. For once, all the city-- everything would be entirely made of light. Their incandescent glow always companishing each person, either it was in an once treacherous alley or only to make the kids' grin bigger as they watched them among the busy streets with wide eyed gazes. The confusion in the kitchen that often ended up with huffs bursting into chuckles between the smell of meals that were too much and would make a room for leftovers for the rest of the week. How everything seemed to be made only of happiness, and nothing could ever cut through those water; all the knives were suddenly swords for kids to play and no white gun. In Christmas, a house became a kingdom for every heart. Everything was good and felt through the skin to the bone, like a single glimpse, a hidden day of what would be paradise.

That was how you were raised, at least. The Winchesters didn’t share the same mindset, no. While you grew up with decorating the tree, they were hiding bodies in the dim light. Leftovers were all through their whole year, and Christmas was described as good or not with one single criteria: snow streets. They had to take one? Annoying date. They didn’t and there was eggnog? Bearable Jesus’s birthday.

Yet, you attempted to make the bunker the more festive possible: buying a bunch of christmas lights, cookies’ ingredients and even a small nativity scene. Your attempts to enjoy the date’s niciities ended up with Sam breaking his arm after crashing on the ground because you insisted on him putting the lights in a place higher than his age, not to mention the burned cookies that looked more like tiny monsters than gingerbread men.

Your parents used to make this look so much easier.

Although the youngest Winchester understood a little more about the concept of holidays, a believer in the good until the very end, his brother didn’t share the idea. You couldn’t say you were surprised. Dean just had two barely normal christmas in his life: one when he was dying and one with Lisa and Ben. Both situations made it to his heart only to shatter from the inside.

‘’Baby Jesus?’’ Dean snorted, shaking his head at the sight of you adjusting the weird little dolls in the nativity. He placed another ruined cook in his mouth, speaking with his mouth full next: ‘’We have the son of Lucifer, guess that counts.’’

‘’Don’t say that once Jack gets home.’’ You rolled your eyes, turning to face the oldest Winchester with your hands on your hips. How could he eat that? You couldn’t even make it a bite and Sam only had half of those. ‘’And stop eating those. They are burned.’’

‘’I’ve had worse.’’ He remarked, adding another cookie to his mouth. You grimaced, wondering for a brief moment how your boyfriend could be simultaneously the guy who saved the world and a man with the taste of a five years old.

‘’Yeah. But I’m the one who has to hear you whining about your bellyache later.’’

‘’I don’t whine--’’ You arched your eyebrows at his statement, making Dean huff in agreement. ‘’That was once and because of Sam’s weird ass vegan bacon.’’

‘’You acted like you were dying.’’

‘’My tongue was!’’

‘’So get this.’’ Sam’s voice interrupted your childish argument, catching the attention of both hunters like a shiny object did to a cat. ‘’Apparently we got an earlier christmas gift.’’

‘’What is it?’’ You asked, approaching the table.

‘’Three teenagers disappeared in the forest, all personal objects left behind.’’ Sam explained as Dean scratched out his neck to glance at his brother’s computer screen. Nothing like a case in Colorado. ‘’The authorities think it’s a serial killer. But one of the girls, Kayla Wodson, said she saw a weird, skinny giant take her friends.’’

‘’Ho ho ho and three bodies.’’ Dean clapped his hands together with a wry curve of lips. ‘’Alright. Let’s hit the road-- Wait, wait, wait. Where do you think you are going?’’

You were standing beside Dean while Sam raised to his feet, ready to pack his bags. Dean, nonetheless, was quicker than his brother, soon putting himself in front of Sammy; hands protectively standing in front of the youngest’s chest to keep him from moving any further.

He shook his head with a scoff. ‘’Dude, come on.’’

‘’Not happening, Sammy. You got a broken arm.’’ You mumbled a sorry along Dean’s big brother speech, to which Sam replied with a comprehensive smile. ‘’Y/N and I take care of it.’’

‘’He’s right. Must be the first time in his life, but he is.’’ Dean turned his head, furrowing his eyebrows at you ‘’Don’t worry. It’s just a wendigo anyway. ‘’

‘’Okay. Just…’’

‘’Don’t forget the fireblazer. As if your brother would miss an opportunity to use it.’’ You scrunched up your noise, causing a chortle out of Sam while Dean commented something about grabbing the specific instrument and walked away. ‘’Maybe you could call Eileen. Ask her to help you to back some christmas cookies.’’

Sammy shook his head at your wiggling brows. ‘’That doesn’t sound as sexy for me as it does for you.’’

Dean Winchester was good with numbers.

Not the urban numerical sense of the deal, of course. He almost didn’t make it in sixth grade with useless geometry and all that, and he still used his fingers to count when he had to deal with an equation. No, his good and quick way with numbers was easier, intrinsic to his head.

How many years since mom died? Seventeen. How many people did he have to save? All of them. How many years had he left? Less than he once owned.

Hunter math was simpler, and was all he really needed since he was four years old, running from the fire with his baby brother in his arms-- which brought him to the second section of his particular geometry: birthdays and death anniversaries. Dean never, ever forgot any special date. Those were his own holidays, the only worth celebrating and remembering. His wishes, grief, and cherishment were reserved for the people he loved, not some celestial assholes who saw his life like a book.

Therefore, his mind went on a golden rush for your day as soon as the Wendigo hunt took more than you both expected. You wouldn't be able to make it home before your birthday, which would be ending shortly, a matter of two or three hours. His inner engineers were useful tonight, in his vision, useful enough to make those sappy movies jealous. While you were washing some guts and leaves away, Dean went to the nearest convenience store. His long arms nesting a bunch of stuff he never dared to touch in years. The cashier with drowsy eyes and escarlet Santa hat seemed bored with his shopping, probably because she saw an uncountable amount of people buying the same things over and over. He couldn’t blame her for the suburban exhaustion. If anything, it was a small comfort for his war orbs to see and be a part of a scene so mundane.

He hustled back to the dive motel room, singing in relief to himself once he stepped in and heard you singing Christmas Tree Farm while the water rushed in. He grimaced at himself for recognizing that Taylor Swift song. How couldn’t he? That woman was 80% of all you heard everyday. Man, he was whipped.

Tilting his head back in reality, he started organizing in clumsy manners of putting everything in place for you. His bruised hands touching so carefully the fragile ornaments to make the motel room with grubby walls and weird black stan on the floor that only seemed to grow a little more like you.

You, the woman who put up with him, who laughed at his stupid jokes, and who watched Scooby Doo, all snuggled up to him every friday. You, the woman who switched from AC/DC to Taylor Swift and then Eric Clapton. You, the one who understood his job and helped him to wash off some of the blood on his hand and never got scared of how red the water could get. You, the girl who rolled her eyes at his first attempt of flirting and now stole his french fries and kissed his lips as if he was worth being delicate with. You, his breathing, his true holiday, his only act of faith besides Sammy.

Dean pressed his teeth against his bottom lip, looking up and down his little manual work. Part of him said it was ridiculous, he surely would make a lot of fun of Sam if he did that to a chick. Yet, mostly he was proud. He wanted you to like it. It wasn’t even near to what you deserved, but it was a piece of it. It was what the Winchester could give you, and that would be hopefully, enough.

While Dean was caught in the crossroad of judging and admiring his surprise, you left the shower with a towel wrapped around your head and lips mumbling Cocaine. Your feet glued to the ground once you witnessed what was in front of you: the room was decorated with christmas lights, a tiny plastic tree on the table, right beside a pie with candle on the top and two cup of what smelled like hot cocoa.

‘’Dean…’’ Your tender tone brought him back from his traineck thoughts as he turned around to glance at you. You chortled in astonishment as he raised his eyes and said surprise! ‘’What’s this?’’

‘’Well, it’s your birthday.’’ He shrugged, scooting closer to you with a smirk. Dean smoothly wrapped his arms around your waist, yours instantly resting around his neck. ‘’In my defense, they just had christmas stuff. Blame your parents for having you close to Jesus’ special day.’’

‘’Christmas stuff include pie and not cake?’’ Your brows knitted together, a heartwarming smile on your lips as you watched his expression marked by multicolored little lights. He smelled like something was a blaze, and you knew that was for standing too close to the candle and not for burning a body this time. Small changes.

He scoffed humorously. ‘’You like pie better anyway.’’ He nodded at the carnival-like situation around you two. Dean Winchester wasn’t the kind of man who got insecure, but you could catch a perk of brand nervous hesitation as his green eyes shot you an anxious glance. ‘’Did you like it?’’

‘’I loved it.’’ You pulled cheeks dimpled with joy that was kissed by Dean’s own smiling lips. The kiss was so gentle, it was his own palpable light hearted emotion. You being happy in his arms. It had been so long since he felt he could be enough, he could make someone happy. But you were right there. As you pulled away, another short kiss was given between playful words: ‘’That’s what I call a christmas miracle.’’

‘’Shush.’’ He leaned in and pecked your lips. As Dean pulled back, he couldn’t help but watch around with the pride of Hubris. His glance went back to you, a lopsided grin on his face. God, you loved that smile. You loved that man. ‘’So I added some whiskey to the hot cocoa. We could drink some, eat the pie, and see if those lights make a good improvise rope. What do you tell me?’’

All you could do was kiss him again.

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usaonetwothree · 4 years ago

Note

First of all thank you thank you thank you so much for the johnny whump!!!

Also wondering if there's any chance you will be writing any johnny whump featuring more johnny/Carmen? Maybe an extension of that part of The Agreement where she's examining his injuries? The thought just gives me total whumperflies!

Thank you so much for the message, Anon!! And you're most welcome! The show is just teeing it up so nicely. I'm really just continuing what they started :)

I hadn't thought about an interlude to The Agreement, but now my plot bunnies are going. Give me a few weeks to see what I come up with! I'll post it here for sure, and if it's long enough, I'll copy it over to ao3 as a second chapter.

In the interim, I have the start of a whumpy two-chapter fic that I don't know if I'm going to finish. Working summary is "Johnny doesn't have time to get sick. Besides, it's just food poisoning... right?" I'll post the completed first chapter below, and the plan for chapter two would be from Carmen's point-of-view from the ambulance ride through surgery and Johnny finally waking up. I wrote a lot of the ideas I had for her part into Conflict, which is why I think I'm stalled on it here in coming up with something different. I don't know how long it'll take me to figure that out (if ever) but at least you'll have the first chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Thank you again for the kind message!

Pain exploded in his side, worse than he’d ever felt before. He had reference for this: he’d torn, strained, bruised, strained, dislocated and broken many things in the past. This pain blew them all away. It was he’d been stabbed with a hot knife up to the hilt, and someone was twisting it around in his guts.

His hand went to the area, came away warm, but he wasn’t bleeding. Felt like it. Felt oozing and wet and raw.

Somehow, above the nausea, above the stabbing ache in his head, he knew this was serious. And he needed help.

He couldn’t remember where his phone was. Didn’t have time to stop and think.

With every inch of his skin on fire, he leveraged himself off the couch and almost screamed as utter agony raced up his side. His knees buckled but he didn’t let himself fall. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t get back up.

Partially hunched over, he stumbled forward, careful not to jar his torso. He caught the door before the handle, barely cracking it open before he almost fell through. He jabbed his right elbow into the stucco wall, used that as a guide.

Elbow on the wall, left hand on his abdomen, trying to hold whatever was wrong in. One foot in front of the other.

It was the only thing going through his head.

Left.

Right.

Left.

A chill tore up his spine. His brain went fuzzy for a second and his elbow came away from the wall.

He almost went down again, caught himself at the last second. Leaned so far right he almost bashed his head into the stucco.

But he was vertical again.

He kept going until he hit another door.

The door that could help him.

Everything hurt now. He was sweating, burning up. His eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head, and his limbs were trembling.

He tried to knock, lost his balance. Went down in a heap of limbs.

His side crashed into the ground and fire tore through his abdomen, pain so sharp and intense he couldn’t speak—couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think.

He thought he smelled something familiar. Heard something close. Felt something against his forehead.

But it was lost in a wave of blackness.

A * A

Twelve hours earlier…

Daniel LaRusso walked into Miyagi-Fang to hear a sound he was uncomfortably familiar with. As his own stomach churned in sympathy, he stepped closer to the small wood door leading to the bathroom and rapped on it.

“Everything okay?” he asked, scrunching up his nose as the stench filtered out into the dojo.

“Fine,” a thin voice gasped.

“Johnny?” Daniel rapped harder on the door. “Let me in.”

“‘m fine.”

Daniel then heard the toilet flush and someone heave themself upright, before the faucet was turned on.

“Johnny, what’s wrong?” The worst-case scenarios were flashing through Daniel’s head: Johnny had gone after Kreese and gotten his ass kicked, he was drunk and trying to sober up before class…

But when the door slid open and a pale-faced and miserable Johnny stepped out, Daniel knew both were wrong.

“Are you sick?”

Johnny shook his head, then winced. “Don’t think so,” he said as he shuffled to the inlaid bench and sat down, propping his head against his hands with his elbows braced against his knees. “Bologna might have turned."

“I told you you should stop buying that stuff,” Daniel said as he fetched a water bottle from the small fridge and sat down beside Johnny, sliding it between his side and forearms.

“Then what am I going to have for breakfast?” he groaned, ignoring the bottle of water.

Daniel lightly wiggled it so it tapped Johnny’s arm and side. Groaning, the other man straightened up so his head was leaning against the paneling and took the water. “Cereal.”

Johnny took a small sip of the water and grimaced. “Milk goes bad,” he said faster but in a much steadier tone.

“Drink it faster. Or have eggs and bacon.”

Johnny groaned and clenched his jaw as his chest heaved painfully. “No more… food talk,” he ground out.

“Duly noted.” Daniel stood again and grabbed a towel, wetting it in the sink and laying it over Johnny’s forehead as he sat back down.

At first, Johnny pulled back in surprise, the towel slipping, but then he caught it and visibly relaxed.

“Thanks,” he muttered, closing his eyes and resituating the towel.

“How are you going to teach like this?”

“It’ll pass.”

“Uh huh.”

“Weren’t supposed to... be here this early,” Johnny mumbled as he shifted in his seat. He winced again then slowly lowered himself so he was lying on the bench, bringing his socked feet to rest on the wood as well. Daniel, who had originally been in the way, just shifted so Johnny could lie down unimpeded.

“That’s not making me feel a whole lot better.”

“’ll be fine by four,” Johnny replied. “Got like... an hour right?”

“Thirty minutes at best, and you know Miguel is always early.”

“’ll be fine by then,” Johnny repeated, somehow sounding so sure that Daniel found himself believing him.

He stood, then lowered the singular shade over the window. “I’ll come get you before class starts.”

Johnny just shook his head, though Daniel had yet to see his posture actually relax.

And yet, twenty minutes later, Johnny was standing in the backyard, dressed in his gi, looking… surprisingly normal. He was still a little paler than usual, but had clearly tried to push some color back into his face, judging by a few fading streaks on his cheeks.

“How?” was all Daniel could ask. The last time he’d had food poisoning, it had taken him four days and a trip to urgent care before he could leave his bedroom without puking.

“Mind over matter,” Johnny mumbled, straightening up as the kids began to stream in through the door.

That was… bullshit? Unbelievable? Incredible? But at the core of it, so very Johnny.

The kids were so caught up in the latest non-karate drama at the high school that none of them shot Johnny another glance. He did look at Daniel, grinning genuinely, and mouthed, “Thanks.”

Daniel just nodded, then set out doing the last bit of preparations for class.

A * A

If Johnny was being honest with himself, he should have known something else was wrong. His stomach had been hurting all day, even though he’d barely eaten anything since dinner yesterday: fried bologna, ketchup and some leftover rice Carmen had brought a few days ago.

But there was too much going on for him to be sick. There was getting the kids ready for the All-Valley, so they could once and for all remove Kreese from Cobra Kai—not that Johnny would be reinstating that name anytime soon anyway; his budding relationship with Carmen—which Miguel still did not know about; and the knowledge that Robby and a handful of his other students were doing who-knew-what under Kreese’s command.

There wasn’t any time for his problems.

So he’d taken a Tums last night, not really understanding how that had shown up in his medicine cabinet, and tried to sleep it off.

He’d shot awake somewhere around two, tangled in a thin sheet, sweating so badly it felt like he’d just come in from a run. But something else was wrong. His face felt too hot, the skin too tight, and his stomach continued to flip lazily, despite him begging it to stay where it was.

He’d cranked up the fan, and sipped some water, which was a mistake.

His stomach had rolled and he was puking up his meager dinner not long after. He sat there for a long time, head leaning against the cool seat, until he’d fallen asleep. He’d woken again when his forehead slid off the toilet and thudded into the vanity.

He was cool this time, freezing, and shit, that was signs of a fever. That much he knew.

He did not have time for this.

Still on his knees, he managed to reach the shower dial and turn it on. Then he crawled into the tub, clothes still on, and sat there, letting the cool water beat on him while he shivered uncontrollably.

He could not get sick. This had to be a twenty-four hour thing. The kids all came in with their runny noses, who knew what they got into at school. Maybe it was time he caved to LaRusso wanting hand sanitizer stations on the way out for those germ-minded kids.

Eventually the freezing water had become unbearable and he barely managed to reach back high enough to turn it off. Then came the more difficult task of stripping off his wet clothes, which he ended up doing still sitting in the tub, because the act of fighting with his clothes while standing seemed rather exhausting.

But then, he did have to get up, and it took everything he had to stay that way. His head swam and his stomach lurched.

That was when he felt a stabbing pain in his stomach around his navel.

No way this was some sort of flu.

He was reminded of Miguel pulling the package of bologna out of the fridge and frowning at the date. “This is over a week old, Sensei.”

“It’s fine,” Johnny had said.

Miguel had looked a split second away from pitching it, but had put it back in the fridge and chosen the bag of pretzels on the counter instead.

So this was food poisoning. It had to be.

He’d be in for a rough night, but it should be over by tomorrow, when he needed to be at the dojo, when he needed to be on.

The knowledge didn’t make his illness any easier, but it had made it manageable. He’d thrown up a few more times; felt his stomach cramp so severely, it doubled him over; and had eventually fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, ankles bracing the toilet, head leaning back against the far wall.

He didn’t feel better, per say, when he woke, but good enough to haul himself out of the bathroom, change into a loose shirt and sweats, and into the kitchen where he sipped at some OJ, literally the only thing in his entire kitchen that didn’t send his stomach rolling again.

At some point, he’d passed out on the couch watching TV and had jarred awake two hours before class.

He had to be there.

So he’d dry swallowed some aspirin and chewed another Tums, begged whoever was up there to keep them down, and headed out with the OJ tucked under his arm.

He’d barely made it to the dojo when his stomach began to cramp again, induced by the shifting horizons while he was driving. LaRusso found him and his once-nemesis had been surprisingly gentle. When he was better, Johnny owed him more than just a quick thanks for being decent about it, instead of leaving him to suffer on his own.

He’d had to pull over on the way home to puke again. Though he didn’t know what he was bringing up at this point. It was all acid and gunk from what he could see.

He was less than a mile from his apartment complex and he sure as hell wasn’t walking, so he slid back into the car, focused with all his remaining energy and went approximately ten miles an hour in the righthand lane the remaining way.

His fever was kicking up again as he parked, and his stomach began to ache with new intensity. He barely made it to the couch before he was retching again into the bowl he’d so left there earlier for just that purpose.

His head was pounding, his ears ringing, and the pain in his stomach had shifted so it was on his lower right side. He’d bruised a kidney before and it’d hurt in its own way, but it had been nothing like this. He hadn’t even fought anyone since Kreese. Couldn’t risk injuring himself and getting benched. Not with everything that was at stake.

It felt like he was getting the massage from hell, but inside, down in his guts. They were churning, dancing, twisting, oblivious to the pain they were causing. His actual organs hurt, however that was possible.

He sipped at the water, and immediately retched it back up.

Somewhere deep down he knew that was bad. Knew he needed to stay hydrated. Knew he hadn’t drunk enough the past eighteen hours. Knew he could replenish some of it from the shower, but it was so far away.

He just leaned his head against the arm rest, shifting until he found an angle that didn’t make him violently nauseous, and must have passed out.

It was only when he woke up that he knew something was seriously wrong, and that he had to get some help, and ended up passing out again in front of Carmen’s door.

Only it hadn’t been Carmen who answered.

“Sensei!” Miguel shouted, trying and failing to catch the older man. “Mama! Yaya!” he shouted as he dropped to his knees beside his Sensei, whose face was red and flushed but otherwise seemed uninjured.

“Sensei, please.” Miguel begged, tapping Sensei’s face and feeling the heat radiating off it. “MAMA!” he yelled again as he jabbed his fingers into Sensei’s neck, finding a thin pulse.

Then arms were on his shoulders, pulling him away, as his mom replaced him.

“¡Llame una ambulancia!”

Yaya was telling him to back up, was shoving her phone into his hands.

He didn’t remember making the call, but he must have. His mom was trying to rouse Sensei, had unbuttoned his shirt, and was swearing.

“Qué pasa?” Miguel demanded, but she didn’t answer.

“Ice, Miguel,” his mom was ordering, still bent over Sensei. “Quick!”

His feet were moving, grabbing whatever frozen vegetables they had in the freezer and handing them to his mom, who was placing them around Sensei’s neck, under his arms, around his groin.

Sensei groaned, flinched, but didn’t rouse.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel heard himself ask, but his mom was telling Yaya to take him in the apartment instead of responding.

“No!” he shouted, planting his feet. “I'm not leaving.”

His mom turned to look at him, a bit of panic in her eyes before she could hide it. “Go inside, Miggy. Please,” she said very carefully.

As much as Miguel didn’t want to, he did. Until he heard the sirens. Then he was outside the door again, watching as the paramedics swarmed Sensei.

They were asking his mom a bunch of questions and she was rattling off the answers. Then Sensei was on a gurney and they were rolling away and his mother was climbing into the ambulance with him, and then they were gone.

Miguel felt Yaya’s arm wrap around his upper back, not tall enough to reach his shoulders, and he turned and buried her head into her shoulder, letting the tears fall.

#johnny lawrence #carmen diaz #daniel larusso #cobra kai #cobra kai fanfiction #asks #answered #THANK YOU

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friendlylocalwriter · 5 years ago

Text

Stay With Me

Pairing(s): Clark Kent x fem!Reader

Summary: You work at the Daily Planet and can’t stand Clark Kent, until he saves your life.

Requested : No

Word Count: 2,514

Warnings: Violence (not too graphic), swearing, a little smutty if you really squint, and Clark Kent’s a bit snarky ;)

A/N: i’m not a huuuge fan of how this turned out, but i just watched The Witcher and needed to write something with a henry cavill character! i’m thinking of doing some geralt of rivia fics, let me know if yall would like that! p.s., i also posted this fic on AO3 if yall would prefer to read it there (my username is violettaren). enjoy! requests are open :)

You sighed heavily as you thumbed through bill after bill, the glaring red ink of PAST DUE seemingly taunting you.

“Jesus, Perry, how did you let it get this bad?” you tossed the papers on his desk, placing your hands on your hips.

Perry White pinched his nose, leaning back in his rickety wooden chair.

“Why the hell do we think we hired you? Out of the kindness of our hearts?”

Silence fell in the room before your head fell back in laughter, and you were met with confused eyes when you looked forward.

“You don’t get to be facetious when you’re on the verge of bankruptcy, Perry. I mean, look at this,” you reached over and picked up a sheet of paper with the payroll on it. “You’re paying people when they aren’t even in the office? I mean, what did you expect?”

Perry snatched the sheet from your hand, scanning it to see what you were going on about. Your brows furrowed when his gaze hardened on a specific name.

“Jesus Christ,” he rolled his eyes and slammed the paper back on his desk. He ruffled through the drawers in his desk and pulled out a red pen, furiously scribbling on the payroll.

“What?” you leaned over to see if you could sneak a peek on what got him so angry so quickly. He handed the sheet back to you and let his head fall, emptying any breath he had in him.

“Of course it’s him,” he said, his voice low.

Confused, you glance down at the paper to see a circled name staring back at you.

Clark Kent.

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

“What’s this meeting for, boss?”

You sat down as Perry moved to the front of the conference room, next to a large projector. He had called in his lead reporters for an ‘important conversation’, and everyone in the room knew this wasn’t ending kindly. You looked around, trying to gauge the different expressions on your soon-to-be coworkers’ faces. Your eyes stopped first on a woman with burnt orange hair, her chest rising rapidly due to her quick breathing. You shuffled through the papers given to you by Perry, and it was easy to determine that to be … Lois Lane. Her eyes met yours and she gave you a shaky smile. You simply raised your eyebrows in return and looked back down at your agenda.

You didn’t mean to be a dick, but you had business to do, and your job didn’t make you the nicest person in the office.

Scanning the room, you continued to identify each member until your gaze fell on him. His light blue eyes pierced through his thick-framed black glasses and didn’t budge when you looked over at him. You took in his defined, angular face and tilted your head, almost staring at him as if he were an attraction. His expression was unlike anyone else in the room - his smile was wide and bright and he leaned back in his chair, letting his shirt tighten with his movements. You could smell the confidence oozing out of his pores. You didn’t even need to take a look at your sheet to know who he was. You simply humphed and turned your attention to Perry.

The presentation included Perry viciously yelling at his employees for nearly an hour. You couldn’t blame him though - employees gone for weeks at a time, using company funding for flights and housing - if it continued, the Daily Planet would definitely be going under.

Which is why you needed to put this Clark Kent character in his place.

“Mr. Kent,” you called out before he left the room,.“May I have a word?”

He held the door for the other employees, and once everyone was gone, he turned over to face you with a Cheshire-like grin on his face. It took every bone in your body not to let your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“I don’t believe I got your name,” he walked over to you with his hand extended, waiting for you to shake it.

Jesus, his hands are big.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Kent, I am not having this conversation with you in hopes of becoming your friend. We need to discuss your extended leaves of absences without prior notice,” you said, handing him a large stack of papers. You noticed his body tense slightly before he relaxed and picked up the papers.

After a short silence, you heard what sounded like a … giggle? You didn’t trust your ears, because this 6-foot, incredibly muscular man did not just giggle in front of your fucking face.

“I guess I am gone a lot, huh,” he shuffled through each paper, snickering.

You felt your face get warm, and you clenched your jaw.

“Mr. Kent, I’m not sure what-“

“Clark,” he interrupted, looking up at you. “Call me Clark, no need to be formal.”

You wanted to rip that goddamn smile off of his face.

“Well, Clark, I’m not sure how things are run around here. But, you are single handedly costing this company a fortune. To be completely honest, I am not sure why Perry hasn’t fired you yet to be honest,” you sighed, standing up to face him.

“Maybe he’s in love with me,” Clark grinned, looking down at you.

You let out a dry chuckle and shook your head, licking your lips as you gathered your things.

“Let me be very clear with you, Mr. Kent,” you straightened, not allowing his daunting height to waive your confidence. “There will be no more unannounced absences. If you need to leave, I need to be contacted at least 24 hours before, but I would prefer 48. And, while I determine base pay, there can be no absences for the next month. Do you understand?”

He said nothing as he looked down at you, his smile slowly morphing into a smirk.

“Mr. Kent,” you let any humor leave your voice and spoke very slowly. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes Ma’am,” he replied, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth. “Duly noted.”

“Great,” you forced your eyes away from his face as you glided past him, smoothing out your pencil skirt.

“Y/N is my name, by the way,” you said as you opened the door, feeling his eyes burning the back of the head.

You knew this guy was gonna be trouble.

—————————————

It’s been around two months since you started working at the Daily Planet, and you have finally begun to found your footing. You’ve been forced to be very strict with the reporters, giving you a not-so-nice reputation, but hey- it’s working. For the first time in the entire year, the company is actually not losing profits. Go figure.

It’s too quiet, you thought as glanced above your cubicle to see everyone was gone. You grabbed your phone to look at the time.

12:46 AM

No wonder it was silent - everyone had already left. You sighed, standing up and feeling the entire weight of the day as you did so. You aimlessly shoved papers and notebooks into your messenger bag and turned to leave, jumping when you see Clark standing right in front of you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Kent, you scared me,” you hunched over with your hand on your heart. “What are you still doing here?”

“I came over to ask you the same thing,” he adjusted the strap of his bag, and you noticed that the top button on his shirt was unbuttoned.

Hmm.

“Perry wanted me to finish some work before I left, and some work became more and more and…” you trailed off, your brain so fried that you couldn’t even think.

Clark raised his hand, hesitating, before placing his hand on your shoulder. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his large grip on you.

“I think White’s working you too hard, Y/N. You always leave after me,” he said, leaning his head down slightly. The space between the two of you was small. Too small for your liking.

You shrugged his hand off of your shoulder and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Suddenly, Clark cares about me? That’s new,” you gritted through your teeth. He winced, confused by your anger. You were confused yourself on why you had gotten so angry. He doesn’t matter.

“I’m not deaf. I hear what Lane says about me. And you seem to have no problem agreeing with her,” you tried to speak with conviction, but it came out so weak and … wanting. That’s not who you are. Frustrated, you start speed-walking away from him towards the elevator.

His expression fell and he jogged to catch up with you, calling your name.

“Kent, please leave me alone. I need to get home,” you felt his hand move behind you and came right next to your head and fell against the wall, trapping you from moving.

“Y/N,” his voice was hoarse. “Please, let me explain.”

You shut your eyes hard, feeling the burn of tears trying to come forward. Without a word, you quickly twisted and pushed his hand away, rushing towards the stairs and nearly falling as you sprinted down. For a reason you couldn’t explain, you felt a ping of sadness when Clark didn’t follow you.

Your heart dropped when you realized you had to walk home alone, as a woman, during the night all the way from Metropolis to Gotham City. Wiping the tears off of your face, you kept an iron-clad grip on your bag and started your twenty-minute walk home. You ignored the cat-calls and gross comments from men on the street, and you managed to make it to the front of your apartment without a scratch. Relieved, you press your keycard into the front of the apartment entrance door when you hear your name called from behind you. Initially, you think the voice was Clark, but it was too high and scratchy to be him. You turn around to see a figure that you couldn’t exactly make out in the dark.

“Who are you?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.

The man stalked towards you, and once he came into the light, you immediately recognized him.

“Don’t you own Lexcorp?”

His laugh was cacophonous, making you cringe as you tried to slowly create more distance between the two of you. Within a blink, fingers were pressing into your throat and your back slammed against the door. You gasped, reaching up to try and scratch at the man holding you, and his fist collided with your cheek. Your head dropped involuntarily, and you felt blood drip from your face onto the floor.

“You,” he squeezed out, his voice manic and shaky. “Are the key to what I want.”

“I don’t… know … what you’re-“ you gasped, trying to keep your eyes open and hold on to any consciousness.

“Don’t worry,” he cooed, tutting condescendingly. “Superman will save you, won’t he?

He punched you once again, and your head slammed against the glass door. The sound of glass shattering was the last thing you heard before your body went limp.

——————

Fuck, your head hurts.

You cracked open your eyes and tried to push yourself off of the bed you're laying down on, but your whole body feels like it’s a thousand pounds. You let your body fall back into bed and reached to grab the comforters, but your eyes widened in fear as you felt the duvet in your hands.

This isn’t your room.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you forced yourself onto your feet, staggering as your head pounds. Disoriented, you opened the door to the unknown apartment and attempted to make a beeline for the front door when a hand grabbed at your arm. You’re about to scream before you hear his voice- Clark’s voice.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s me, relax,” his voice was soft, so soft, and he used both of his hands to hold you up.

“Clark?” You whispered, letting your body relax in his arms.

“Yes, it’s me, it’s just me,” he moved one hand to wrap around your waist and the other rested on your face, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out. Lines danced across your forehead as you scanned his face, trying to figure out what exactly he was apologizing for.

“For what, Clark?”

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, and you started to slowly gain awareness of your surroundings.

“What am I doing here? And why does my head feel like I was body-slammed into concrete?” you sighed as you rubbed your head, attempting to soothe the shooting pain.

“It’s my fault.”

Silence fell between the two of you as you tried to digest the pain in his voice.

“I’d love a bit more than three word sentences, Clark,” you joked after a few moments, but Clark didn’t even crack a smile. Your heart fell in your stomach - if you were the one joking and Clark wasn’t being insufferable, something was definitely off.

“Clark, please talk to me-”

You’re cut off by Clark’s lips pressing onto your. Your eyes widen with shock as you feel his lips mold against yours. you try to rack your brain to figure out what is happening but your mind is empty - every thought you had escaped as your mouth met his. Your heart banged against your chest as you let him deepen the kiss, his tongue dancing inside your mouth. You felt a flutter in your lower stomach as his grip on your waist tightened, and you moaned softly into his mouth, bringing your hands up to his muscular chest. You opened your eyes slightly to peek at Clark, making sure this wasn’t a figment of your imagination, but it wasn’t. The way he was kissing you was very real.

You softly pushed him away as you gasped for air, his lips pink and swollen and his eyes glazed over.

“Only you would kiss me after I’ve been beaten to a pulp, Kent.”

He smiled that gorgeous annoying smile and rested his forehead against yours as he sighed contentedly.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he chuckled, shaking his head lightly. “But you were too busy scolding me to let me do it.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? Of course, of course,” you struggled to feign anger, but you just couldn’t get the shit-eating grin off of your face.

He kissed me.

You took your hand off of his chest and grazed it down his arm until you got to his hand, slowly interlacing your fingers.

“Tell me what happened last night, Clark,” you squeezed his hand, letting him know that kissing you wasn’t going to get him out of this. “Why did Lex Luthor try to fucking kill me?”

His eyes refused to meet yours, and you pressed into him harder.

“Clark-”

“Okay,” he relented, staring down at your intertwined hands. “I’ll tell you everything, under one condition.”

You raised your eyebrow in amusement. “And what would that be, Kent?”

“Stay, here, with me.”

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman x you #superman x y/n #dc #batman v superman #dceu #superman #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #superman fanfic #superman fluff #batman #henry cavill x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #headcanon

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kafka-ish · 5 years ago

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what billy doesn’t know won’t hurt him | r.t.

when things get heated between bill and richie, richie takes it a step further. now things are heated between bill, richie, and bill’s girlfriend.

word count: 7,429

warnings/included: nsfw (smut but it’s vanilla), cheating, pining, angst(?), fem!reader

a/n: this concept is awful and this whole fic was written for my own self indulgence so i hope you’ll forgive me

It was no surprise that Bill would be the first of the Losers to get a girlfriend and Richie knew this. What’s not to like about Big Bill? He had a certain leadership quality and charisma to him that no girl could resist. His stark auburn hair and tall figure probably didn’t help either.

Richie first met Bill’s new belle at the arcade. The Losers made plans to meet each other there one Friday night in celebration for their exam week ending.

“Guh-guys, I’m br-bringing my guh-guh—”

“Guacamole? That’s cool and all, Billiam, but I’m sure you can just get some there.” Richie erupted into a fit of laughter because that was the thing about Richie; he always laughed at his own jokes whether they were funny or not.

Bill’s backhand flew to the underside of Richie’s chin and Eddie cringed at the jarring sound of skin on skin. Bill grew tired of Richie’s incessant interruptions. His friend never seemed to let him finish a thought.

“No.” He let out an annoyed sigh, hoping it would come across as an indication for Richie to maybe, for once in his life, get his head out of his ass. “Mm-my girlfr-friend.” Once he finished his sentence, he made sure to shoot Richie a smirk. It looked the same as his smirk he wore when he finished beating him at chess or when one of the other Losers’ got in the last word instead of him. This time Bill got in the last word.

“That’s good for you, Bill!” Bev piped up. “We need another girl around here.” She looked to the room of all boys in slight disgust. “Not that you guys aren’t great —”

“Well... Now you’ll have someone to have ‘girl talk’ with.” Ben looked around to Bill, Richie, Stan, and Eddie. All except Richie nodded in agreement.

“Tough crowd. You can count me in on the girl talks, though.” Beverly slapped the suggestive look right off Richie’s face which he yelped at.

“Richie, you’ve been slapped so many times, you should be numb to the feeling by now.” Stan shook his head as a disappointed mother would, but his smile said differently.

Their conversation continued; ranging from what grades they received on their finals and what time they would meet up.

They decided on six.

But Bill was late. Bill was never late.

“Where’s Bill?”

The Losers were squeezed together in one of the booths the lounge area of the arcade had to offer. Beverly and Ben’s shoulders pressed together while they sucked down the same strawberry milkshake. Mike sat beside the couple, because neither Stan nor Eddie would, while picking through the fries to find the crispy ones.

Eddie, Stan, and Richie sat on the other side. Stan kept complaining to Mike about how he “shouldn’t touch every one of the fries” and that he was “hogging all the good ones.” Eddie, on the other hand, ran his mouth about the multiple diseases Ben and Beverly could catch from sharing their food (or anything for that matter).

“Probably getting one-off in the bathroom with—”

“Beep Beep, R-Richie!” It was the man of the hour. Bill silenced his friend to which the rest of the group was thankful for. Even though Richie’s anecdotes could be entertaining, they did not want to hear about their friend’s sex life: made up or not.

“Hey, Big Bill!” Richie turned a ninety in his seat to see the look on his friend’s face, but he didn’t expect to be met with the scene of Bill and his arm wrapped around some girl. A hot one at that.

Bill kissed her temple before directing his attention to the group. “Everyone, th-th-this is—”

“I’m y/n.”

“Mmm-my guh-girlfriend.” Bill said this almost too proudly.

“I didn’t know Billiam was actually capable of getting some.” Richie fell into a fit of laughter and held up his hand for a round of high fives he was expecting. But instead of a slap on the back and a “good one, Rich”, Richie was given a variety of bored and ‘are-you-serious’ looks.

“Anyway,” Stan broke the silence. “y/n, you wanna pull up a chair? Sorry, we didn’t get a table big enough…”

“It’s ff-ine,” Bill said as he was climbing into the booth next to Richie. “There’s room.” He gave y/n a suggestive look, raising his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth upturned slightly. His girlfriend ducked her head; embarrassed in front of Bill’s friends she had never met before. She could feel her cheeks heating up and the group’s stare on her when she went to sit on Bill’s lap.

To that, Richie whistled and said, “What’s next, are you gonna make her give you a lap dance?” Anger took over Bill’s body. His muscles tensed under his skin and it became harder to conceal his scowl. “Don’t worry, doll.” Richie started whispering into y/n’s ear. “If Bill gets hard you won’t—you won’t notice since he’s —”

Richie couldn’t finish his sentence. Partly because his laughing prevented him from doing so. Bill had also jabbed him in the shoulder causing Richie to pull away from the couple.

“Gee, Bill, I didn’t know you could—”

“Richie, that’s enough!” Bill, no longer able to keep his composed expression, raised his voice.

All the Losers watched intently. Bill never raised his voice, so to say that this was a rare occasion was just as much of an understatement as saying, “Stan liked birds.”

“Luh-look, Richie, I th-th-hink you’re a funny guy. A li-little too vulgar fo-or my taste, but yo-you make the room laugh. But luh-late-ly you’ve been making a lot of juh-jokes regarding muh-me—”

“Or what you don’t have.”

“Th-this is what I’m ta-talking ab-out.” Bill watched his friend sternly, waiting for an apology. Even the smallest sorry would be good enough for him.

Richie stayed silent.

“You… you know, it-it’s funny that you muh-make all th-these jokes ab-about mm-me when you’ve nev-her had a girlfr-hend. God, Richie, cuh-can you even guh-get a girl to… to like yo-you back?” He recalled all the times Richie had been rejected. How Richie must be the least desirable kid in school with his track record of turn downs.

Stillness filled the air. Aside from Bill’s lengthy speech, none of the Losers had said anything for the past five minutes. What was there to say? Even Richie was left speechless.

“We’ll b-be guh-going now.” y/n slid off Bill’s lap. She waited passively for him as he got up from his seat. Bill wasted no time for goodbyes. He walked out of the door with a swagger that none of the Losers had seen on him before. But y/n stayed behind, awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“It was nice meeting you all…” Her attempt to ease the uneasiness between them was admirable. “I hope we can do this again sometime, yeah?” She was a sweet girl. The words that left her mouth were... genuine, not just being said because of the unexpected outburst at the table.

She parted from the group shortly after, not wanting to keep Bill waiting long. Richie’s eyes were glued to y/n’s backside while she pranced towards the door. The way her hips swayed were captivating and even though her dress was loose it was just short enough to—

“Richie, you’re staring.”

“Am I?” Richie averted his eyes away from Bill’s girlfriend, now finding the voice who’d scolded him.

“Yes, and it’s disgusting,” Stan scoffed. He shot Richie a glare but not his usual glare. Stan was actually disgusted. His eyes were squinted slightly, and Richie could tell his brain was trying to figure out what was going on in Richie’s own.

“Okay, everyone agrees with me that y/n is way too hot for Bill, right?” Richie asked the group. A little gossip never hurt anyone right?

But the responses were lackluster.

“I think Bill and y/n look cute together!” Beverly was the first one to defend Bill. Ben nodded after her because let’s be honest, that boy agreed with everything she said just to keep himself on her radar.

“I don’t feel comfortable talking about this behind Bill’s back.” Mike was next and he wore an uncomfortable look on his face. Multiple Losers (everyone except for Richie) had agreed with him on that one.

“y/n seems nice—”

“Exactly!” Richie could almost jump out of his seat as he cut Eddie off. “Bill doesn’t deserve her!”

“I think someone’s jealous.” Richie snapped his head to look at Stan who wasn’t doing the same. He was too busy wiping off the condensation from his drink glass.

“Why would you say that?” Richie’s eyebrow rose at the accusation and there became a burning need for an answer that grew inside him. The rest of the Losers had also become intrigued.

“First of all, you think she’s hot—”

“Richie thinks anything with legs is hot,” Eddie said, and everyone forgot what the conversation was about for a moment as they took a minute to laugh at his remark.

“Richie, why don’t you think y/n’s good enough for Bill?” Stan asked.

There was no response while Ben, Beverly, Eddie, Mike, and Stan had their eyes on him. Although Richie usually handled himself well under pressure and in social situations, he felt a bad concoction of the coke he had just downed and the fries he was snacking on creeping their way back up his throat for a second taste.

“Hey, Stanny, I didn’t ask for ya to go all Freud on me.” Richie chuckled; trying to brush off the funny feeling in his stomach.

Richie felt a sort of relief wash over him when he was let off the hook. Ben and Beverly were playing a game of tic tac toe on a napkin and Mike, Stan, and Eddie found themselves in a three-way debate: Jurassic Park versus Jaws. Eddie was offering The Wizard of Oz to the table since his mom hadn’t let him watch either yet, but Stan and Mike wouldn’t budge.

But it didn’t help that Richie’s thoughts drifted back to Bill’s words earlier that night. God, Richie, cuh-can you even guh-get a girl to… to like yo-you back? Could he? A swarm of unwanted memories infiltrated his mind. Cierra from math class who had laughed in his face after he said, “Are you a forty-five angle? Because you’re a-cute-y.” Or when he asked out Elle, his longtime crush, to homecoming only to be told she had a boyfriend. The list goes on.

Those words apparently had such an impact on Richie because they followed him to the weekend which was spent laying on his bed as Bill’s voice echoed through Richie’s brain over and over again.

You… you know, it-it’s funny that you muh-make all th-these jokes ab-about mm-me when you’ve nev-her had a girlfr-hend.

“Never had a girlfriend, huh?” Richie thought aloud to himself in the safety of his own room. Just like a lightbulb would, Richie’s eyes lit up as an idea took place in his head. It was totally selfish, evil, and went heavily against the ‘bro code’. But who would Richie be to not go through one of his plans?

The bell signaling dismissal had just rung when Richie finalized his plan.

Meet y/n at her locker.

Drive her home from school.

Show her what she’s missing.

Serve Bill some sweet, sweet revenge.

Richie was the first one out the door—as always. But instead of his usual pace which solely relied on his long legs to carry him, he dashed for the hallway—like a prisoner making a break for it.

After peering through the sea of people long and hard, he spotted the same silky hair and small figure he’d seen the other night at the arcade.

“Hey, beautiful.” Richie propped himself against the row of lockers attached to y/n’s.

“I have a name.” And if it weren’t for the smile on her lips, Richie would’ve thought she was actually annoyed at him.

“You got a ride tonight?”

She shook her head while closing the door to her locker. “Yeah, actually.” y/n swung her backpack strap over her arm. “My boyfriend’s taking me home.” She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her face turned a bright shade of red in front of this boy.

“That’s a shame.” A disappointed clicking sound left his mouth. “I got a seat next to me in my car that’s calling your name.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” y/n offered. Her tone sounded just as angelic as it did the other night.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Richie left y/n with a wink and nothing more.

Richie, did in fact, hold y/n to that. And to Richie’s surprise, y/n did keep her word. The next day followed like the last. His shoulder slanted against the metal doors while he watched the girl pack her stuff. Even her smallest actions were mesmerizing.

“You know, doll, I’m surprised you took me up on this offer.”

“Oh, really?” y/n’s eyebrow raised slightly, almost as if she were challenging him.

“Kind of.” Richie forced himself to chuckle. He turned so that his back was now held up by the lockers. “Won’t your boyfriend be mad?” He was now rethinking his plan. This awful plan of his that would most likely be the end of his and Bill’s-

“Nah.” The sound of metal slamming startled Richie and he was now standing upright. “Besides, what Billy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She threw a suggestive wink in his direction. Did Billy know his girlfriend was a cheater?

“Jeepers, babe. Don’t tell me you’re only kidding.” A quizzical look sprawled itself across Richie’s face and his eyes searched hers as if he were looking for something.

A giggle so saccharine it was probably drenched in maple syrup beforehand left the girl’s glossy lips. “I’m joking.” She shoved Richie with her elbow as they walked side by side. “Bill doesn’t know.” Her voice lowered, “but you’re his friend so it’s not like that matters, right?”

“You betcha’.” Richie had to swallow down one of his stupid remarks just to make himself sound convincing. He looked down, once they’d got to his car, and tried the handle only to be met with the fact it wouldn’t budge. A string of curses fell off his dirty mouth and he could hear a series of muffled laughs coming from the other side. “Ha. Ha. Laugh all you want, hot stuff, I’m here all week.” It took Richie long enough to realize that his car was locked.

Begrudgingly, he fished the keys from his pockets and finally got the door open.

“You’re a great chauffeur.” y/n rolled her eyes while buckling her seatbelt. “Hot!” She seethed, cradling her left hand that touched the hot metal from the buckle with her right.

“Aw. You need someone to kiss it better?” Richie cooed, delicately taking her hand in his.

“I’m good.” If y/n were any other girl Richie swore she would’ve flicked his head and called him an idiot. Instead, she coyly retracted her hand and looked out the window—actively facing away towards him.

A few seconds of quietness passed between them before y/n decided to break it. “So, tell me, Rich.” Richie had to keep himself from taking his eyes off the road. “Why’d you offer to drive me home?”

“Is chivalry so dead I can’t drive a gal home?”

“I mean…” She took a moment to stare at the car’s ceiling so she could find the right words. “Bill’s your best friend.”

“Don’t pretend what happened on Friday, like, didn’t fuckin’ happen.” Richie was being sarcastic, of course.

“I know he said some harsh words but—”

“Hey.” His voice calmed. “If Bill and I are best friends, then he shouldn’t have a problem with this. Right?” Richie looked over at y/n to see if she’d agree with him. “Right?”

“Okay,” she gave in. She shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes, but it was enough confirmation for him.

“So, what’s the story between you and Big Bill?” Richie drummed on the steering wheel while y/n mulled over an answer.

y/n felt herself shy away at the question and as she recalled the events of Bill asking her out.

They first met in chemistry. Somehow, y/n had managed to let the dean switch her schedule so late in the year since Henry Bowers had accidentally spilled an aluminum chloride mix on her brand-new jeans.

“I’ll be deciding your lab partners today. Ever since last time I don’t think I can trust you guys to pick your own partners anymore.” Mr. Davis looked tired and y/n couldn’t blame him. In her head, she kept track of everyone who got paired together. Once he’d gotten to Gretta Keene, she soundlessly thanked god that she had been paired with Stacy. “y/n y/l/n and Bill Denbrough.”

y/n almost missed the bored voice as she was too lost in her thoughts.

Bill Denbrough?

Her eyes curiously darted around the room, searching for the sea of students in the desks surrounding her.

A pair of bright blue eyes finally caught hers. A pair of bright blue eyes that had to belong to Bill Denbrough.

“You-you’re y/n, rih-right?” Bill was now standing in front of her. She didn’t realize when he got up from his seat.

“Yeah.” y/n stood up to reach his eye, but she still stood noticeably shorter than him.

Bill’s once apprehensive demeanor visibly morphed into an expression filled with calmness and relief. Aside from his friends, she was the only other person who wasn’t impatient with his stutter. He felt he could immediately be vulnerable with her—not that he would be. But if this chemistry lab were the only time he would find himself interacting with this girl, Bill would seriously beat himself up for it.

The rest of their story was, essentially, history.

y/n liked having Bill as a lab partner. He was smart. He did his share, unlike her past partners who would pass notes to pass the period while y/n slaved away on the project by herself. He also didn’t hold any of the chemicals they were working with dangerously close to her, pretending as if he were going to spill them on her and then actually spill them on her.

It was on a Thursday morning when Bill met y/n on her way into school. Even though his watch showed seven-thirty am, the moon was still out and the only light in the sky was from the lampposts cemented into the sidewalk.

“H-hey, y/n!” It was odd to be as enthusiastic as he was this early, but y/n brushed it off—it must be post-coffee jitters and the effect was still wearing away.

“Hello.” Her voice still had a tiredness to it from when you first wake up in the morning.

“I was… I was won-wondering ih-if you wuh-would…”

“Yes?” y/n prompted. She glanced at him, making eye contact, which only worsened Bill’s nervousness.

“Would… would yo-you want to go ou-out wih-with me?”

Waiting for an answer felt like forever.

“I thought you’d never ask!” y/n beamed, and all signs of grogginess seemed to leave her body.

From then on, Bill and y/n went on dates. They were casual for the most part. y/n never felt the need to dress up and Bill never felt the need to buy her flowers. The only thing he did end up getting her was a stuffed bear which was twice her size.

The carnival would only be in town for a few days and y/n practically begged Bill to go—not that he needed much convincing. You could count him in as long as she was there.

Bill didn’t normally bother with carnival games—he knew they were rigged. But maybe it was the way the carnie teen running the booth talked to y/n that night. Or maybe it was the way y/n stared adoringly for the stuffed animal hanging from the plastic tent. In either scenario, Bill still spent twenty-five bucks and wasted an hour in the frigid air to eventually hook the ring over the milk bottle and win y/n that stupid bear.

“I think I’ll call it Bill,” she whispered as she squeezed the plush doll close to her chest.

“I-it’s the luh-least you cuh-can do.” Bill wrapped his arm around her even though he was the cold one.

“Wuh-wuh-we’re here,” Richie said. His voice masked with Bill’s stutter pulled y/n out of her dream-like state.

“That’s not nice, Rich.” But y/n couldn’t help to let out the smallest of laughs. She unbuckled her seatbelt only to find it wasn’t her house he drove her to once she opened her side of the door. “This isn’t my house.”

“Oh… it isn’t?” Richie never missed a beat; making sure to put on his ‘I’m-a-big-stupid-head’ act that his teachers never bought. It was worth a try.

“Take me home.” y/n crossed her arms and kept herself planted in the passenger seat of Richie’s car, which was just Wentworth’s old one that he’d given to his son once he splurged on a new one.

“Shit, toots. I thought you’d wanna stay a while. Have some fun.” Richie wiggled his eyebrows and wore a clown’s grin. How could she say no to him?

“We can have fun another time.” Like that apparently. “I really do need to get home, though.”

Richie’s been rejected loads of times before and he’s resented every one of them. He couldn’t resent y/n though—with her puppy dog eyes and the way she had him like a worm on a hook. She was something else.

“Alright.” Richie gave in. He keyed the ignition and started for the road again. His arm slung around y/n’s seat as he backed up and y/n couldn’t help but feel fuzzy at the small action. “So, you’re tellin’ me Big Bill never got you flowers?” Richie’s eyes never left the road no matter how much he wanted to stop the car and pin y/n down right then and there.

“Nope,” y/n said, popping the ‘p’ sound. “But I don’t mind.”

y/n minded.

Richie could tell she minded when he greeted her at her locker with a bouquet of daisies. He was sure if y/n didn’t already have a boyfriend she would’ve jumped him right then and there.

Oh right. Boyfriend.

“Are these for me?” y/n gasped, in awe at the dinky looking bouquet. It was just ten flowers held together with the same twine you’d use to tie a package with, but it was ten flowers she’d cherish.

“Who else would they be for, sugar?” Richie scoffed and handed off his homemade bouquet to the most stunning girl he’d laid eyes on.

y/n gave him a sly look and shoved him in the arm.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Ready to go where?” A look of confusion was drawn on her face and Richie couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

“I’m takin’ you home again, aren’t I?” But Richie was disappointed when y/n just chuckled in response instead of interlocking hands with his and skipping off into the sunset with him.

“I didn’t know you changed your name to Bill.” y/n brought the daises up to her nose. They didn’t have a scent, but her eyes fluttered at the petals tickling her nose and her stomach did backflips.

“Bill-Bill’s taking you?” His expression faltered and he had to swallow to keep his cool.

“I don’t know who else would,” y/n said this as if she just forgot what happened yesterday.

“I’ll be going then.” Richie pointed to behind him with his thumbs and looked back. He took one last look at y/n until he noticed a Bill Denbrough coming into view: a sign he really needed to leave.

His head hung low and his back hunched forward as he walked out the doorway. It was useless. y/n was utterly in love with his best friend while he was—was he in love with y/n?

No.

Richie Tozier does not love unless it’s his mom and rock n’ roll vinyls.

And y/n did not love Richie Tozier.

Richie felt himself mope all the way home at the thought of him being unlovable. Hell, he moped all the way to the weekend.

After his last encounter with y/n, Richie couldn’t bear to face her again. Embarrassment filled his chest every time Bill mentioned her at lunch, and he felt like shoving himself in a locker any time he spotted her in the halls.

That was until seeing her became unavoidable.

At first it was at the quarry.

Stan had already arranged for the group to meet up over the weekend and of course none of the Losers would pass up an opportunity to hang out with each other.

What Richie didn’t know was that Bill would be bringing his girlfriend. It seemed he’d be doing that a lot from now on.

“Is bringing y/n gonna be, like, a regular thing?” Eddie whispered in Bill’s ear.

Bill laughed awkwardly, unsure if he should reconsider taking y/n to the next hangouts he’d already planned to. “Wuh-when yo-you start dating, yo-you’ll under-sta-hand.” Bill then gave Eddie a pat on the back and walked off, looking for a rock he could leave his clothes on before he started for the water.

“Yeah, Eddie.” Stan laughed from behind Bill. “Wait until you’re older. Then, maybe, you’ll understand.”

Richie, on the other hand, was watching his friends from afar. He became uncharacteristically quiet as soon as y/n and Bill showed up. Only until Bev called that the last one in would be a rotten egg was when he finally shed himself of his clothes and raced the others to the water.

“Guess you’re the rotten egg, Eds!” Richie swam over to Eddie, splashing him in the face while doing so. Anything that would distract him from y/n would do. Even if it was a stupid conversation like this to pass the time.

“I told you to not call me that,” Eddie said crossly. “And if you’re going to splash like that, aim anywhere else but my face because who knows what’s been in this water—”

“Yeah, yeah. Cute story, Eds.” But Richie didn’t care for yet another lecture of Eddie’s. His eyes began to wonder. He was looking for y/n and good grief he had to stop himself before he was in too deep.

But it was a little late for that.

“Are you even listening to me?” Eddie swatted at Richie’s arm just like the times Richie had done to him.

“No,” Richie admitted.

Luckily, the contact between him and y/n had been limited. The only time he had to talk to her was when he was about to part from the group and say his goodbyes.

“Looks like I gotta blast, guys.” Richie looked down to the wristwatch Stan was wearing and Stan sneered at his friend for standing so close to him.

“Bye!” y/n was the last to call out, but her voice was the most prominent of the group’s.

The next two times the group met up, y/n included, Richie had also been able to get by with the least interactions as possible between her and him.

It was only until one lowly Sunday night when Bill and y/n had gotten into a fight when avoidance had become impossible for Richie.

“I can’t believe you would say that about me!” y/n had somehow accomplished being louder than the music blasting from the jukebox sitting in the back of the arcade and the sound of machines running combined. “I thought you were better than that, Bill.”

“I-I don’t guh-guh-get wuh-why you’re s-so off-f-hended.” Bill maintained a calm composure which only bothered y/n more.

“I think it’s the fact that you think I’m a prude that offends me so much.” y/n scoffed. Her arms were crossed, and she wore a stare that could kill.

“Yo-you know… i-if you-you’re so mm-mad I don’t underst-stand why you cuh-came.” The anger bubbling inside y/n started to radiate onto Bill.

“Because we have to talk about it!” She grabbed onto Bill’s arm when he tried to walk off.

“Can’t wuh-we juh-juh-just talk about th-this later?” Bill said in a growl. But later for him meant never.

The beginnings of what felt like tears started to form in y/n’s eyes. She let go of Bill’s arm and took a deep breath. “Okay,” she whispered, “we can talk later.”

Richie watched his best friend and girlfriend argue for what seemed like forever but was only about five minutes. He’d witnessed arguments before but none of them ended like this. When the couples at school argued they would usually make out right after. But this was different. y/n was hurt, and Bill was beyond annoyed.

“Hey.” Richie walked up to y/n as soon as Bill joined Stan and Mike for skee ball. “What was…” He traced his fingers against the brail of one of the arcade machines, doing everything he could do evade eye contact. “What was that about?”

“Will you take me home if I tell you?” A stray tear made its way down y/n’s hot cheek.

“Sure thing, babe.” Richie offered his hand for y/n to take. She did; her fingers intertwined with his and the pad of her thumb ran along the rough skin of the back of his hand.

When the two got to his car, Richie opened the door for y/n (as a gentleman should). This was followed up by a thank you and a shy smile.

“So, I’ll listen while you just sit back, enjoy the drive, and pour your goddamn heart out to me.” Richie started to turned his keys into the ignition. “Sound good, sweetheart?”

y/n’s heart jumped a beat and she could feel herself grow near feverish. She fiddled with her thumbs and swallowed her spit, hoping she’d find the courage to soon speak.

“It started last night,” her meek voice spoke up. y/n’s eyes were glued to Richie’s dashboard. It was covered in dust. “I was at Bill’s house and it was getting late.”

Bill craned his neck so he could find the time on his alarm clock that sat on his nightstand. He could’ve just asked y/n to check, but she seemed so at peace. He didn’t want to disturb her.

“It’s nine,” he said. His lips touched the shell of her ear, making y/n shiver.

“Should I go home?” y/n asked. She perked up and rubbed her eyes. She’d been dozing off, but even in a tired state, Bill found her perfect.

“Nah.” Bill tightened his already tight embrace on her. “I-I can tth-hink of some-something we can d-do.” He ducked his head so he could brush his lips against the sensitive skin on her neck.

y/n winced at his touch. Yet she still turned within his hold and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” Her voice hushed and fragile.

“Yuh-yeah,” Bill said shamelessly. He cradled her head in his palm. His blue eyes bore into hers. The same blue eyes that had found her when their chemistry teacher paired them together. “C’m-mmon.”

“Bill, I…” y/n’s eyes danced across his features. His beautiful features she’d grown infatuated with from the moment they met. “We’ve gone over this, I thought.” Any sort of confidence she had was now lost.

Bill took a moment to study the girl in front of him. He loosened his hold around her and sat up, propping himself against his headboard. “I f-feel like we… like I’ve juh-just been wuh-wuh-waiting.”

y/n copied her boyfriend’s movements, making sure to not break their gaze as she adjusted herself. “And I respect that,” she said softly.

“Yeah b-but yo-you’re muh-my girlfriend.” He took her hand in his. “I wuh-wanna do guh-girlfriend and b-boyfr-hend things.”

“I thought we did do ‘girlfriend and boyfriend things.’” y/n’s left eyebrow started to raise.

“Th-there’s only s-s-so muh-many times a guh-guy can get himself o-off.” Bill immediately regretted the words that had just walked right out of his mouth and presented themselves to his girlfriend.

“Bill…” But that’s all y/n could seem to say. She sat there, confused. Bill would never say something like that. But he just did. The Bill y/n knew was kind, thoughtful, and patient. This wasn’t the Bill she knew.

“Do-do you tr-trust me?” Concern struck Bill’s face.

y/n was conflicted. “Trust doesn’t equal sex, Bill.” She drew her hand away from his and started mindlessly picking at the skin on her thumb. She got up from the bed and made her way to the door. Bill couldn’t quite read her expression as she did, but just her getting up was enough for him to tell she didn’t want to be around him.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”

y/n nodded before walking out.

But tomorrow was just as bad, or even worse, than that night.

y/n had spent the whole night ruminating over what Bill had said, and once he had arrived at her house, she was livid.

“What did you mean? Last night?” y/n began the car ride with a debriefing.

“I-it was s-stu-stupid, r-really,” Bill said nonchalantly.

“No.” y/n was relentless. “What did you mean?”

“I wuh-was ho-horny, y/n/n. B-but, god. It wuh-wouldn’t kuh-kill you t-to not be a pr-prude ff-or once i-in your luh-life.” y/n couldn’t believe what bullshit her boyfriend was spouting at her.

“Our fight continued until we got to the arcade,” y/n said, still sobbing from her previous encounter with Bill.

Richie was at a loss for words. All he could do was keep his eyes on the road and drive the two to their destination, which didn’t take long. Either y/n’s house was closer than he thought or just her company made ten minutes feel like three.

“Stop here,” y/n informed.

Richie slowed to a stop in front of a two-story house that looked like the others it was built next to. There was a bench swing that hung from the patio roof and a family of potted plants that resided in one corner of the porch. The house’s paint was dull and lifeless, resembling the rest of Derry.

“Thanks for taking me home.” y/n spoke again, drawing Richie from his thoughts of wondering what her room looked like.

“Ye-yeah. No problem-o.” He took in a deep breath and tapped his foot against the floor of his car.

y/n leaned over, as much as her seatbelt let her, and felt her lips graze his cheek.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Richie was quick to pull away. He stared at y/n with his big doe eyes and her glassy, soulful ones helped his case none. Isn’t this what he wanted?

“Really, Rich.” y/n then made sure to take off the seatbelt which was restraining her from doing anything further and scooted closer to him, ignoring how uncomfortable the gear stick felt as it dug into her thigh. “You’re sweet.”

“Well, I don’t like to brag but I do pride myself on being-“ y/n cut him off with a kiss to his lips this time. Richie sighed into her mouth. He knew it was wrong, but he just couldn’t help it.

God, Richie, cuh-can you even guh-get a girl to… to like yo-you back? The words he’d clung onto ever since that one Friday night made their way back to his frontal lobe. It must’ve been a month, yet the sentence stuck.

And Richie kissed back.

He swore he heard the faint sounds of fireworks clapping in the distance as his lips pushed into hers. Her soft, pouty lips that sent tingles down his back every time they connected with his. Richie’s right arm coiled itself around the small of y/n’s back and he found his left hand stroking her cheek. And just as fast as y/n planted one on him, she sprung back.

“You alright?” No, she’s not alright, dumbass. She just got into her first fight with her boyfriend and she’s coming to his best friend as a therapy session.

Much to Richie’s dismay, y/n nodded. “Your car’s uncomfortable.” Was all she said before opening the door to let herself out. Richie was about to curse himself out for letting her slip through his fingers and kissing his best friend’s girlfriend until he flinched at the sound of a knock on his car window.

It was y/n.

She opened the door for him like he had once done for her and waited for him to join her in the now moonlight. “Do you want to come in?”

“Christ.” Before then, Richie had never been so fast to take off a seatbelt.

The two hurried up the lawn and eventually her porch. Richie’s hand was squeezed by y/n’s smaller one. He reveled in the feeling of her holding onto him as if he were to float off if she didn’t. The two stood outside her front door like a shy kid, hesitant to ring the doorbell because it’s their first time over.

“Are your parents home?” Richie questioned, trying to get a peek through the windows even though they were closed off by the curtain.

“I don’t know,” y/n mumbled while she riffled through her mini purse. She was searching for the house key. “Finally!” She held up her key chain proudly before inserting the shiny, golden key striped with white nail polish into the lock. “Stay.” She looked to Richie like he was a puppy in training school.

y/n walked in reluctantly. Her hands messed with the strap of her purse. “Hello? Is anyone home?” She looked around the house for any sign of her parents. After a good few seconds, y/n turned to Richie with a slap happy grin on her face. “The coast is clear!”

Richie strolled in, acting as if he had all the time in the world. He made sure to shut the door behind him and y/n grabbed him by the collar as soon as he finished locking it. “My room is upstairs,” she said in between a needy kiss.

Richie didn’t need to be told twice as he ran up the wooden stairs with her. She surprised him with her lips on his once they got to the top. Her tongue swiped his bottom lip to which Richie granted access. y/n grew hungry with lust as her tongue danced with his. The only reason she broke apart from him was to better guide him to her bedroom. Surely, they couldn’t have sex in the hallway.

Richie was given no time to admire the yellow paint and magazine clippings that decorated y/n’s room. Instead, he was left to find y/n’s sweet spot and the lingering scent of her vanilla perfume as his lips roamed every crevice of her skin. He brought her down to her bed and he knows he’s never seen such beauty when her hair fans out against her sheets in every which way.

“Rich.” His name only leaves her lips when his aren’t on her. The same lips he’s tasted a thousand times already but would always be surprised at the taste the next time they collide. The same lips Bill’s claimed.

But this was Richie’s turn.

y/n’s hands dared reached for his dark roots, eliciting a moan from Richie that was downright animalistic.

“God, Rich. I didn’t even do anything,” y/n said, playing the innocent card.

“We can do something about that.” Richie offered. He licked the desperation from his lips as he waited for an answer.

“Okay.” y/n giggled and lifted her arms up. A sign for Richie to find the goddamn clue and undress her already.

Richie complied. He begged his excitable hands to stop shaking as he began to raise the fabric, revealing just how perfect y/n really was. Eagerly, his lips urged a kiss to hers once he got both their shirts off. It was quick and the start of his trail of kisses which lead down, down, down. His chapped lips tickled against the sensitive skin of her breast.

His mouth wrapped around the petal, causing y/n to squirm, entangling their legs together.

“Do you like that?” Richie teased. y/n moaned in response.

Taking the hint, Richie parted from her left nipple and began giving her right the same attention.

“Rich—” y/n was cut off by her own sigh of pleasure. “Do something.” Her voice was breathy and not at all stable. Richie grinned. He could listen to the noises she made any day.

Reluctantly, he broke his contact with her so he could undo his jeans. The sound of denim hitting the floor made y/n groan and she pulled him close again. They laid skin to skin. Richie was so close, y/n could tell he’d been smoking earlier.

Her arms encapsulated him and if this were any other girl under any other circumstance, Richie would’ve questioned it. But this was y/n.

He dipped down so he could connect his lips with hers and he could feel ten crescent shaped markings carving into the skin of his back. He didn’t have to be told twice to give y/n what he knew she wanted.

Richie slowly peeled off y/n’s skirt, the gradual pace left her yearning for him even more. He slid his index and middle fingers in at the same speed he took off the skirt.

y/n threw her head back at the touch. The whines escaping from her mouth egged Richie on even more.

Faster, faster, faster.

His thumb swept against her clit in circular motions. His strokes against her sensitive nerves drawing y/n closer to the edge. Her hips jerked up to feel closer to his touch. Her want had Richie chuckling. No girl would give him the time of day before her. Richie wanted to bask in the feeling forever.

“Do something, Rich.” y/n gasped and attached her lips to his neck. “Please.” Richie’s breath hitched in his throat at the request.

He hesitantly pulled his fingers from her heat, replacing them with him. Her folds slicked his length as she willingly let him stretch her walls.

“You’re so hot,” Richie whispered into y/n’s ear. He cringed at the words once he heard himself. “You feel so good.” The affirmations sent shivers down her spine. y/n fell into a state of bliss as his speed picked up. He hiked her legs up his waist and she ardently wrapped them around him.

His pace quickened. Richie felt like he was going to explode and the girl beneath him was close.

“Rich, Rich, Rich.” His name rolled off her tongue wonderfully and he would give anything to hear it til the end of time. Another cry fell from her beautifully parted lips. “Rich, I’m—”

“I know, doll face.” He placed a gentle kiss to her forehead while he pulled out. He took his thumb from previously, rubbing the bundle of nerves until she matched his high.

He collapsed onto the covers next to her as soon as they both finished. A final grunt escaped his throat while doing so.

The two were spread across y/n’s bed in silence for a while. y/n stared aimlessly at the ceiling; Richie doing the same. It had just then occurred to Richie that he fucked his best friend’s girlfriend. Guilt took the form of a teenage boy as he looked over at y/n. He still couldn’t help but think of how alluring she was. There was mascara smudged beneath her eyes. Sweat running down her brow bone. And her hair was a mess. He had more than enough energy to go at it again, but he knew better than that.

This was Richie’s cue to leave. He got up, throwing on his clothes. He didn’t even care that his shirt was on inside out. He just needed to get out of there.

He was almost out the door until a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Rich.” The same voice he’d give anything to hear for eternity.

“Yeah, baby?” Richie was about to curse himself out for calling her that if she hadn’t replied so soon.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He could’ve creamed himself at the words. He could’ve ripped off his clothes again and taken her once more.

But Richie knew better than that.

He didn’t even look back; only nodded and strolled out the door as if nothing happened. Because as far as Bill was concerned, nothing happened.

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