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thoughts-on-bangtan · 3 years ago

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JK Day 2021

...and what a day it was. I know we’re a bit late with this when looking at KST but in our time zone it’s still September 1st so it counts, right? Besides I wanted to wait until the day was over for them so I could have everything the members would post for JK so I could put it in this post as memory for us to look back on in the future.

Furthermore, as extension for the celebrations, I want to finally sit down, write and post our post about JK and his bonds with the hyung line since it’s been so long since two anons asked us about that so what better time than the weekend after JK day, right?

Anyway, let’s get into it, shall we?

The day before JKs birthday he came onto Weverse and posted three different things, including a cute selca:

Everyone of course turned up their creativity to post something for JK and also wondered among themselves what he planned on using those lyric comments for, and if he would use them for anything at all.

Sometime later before the new RUN episode aired, Seokjin appeared on Weverse and, for whatever reason, commented birthday wishes for JK under the Weverse post about the upcoming RUN episode. Because of course he did.

More than an hour before midnight KST everyone got a notification from vlive that JK had gone live:

And truly, considering it was about to be his birthday, I love how it felt more like it was ours with the gift that kept on giving that this vlive turned out to be.

Lots more below the cut:

Remember those posts that JK made in the morning on Weverse? As many, including myself, had guessed, JK gathered some of the lyric comments he liked most, or thought would work best, and proceeded to turn them into an actual song right before our eyes. The instrumental was gorgeous with a acoustic guitar and ballad like melody and it was truly fascinating watching him figuring out how to sing the lines, record them, redo them whenever he felt he could do it better, add adlibs in some places, and slowly but surely a song was created with lyrics in both English and Korean.

This really was the content I’ve always craved and I’m so, so happy we got to watch JK do this instead of him just showing us the final thing. You could see him having fun, even when he got a little frustrated at times or he wasn’t quite sure how he wanted to continue or how he wanted the words to sound like, and that he really knows what he’s doing. So many claim that Bangtan have no idea about producing and recording songs, which truly is such a stupid argument to make considering Yoongi is literally Producer SUGA and we know that, if the members want to make mixtapes they have to do them themselves, which we know Namjoon, Yoongi and Hobi have done. So JK doing all of that in the vlive? Checkmate against those idiots. Especially since it also isn’t the first time we’ve seen members work on tracks, like the behind the scenes of rap line working on DDAENG or Hobi working on songs, or even JK with Stay, even if we didn’t know it’s Stay at the time.

Once the song was finished JK went on to show us several more instrumentals he could’ve worked with, each one with a different vibe, before switching to singing a song by Justin Bieber saying he really loves his songs a lot. And then it was nearing midnight so he unpacked the cake he got, white icing/fondant with purple lettering spelling out STILL WITH YOU JK, very cute.

Right as midnight hit someone started to bang on the door so JK got up to see who’d come and, surprise, it was a very excited Hobi wishing him a happy birthday including singing the birthday song for him upon JKs request while JK lit up his golden heart shaped candle.

Hobi again returned two minutes after he’d left (between when at 1:18h JK mentioned that, for the first time that night, he’d do one more song to finish off the vlive, ha) to give him an ice cream cake he’d prepared, but also to get his phone which he’d accidentally forgotten in the room JK was in.

Once Hobi really left and JK got a taste of his ice cream cake, as well as the white cake which turned out to be chocolate flavored, the vlive concert began and, at the time, none of us knew what we were in for since we all thought he’d really do one or two more songs and that would be it. And yet that very much is not what happened, at all, and I’m so grateful for it.

This might just be the funniest screenshot in existence (please take note of the time stamps):

No wonder that, eventually, Seokjin decided to come onto Weverse to post wishes for JK a second time while also saying this (the picture is from their unit photoshoot for Winter Package):

The imagine of Seokjin just sitting in bed or whatever watching JKs vlive and hearing him say last song every like ten minutes and every time he just kept going...and going...and going while Seokjin is just waiting...and waiting...and waiting? Hilarious. But it’s also really cute how he’d wanted to wait until JK was done to not interrupt him or pull ARMYs attention away from the vlive. Truly I adore their bond, it’s adorable and chaotic and so wonderfully them.

Yoongi also posted his wishes for JK while the vlive was still going.

The one who waited until it was over was actually Namjoon who, with what he said in his tweet, actually revealed that he’d watched JKs vlive as well. In his vlive JK said that at the end of their concerts Namjoon used to always give his speech like a (school) principal, as in his long ending ment speeches, and that’s why Namjoon ‘signed’ his tweet with principal as well.

Truly I love how JK was just having fun singing their songs, taking requests from ARMY, rediscovering songs, like him wondering if they really have a song called Paradise (since the Korean title is different) and finally fulfilling ARMYs wish of hearing BTS sing it live, as well as being surprised and confused by requests for Heartbeat asking himself if them really have a song like that. But since ARMY kept asking for it, he finally looked it up and his reaction to realizing that, yes, it is a real song of theirs and also that that’s the song we were talking about which he’d completely forgotten about? Hilarious but also kind of heartbreaking for all the Heartbeat enthusiasts.

Here is the full list of all the songs he sang, some for longer, some shorter:

One thing that this vlive showed really well was just how amazing of a singer JK really is. It’s easy for people to dismiss his talent during concerts or performances, since they could always argue that him and the others get help due to the backing track etc., but here we had his raw voice singing along to their songs much the way any of us do. And he sounded stunning beginning to end. He’s such a talented singer and he’s worked so hard on his technique and voice and it’s really showing. Thinking back to what he said in his BE comeback Weverse interview about how he’d like to one day he brave enough to do a three hour concert on his own, I’d say this vlive shows that really shouldn’t be any kind of problem at all. If ARMY can listen to him essentially do karaoke for one and a half hours, then attending and enjoying a full on JK concert would be no issue whatsoever. It’d actually be amazing, I’m certain, and I’d totally be down to seeing that potentially become a reality one day in the future.

After two and a half hours, the vlive ultimately came to a close and JK said his goodbyes.

Hours later Hobi appeared on Weverse wondering what pictures of JK he could/should post for his traditional picture “spam” and everyone was immediately super excited. Hobi’s gallery holds some wonderful treasures so we all looked forward to what he would end up posting, though it would take a few hours until it would happen.

The funny thing is that he posted the first twt twice since the picture with Namjoon in it had Hobi’s iPhone in it which, as good Samsung representative, was a no, no, so he deleted the twt and posted it again with some stickers covering the phone. So cute. And his picture choices are wonderful. I particularly love that picture of JK in the white room dressed in black from back in 2019 when they performed Boy with Luv. And also their picture from a dinner the two of them went on together back in 2018.

In the meantime before Hobi posted his pictures, as requested in the picture that BH had posted for JKs birthday on the staff BTS account at midnight, one of the members posted his meal though it’s unclear which one of them it might’ve been. Looks super yummy though, wow.

And eventually the final member to come and wish JK a happy birthday was Jimin (and yes, I know Jimin’s twt came before Hobi’s but considering Hobi already wished him a happy birthday at midnight, that makes Jimin the last one):

Trans (cr. haruharu_w_bts):

our maknae happy birthday i wish <you a happy birthday> a lot and a lot #KkookieHappyBirthday #JIMIN #HAPPYJKDAY

Taehyung didn’t post anything but considering his track record of doing something for the members off social media for their birthday, like giving Namjoon a forehead kiss, sending birthday wish videos to Seokjin (including roping others into doing it as well), or wishing Jimin a happy birthday as part of the MOTS ON:E exhibition, I wasn’t all that surprised by this.

And with that JK day 2021 came to a close. It started with a surprise (as in both the song based on ARMY comments and also the concert afterward) and ended with one as well, as in the In The SOOP Season Two announcement.

I hope JK had a wonderful day, celebrated happily with his members, friends and family however much that’s possible in these times, as well as with their busy schedule, and that this new year will be a happy one for him full of success, personal but also career wise. I’m curious and excited to see what will happen.

#Jungkook #jungkook birthday #Jungkook vlive #BTS #Namjoon #Seokjin #Jimin #Hoseok #Yoongi

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crown-anon · 4 years ago

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aah i thought of a req!!!!! could i maybe request one shots or hcs (separate) w dream, sapnap, n wilbur with a s/o (preferred he/him!!) who draws a whole lot,, n one day they catch him drawing him?? tysm :]

@ghcstbnr asked

gn i just realized i made a typo i meant cc catching reader drawing them- but ty again :)

of course! it's kind of long, sorry about that

I took a little creative liberty with the notion of "catching you drawing." also Sapnap's looks kind of long but it's also dialogue heavy. if you want me to redo it, I will. hope you like it 💗

& a note to everyone else, I don't write for Wilbur yet! I only write for the dream team at this time. sorry about that! this will probably change in the future, though, so look out 👀

CW: swearing

format: one-shot

people: dreamwastaken, Sapnap

pronouns: dreamwastaken's piece is ambiguous, Sapnap's piece uses he/him

edited 27 April 2021

—

dreamwastaken

since he doesn't use his camera, you find yourself with your boyfriend in the studio more often than not. when he's gaming casually, you play together, or one of you will cheer the other one on. when he's streaming, sometimes you interact with the viewers, or read donations for him; sometimes you just sit next to him, soaking up his energy and warmth. when he's working long days and long nights to edit videos, you're content with just relaxing together in the same space. at times you have to drag him out to the kitchen to eat, or help him to bed if he passes out, but…he's really cute when he's focused. (and you're starting to think he does it on purpose just so you can dote on him.)

today is a little different. he's recording for a manhunt that's meant to drop in a couple days. you're quiet, trying to avoid disrupting them. you're perched up on the loveseat, staring fondly at him across the room. he's so animated, the way his eyes shine when he talks to his friends, how he tears up when he laughs…

Patches mews at you from the arm of the couch, as if to say, disapprovingly, I cannot believe how sickeningly sweet your inner monologue is.

and you try to understand where she's coming from, you really do, but the sun's starting to set, and the gentle rays slotting through the blinds are shifting from white to gold.

he looks so divine, you decide. it's unfair. how could I not love him? he's seriously pretty. and before you can stop yourself, you're sketching him out on your tablet. you glance up at him fast to get the details right, and look away just as quickly. he never meets your eyes. soon your whole page is covered in little Clays, capturing the way he feels, the way he acts, the way you feel about him. Patches jumps off the chair, with all the moving. and before you know it, you've drawn up a whole page of concept art of your unfairly beautiful boyfriend. Patches was right about me, you muse to yourself.

fuck. Patches. the same Patches who's been meowing at you for the better part of an hour, now sitting patiently at the door? there's no way Clay didn't pick up on all that noise, you fret. but he's still playing, looking intense as ever. relief washes over you, replacing the guilt.

come here, girl, you think to yourself, knowing Patches wouldn't have even understood you if you spoke. sorry to keep you waiting. and you rise, slipping quietly out the door with his cat in your train.

—

you're coming back to the studio. Patches, fed and sated, is napping in another room. opening the door, you have to stop yourself, you freeze. your boyfriend's kneeling on the ground, sitting on his heels, right next to the door—you'd have hit him if it opened any further.

"baby, what are you…" the words die on your tongue.

my book. my sketchbook. my sketchbook full of drawings of him. shit, he's gonna think I'm such a simp! the embarrassment, the shame, the fear, it's overwhelming you.

you hear your voice break. "…what happened to recording…?"

"finished half an hour ago," he says simply.

and that was that. for the first time in ages, the silence hanging between you was thick and heavy with tension. you wait. and wait. and wait. you wait for the criticism, the hate, the argument that never comes.

suddenly, he seems content with what he's seen, when he looks up at you adoringly, and takes one of your hands, giving it a soft squeeze. "is that…me?"

you've lost your voice, all you can do is nod.

"you…you think I'm beautiful?" he glows.

ah, I suppose I did write that, somewhere in there. you look away. all the things I've said…

he brings your hand up to his lips and leaves kisses on your knuckles.

you sound small. "do I not tell you that enough?" you pause. "that you're beautiful? that I love you?"

and just like that, his nervousness dissolves into euphoria. you both start laughing at the same time.

"oh my god—" he wheezes. "—you're so sappy."

"only for you," you blurt out, and start laughing harder. but he quiets, he hesitates.

"only for me," he repeats.

you sink down onto the floor next to him. he's staring so fondly at you, you can't help but smile back.

"only for you," you affirm.

he rests his hands on your knees, pulling himself closer to you. he's so close to you, you can feel his blush. you let your eyes close, softly.

but the kiss never comes. instead, you're met with a "then what about all those drawings of Patches?"

laying on the floor, tangled up in each other, in hysterics, you distantly think I hope he remembered to leave the call from recording earlier.

—

over dinner, you meet his gaze, and he gives you that look. that stupid, handsome look; the one with the smile and the danger behind his eyes. he makes a point of pausing mid-bite, but it takes you a minute to notice that he's stopped eating.

"what's up, honey?" you ask, sounding a little more concerned than you should have been.

he shrugs dramatically. "oh, nothing…just figured you'd appreciate a muse." there it was. the teasing. you knew it would happen eventually. but the tone, it's kind, it's tempting; gentle, unlike a serious jab.

so all you do is roll your eyes, but you can't help the way your mouth quirks into a smile. "you're so dumb," you murmur with affection, and shake your head at nothing in particular.

Patches curls her tail around your ankle as she passes you by.

—

on the couch hours later for movie night, you're the last one up. Patches is curled up in Clay's lap, purring. Clay, in turn, sleeps soundly in your lap. (you think if he could purr, he would, but he settles for humming softly when you play with his hair.) you might think it's funny looking back on it later, but it feels so tender and vulnerable now. you like calm evenings like this one. Studio Ghibli plays quietly on the flatscreen; you don't know which one, you're not really paying attention anymore.

you're busy tracing the contours of Clay's skin, feeling more than seeing his shape in the dark room. mapping him out in your mind, learning his figure like you're seeing him for the first time again. you think you understand him a little bit better, every day you spend together. and with confidence, you make your first stroke, illuminated by the moon.

—

Sapnap

you only barely stop yourself from drawing a big "X" across your paper. exhale, and start erasing furiously. don't rip the paper—well, we didn't need that sheet anyway. ball it up and throw it at the dark, cobwebbed corner of the room. along with the rest of your mistakes.

you're trying. you're really trying. but those lips. his fucking lips. fuck.

your boyfriend smiles at the camera as he gets a donation with a sweet message on it. it should be so easy. he's right there. right here.

you check the time. it's been an hour. you've been trying, and miserably failing, to get his lips right for an entire hour. today, at least. you scoff at yourself, your misery, and pinch the bridge of your nose. it isn't fair.

his camera's on, and he's live, so you know you can't be in there with him. nobody knows you're together, and you don't want know what kind of backlash to expect if people found out. so you've been avoiding his streams…the whole room where he streams, really.

you've kept yourself busy by drawing. and you've cycled through many subjects in your life, and eventually, been able to draw whatever you put your mind to with enough time and effort. the problem is, your sights have been set on Sapnap, even for months before you got together. okay, maybe that isn't the problem. the actual problem is that you fucking suck at drawing him.

you get going, start it out, do an okay job, but midway through screw it all up somehow. to make things worse, your reference is his 2D image. he doesn't…know that you draw him. you're terrified to say. so you can't use the real life Sapnap as a reference, like you would prefer.

ugh, and this one's ruined too. you rip it up and throw it at your growing pile of paper balls, but being tiny confetti-sized pieces of paper, they don't make it very far. great, something else to clean up later, you huff at your own thoughts. it isn't fair.

—

"[name]?" he calls for you. you're one step ahead, already opening the door. you can't remember when you got here and decided to brood outside his room.

"hey, do you think you can—" he tears his eyes from his camera, his waiting audience, to look up at you expectantly. when he sees you he stops immediately, looking concerned, standing to meet you.

"what is it?" your voice is flat.

out of view of the camera, he mouths, are you okay? you only shrug and avert your eyes.

he falters, contemplates, sits back down at his desk and starts to talk to his viewers. "hey guys, I'm sorry for the short notice, but I gotta cut this stream short. my…" he glances at you for approval, only to see you motioning with your hands as if to say, no, don't.

(you yourself don't really know what for. no, don't end the stream for me? no, don't out us like this?)

he looks back. "…my friend…something came up with my friend. I have to take care of it. it's really important." you can tell he has trouble finding the right words. you can tell it throws him off, he's acting out of character for his internet personality. do you blame him? isn't this your fault? "sorry again. bye guys!"

the second he made the last click, he gets up and pulls you into a hug. it's unexpected, it knocks the wind out of you. you're certain he feels the tension.

"babe…what's wrong?" it's muffled by your neck and the sweater you're wearing. you just hold him, saying nothing.

he pulls away and holds you by the shoulders. "look at me. what's wrong?"

you feel all the more embarrassed. it's so silly to be upset about. "I…I…well, it's a lot."

he shakes his head, to say I'm not going anywhere, but his expression softens, his grip loosens. "do you want to talk about it?"

you sigh. "it started as 'I can't draw for shit', then it became 'why am I afraid of asking you for help?', and finally, worst of all, 'why the fuck can't we be seen together?' it isn't fair. it's never been fair. I'm sorry."

he thinks about it for a second. "okay, what makes you feel like we can't be seen together?"

"are you joking?" you snap. "we're two fucking boyfriends. in this society." he didn't look hurt by the outburst, but the guilt crept in anyway. "…I'm sorry."

he shakes his head, "do you really think I'd let that happen? I wouldn't ever let anyone hurt you, darling. remember that."

"I know, I know…" you don't know what to say. "it's easy to forget, I guess."

"what are you afraid to ask me for help about?"

"I…" shit, you guess you have to tell him. close your eyes, breathe, "I've been drawing you. trying to draw you. but I can't, it never turns out right."

you peek, and he's red in the face, stuttering. "me? you draw me? of all the hot people out there?"

you furrow your eyebrows at him. "don't give me that shit. you know you're cute."

he shakes his head incredulously. "are we talking about the same person here?"

"dude, your smile is literally the most radiant fucking force of nature I have ever seen."

"you're hot too! why are you coming after me?"

"I'm not 'coming after you', you're being defensive about your looks, when you shouldn't be! you're gorgeous, baby."

you're both giggling like girls at a sleepover, the anger and frustration long forgotten. now it's a war of who can be more grossly in-love with the other.

"what part of me," he manages between laughs. "are you having trouble drawing?"

"oh god," you groan, remembering yourself and your dilemma. "your lips."

"my fucking lips? you would think that—"

"no," you warn. "shut up. don't say it. don't you dare say it."

he leans in close, his hands have moved up to cup your face. you shiver.

"don't worry," he grins. "I won't."

the kiss is long and sweet, nothing like the ones you've shared in the past. he takes his time, you savor each other. you feel time stop ticking, you feel your heart stop beating, you feel the way he tilts his head. you grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in. and when you part, you're breathing heavy, in tandem.

"thanks," you manage. "but I needed to see your lips, not kiss you into next saturday."

"nah," he laughs. "I think you needed that too."

you choose your words thoughtfully. "do you need me, too?"

he hums, and—

ding!

dreamwastaken donated $69!

you could die. you could really, seriously die.

the response is instant. you don't even see Sapnap move from you to the PC, flushed down to his neck, apologizing, apologizing, and apologizing again. "change of plans, guys, we're doing an art stream!"

the chat is filled with "huh?"s and "what?"s.

"huh? what?" you didn't have the time to process what just happened.

karljacobs: I thought we were doing a make-out-with-our-secret-boyfriends stream :(

he smiled warmly at you. "yeah. my lovely boyfriend is going to draw me! he's been wanting to for a really long time, and his art is really good. let's go get your stuff."

you're in so much shock that he makes it past you and out of the room, while you stand there waiting. after a pause much longer than you intended, you hurry after him.

—

down the hall, in your room, he's got your sketchbook tucked under his arm, closed. you're sure you left it open when you came out.

you only barely get the words out. "um, did you…go through it? please don't laugh."

your heart sinks when he laughs heartily, but he grabs your hand, resting it on your book, about to hand it off. but he holds you there for a second. "of course not. I respect your privacy." he ponders for a moment. "I respect you."

you can feel the sigh of relief when you let it out. "I…love you."

your holding your book now, as he moves to collect the boxes containing your pens and pencils and colors. he gets them all together, but before he picks them up to head back, he turns around to face you. "is this too much?"

you absently reach for a hand, tracing over the lines on his palms. and you think about it. am I okay? is this too much?

"I don't think so. not with you. I'm okay."

he moves to open the door and grab the rest of your things. "well then, let's not keep them waiting!"

—

edited 27 April 2021

#dreamwastaken x reader #dream x reader #clay x reader #sapnap x reader

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notveryglittery · 5 years ago

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mice on venus (1.1)

summary: gee, those forest ravines really pop out at you, huh? wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, qpr prinxiety, romantic analogical. warnings: falling off a cliff, injuries, janus is a lil rough around the edges but sometimes u gotta be when living in a dangerous blocky world... author’s note: i couldn’t sleep last night... bc brain was making this... and also @thoriffix makes nice minecraft art... so yeah, minecraft sanders sides au? i have no clue what i’m doing besides having fun :) not too much knowledge of the game is needed; you can look at it as a basic adventure au. enjoy!

mice on venus (1.1) (you are here) | far (1.2) title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link) idk if this will go on ao3 but here’s a spot for editing

— — —

Patton’s voice tears from his throat in a raw and terrified shout. "Roman!" He screams, hands outstretched uselessly, as Roman tips backwards over the edge of a ravine, and disappears.

Logan is there, barely a second later. He rifles through his bag, finds what he needs, and throws it with all the force he can muster. Gravity won't let it hit the ground before Roman does, but it will help when it arrives nonetheless. He hurries to stand, turn, and face —

"What happened?!" Virgil asks breathlessly, daggers drawn and at the ready.

"Roman fell into a ravine," Logan answers with so little tact that Patton would scold him for it if he were paying enough attention to overhear. The color in Virgil's face drains. "I threw a Splash Potion of Healing after him," Logan reassures without pausing, "but we need to get down there."

"I knew I should've stayed home," drawls their final party member, sounding awfully bored despite the situation.

Patron does hear this and he rounds on Janus with fire in his eyes. "How could you be so cruel?! Roman might be dead!"

Janus raises an eyebrow. "Were you not listening just now? Our local brewer lobbed a potion. Roman's seen worse. He'll be fine."

Patton's lower lip trembles but it's hard to tell whether he wants to cry or to berate. Maybe both. He looks for Virgil, only to find him at the ravine's edge with a bucket. Water is flowing from where it's been poured, creating a safe passage for them to traverse down in once safe.

Roman, meanwhile, is falling.

His only warning had been the horror dawning on Patton's face and even then, it came after his foot met air instead of solid ground like he expected. For some inane reason, his first thought as he went plummeting was "who put this ravine in the middle of a forest?" Next, it was panic and "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

With the wind stinging his face and his blood roaring in his ears, Roman knows he has mere seconds to figure out how to make this suck less. He struggles to right himself until he's facing the ground that is rushing up to meet him. He pulls his shield from where it is strapped to his back and thanks Jeb that he'd had the foresight, as their fighter, to give himself something sturdier. The rickety thing the others use wouldn't have done much for him here but the curved, solid iron plate he tucks himself into should absorb most of the impact.

That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt like hell. He can barely cry out with how his breath is knocked out of him. Pain shoots up his ankles and legs, lighting every nerve along the way. He tilts over, gritting his teeth and trying to see beyond the stars that swim through his vision. He isn't safe… There could… Mobs…

Glass shatters next to him and he flinches from it. Please not a witch, please not a witch, please not a witch —

As opposed to the nauseous kick of poison or the heavy weight of slowness, however, warmth of healing washes over him. In his shock, he'd forgotten anyone had been with him but of course, Logan would have been right behind Patton, with his emergency potions. Relief floods over everything else. He isn't alone. He has help.

"— an idiot!" is the first thing Roman hears when he comes to. He opens his eyes to see Virgil pacing beside him, flailing his arms, and apparently mid-rant. It's probably Logan at his feet, wrapping his ankle in a splint. Ah… the pain from it being jostled must've woken him… He's glad he doesn't remember it.

"Honey," Patton's voice whimpers, close to him, choked and scared and none of that will do —

"C'mere," Roman croaks, reaching for his beloved. Patton catches Roman's hand and holds it almost too tightly. Roman isn't sure which one of them is shaking. He brings Patton's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "I'm okay, sweetness. Don't cry. Please. You know a smile will help me recover better than anything."

"That's not true," Logan pipes up, deadpan.

Patton gives him a tremulous smile anyway.

"Learn to watch—" Virgil stops. Freezes. Looks up. "Oh. Great." He's rifling through his supplies before the others even have time to ask him what's wrong.

The sudden realization of dimming light answers them well enough, though. Janus wastes no time in beginning to help Virgil, moving with him to the ravine's wall to back their makeshift base against. Sunset brings with it monsters and they certainly aren’t in the best place to handle that.

"You need to sleep before you get back on your feet," Logan tells Roman as he packs away his med kit. "No adventures for at least three days."

Roman gasps, as if Logan has just told him his birthday is canceled.

"Logan's right, dear," Patton intervenes, pulling one of Roman's arms over and around his shoulder. He helps him stand slowly, making sure Roman favors weight on his less injured ankle. "It's okay, I'm gonna stay with you! It'll go by so quick, you won't even know it happened."

Roman wants to complain further but he’s lightheaded from his now-vertical position. With practiced ease, Virgil and Janus have a lean-to set up to keep them safe from the nights terrors. Unfortunately, there’s only enough materials for two beds. Fortunately, they sleep in shifts anyway. It takes some coaxing to convince Roman that he doesn’t need to stay awake for one but once his head is on the pillow and Patton is combing a hand through his hair, he’s out.

Logan sits up for the first two hours. Forty minutes in, Janus leaves to explore the ravine. The others know better than to even try stopping him. He returns, laden with coal and iron ore.

“Roman’s shield is gonna need repairing,” Janus says matter-of-factly as he takes over for the next watch.

Logan groans. “I suppose, at least, the painting will keep him busy while he’s grounded.”

“He’ll last…” Janus pauses, considering. “I give him no more than a day and a half.”

“If he wants to sustain his injuries, sure.”

“Bet you he’ll try stealing an Instant Health potion.”

“Not if he knows what’s best for him,” Logan snaps.

Janus smiles with too many teeth which isn’t to say he has too many teeth, just that normally his smiles are close-lipped. Logan scowls before ducking into their small shelter to try and get some rest.

The next two hours pass without trouble. Virgil takes his turn. The howling screech of an enderman startles Logan awake but just as quick, Virgil is peeking in on the party and waving the concern away with an ender pearl clutched in his fist.

“Didn’t wanna pass up the opportunity,” he whispers, before returning to his post.

Patton sets up for the last watch. Virgil makes Logan take the free bed, which doesn’t take much convincing seeing as he’s half-asleep already. Roman begins to toss and turn so Virgil sits on the ground beside him, reaches up, and holds his hand.

“Sap,” Janus says from the corner where he’s been making torches.

“Have you slept at all?” Virgil asks instead of taking the bait.

When Janus doesn’t answer, Virgil frowns. “How long has it been?”

Another round of silence.

“J, what the fuck? We don’t need phantoms on top of everything else!” Virgil raises his voice without meaning to. Logan stirs at the sound of it; he’s always been a light sleeper.

“Hush,” Janus hisses. They wait a few moments more until Logan has settled. “I will when we get back home. I’ve got at least one more safe night.”

Virgil’s glare sharpens but he doesn’t push any further. Janus goes back to his crafting but Virgil notices now how slowly he works. Instead of staring and letting his concern build, Virgil leans back and shuts his eyes, focusing on Roman’s warm hand in his.

Sunrise means a quick breakfast of bread and crisp apples. They share amongst themselves before Logan and Patton take down the lean-to. Janus returns to the top of the ravine, making sure to dispatch any mobs lurking in the shade of the trees. Virgil remembers the leads Patton had brought with him, for if they had come across any horses, and suggests tying Roman to one of them, just in case things go wrong on the swim up the waterfall.

Roman, ever full of bravado, insists he would be just fine on his own. Looks of concern and frustration come from his boyfriend and queerplatonic partner, respectively, and he quickly gives in without much fuss. Janus joins them again and offers to build a ladder back up, especially since there’s no short supply of wood; Logan disagrees, worried that it would take too long and they’d be caught out once more at nighttime.

Eventually, they do all get up and out of the ravine. Roman’s splint needs redoing now that it’s wet and heavy but afterwards, they are on their way home. He relies heavily on Patton and Virgil to help him, careful to not put too much weight on his injured foot; he hates needing so much help, but he supposes it’s mostly alright, what with Patton keeping him entertained with stories and Virgil teasing him about dumb little mistakes made in the past.

Slow going as as they are, they make it just as the sun is beginning to set. The lanterns are lit at the village they had set up nearby roughly a year ago and their neighbors are gathered at the bell for gossip and trade. Patton wants to swing by to say hello and offer some cake but Roman is really struggling beside him now.

“Oh, sweetpea, you must be so tired,” Patton murmurs, shifting so that he can take more pressure off of Roman. “I’m gonna get you the best dinner… And hot cocoa, too, how’s that sound?”

“We haven’t got a steady supply of cocoa beans yet,” Roman says without much conviction.

“I’ll cocoa bean anyone that tries to stop me,” Patton insists.

Virgil stifles a laugh behind his hand and pretends he didn’t hear the thinly veiled threat disguised as a pun. He makes a note to kick their search for a jungle into first gear and wonders if Janus would be up for a trip to the west. It is the least explored direction and their terribly empty maps remind them every day. In the meantime, he’ll help Patton to get Roman comfortable and settled. He makes sure Janus goes to bed that night, keeping him company until he’s well and truly deep in sleep.

After one last sweep of the perimeter, Virgil retires to his and Logan’s room. Logan is waiting up for him, reading by candlelight. Virgil changes into his night clothes and slides in under the covers. Logan is warm and, with a fond eye roll, compliant as Virgil tugs at his sleeve until he eventually puts his book away. Logan lays on his back with Virgil splayed half-across his chest; the sensation has always put Logan at ease, having his partner’s presence so physical and grounding and there.

“Will Roman be okay?” Virgil asks in a voice so small that Logan almost doesn’t hear him.

“Like Janus said, Roman has been through worse.” Logan hesitates but not long enough for either of them to actually start thinking about it. “As long as he is careful, which I’m sure Patton will help him be, he’ll recover in no time.”

The tension flows out of Virgil in one slow exhale. “Thanks, L.” He shuffles deeper into the blankets and Logan’s embrace. “Love you.”

“And I you,” Logan responds with a hum, pressing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head.

#sanders sides fan fiction #royality #prinxiety #analogical #ts deceit #dani writes #minecraft au #sanders sides #romantic royality #qpr prinxiety #romantic analogical

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crazy4dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Braids

Astrid continues to spend time with Hiccup after his injury and he asks to braid her hair. Takes place sometime after Just Friends. Like Heaven AU. Rating: PG (lust mention, but mainly fluff).

“Why don’t we go in the hot tub?” Astrid suggested as she watched the movie credits roll down the screen. “Didn’t your doctor say water would be good for your leg?”

Hiccup sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” urged the blonde, tugging his hand. “You can’t just sit in bed and watch TV all day.”

“There’s not much else I can do,” he argued.

Astrid slid off the mattress and walked into Hiccup’s closet. Rummaging through his summer clothes, she found a pair of swimming trunks and tossed them into his lap. “Change,” she ordered.

“But —”

“Change,” Astrid repeated, pulling a modest swimsuit from her backpack and shutting herself in the bathroom. While she finally had a bikini, she wasn’t sure about parading around in it with Hiccup’s parents around. They already thought he was sleeping with her; wearing cheeky bottoms and a top that showed cleavage wouldn’t help the situation. So instead, she’d brought over a pale pink longline top and matching high-waisted bottoms that collectively left only a sliver of tummy showing.

Clad in the swimsuit, she searched for sunscreen and two beach towels before opening the door to see that Hiccup had put on his swimming trunks and a t-shirt. “Good. You’re ready,” she smiled, grabbing a pair of workout shorts from his dresser. With his injury, Astrid had been staying over so often that one of Hiccup’s drawers was now stuffed with her clothes.

“I’m telling you now, Astrid, I’m going out for half an hour. That’s all.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She pulled on the shorts, then handed Hiccup his crutches. “Let’s go.”

As the two friends descended the stairs, Astrid helping Hiccup to ensure he didn’t fall, they were greeted by Stoick. “Well, look who finally came out of his room.”

“Not cool, Dad.” Hiccup rolled his eyes.

“I’m just glad to see yer up and about,” Stoick defended. “Where are yer two headed, the pool?”

“Hot tub. Astrid’s making me.”

“You have to get out of bed once in a while,” insisted the blonde.

“Astrid’s right,” agreed Stoick. “Yer leg will only get worse if ye never move it.”

Hiccup sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Well, let’s go outside and get this over with.”

“It’ll be fun,” assured Astrid, stepping in front of him and opening the back door. Once he hobbled out, she closed it behind them and set the towels on a chair before opening the sunscreen and rubbing it onto her nose. She then pulled off her shorts, slathered the rest of her skin, then passed the bottle to Hiccup, who’d taken a seat beside the towels. “Here. Let me know if you need help getting your back.”

Discarding his t-shirt, Hiccup took the sunscreen. “Yeah,” he decided, smearing it onto his freckled cheeks. “Some help would be great.”

“On it.” Astrid knelt behind him and worked the lotion into his skin while subconsciously taking note of all his freckles. He had at least a hundred on his shoulders alone, and even more were sprinkled across his back. He didn’t like them, but she thought they were sort of cute.

“You done?” Hiccup asked as she backed away.

Nodding, Astrid climbed into the hot tub, letting out a contented sigh as the warm, frothy water lapped at her neck. When Hiccup joined, she slid over to sit beside him, her fingers curling around his hand in a comforting squeeze. “You will get better,” she assured. “I know it.”

“I wish I could be as sure as you are,” he mumbled.

Silence fell between them and for a while, they soaked together without saying a word.

“Hey, could I braid your hair?” Hiccup asked eventually, nodding towards Astrid’s messy bun. When she hesitated, he added, “I won’t if it’s not okay with you. It’s just…it’ll give me something to do.”

“Alright,” she shrugged, shifting in front of him. “I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks.” With a small smile, Hiccup carefully took down Astrid’s hair and ran his fingers through it, working out a few small knots. “Is a Dutch braid okay?”

“That’s fine,” she replied, relaxing at the feeling of his hands on her scalp.

“You have a date tonight, right?” Hiccup asked cautiously. Even though he knew Astrid had a boyfriend, and he knew he was just her friend, he always felt the need to check himself when mentioning her relationship to make sure he didn’t come across as jealous.

“Yeah, why?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner, but if you already have plans, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I have my date tonight and I’m going over to my dad’s tomorrow, but I could do dinner with you on Monday,” offered Astrid. She knew Hiccup didn’t expect her to spend every spare moment with him, but she couldn’t help feeling guilty that he was stuck at home awaiting a second surgery on his leg while she was going to a carnival with her new boyfriend, with whom she’d just become official. “And I promise I’ll spend the whole day with you on Wednesday before you go to the hospital.”

Hiccup paused in his braiding. “Astrid, you know you don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.” She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the thought of him going into surgery again terrified her. When he’d first gotten into the car accident, she skipped school, instead spending the day crying in her room and waiting for Stoick or Valka to call saying the doctors would allow her to come see him. And now, knowing that he’d be in the hospital all over again, and that this next surgery would determine whether he’d ever be able to walk without his crutches or a wheelchair, she felt sick to her stomach.

“Then I’d like that.” Hiccup resumed his task. When he reached the end of the braid, he tied it off and draped it over her shoulder. “There. Take a look.”

Astrid grabbed her phone from the outside ledge of the hot tub and studied her reflection in the camera. “It looks great,” she smiled. “Mind if I keep it in for my date?”

“Do whatever you’d like,” he said with a shrug.

“I’m definitely keeping it,” she decided, snapping a selfie before putting her phone down and settling in beside him.

Hiccup cast her a lopsided grin.

After spending a bit more time soaking, the two friends decided to get out and head back inside. It was two o’ clock, neither of them had eaten lunch, and Astrid needed to be home for her date by four-thirty.

“Do you want to eat first or wash up first?” Hiccup asked.

“Eat,” Astrid replied quickly as she felt her stomach grumble. “What do you have?”

“We could do sandwiches and chips,” he shrugged.

“Sounds good to me.” She pulled two plates from a cabinet, holding a hand up as Hiccup tried to help her. “No, you sit down. I’ll get it ready.”

He reluctantly took a seat while Astrid quickly put together ham and cheese sandwiches. Grabbing a bag of chips, she carried the food over to the table before sitting across from her friend.

“These are good,” Hiccup remarked, taking a bite.

“Don’t look so surprised. I might not be able to cook, but I’m perfectly capable of putting together a sandwich.”

He laughed.

Once they finished eating, Astrid cleared away the dishes. The two then returned to Hiccup’s room, where they rinsed off — separately, of course — and changed into clean clothes.

“My braid is all messy now,” the blonde frowned, catching sight of herself in the mirror as she tugged a blue crop top over her white bralette. A pair of ripped, high-waited denim shorts completed her look. All she’d need was her white Converse and a bit of makeup and she’d be ready for her date that evening.

“I can redo it for you if you’d like,” Hiccup offered, quickly picking up his phone to disguise the fact that he’d been struggling not to stare at Astrid while she dressed. They weren’t shy about being in their underwear around each other. For Hiccup, it really wasn’t too much different than being in a swimsuit. And Astrid, being used to changing in the locker room before volleyball games, didn’t see why she should feel okay in just underclothes in front of her teammates but not her best friend — even if her best friend was a guy.

But although the situation was platonic, Hiccup had to admit to himself that she had a nice body, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t fantasize about what she looked like completely naked. Of course, she had a boyfriend, so he knew those privileges would be reserved for his eyes when Astrid felt ready to take things to the next step.

Lucky guy, he thought, shaking his head in attempt to ignore the lust burning in his brain. Being a teenager was the worst.

“Yes, please.” Grabbing her hairbrush, she sat down in front of Hiccup, allowing him to undo her disheveled braid and work the tangles from her locks.

Hiccup quickly wove a new braid, Astrid enjoying the feeling of his hands in her hair as he did so. When he was finished, she took her hairbrush and zipped it into her backpack.

“We have another hour,” she announced as she checked her phone. “What do you wanna do?”

“Nap,” chuckled Hiccup.

“Come on. I won’t see you again until Monday night and all you want to do is take a nap?”

“I guess we could play on the Wii,” he suggested.

“That’s better.”

The hour flew by as Hiccup and Astrid played games together, just like they’d done before the accident. After two rounds of Mario Kart and a session of Wii bowling, he was feeling almost normal.

Until it came time to say goodbye to Astrid.

“Alright,” he began, suppressing a sigh. “Let me how your date goes. And have fun with your dad tomorrow.”

“I will.” The blonde stuffed a few things into her backpack and tucked her pillow under her arm.

“No hug?” frowned Hiccup.

Smiling, Astrid set down her belongings and enveloped her friend in a tight embrace, an inexplicable shiver running down her spine at the sensation of his arms brushing her bare midriff. She didn’t like him like that. And she certainly wasn’t lusting after him. No, she had a boyfriend. But the feeling of his hands on her skin, however innocent, was enough to excite her just a little bit.

“Bye, Astrid.” Hiccup’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“Oh, uh…bye, Hiccup,” Astrid replied, breaking the hug. “See you Monday.”

“Yeah. See you Monday.”

#hiccstrid #fanfic #my writing #like heaven au #like heaven universe #hiccstrid fluff #teenage hiccstrid #modern au #modern au hiccstrid

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remedialpotions · 4 years ago

Text

Dawn

As a thank-you to the lovely folks on the HPRomione discord who made my job organizing the inaugural Secret Santa gift exchange so easy and delightful, I wrote this toothache-inducing fluff. Special thanks to @al-in-the-air for schooling me on how to *properly* make a cup of tea; I will never speak the words ‘fire kettle’ in your presence again. 😘

ffn ao3

Ron yawns and stretches his arms up over his head, revealing a sliver of pale skin below the hem of his shirt. Hermione likes him like this, bedraggled, warm from sleep, peaceful. In these pre-dawn hours, having been coaxed from the warmth and comfort of his bed, he is the most natural, authentic version of himself.

“Remind me again,” he says, sitting down next to her on the carpet. “Why couldn't we have done this last night?”

“Oh, we could have done,” replies Hermione briskly as she taped a piece of wrapping paper into place around a box, “if you and your brothers hadn’t got so invested in your game of charades-“

“Erm, have you forgotten that George cheated at one point and we had to redo it? We may be business partners, but I couldn’t just stand by and let that happen-”

“-then we could have left at a reasonable hour.”

“Ahh, well,” Ron chuckles. “Worth it to see Percy trying to mime ‘The Wizard and His Hopping Pot’.” He stretches his long legs out before him and surveys the scene beneath the lowest branches of the tree. “Looks like you’ve got most of this done already, have you been down here a while?”

“Oh,” says Hermione as she picks up a gift tag and a quill. “Yes, I woke up a bit earlier than we planned.” At the tilt of his head - he’s clearly about to ask why, since they didn’t Floo home until well past one in the morning - she quickly adds, “but everything we left out for Father Christmas is still over there. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Right!” With remarkable energy for such an early hour, Ron jumps to his feet and retrieves the tray they left near the hearth the evening previous, which bears a plate of biscuits, a few carrots, and a small glass of whiskey. “This is the best part of being a dad.”

Halfway through addressing the gift tag - to Rose, with love from Father Christmas - Hermione looks up and quirks a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Eating stale biscuits at seven in the morning is the best part of being a dad?”

“Maybe not the best, but definitely a perk.” Ron sits himself back down on the carpet beside Hermione, tray in front of him. “It’s a bit too early for the whiskey now, though, innit?”

“You can probably just leave it,” agrees Hermione. “I don’t know that Rose will really notice it’s different.”

“Yeah, I suppose she’s not even two yet,” says Ron as he snaps one of the biscuits in half and pops it in his mouth. “But I’d like to at least try to keep up the illusion.”

Hermione affixes the gift tag to the box and sets it under the tree. “Do you know how I figured it out? That there wasn’t a Father Christmas at all?”

“I assume you did the maths and realized there’s no way some bloke in a sleigh can make it round the world in one night,” says Ron with a grin.

“Close, but no.” Hermione helps herself to a biscuit - then quickly realizes it’s the last thing she wants to eat, and sets it back down. “Actually, I realized that Father Christmas and my mum had the exact same handwriting on all my gifts.”

“And were you gutted to find this out?”

“Not particularly. I was a bit relieved, actually, it always seemed rather unsafe to let a strange man break in through the fireplace and eat our food.”

Ron lets out a deep, delighted belly laugh and leans over to press a kiss to her cheek. “Only you would worry about that.”

“So how did you figure it out?”

“Oh, the twins spilled the beans before I had the chance,” says Ron flippantly. “Not that it mattered much anyway, he usually only brought like, new socks and things like that.” His features turn pensive. “I hope Rose doesn’t cotton on to it for a long time.”

Hermione nods. She’s suddenly acutely aware of every tiny detail: the hush over their sitting room, the ever-present twinkling of the fairy lights adorning the tree, the knowledge that their daughter is sleeping soundly upstairs. She is not often one for sentimentality, but things right now feel perfect, just as they are.

“I hope so too. But,” she adds, more businesslike as she unfurls the roll of wrapping paper, “it’ll be quite a long time before we have to worry about that.”

“Is this the last one?” asks Ron, picking up a box containing a toy dragon that breathes warm, kid-friendly fire upon command. “I can do it.”

“Oh, I’ve got it under control.”

“You’ve done nearly all of them though.” Carefully, he prises the wrapping paper out of her hands. “You could have woken me when you got up, you know. I don’t actually mind.”

“I know you don’t, but it’s fine. I supposed at least one of us should get some sleep.” As Ron used his wand to sever the paper (he was missing out, Hermione thought, on the glorious sliding sensation that comes only when using scissors to cut wrapping paper), she hauled herself to her feet. “Do you want some tea?”

“So we’re not going back to bed after this, then?”

“There isn’t really time, Rose is going to wake up soon.”

Ron’s gaze shifts toward the sitting room window, where the first vestiges of grey winter light are just streaming through the curtains. “She does rise with the sun these days,” he agrees. “Yeah, tea sounds great, cheers.”

Hermione pats him on the shoulder as she walks to the kitchen, where she sets the tea kettle to boil. As the water heats up, she opens the cupboard below the sink and peers into its dark and disorganized depths. There, among bottles of cleaning solution and spare sponges, is a small parcel wrapped in shiny gold paper. She retrieves it from behind the drain pipe, and as she does, her stomach flutters with nervous excitement. It’s been doing that a lot the past few weeks, and now that the moment is upon her, she finds her hands trembling as she drops tea bags into mugs and pours the hot water.

It feels different than it did the last time. This time around, she knows how this is going to go, and she can’t wait.

In her eagerness, she scoops probably too much sugar into one of the mugs (which, considering Ron’s standards, is really saying something), and carries both back to the sitting room with the parcel tucked under her arm. Ron’s just taping the corners of a box closed when she reaches him.

“What’ve you got?” asks Ron, extending an arm up to take his tea from her.

“Oh, erm.” Hermione deposits herself onto the carpet beside him. “This is for you, actually.”

She places the box onto his lap. With his mug of tea halfway to his lips, Ron frowns at it, then looks up at Hermione.

“We said we weren’t getting each other gifts this year.”

“I know, but can’t you just say thank you and open it?”

“No, I feel bad now, I’d have got you something if I knew - I even had ideas-“

“If it makes you feel better, it’s really for both of us. And Rose, actually,” she adds. “So just open it.”

Ron’s brows knit together in confusion. “How could it possibly-“

“Will you just open it already?” Hermione blurts out. “For God’s sake, you are impossible sometimes.”

“All right, all right,” Ron relents with a laugh,”I’m doing it.”

Breaking through the tape, he pulls the gold paper away from the box. It’s just plain white, a garment box, which Ron turns over in his hands to pull off the lid. Hermione’s heart thumps wildly in her chest as his hands push away the tissue paper and pick up an impossibly tiny jumper: retina-searing orange, with black interlocking Cs on the chest.

Quiet falls again; seconds drag on like hours.

“This is for a baby,” says Ron softly, and Hermione sees that his hands are shaking too.

“Right.”

“And… this won’t fit Rose.”

“Right.”

Their eyes meet. Ron’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly in a silent question; Hermione’s grateful he can’t find the words, because she can’t either. All she can do is nod… but it’s enough.

His arms engulf her, pressing her face against the soft fabric of his shirt and flooding her senses with the scent of his skin and his hair, everything about him that makes her feel safe and loved and whole.

“I can’t believe it,” he breathes, lips brushing the side of her neck as the words tumble out.

Hermione pulls back just enough to look at him. His blue eyes are shining. “Why can’t you believe it? It’s not like we haven’t been trying.”

“I know, I just-“ He leans in and kisses her, soft and sweet. “I still can’t believe this is my life. I can’t believe I get to have this life with you.”

Without the words to properly express just how much she agrees, she simply kisses him again. Even with eyes squeezed tightly against the tears now threatening to fall, she can sense the new light filling the room. Rose will wake soon, to tear through wrapping paper and eat biscuits for breakfast and spend the day in her pyjamas, but Hermione hopes to cling to this moment for just a few seconds longer.

“So, all right.” Ron’s smiling at her, so broadly that his cheeks must ache. “When did you find out? How did you - I mean-“

“I’ve known a couple of weeks,” Hermione confesses, sheepish. “That’s why I was up so early today. I’ve had horrible morning sickness.”

Ron shakes his head in amazement. “You’re barking.”

“You’re not angry, are you? That I didn’t just tell you?”

“What - no - why I would be - it’s perfect, it’s all perfect.” Ron lips find hers again, working their way over to her ear. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Hermione settles contentedly into his embrace, but hardly has a chance to appreciate it when a small yet insistent yell sounds from the second floor.

“Dada!”

“Oh, that’s me,” says Ron cheerfully, releasing Hermione and clambering to his feet. “Shall I go get her? Are we ready?”

“Yes, we’re ready.”

#romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #2020 hpromione discord secret santa #tw: pregnancy #this idea has been rolling around in my head for SO LONG YOU GUYS

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flying-nightwing · 4 years ago

Text

Sparks Must Fly to Start a Fire (2/2)

Hellooooo again people. This is the second part as promised! It concludes the small serie, for a grand total of 12.5k words, which is higher than my average if I’m honest 😂 I had so much fun writing this, thanks anon! I hope it was up to your expectations! Enjoy part 2 xx

Masterlist in bio // pinned

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Word count: 7106

Warnings: violence, language, a bit of trauma

Day 9

“... There is no development in the case, all search parties came up with nothing. The GCPD now believes the disappearance of the young woman has a direct link to the major leak of incriminating documents that were shared to the DA’s office. The investigation, conducted by commissioner Gordon, might sound the fall of an empire of organized crime in Gotham if it goes through trial…”

“I was supposed to marry Vitto, today” You spoke up with mild boredom over yet another news story about you. You hadn’t realized time had flown this fast ever since you betrayed your family.

“Oh, oh wow” Jason hadn’t expected that. “Why would anyone do that?”

In the last days you had gotten into a semi-comfortable routine. The bickering was still very much present, but the snark had considerably deescalated. You had now tasted every snack he told you regular people ate, even those energy drinks he seemed to like to consume during long drives. You had even taken a cautious liking to the canned soups, which remained the only thing you knew how to make on a stove. Still, you didn’t escape Jason’s mockery everytime you didn’t know how to do something “simple”. You didn’t think you’d ever escape it, no matter what.

“It’s not like I had a choice” You said as a matter of fact, leaning back on the headrest of the car. “Women in my world are either trophies or mothers, depending on whether or not they’re still in their prime”

“Let me guess, you were to be Vitto’s trophy?”

“Bingo”

“How old is he, like 50?” He snorted.

“46” You corrected. “Not that it makes any difference”

Jason gagged. “Guess you dodged a serious bullet there”

“God, marrying that manwhore plagued my nightmares for weeks” You chuckled, looking up at the roof of the car. “Hope he rots in jail once this is over”

“Arranged marriage, uh?” He said, sending you a quick uncomfortable glance. Something akin to remorse flashed very briefly across his face, but it was gone as soon as it came. You only nodded. “Sorry about that”

“Don’t be” You brushed off. “That was essentially their downfall in the end. Half of the reasons why I leaked the documents was to prove to my family I am not a chew toy to throw to the dogs. A power grab was out of the question, especially after one of my distant cousins, Alaina, tried and got gunned down. I thought if I was to get killed, I’d go down trying to be better”

Your words were followed by silence, and you realized you had said too much. You didn’t want or need his pity. You cleared your throat and looked away. Soon enough, Jason pulled into a shady looking motel and stopped the car. You glanced in disgust at the overall state of the motel, thinking about how it was definitely the worst one you had stayed in so far, even if you hadn’t stepped foot in yet. The vacancy sign was flashing against the sunset in the distance, and it gave you serious serial killer vibes.

You grabbed your travel bag from the backseat and followed Jason in. The neons inside were barely functioning, casting a harsh glow on the lobby, if anyone could call it a lobby. The man behind the counter looked up at the sound of the little bell above the door and stood up slowly, showing off the grease stains on his yellowed wife-beater. He gave the impression of being just as crooked as his motel, especially with the creepy grin he gave the both of you, but especially to you. Jason walked up to the counter, unbothered by the general mood of the place.

“Good evening” The clerk greeted with a smoke clouded voice, glancing in between you two. “For an hour or two?”

You grimaced while Jason blinked slowly. Then, he smiled one of his smiles that looked normal, but hid something dangerous when you looked close. You had found yourself on the other end of those more times than not ever since he became your unofficial bodyguard. “Got anything for the night?”

The clerk laughed while you wanted to hit him. Hit them both, actually.

“I like your style, kid” He wrote something on his clipboard before turning around and grabbing a key from the wall. “That’ll be 60”

Jason took out three 20$ bills from his wallet and handed them in exchange for the keys. Jason however leaned further on the counter. “How thick are the walls in there?”

“You sly dog” He chortled, and Jason joined. “Don’t worry, if your girl ain’t much of a screamer nobody will know what you be doing. Here, take that, if you want some more fun”

“Perfect” His lips curled up as he accepted the flyer handed to him. You caught a glimpse of the bright green paper, announcing some kind of escort service. “Thanks”

“Aight kid, room 141. Have fun”

You forced yourself to ignore the lusty eyes he sent your way and snatched the keys from Jason’s hand, hurrying to the room. “What was that?” You hissed under your breath.

“You’re in a place full of suspicious people” He hissed back. “You gotta act suspicious with them or they’ll single you out”

“Did you really have to make it seem like I was a prostitute?” You said as you unlocked the door and pushed it open. You stepped in and let him in, before locking again the door behind him.

“There’s nothing wrong with being…” He trailed off as he halted his steps. His frame blocked the sight of the room for you, so you didn’t know what he was talking about. Was it dirty? Were there rodents? “Oh you must be fucking kidding me”

You finally peeked around him, to see only one bed rather than the two queens he usually asked. He had forgotten this time to ask, and the clerk had naturally insinuated you’d want to be together. How could he have not?

“At least it’s a King bed this time” You sniggered. “More space”

“I’m gonna get it changed” He turned around to go back to the reception desk.

“Wasn’t it you who said not to act suspicious?” You raised a challenging eyebrow. “If you go back there and ask for two beds, won’t that ruin all that acting you did over there?”

He spun around once again, facing you with narrowed eyes. He obviously didn’t like you using his logic against him. “Right.” He then side stepped you and went straight to the windows. He closed the blinds and proceeded to check the walls for… Whatever. He looked strange doing it.

“And right now you’re…” You trailed off, trying to find why he was all but caressing the dirty walls.

“Checking for cameras” He finished, looking inside a lamp. “Those motels sometimes have hidden cameras and the owners resell the tapes on porn sites”

“Oh god” You reacted, horrified. And he had the audacity to paint you off as a criminal, when those kinds of people existed. You thought you would be sick. He paused, sending you what you thought was a concerned glance--but it couldn’t be--before he returned to his examination.

“That’s why I’m making sure there’s none here” He mumbled.

You nodded, then carefully made your way to the bed. Despite the overwhelming scent of cigarettes latched onto the fabric, the sheet seemed relatively clean, at least for the general quality of the establishment. You dropped your bag in front of the dresser beside you and sat on the edge of the bed as Jason finished his inspection.

“All clear” He announced before taking out his gun from his belt and putting it on the nightstand. “You should rest, we won’t stay here too long. Also, if you can avoid the shower, I’d recommend you wait until we are somewhere else”

“I hate it here”

“Yeah well, our disastrous stop to Target has kind of tied our hands, princess” He shrugged, like it was your fault you had been found. “So we gotta settle for even less if you don’t want a redo”

“Will you ever stop calling me that?” You glared at him.

“What, princess?” He asked rhetorically, then paused and pretended to think. “No, no I don’t think so”

“You’re insufferable” You scoffed, climbing up further on the bed.

“I wouldn’t get under the covers either” He warned as you were about to pull back the comforter, totally ignoring your comment on his general attitude. “I doubt they’re washing them real good”

You shuddered in disgust as you instead opted for bringing your knees to your chest, hoping the room wouldn’t get too cold during the night.

Day 10

You didn’t if it was your state still clouded by sleep, or the shock that made you see the scene happen in slow motion.

Jason was waking up, sitting in the bed at a reasonable distance from you as your eyes cracked open. Still, you saw the sequence clearly. His back tensed and his head snapped to the window, then his eyes widened. He reacted in a fraction of second, grabbing his gun on the fly and diving on your side. You had barely the time to register his body colliding with yours that the first machine gun went off. You hit the ground hard, but you didn’t feel anything in the spike of adrenaline and paralyzing fear that surged through you. You could only close your eyes as bullets rained over you, and yet you weren’t even touched by the wood and cotton flying everywhere as his body caged yours in protection. His string of curse was audible above the commotion, which let you know he wasn’t gravely wounded yet. Yet.

There was a pause in the shooting, but your eyes were still ringing so loud you didn’t hear him call your name at first. You opened your eyes, disoriented.

“Hey, hey stay with me” He hurried his words, glancing over his shoulders. “Roll under the bed, don’t come out until I come and get you, and if they try to get you, hit them with anything you find, aim for the head”

You could only nod as he helped you get under the bed, and for one you couldn’t even be bothered to notice how filthy it was under there. You were terrified for you, but also for Jason who would face those people with a handgun only. You just hoped his skills hadn’t been exaggerated, or else it would be bad news for everyone.

There was chatter in between the gun fires, but you couldn’t decipher the voices. You counted there were at least six different tones of shout. However, judging by the familiar smugness of the exchange, you could have sworn it was Jason mocking them and not the other way around. It made you wonder exactly what kind of security he had done if he was taking the time to be smug in a one against five fight. Still, you were glad to have him on your side rather than against you.

“Hey”

You jumped and screamed at the sudden face appearing to your left, but let out a breath of relief when you saw it was Jason. He helped you out from under the bed, his glance shifty in between the door and windows. The room was a mess, he was covered in blood you doubted was his, and he was still on guards.

“So, we need to leave now” He said, already picking up his bag and yours. You noticed a second gun now strapped on his thigh and various new weapons in a utility belt. Where he got that was a mystery, but you didn’t question it. He gently pressed you along the bodies dropped at the threshold of the room and in the hallway until you reached the reception desk. You counted seven bodies. The same creepy clerk was cowering behind his desk, a darker stain on the crotch of his pants. Jason gave him an overall look and sighed, shaking his head. Still, he paused in front of him and dropped the bags.

“You son of a bitch” He chuckled lowly, menacingly. “You sold us out, didn’t you?”

He whined in response, confirming Jason’s suspicion.

“How much did you cash on the tip? 3k? 4k?” He taunted further, tsking in disapproval. “Can’t trust anyone these days”

“Please, I needed the money--”

Jason shot two bullets in his head. “Don’t care”

He turned on his heels and grabbed the bags again, bringing you along as gently as he could. You went outside, but he gestured for you to wait at a good distance from the car. He went over and inspected it, taking two devices off from two different places. Bombs, you figured. He threw the first one through the windows of the reception, then the other, he shot while in the air. An explosion went off, shaking your stance on the ground as the motel’s central area went up in flames.

“Oops, gas leak” He said blandly. “Come on, let’s get out of here”

You climbed in the passenger seat, clutching your now all dusted up bag for support. You needed to hold onto something while you came to terms with the repeated attempts on your life in the last fifteen minutes. Jason drove off, leaving the smoking building off to burn.

“Sorry you had to see that back in the lobby” He spoke when you were far enough.

“It’s fine” You shook your head. “He deserved it”

He blinked, a tiny bit stunned. “Hey are you okay?”

“Should I not be?” It came out weaker than intended. “I’m way in over my head with this”

“No, no, you did the right thing” He tried to reassure you, or that’s what you thought he was trying to do. Either way, it went right over your mental downward spiralling.

“I should have stayed in my lane” You kept mumbling, flexing your fingers on your bag. “I’d still be doing my thing, away from literal murder attempts in crappy motel rooms”

“Hey hey hey” He lifted a hand up. “May I remind you that you’d be married to Vitto fucking Maroni right now if you didn’t go rogue? That thought alone should give you relief”

You let out an uncontrolled laugh. What has your life become?

“Truth is I don’t know what I’m doing” You admitted, your voice cracking. “All I’ve achieved it to piss everyone off”

“Yeah you did piss everyone off, but so do I on a daily basis” He replied, making your frown in confusion. “Sometimes pissing everyone else is the only way to get things going, y’know?”

You blinked a couple of times. “I literally don’t”

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it immediately. He then took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “All I’m saying is, doing the right thing is an ugly job. It’s hard and messy and fucks with you, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try and do it anyway. I know this is all new for you, and this is a rather harsh welcome party, but you gotta fight through it”

You nodded, casting your eyes on him at last. His skin was reddened by the drying blood on his face and hair, and his clothes were dirty and torn. Amidst the cooling blood, you noticed a steady flow of brighter red coming off a hole in the sleeve of his t-shirt, widening the already big stain around it.

“You’re bleeding”

He looked down at his side, unfazed. “Oh right, a bullet got me on the initial wave”

“We need to get it out and close the wound” Your eyes found his for a brief second, before his glance returned to the road.

“It can wait” He downplayed it, probably by a force of habit.

“It looks like it’s bleeding a lot” You insisted.

“I’ll be fine--”

“It’s my fault you’re hurt” You interrupted him. You felt like you had at least to do something for him, especially since he just saved your life twice. Besides, you needed to focus on something else than what had just gone down. “Let me help”

He took a deep breath, then gave a little nod. He pulled over at the next gas station and parked the car, then went to his trunk, picking his first aid kit while you went to ask for the bathroom key. You joined him at the car and went to find the bathroom in the back of the building, locking the door behind you for privacy. You stood beside him as he rummaged through it, handing you a pair of pliers and disinfecting gauzes. You waited for him to take off his jacket, laying your supplies on the counter, then carefully rolled the sleeve of his t-shirt. You grabbed a clean gauze to stop the bleeding, gently pressing on the wound.

“Have you done this before?”

You didn’t see his question come, but you answered nonetheless. “Yes, a few times” You said. “On my older brothers. That’s something we learn, just in case we are the ones to patch up our husbands”

“Is this really how you were treated?” He asked, his voice surprisingly soft compared to what you had gotten so far. “Like a service wife in training?”

“Pretty much” You nodded with a weak scoff. You carefully checked the wound, and the bleeding had almost stopped. You grabbed the alcohol gauze and tore the pack open. “There isn’t much choice but to obey”

He didn’t even flinch when you cleaned the wound. “When I pulled the gun on you the first day we met, you said it wasn’t the first time somebody did that to you” He began, recalling the events from ten days ago. “What happened the other times?”

You put the bloodied gauzes aside and grabbed the pliers, disinfecting them with a smaller alcohol wipe before going for the bullet. “Would you believe me if I said something along the lines of wildly opposing my union to the Maroni family?”

His lips curled up slightly, but his teeth were clenched as you tried to grab the bullet well lodged in his flesh. You managed to get a good grip on it and slowly pulled it out. You immediately covered the wound again with clean gauze and dropped the bullet in the trash pile.

“Bullet’s intact, you should be fine” You said, holding the gauze with one hand and searching for a needle and a stitching thread with the other.

“How old were you when it happened?”

You paused, staring at his arm. How old were you back then, when your father announced you’d be part of a two-way deal with the Maroni family? Not very old, that was for sure. You pulled the gauze away and sanitized the needle, then passed the thread in the loop. “17, I think”

“You were just a child” It came out more like a statement than a question. You shrugged before beginning the stitches. He still wasn’t flinching as the needle came in and out of his skin,making it easier for you to do a clean job. You finally tied the thread and cut it with the scissors he handed you.

“I’m sorry I pulled you into this mess” You apologized as you wrapped the wound with yet some other clean gauze and bandaged it. “I… I didn’t plan this through at all. I felt the doors close on me and I acted without even thinking of the real consequences. I thought I would be strong enough to go with it, turns out I’m not”

You had been all bark and no bite, you could see that now. You came in strong, acting like nothing could get to you, like the threat was just an imaginary bound to keep you in place. You made a bold move to cross it, and now you could clearly see how dangerous the waters you were threading in actually were. It wasn’t child’s play anymore, it was real, and you caved under the pressure on your first real trial.

He turned around as he pulled his sleeve down, facing you. He was in your space, but it didn’t feel like all the other times. His presence wasn’t threatening. “You don't have to apologize” There was something genuine in his eyes. “And to pull off what you did needs strength, even if you don’t realize it yet. Your reaction to almost being killed doesn’t change that fact”

“It certainly doesn’t feel that way”

“Trust me, princess” His little teasing smile returned. “Someone who can hold her own against me like you did is not weak”

“I was just mean” You blinked in surprise, letting out a small chuckle. “I think that’s different”

“See, still arguing” His smile widened. You had known him for ten days, but you had gotten used to him being a certain way. This light and sincere attitude he had now was, to say the least, unusual for you. When he wasn’t constantly sneering, you noticed his features better. His blue eyes carried a kind spark, the type you found in a natural caretaker. The harsh angles of his jaw and cheekbones shaped a handsome face, decorated by little silver scars blending with his freckles. He was like a fallen angel shining through a broken halo, dangerous and protective, but only if you took the time to look past the burned wings. The unflattering white light of the bathroom made him look worn out, but it didn’t change anything to the raw beauty of his face. His bloody knuckles came in soft contact with your cheek, like a feather gliding on a cloud in the sky. His eyes never left yours, and even if they did, you felt like you’d follow them whichever direction they went.

He was tall, considerably so. He hovered over you like a safety blanket, your own shield from the dangers stalking you outside the door. At that moment, you had trouble understanding how his proximity had once filled you with so much unease you felt like hiding away, because all you could feel now was an all consuming calm. There was however a pulse that was alive, one that was begging you to get closer. He seemed to have felt it too; his movement was slow, letting you more than enough time to back off. As his lips slowly got closer to yours, you know you didn’t want to move away. You filled the distance separating you from him and met him there in a gentle kiss to test the water first.

It didn’t take long for you to lose control. All the emotion of the last days that had bottled up were let to run wild in between you two like an electric current, surrendering your every sense to him. Your hands went to the back of his neck for support, because god knew you needed it. His arms sneaked behind your back as he pushed further into you, quickening the pace of the kiss and clouding your mind. Tongues battled in a war that was already won, knowing in one way or another he’d be the victor. You could feel all the tension, all the frustration, all the anger and all the guilt coming in strong before burning like dry wood in a bonfire. Were there any versions of this that didn’t end where you were? It seemed impossible.

You didn’t want to open your eyes just yet when he pulled away, reluctant to even let go. He captured your lips in a couple of kisses before fully letting you catch your breath.

“Well” His voice was barely over a whisper over the panting. “That might be one way to settle an argument”

“Then I might pick more arguments” Your lips lifted in a small grin.

“And I might not object to that” His eyes were bright with amusement. “Besides, I might have gotten around to like that smart mouth of yours”

“Oh, have you now?”

“Might” He corrected.

“Sure” For the first time in what felt like forever, you actually smiled. You slowly retracted your arms from his neck, letting him stand straight again.

“Come on, let’s get out of here and put as much distance as we can from this motel” He said, but it lacked the patronizing tone it once contained. It was even like he didn’t actually want to leave just yet, but had to, or both of your safety. You shared the sentiment.

You packed the first aid kit and burned the bloody gauzes in the sink, then killed the fire and returned the key to the counter. You drove away shortly after, confident things might just be alright this time.

Day 16

You had circled back to the first place you had stayed in, the little cabin so far in the woods you were almost sure nobody would find you, or at least not yet.

Jason had told you he had installed security devices on the dirt road to make sure he was aware of anybody driving up, as well as the traps he had set in the woods. Once again, it reinforced your idea that his job experience might not have been a traditional one. You frankly didn’t mind, as you were in no position to judge a potential criminal past. Besides, you believed anything he did couldn’t be worse than what your family or the Maronis did on a daily basis.

You had woken up when the sun was already high in the sky, and to your surprise Jason had still been there, on his back and staring at the ceiling. When you had turned around on your side, he had mimicked you to come face to face with you, not talking at all. His wound on his arm had stopped bleeding during the night, for which you were thankful for. It eased your guilt to see it was healing well. You had stayed there for what seemed like hours, but it was comfortable.

“I meant to ask,” He began, his voice soft and husky from the morning. “Why did you go to Bruce with the leak?”

You blinked slowly, tilting your head slightly to the side. “Well, I couldn’t go to the police, it was out of the question. I couldn’t trust any of them to pursuit this case”

“But what made you trust Bruce in particular?”

“I… I like to listen when people talk. Before, it gave me the impression I was part of the family business and not just an accessory, and that way I got to hear bits and parts of the discussions conducted behind closed doors” You began. “More times than not I would hear how Wayne Enterprises projects got in the way of their plans, and how Bruce Wayne would always do something to undermine them legally. So after I stole the intel, there was really one way I was certain would yield results, one person I was certain would have all the interests in the world to see this trial happen”

“That’s…” He trailed off, an impressed expression on his face. “That’s surprisingly smart”

“Surprisingly?” You raised an eyebrow.

“For someone who had no idea how to use a can opener, that is”

You slapped his chest as he let out a laugh; he was so proud of his joke. “Hey, I learned!”

“I know, I know” He chuckled, reaching his hand and brushing a rogue hair strand away from your face. You had noticed as the days passed that he seemed to favor the little touches and the unspoken rather than obvious and obnoxious displays. You knew he was more of the quiet type when he wasn’t arguing with you, always working in his corner and doing his stuff. It hadn’t really changed ever since the gas station moment, but this time he would steal little glances, brush his hand against yours when he’d change gears in the car, or make sure he took out a bowl for you as well when you made your canned soup. “You adapted better than I thought you would, considering the entire lifestyle change you had to go through in the last two weeks”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I?” You grinned.

“Nope, not at all, princess” He pushed himself on his elbows and leaned down to kiss you. You smiled onto his lips, welcoming the slow movements of him against you. However, you gently pushed him back after a moment, knowing if he had it his way, you’d stay there for hours.

“Jason” You said his name when he was visibly trying to distract you again with butterfly kisses on your jaw, only pausing to give you wide, innocent eyes. Insufferable. “I have to go take a shower”

“I’ll come with” He shrugged.

“What?”

“Yeah” He nodded. “Listen. You hired me to protect you, so that’s what I’m going to do”

“From what?” You laughed at his serious tone.

“Water’s cold”

“So NOW you want to protect me from the cold water?” You raised an eyebrow. “That surely wasn’t the discourse you held two weeks ago”

“People change, princess” He sighed exaggeratedly before getting up and walking to your side of the bed. “Come on, you said it yourself, you’ve got a shower to take”

You rolled your eyes, but nonetheless accepted the hand he held out for you. You went to the bathroom and undressed, then managed to get into the relatively small shower, your back to Jason. He was so tall he actually shielded you from the water from the showerhead when he turned the shower on, getting all the burning cold on his back instead.

“See?” He chuckled. “No cold water”

“But how will I wash myself if the water doesn’t get to me?” You asked, looking at him over your shoulder. He stared blankly at you, like he didn’t think of that.

“Let me worry about it” He dismissed, making you laugh.

“Alright, alright”

He began slowly rubbing your skin with his wet hands, spreading water indirectly. His fingertips were still cold, but you knew for a fact it was slightly better than the direct flow from the tap. Goosebumps erupted all over your arms and back, both from the sudden change of temperature and his touch. You closed your eyes, enjoying the contrast in between the water and his still warm chest. He wet your hair, combing it with his hands, before he put the shampoo in and made it lather. Immediately, you recognized the smell.

“Is this your shampoo?” You asked, your eyes opening.

“Mhh”

“I thought you didn’t like when people used your stuff”

“Technically, I’m using it”

“Still!” You replied. “You practically threatened me last time I dared wear your shampoo”

“Truth is” He leaned in, his lips almost pressed against your ear. “It kinda drove me hog fucking wild to have you prancing around smelling like me”

Your eyes widened and the back of your neck heated enough for you to warm the water dripping down your back. You gulped, unable to answer that as it came as a shock for you that you have had another effect on him aside from pissing him off. He chuckled at your lack of comeback, his hot breath fanning your jaw. He slowly rinsed the soap out of your hair, then began washing your skin. His hands massaged your muscles as they went, making you sigh in contentment. At this point, you had backed so much into him you were just as much subject to the direct contact of the water as him, but you didn’t care.

He trailed small kisses from behind your ears down to your shoulder before pausing there, as if he was hesitant. He lifted his head slightly, and you could see his stare right on you from your peripheral vision.

“I need to tell you something”

You were surprised by the sudden seriousness of his words, but you tilted your head to show him you were listening.

“I’m the Red Hood”

You blinked slowly, registering his words. Well, that certainly explained things. You even wondered how you didn’t see it sooner, but now that he mentioned it, it had been rather obvious. “... Congratulations?”

You could feel he wasn’t expecting this reaction. “That’s… That’s all?” He stuttered. “You’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You turned your head to look at him properly. “You saved my life so many times, I am not about to complain how you did it”

“But I did a lot of bad too,” He argued. “Some things that might change your opinion”

“You’re seriously asking me, who comes from a crime family, if I’m okay with you doing crimes?” You deadpanned. His face changed, as if he was reevaluating his entire argument.

“When you put it like this…” He trailed off, nodding. You could however see the relief in his eyes at your acceptance of his double identity. Especially with the kind of job he was doing here with you, you could only imagine how blurred the line in between the two personas must have been at times.

“Why did you tell me?” It was a gentle question, full of wonder as to what pushed him to reveal to you such an important, personal detail about himself. Your hand sneaked up and covered his still on your forearm.

“I thought you should know” He muttered back, his voice barely rising over the noise of the water hitting the shower’s floor. “You never asked what I did before, or how I took care of seven hired guns at the motel. I wasn’t sure if you just avoided it, or…”

“Don’t worry” You interrupted him softly. “Moral compasses are no issues with me”

His lips reached yours under a freezing rain, your bodies numb to anything but each other.

Day 25

A few days ago Jason received a call from Bruce.

The arrests had been made and the trial date had been set. As you had predicted, they tried to keep the relative information about it under wraps so you wouldn’t be aware it was happening. But fortunately, with Bruce’s quiet oversight of the process, he had managed to relay the details on time. You hadn’t been very far from Gotham when the news dropped, but you were still thankful for the heads up. It had given you time to plan your safe return into the boundaries of the city, staying hidden in another one of Jason’s safehouses until the day came for you to be a witness in the trial.

It was now in progress, it had just started some minutes ago. You were staying in an adjacent room that was guarded by people under Bruce’s paycheck, with Jason laying on a couch behind you, looking at his phone while you were getting ready. You were thankful that you had brought a second designer outfit with you, because you weren’t sure your gray t-shirt from Target with the oversized men’s pants you inherited on your first day with Jason would have looked very professional or credible. You did your makeup carefully with the basic products you had, then took a look at yourself in the mirror. You smothered the creases in your blouse and made sure the belt wasn’t twisted in the loops of your slacks, and sighed.

Jason stood up from the couch and walked to you, stopping behind you and sneaking an arm around your waist. He snuggled his nose in the crook of your neck and placed a small kiss there. “Am I an asshole for thinking you look better in a 30 bucks outfit?”

You laughed despite your nervous state. He was trying to distract you and you welcomed it. “Not more than usual, no”

He gasped at your rebuttal, but you could see the amusement in his eyes. “Is that what you really think of me?” He asked. “I’m hurt”

“Aw, come here” You pouted, turning your chin over your shoulder. You raised your arm to rest your hand on his cheek and gently pulled him down into a kiss. Your eyes fluttered close when his lips met yours, letting your relish in his comforting presence. You felt your heartbeat slow down as you sighed against his lips, wishing to remain there with him for another hour or so. Alas, the moment was broken shortly after when the door opened.

“They will soon be--oh”

You pulled back from the kiss, but Jason didn’t move away at the sound of Bruce’s voice behind you. You could feel he was annoyed at his adoptive father ruining the mood, but at least he wasn’t pissed like you had seen he could be on day one. That in itself was a relief.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all” Jason replied in a clearly sarcastic tone. You stifled back a laugh at the grimace he was doing to mock Bruce. “Perfect timing as usual”

Bruce didn’t answer that. He only closed the door behind him and headed for the desk, leaning back on it. Jason followed his movements in the mirror like a hawk.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you aren’t at each other’s throat anymore” He began, a cryptic smile on his lips. “But I hadn’t expected… Whatever this is”

It was Jason’s turn to sigh as he reluctantly parted away from you. He didn’t go far, however. He stayed by your side like another threat on your life could pop up at any moment. “Shocker”

“As I was saying” Bruce reprised, ignoring Jason’s side comment. “They will call you to the stand soon. I just wanted to check up on you and see if you had any questions or concerns before you go out”

“How solid is the case built?” You asked.

“It should hold” He nodded. “From what I’ve seen, it’s solid in front of a jury. Your testimony will have to be conclusive if we want to catch some Maroni members in the lot, but I’m confident you’ll be stellar”

You gave him a small smile. You knew your father would be there, glaring at you like you were the devil itself, but you repeated to yourself you could go through this. There was no way he would be as intimidating as Jason in the first few days, and you came out on the other side unscathered. He couldn’t hurt you anymore, and soon he would reap what he sowed.

“How secure will the witness booth be?” It was Jason who spoke this time, his eyes straight on Bruce like he was challenging him to give an answer that wouldn’t be good enough.

“The two guards in front of this room will accompany her in the courtroom” Bruce replied calmly. “There will also be one more guarding the door, and I supposed you won’t be far as well”

He only hummed in answer, but he seemed satisfied with this plan. Bruce checked his watch and stood up, hands in his pocket.

“It’s time”

You nodded, exhaling a shaky breath. You exited the room with Jason at your side and the guards behind you. You walked down a few hallways before you stopped in front of the witness booth door. You forced yourself to take deep breaths and visualize the end result. You could do this, you could do this.

“Keep your head high, stay confident” Jason muttered in your ear as the door opened in front of you. “You got this, princess”

With his last words of encouragement, you were brought into the courtroom.

Day 101

“... The sentence of the twelve convicted has dropped this morning on the order of judge Monroe, a little less than three months after the devastating trial that landed a blow on organized crime in Gotham. The twelve men will each serve a sentence ranging from twenty to forty years in a maximum security facility, on counts of attempted murders, first degree homicide, money laundering, drug trafficking and tax fraud. Amongst the convicted is Vitto Maroni, a notable figure in Gotham’s public life…”

You jumped when a loud pop dragged your attention away from the TV.

Jason was standing there with a proud grin, pouring foaming sparkling grape juice in two champagne flutes. You laughed as he handed you one, plopping next to you on the couch and clinking his glass on yours.

“Cheers to a victory,” He declared. “that wouldn’t have been possible without you”

“Don’t flatter me too much, give yourself some credit” You matched his grin. “You’re at least 20% responsible for this”

“Ah yes, my 20% contribution” He nodded thoughtfully. “Eighteen percent bullets shot, two percent bullets received I recall”

You laughed with him, drinking the fizzy beverage. He lifted his arm, and you crawled under it to snuggle on his side, careful not to spill anything. It had become a habit for you to end up one way or another in his arms, even after the trial ended. He had offered you to move in with him shortly after, when you had tried to give him the ten thousand dollars you had promised him after the trial. Not only had he refused to even look at it, but he gave you back the 5k you had already given him beforehand. He had insisted for you to keep it and invest in whatever you wanted to turn your life around like you wished.

He had been excited for you when you announced you would enroll in law school, saying your argumentative side would definitely come handy as an attorney.

“I’m proud of you”

You looked up at him to see a fond glint in his eyes, one that made your heart melt. For all of his rough edges, he was certainly very soft inside. All he wanted was for you to be safe and happy, and you couldn’t ask for someone better to start your new life with. You snuggled further into him as he kissed the top of your head and tightened his arm around you.

“Thank you for being there for me” You mumbled through his clothes. “It means a lot”

“I couldn’t walk away from you even if I wanted to, princess” He smiled against your hair. “You are so stuck with me”

“Good thing I’m not going anywhere, then”

You changed the channel to a movie and spent the rest of the night cuddling on the couch, you wearing his t-shirt and shampoo and him holding you like a treasure.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fic #jason todd x you #jason todd #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #imagine #red hood x you #outlaws

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nala-raines · 4 years ago

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Secret Santa

Author’s note: This is a Secret Santa gift for @choices_fangirl on Instagram. I can’t make an edit or draw, I don’t have tiktok, but I’m told I’m a good writer. I hope you like this.

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Anna Blake)

Summary: Anna convinces Ethan to participate in Secret Santa with her friends and some hospital staff. Ethan just thought about getting a universal gift, that is until he got Anna for his Secret Santa. He stresses trying to find the perfect gift.

“How did I let you talk me into this?” Ethan asked as he was being dragged by Anna to the break room. They were heading there to fill out a form and draw names for Secret Santa. Ethan was reluctant to do it, but Anna per usual, had managed to talk him into doing it.

“Because you love me. And you know that it’ll be fun.” She says with a smile.

“You know I’m just going to get a gift card, right?”

“You can be no fun sometimes.” Anna says before covering a yawn. Their shift was over, he just wanted to take her home, make her food, and snuggle in bed. But this was important to her so there he was.

“If you say so rookie.”

They walk into the breakroom hand-in-hand and are immediately greeted by Sienna, Rafael, Naveen, Bryce, Jackie, Aurora, and Elijah. Everyone grabs a form to fill out and gather around a table so they could still catch up on the day's events. After a few minutes, Ethan offers to return the forms for everyone. They hand him all the forms, and begins to stand. When he places the forms in the basket, Harper approaches him,

“Ethan Ramsey? Dr. Blake must have you wrapped around her finger for you to be here.” She said turning in her own form.

“You could say that.” Ethan responded. He and Harper have had a professional relationship after they broke up, but after going public with Anna the two became friends again. “The things you do for the people you love.”

What he didn’t know was Harper was jealous. She knew that Ethan was happy with Anna, happier than she’s ever seen him. She just wished that she could've made him this happy.

“I’m happy for you. Looks like we’re about to start. I’ll see you later.”

“Yes. See you later.”

Ethan and Harper return to their seats while Naveen explains the rules. There is a 25 dollar spending limit; when you pull out a form, you can’t have a redo; and the form is there to help give you an idea for the gift. If you have something else in mind, you can get or make it as long as it doesn’t exceed the limit.

After everyone understands the rules, doctors and nurses take turns taking pages out of the giant bowl and opening them up as they walk away. Some were excited with who they got, others were mad, and others either didn’t care or were petrified.

When Anna goes up and gets her Secret Santa, she looks happy, but she bites her lip telling him that she’s nervous, but she looks overall excited. Then it was Ethan’s turn he walked up, reached in and pulled out the first form he felt. He just walked back and out the paper in his back pocket. When he sat down, Anna turned to him,

“Aren’t you going to see who you got?” She asked, looking a little sad.

“I was planning on looking at it later.” Ethan just sighed, pulled the paper out and opened it. He read over the name at the top of the page Anna Blake.

“Do you pull a board member?” She asked, knowing that two board members were participating as well. Everyone knew that Ethan and the board don’t get along.

“No. I just… didn’t expect to get this person.”

Two hours later…

Anna was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. It was her turn to stay at his place for the weekend, even though they had to work tomorrow. Ethan had read the form Anna filled out three times, his mind was reeling. He already had gifts picked and planned, but none of them were 25 dollars or less.

Ethan never loved anyone like he loves Anna. So, he refused to get anything cheap or go half way when it came to getting her gifts. Whether it was 100% real, thought, or time he wanted to show, in as many ways he could, he loved her. She said as many times “You don’t have to buy expensive gifts for me.” But he wanted to.

He pulls out his laptop and starts looking up nice necklaces, books, and nice cardigans or sweaters. But nothing was saying Anna to him.

“Shopping for your Secret Santa? I thought you were going to get them a gift card. Pretty much everyone drinks coffee or tea at Edenbrook.” Anna said, startling Ethan.

He closes his laptop as Anna pulls back the covers and snuggles into Ethan’s side as he laid down and wrapped his arm around her.

“Maybe I’m shopping for gift cards.”

Anna just rolls her eyes and snuggles closer.

“At least whoever you got will be able to get something nice for themselves.”

“Sweet dreams, rookie.”

Three days later, Ethan is in his office, taking a break and once again looking for a gift for Anna.

‘Anna. I had to get Anna. I already had all of her gifts picked out. Why couldn’t I have picked one thing that was under 25 dollars?’ Ethan thought, kicking himself mentally. He was never this worried about getting people gifts, not even for the few people he was closest to. But Anna was different, she is his everything.

He read over the list again, trying to think of something. He hit her favorite color: purple.

‘What in the world am I supposed to do with her favorite color? Anna is my everything she holds the...’ Then it hit him. He quickly typed something into the search bar and found something that would work for that he had in mind.

“That’ll work.”

“What will work?” Anna asked walking into the office with Baz and the news member of the team Tobias. Who transferred to Edenbrook after when he heard about that doctor Mr. Bloom wanted to bring in. He and Ethan had a fist fight, but they worked out their issues, became friends again, and now they work well together. Ethan pulled up a patient file that thankfully provided a cover story.

“Just a theory I have about a patient. I just need to run a few tests. Now, let’s get down to business.”

“To defeat the huns?” Anna says, with a smile. Tobias and Baz laugh, Ethan just shakes his head. But after that, they all got serious.

Two days later, he received a package while catching up with Naveen. Ethan signed and opened it up. He smiled when he looked inside.

“What’s that?” Naveen asked.

“Something I needed for a secret Santa.” Ethan responded, saying nothing more.

Naveen looked at the package itself, not inside it. The package was about a foot and a half wide, and 7 inches tall. But didn’t pry.

That night, Ethan put together his gift. It took three hours but it was worth it. All he had to do was wait.

One week later, the Christmas party and the Secret Santa reveal.

‘On Christmas Eve, naturally.’

Everyone was pleasantly surprised by their Secret Santa. Ethan picked up his gift, it was a picture of him and Anna on Halloween. She had conceived him to dress up in a 1920’s suit and she wore a 1920’s flapper dress and accessories. Sienna had taken that photo, it may have happened a few months ago, but it’s one of his favorite memories. There was also a little book, 100 recipes to make in under 30 minutes. The cover was hand-written, and it looked like the entire thing was made by hand.

Ethan simply looked at Anna before asking,

“Alright who got me this? Anna or Sienna. I honestly lost track of who had who.”

“Didn’t you tell me we had to be observant and listen to the people around us?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you, rookie.”

“You’re welcome. But how did you know it was me?”

“I recognized your handwriting.” He gave her a deep, long, and sweet kiss. Before Anna picked up her gift. A small box, with purple wrapping paper. She tears into the gift, opens the box and pulls out a note and an old fashion key.

“What the…?” She then reads the note…

Don’t worry, you’ll know what this opens when you see it.

She didn’t recognize the handwriting, and there weren’t any other clues. She looked at Ethan, he just shrugged and kissed the top of her head. No one stepped forward to claim responsibility for the gift. Anna thought about it most of the party.

After drinking, talking, and dancing with Ethan, she was ready to leave. She looked for Ethan, but she couldn’t find him.

“Hey Naveen, have you seen Ethan?” She asked.

“I think he went to the diagnostics office. He probably needed a break.”

She nodded and went to get him to take her home. But when she got there she saw a box with an old fashion lock, that matches the key she got. Anna quickly scans the area, but finds no one. She carefully walks over the the box to take a closer look at it.

The box had the same purple wrapping paper. It was over a foot wide and about six inches tall. When she got to the box, she noticed another note, it read,

I told you once that ‘I want it to be as special as you’. Well, that know applies to every moment. Because every moment is special, when I spend it moment with you.

Anna unlocks the box and finds a few thin photo albums. She picked up the top one, which has some photos inside from Halloween, Christmas, the vacation they took in July, but it was the next album that caught her attention. It was white with little bell cutouts, Anna’s mouth dropped. She picked it up and saw that there was a third one. This one has splashes of baby boy blue and rose blush pink, with little booties in the same colors. Her eyes fill with tears, as she fully realizes who her Secret Santa is.

“Well? What do you think? Do you like it?”

Anna turns to find Ethan standing behind her, his hands behind his back.

“I love it. But what is it... ?” She asks, nervous and hopeful. She thought she knew what was happening, but she knew that Ethan didn’t want to get married or have kids. So, she didn’t dare hope.

“Please, I want to get this out. I want you to hear what I have to say.” Ethan says as he takes her hands in his. “Anna, when we first met I wasn’t looking for a relationship. All I wanted to do was make sure you would become the best doctor you could be. I never thought I would fall so madly in love with you, that I would do anything to help you or make you smile. After my mom left, I never saw myself married, or having kids, only to abandon them.” Ethan pauses, a few tears spill from his eyes, as he wipes away hers.

“That was until I met you that is. You turned my whole world upside-down, and I am so glad that you did. I refuse to imagine a my life without you in it. You make my life complete. I love you, Anna Blake. My rookie.”

“Ethan…” Anna says, breathless. Ethan gets down on one knee, reaching for something in his coat pocket and he pulls out a small box.

“I bought this for you a month ago.” He says as he flips the lid open. “Anna Blake, I have always loved you, even when I pushed you away, but from now on, I just want to pull you towards me. I want your face to be the first one I see in the morning; and the last face before I fall asleep. I even want kids that are just like you, Rookie. With that said, Anna Blake, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She couldn’t believe what Ethan had just said. So, she wasn’t paying attention to the box, only the man in front of her. When he finished, she finally looked at the ring. It has a simple design, one large diamond in the center and a silver band. She just couldn’t breath, it took her a minute, but she only had one word on her mind,

“Yes.” Her voice was just a whisper, but Ethan heard her. He just wanted to much sure, but before he could ask,

“Yes. Yes. YES! Yes Ethan, I will marry you.” Anna tackled Ethan to the ground, her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Ethan was relieved, he used one arm to prop himself up and held her close with his other arm. After a moment, they pulled back and kissed each other, they channeled all of the love they felt into the kisses. When they pulled apart to breathe, Ethan slid the engagement ring onto her left-hand ring finger.

They heard their phones go off. When they checked the notifications, they saw that Sienna had sent a group text, it read Merry Christmas Everyone! They looked at the time 12:00 am. It was Christmas Day.

“Merry Christmas, Ethan.”

“Merry Christmas Mrs. Ramsey.”

#ethan jonah ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #choices #fanfic #fanfiction

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pastelbatfandoms · 4 years ago

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You taste like the 4th of July,Malt liquor on your breath my my,I love you but I don’t know why.~Lana Del Rey,You can be the boss.

A/N: A short side story that takes place during Woodbury,when My OC Suzanna starts dating The Governor,along with Merle,and they discover some new interests about one another. This is before Philip lost his eye,so he’s a bit nicer.

Warnings:Pretty much pure smut,not a whole lot of plot. D/S Play but not extreme,slight Daddy kink.

What We Do Is Private

It was midday in Woodbury,people were milling about,talking and laughing,but I wasn’t really up for joining them,hell I wasn’t even up for guarding the wall,all i wanted was to see Philip or The Governor as they called him,My Boyfriend of a couple of months,or My second Boyfriend I should say,Merle being my first. Merle had been my only boyfriend for a long time,since before the zombie apocalypse,was he inclined to share me? Not usually,but we had just found each other again and I didn’t think he wanted to rock the boat,also Philip was his boss so their wasn’t really anything he could say.

But right now Merle was on a run and I was restless,I couldn’t go kill zombies,Philip hadn’t been too happy last time I jumped over the wall and killed one,but My other boyfriend was hold up in his town house/office with his men talking “important Business” as he had told me,sending me out.

I wanted to be in on it,but something told me I wouldn’t like what they had to say. After walking down the street,I sat on a bench with some lemonade,after a half hour I was still restless. “Fuck it.” I downed my drink,setting it on the bench then stood up. Deciding if Philip wasn’t going to pay attention to me,then I’d make him.

Philip looked up when I entered. The men immediately stopped talking when I came in. “Oh what’s the big secret boys?” I asked cheekily.

“Nothing that concerns you dear.” Philip answered,”I thought you were guarding the wall?” He asked.

I nodded,hopping up on a dresser, “I was I got bored.”

“Well me and the boys were not done talking,so if you could..” Philip gestured to the door.

I pretended not to get the hint.Crossing my legs,I noticed a few of the men’s gaze stray towards me.

Philip noticed too. “Suzanna…” Philip raised his eyebrows in warning,his eyes darkening for a second as he looked at the men.

I looked at him then. “I’m sorry Daddy,I’ll go.”

The men looked down and away in embarrassment at my accidental slip up, But Philip knew better as he rose out of his chair and walked around the desk. “Men if you’ll excuse me for a moment. We’ll pick this up at another time.” Philip gave a show of looking embarrassed,smiling at the men. But I knew he was upset as he turned to look at me,whispering. “Wait for me in our room.Now.” At the look in his eyes,I did what he said.

*ignore the eyepatch ^

As soon as the door shut Philip was on me,wrapping a hand around my neck and pushing me up against the wall. “What did I tell you about calling me Daddy in public?” Philip raised his eyes up at me,the tone in his voice suggesting I answer him. His other hand planted on the wall.

I looked up at him,pleading. Though lets be honest this is what I had wanted. “I’m sorry Phil-” I slipped,on purpose,and Philips grip around my throat tightened.

“What was that?” Philip went close to my ear,his tone low. “You must have wanted me really bad,to interrupt me in front of my men like that.”

“Yes Sir,I do.” I admitted. I stared into his eyes,seeing that darkness emerge that both frightened and excited me.

“Normally I’d make you wait,but I think fucking you until it hurts and your begging me to stop sounds like a much more appealing option.” With a wicked grin,Philip slammed me against the wall harder,letting up on my throat just long enough to give me a passionate kiss.

Once we broke apart Philip turned me around,his hand out the back of my neck now and growled. “Take off that dress.”

I did slowly,but Philip had had enough of me teasing him and with one fell swoop it was at my knees,as was my underwear. “I told you I wasn’t going to take it slow.”

Philip though was still clothed,as he kneaded my ass,grinding himself against me. Then he unbuckled his belt,undoing his pants,he made a show of unbuttoning his shirt then threw both of them to the side. I gave a yelp when I felt a sharp slap to my ass. “Bend over.”

I bent over,my hands grasping at the wall for support,as Philip gripped my hips. “I’m going to fuck the brat out of you.” Philip growled and without warning,pushed into me,my eyes widened and I let out a loud moan,as he grabbed my hair,pulling my head back. “This is what you wanted isn’t it? You wanted my attention,well you got it now.”

I cried out in pain and pleasure as Philip fucked me hard and relentless. I tried to stifle my moans but Philip stopped me,snapping his hips into me. “Oh no Sweetheart,I want to hear you,let those men know what they can’t have.”

I let out a loud moan as Philip went harder,never letting up. Then he grabbed me up,still inside me and fell with me onto the bed. Still on top,he began go deeper,trapping my body under him,My eyes rolled back,and tears pricked,but my screams into the bed weren’t out of pain,not entirely,I loved when he fucked me like this,when he let all his inhibitions down,and it was all about his pleasure,which in turn he knew gave me pleasure as well. “Does that feel good,Darlin?” Philip said breathlessly in my ear,moving my hair back to kiss my neck, “Tell me or we’re done.”

“No sir,please it feels really good.” I managed to moan out.

“Good,because the way you feel ,I don’t think I’d stop even if you begged me.” Philip replied darkly,as he placed a hand on the small of my back,rocking his hips,he then slid that hand under me,his long large fingers finding my clit and rubbing harshly.

I tried to stop him,becoming overstimulated,but he grasped my wrists with his one large hand and kept going. “Uh uh Sweetheart,this is also supposed to be a punishment remember?” Philip said,as I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded. Philip drove harder and faster into me,letting me grind against his fingers as the overstimulation died down and all that remained was the feeling,that euphoric state,where’d you let him do whatever he wanted,I let out a strangled cry and my eyes rolled back as light exploded behind them and I came hard.

I could feel Philip getting close as his thrusts became uneven and hurried. “Shit,I’m going to cum.”

I then asked something I had never asked of him. “Please cum in me,sir.” I whimpered,pleading.

Philip stopped then and looked down at me. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, “I wanna feel you,everything.” I told him.

Not needing more then that,Philip thrusts a few more times and then comes undone inside me,throwing his head back and groaning in release.

I come one more time,shuddering as I feel him pulse inside me. Philip stays in me for a moment,reveling in the feeling,then slowly pulls out.

After the hig dies down and he cleans me up,we lay in bed together,Philip rubbing my back,my head on his chest. “Are you alright?” He asks.

I look up at him smiling,”Better than alright.”

“I wasn’t too rough?” Philip asks,despite what others thought he did have a gentle side that wasn’t all an act.

“No,I mean it’s what I wanted.” I told him. “It’s why I act out sometimes,you know.”

Philip smirked down at me. “Oh I know.” Then his tone turned serious, “What happens if you..”

“If I get pregnant.” I finish his sentence.

Philip nods in concern.

“Well it’s never happened before,but if it does. I’m ready and I know you’d make a good parent,You’ve had experience.” I tell him as he kisses me softly and we curl up together,falling asleep.

~~~~~~

Here is My original Walking Dead Fic which introduces Suzanna > Kings and Queen of Destruction.

A/N: Yes that is how Sadie was born lol This has got to be one of the smuttiest fics I’ve written,but it was worth it! Next one will be darker Governor!

Update: Had to redo this because Tumblr staff is a bunch of prudes and I had to get rid of some Gifs. 🙄

#twd fanfiction #the governor smut #philip blake #The Walking Dead #reupload

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izzielizzie · 4 years ago

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Chapter Seven

Sorry this took so long!!! I had a hard time getting it started. Anyway, we’re back at Bronwyn’s pov. Enjoy!!

“We’re leaving in twenty minutes!” Mom calls up the stairs. We’re going to Simon’s funeral, and even though I feel a little weird going after the school practically accused us of killing him, my parents said I have to go, so I guess I’m going.

“Okay!” Maeve calls down the stairs as she leaves the bathroom. She’s just taken a shower, and her hair is wrapped in a towel. She catches sight of me and frowns. “What?”

I shake myself a little. I must be giving her a pitying look. I keep trying to figure out if I should tell her about TJ cheating, but I feel like she wouldn’t listen.

“What do you want Bron?”

“Can I chill with you before we leave?” I find myself blurting out. Maeve stares at me for a few moments, and I’m so ready for her to laugh and tell me to go away that I don’t completely hear her when she says, “Sure. Why not?”

She brushes past me to push open her door and pauses. “Well don’t just stand there like a weirdo, come on.”

I step into Maeve’s room for the first time in what is probably five years. I mean, I guess I am allowed in here, but I make it a point not to come here. Maybe because I was scared that Maeve would change her room and our childhood would be gone. Or maybe I wanted to prove to her that she could trust me. I don’t even know anymore, but I didn’t need to worry about her room changing: the walls are still a pale purple, and her window seat is still white with floral throw pillows and a purple knitted blanket folded underneath the book I’ve seen Maeve reading in the living room when I practice piano. The only difference is her corkboard with pictures pinned up is filled with photos of her and her soccer friends, not me and our childhood friends like it was when we were young. I sit gingerly on her bed, covered in her white duvet with the purple and yellow polka dots. Maeve opens her closet door and roots through until she finds what she wants. She turns with a black jumpsuit pressed against her body.

“Good?” I’m temped to turn around and see if she’s talking to someone behind me, but I’m not that stupid.

“Good,” I agree. I turn and let Maeve change, and I turn back again when she tosses her shorts and t-shirt over my head and into the hamper. She’s at her dresser, in front of her mirror, when I turn back around. The back of her jumpsuit is still partly unzipped, and I stand and walk over to her. She flinches when I fix the zipper, and I’m startled for a moment. Since when did the girl who demanded hugs every five minutes flinch when touched?

“Thanks sis,” Maeve says. There’s a serenity to her that isn’t there usually. She’s humming as she brushes her long hair out. “I’m thinking of cutting my hair. What do you think?” I still want to look around to find the actual recipient of my sister’s kindness, but I don’t. Whatever is happening right now, I don’t want it to end.

“I like it long,” I say truthfully. She looks nice with long hair, and I can still remember how devastated she was when her hair first started to fall when she was little. Once when I was laying in her hospital bed next to her, she had sworn that after all this was over, she would grow her hair out as long as Mom would permit. I had told her I’d do the same, and now, when I step forward to look in the mirror with her, I can’t see the resemblance between us anymore. My eyes, a sharp grey, are behind dark glasses, my tan skin looks yellowish against my black dress, and my shoulder length curls are limp and a little fuzzy. Maeve looks, as usual, amazing. Her straight hair is falling around her like a curtain, and it’s a few shades darker than mine. Her skin is as pale as Mom’s and the splash of freckles across her face are more pronounced than usual, and her eyes, god her eyes are so bright they could illuminate the room. My sister has always been the beautiful one, and I’m glad she’s happy today. But, even though I know I’m going to regret asking this, I need to know: “Maeve, why are you so happy today?”

Maeve smiles a little as she gives her brush one final tug and places it on the dresser. “I hung out with an old friend yesterday. It was nice.”

“Luis Santos,” I say promptly. Maeve hits me with her best side-eye.

“Don’t be so judge. I saw you with Nathaniel Macauley.” She did? When?

I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. Just stating a fact. I saw you with him at the dinner party yesterday.”

“That’s nice,” Maeve says, picking up her chapstick.

“Are you going to date him?”

“Are you going to date Nate?”

“What? No!” I’m shocked for a moment. “He wasn’t totally in love with me when we were kids. Unlike someone.” I bump my hip against hers, and she spins away from me.

“Yeah, right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as Maeve pulls her black sneakers out from under her bed. “And don’t wear those.” Maeve glares at me as she puts her sneakers back and crouches down until she finds her party shoes, the black leather ones that are nearly identical to mine.

“It means, mi hermana, that Nate was like, totally in love with you.” Maeve redoes the laces on her shoes as I stare at her.

“Don’t be dumb. He was my best friend. That’s all.”

“Best friends don’t have their first kiss after a soccer game.” I can feel my face turn red as my sister smirks at me.

“And best friends don’t carry each other to the elevator at fancy hotels,” I fire back. I’m waiting for a reaction, but I don’t get one.

“Luis isn’t my best friend,” Maeve says calmly with a shrug as she unplugs her phone from her charger and sways out of her room.

“Nate isn’t mine either!” I call back. Maeve just laughs as she leads me down the stairs.

Half an hour later, Dad pulls the car into a parking spot outside of the church, and we pass Luis Santos, Cooper Clay, Addy Prentiss, and a bunch of their friends. “Maeve!” Luis calls. Maeve’s glow intensifies until I can hardly look at her. She turns to our parents, a questioning look on her face.

“Go ahead honey, we’ll save you a seat.” Mom is grinning at Maeve, and I can tell why. Maeve hasn’t been this giddy since she was a kid. Maeve floats away to Luis and his friends, and Luis slips an arm around her. “Not friends” my foot.

“It’s nice to see they’re friends again,” Dad muses as we pass Luis and his friends.

“It is,” I agree, smiling at him. I know Dad thought of Luis as a son, and he’s missed him. Dad smiles back and wraps an arm around me as we walk into the church. Mom’s about to pull open the heavy oak doors when a hand reaches around her and pulls it open.

“After you ma’am,” a familiar voice says, pulling the door open.

“Thank you so much d-” Mom stops short when she is face to face with her worst nightmare in the form of a smirking boy in a leather jacket.

“Nathaniel,” my father says, disentangling himself from me.

“Hello Mr. Rojas,” Nate says.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh you know,” Nate says casually, “I was walking by, saw a large crowd, and thought it would be a good opportunity to make some transactions.”

Both my parents stare at Nate as I try not to laugh. They can be a little gullible sometimes.

“Hey Nate,” Maeve says as she materializes next to us with Luis. His other friends seemed to have disappeared, but they’ve never struck me as people who’d want to go to a funeral.

“Hi, Maeve.” Nate is squinting at Maeve like she’s insane. Understandably. She’s smiling for once. Honestly I forgot she was able to do that. Also, the last time Maeve talked to Nate she yelled at him.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Rojas, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” Luis says to my parents, seemingly sensing the tension.

My parents both brighten as they turn to Luis. He shakes my father’s hand firmly and leans down to kiss my mother’s cheek. Nate and I roll our eyes at each other as Maeve glows so brightly she might put the sun out of business. All Luis is missing is a hat to tip.

“How are you doing son?”

“Well, Mr. Rojas, and you?”

“I’m good.”

Luis smiles and motions towards the door. “Are you going in?”

“We are. Are you Nathaniel?” My mother asks.

“What did you do Nate?” Maeve asks, rolling her eyes. She knows my mother’s danger voice as well as I do.

Mom tells Maeve what Nate said, nearly verbatim, and Maeve doesn’t even try to hide her laughter. “You’re so gullible Mom,” she says breezily, pushing past us to walk through the doors. She turns to us. “Well are you coming? Nate’s coming to the funeral too.”

“I am,” Nate confirms. My parents instantly relax.

There’s a glint in Maeve’s amber eyes as she delivers her parting shot: “his probation officer made him.”

To say the funeral was tense is an understatement. Nate ended up sitting with Maeve on his one side and me on his other. Maeve shook with silent laughter through the entire service and Nate glared at the wall. I breathe a sigh of relief when we exit the church, but the next problem appears in the form of a man in a crisp suit blocking our path as we try to make our way to the car.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rojas?” The man asks.

“Yes?” Mom says.

“I am Detective Wheeler with the Bayview Police. Would we be able to take your daughter Bronwyn to the police station to talk about the events of Simon’s death?”

I freeze and Maeve crashes into me. That doesn’t sound good.

“Why?” Mom asks.

“Just a customary check in, we’re doing it with all the students. Just to tie up loose ends.”

That really doesn’t sound good.

“Only if we can come with her,” Dad says.

The detective nods. “Of course. We aren’t holding her. But your younger daughter…” The detective trails off, looking at Maeve suspiciously.

She smiles a little. “I’ll go wait by the car. I need to tell Luis something anyway.”

“Go ahead honey, we’ll see you soon,” Mom says. Maeve gives a jaunty wave, steps around me, and walks away with a spring in her step. If I had to guess, her forthcoming interaction with Luis wouldn’t involve a lot of talking.

I follow the detective and my parents to the police station down the street, where we’re directed to what seems an awful lot like an interrogation room. The detective starts talking about Simon’s death, and I don’t listen because I’ve heard it too many times, but I zone back into the conversation when Detective Wheeler shows us a tablet with About That, Simon’s old gossip Tumblr, pulled up to a post that makes my heart stop. It’s about all of us at detention. About how Cooper used steroids (unsurprising), Nate sold drugs while being on probation (expected honestly) and how Addy cheated on her boyfriend Jake with a boy named… oh no. TF. TJ Forrester. Maeve’s ex. The one she’s been moping about for months. I’m not surprised, I knew this, but my parents didn’t. I glance at them to see their reaction. My mom’s eyes are trained on Addy’s piece of gossip, but my dad’s are on the next piece. The one I’ve been ignoring because it’s about me. More specifically, about how I cheated in my chemistry class last year.

All my blood rushes to my head as Detective Wheeler asks “well, Miss Rojas, what do you have to say about yourself?”

My mother stiffens. “My daughter has no comment. And we aren’t going to talk about this until we have a lawyer present, Detective.”

“Very well,” says Detective Wheeler resignedly. He seems to have expected this. “But let me tell you that your friends are all here, Bronwyn, and one of them will admit to your crime.”

Mom’s pushing me out of the room before I can ask what crime he might be talking about. Surely my “friends” have nothing they can say about my cheating. Mom and Dad don’t say anything as we walk the block back to our car. They look angry though. Mom’s expression softens when she sees Maeve, however.

“Hey!” Maeve says pleasantly. She’s sitting on the car’s hood, her phone in her hand. She holds up her free hand to block the setting sun from her face. It doesn’t work that well though, since the light streams onto her face, turning her hair coppery, her freckles golden, and her eyes into the most fiery they’ve ever looked. She looks like the picture of the warrior queen on the poster in the library, and I almost expect her to come flying at me with a sword. Which is stupid. Maeve is the least confrontational person I’ve ever met. Subtle jabs are more her style.

“Hi Maevey,” Mom says. Maeve stares at her. Mom hasn’t called her Maevey in years.

“What the hell happened at the station?” Maeve whispers to me as we climb into the back seat of the car.

“Let’s just say that this isn’t going to end well,” I whisper back through clenched teeth as Dad glares at me through the rearview mirror.

“Understatement,” my sister mumbles as she puts her earbuds into her ears, leaving me to face my parents’ wrath alone.

#when we didn't need to lie #next chapter #finally #izzielizzie's fics

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e-milieeee · 5 years ago

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i love you a latte—adrienette

Summary: Running on 5 cups of coffee and the extra boost her transformation gives her, Marinette’s determined to finish her project before the sun rises.

(Adrien’s just here to distract her, and honestly, it’s working.)

Notes: honestly i labelled it adrienette but it has a mix of ladynoir, ladrien and adrienette but its post reveal so it doesn’t actually matter LOLOLOL

Or read on AO3!

Marinette was stressed.

Her desk was a testament of that: it was littered with papers, candy wrappers, string, fabric and the coffee stain from two hours ago that she hadn’t bothered wiping up. The flat wasn’t any better. Like a risky game of jenga, the sink was piled high with dirty dishes. Takeout boxes were stacked just as precariously in the trash. Her closet, a complete and utter nightmare, fared no better. Marinette had a headache just looking at the mess, and thinking about having to clean it made her nauseous. So she just didn’t clean it.

As Adrien often told her, she was awful at dealing with stress.

It didn’t help that the project was due in three days. Marinette had been slaving through it for weeks on end, but the last design was particularly difficult. There was always something that didn’t seem right, but she could never pinpoint it. Now, as the end product was slowly but surely beginning to assemble, and Marinette didn’t have time for distractions. And tidying and doing dishes and sleeping were all distractions.

The clock read two thirty in the morning. If she worked hard enough, she could be finished by dawn. Then, she could sleep all through the morning, wake up in the afternoon, and start the revisions. It was a relatively foolproof plan if she didn’t count the fact that she might not be able to make it until morning.

The fifth cup of coffee just wasn’t doing it. Marinette needed something stronger.

For a moment, she sat still in her chair, contemplating her options. Then a burst of sleep deprived brilliance struck Marinette.

“Tikki,” she called.

Her kwami had dozed off on Marinette’s desk rather early in the night, but she startled awake quickly with a, “Yes?”

“I’m going to transform,” Marinette decided. “It’ll fight off the sleep better.”

“Don’t you think sleeping would be a better option? Then you can work on it in the morning!”

“Sleeping is not an option.” Especially not when she was in the final run, and all she needed to do was finish…

Tikki gave her a look that Marinette was well accustomed to: bad idea, but your choice. Given that there was no verbal or physical resistance, she took it as an agreement, no matter how reluctant. Tikki had witnessed firsthand how wonderfully terrible Marinette was with deadlines and always did her best to accommodate.

“Tikki, spots on!”

A flash of pink later, Marinette was suited and ready to work again. She downed the coffee for good measure, fought back a yawn, and positioned herself in front of the sewing machine.

“I’m Ladybug,” she said aloud, turning to her sewing machine. “I’m Ladybug, and I’m going to finish this—”

A tapping sound interrupted her. Ladybug whirled around. Even her muddled brain could comprehend that if somebody were to see Ladybug sitting in Marinette’s apartment, the dots wouldn’t be so hard to connect.

To her relief, it was a familiar pair of green eyes that blinked at her through the window. Chat Noir was crouching on the ledge, mouthing something that Ladybug couldn’t hear. She scrambled from her chair, nearly knocking her cup down in the process, and slid open the window.

A gust of cool, night breeze swept inside. For a moment, she wondered if leaving the window would help her stay more awake… then a particularly strong gust sent the papers on her desk flying out of order, and she slammed it shut behind Chat.

“What are you doing here?” Ladybug asked when a semblance of order had been restored.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied simply. “What about you?”

She winced. “Final project.”

He eyed the room contemplatively, and it hit Ladybug just how messy everything was. She let out a mortified squeak of shock, but the dirty dishes and takeout boxes and unfolded laundry weren’t going anywhere. “Out!” she shrieked. “Oh my God, out!”

“Plagg, claws in!”

Before Ladybug could shove him back through the window out of embarrassment, it was no longer Chat but Adrien that stood there, hands raised in a placating gesture. She froze. She couldn’t send him tumbling down thirteen stories like she could with Chat Noir.

He was donning the Ladybug pajamas he was so unabashedly proud of, hair loose and messy—his Chat hair. He definitely looked like he had rolled right out of bed.

Slowly, Ladybug backed down with a groan. “Don’t you dare comment about the state of the apartment. I know it’s bad.”

“Wasn’t going to, m’lady.”

“As long as you have food in your fridge,” a grumpy voice interrupted, “I don’t mind how messy it is either.”

Ladybug raised an eyebrow at Plagg as he zipped out from Adrien’s hair. “This idiot here couldn’t sleep, so he dragged me up, and for what? Oh, Plagg, I just want some fresh air! Plagg, please? I’ll buy you extra camembert. Plagg, you know how my insomnia acts up sometimes.” Plagg retched. “Fresh air my ass. I wouldn’t have agreed if I knew he was just going to be sticking his tongue down your throat.”

Adrien’s face went pink. “Plagg!”

“Shut up and feed me.”

“Glutton,” Adrien shot back, sticking his tongue out petulantly at his kwami. “Marinette, do you have food? And why are you transformed?”

“Uh,” she managed. She tried to think what was left in her fridge, but her brain wasn’t functioning enough for it. “I think I can focus better as Ladybug? Anyway, there’s cookies in the cabinets for Tikki. Plagg can either eat that or the raw meat in the freezer.”

Plagg, bemoaning how he hated Adrien, floated off to the cabinets in search of sweets.

Meanwhile, Adrien rounded her desk to lean on the other (slightly cleaner) side. “How many cups of coffee?”

Ladybug returned to the sewing machine. “Five. I think it stopped working.”

“I think it’s because you’ve drank so much coffee these past couple years that you’ve slowly built up immunity to the caffeine. Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes.” She paused, counting the time. “Two and a half hours.”

Adrien looked horrified. “Marinette!” he exclaimed. “You still have three days to finish. You need to take a break.”

He was right, but while she did need the break, the project also needed to be finished. Sure, there were three more days, but Ladybug needed to have the wiggle room for revisions and checking and double-checking for perfection.

“If I finish tonight, I have time to relax and revise without stressing about it,” she explained, although Adrien looked less convinced after each word. “I’m already behind schedule, since I’ve been working on the last dress forever and this is the fourth try.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you look like you’re about to pass out.” He gave her desk another scan as if to prove the point. “Seriously, Marinette, you’ll produce better work if you’re well rested and not running on caffeine.”

Once again, Adrien was right. She could barely go ten minutes without scrubbing her face with water or rubbing her eyes and yawning. Then a wave of panic rushed over her. The dress she had been working on had been made when she was not well rested, which meant it wasn’t under the category of better work, which meant she should redo it all from scratch so she could submit her best quality work—

“Marinette,” Adrien interrupted like he knew exactly what she was going to say. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. Just sleep.”

“But—”

Before she could formulate the rest of the protest, Adrien had scooped her out of the chair. Ladybug was too tired to put up a struggle. “Have you eaten any fruits or vegetables in the past couple of days?” he demanded as he carried her towards the bedroom. “Wait, have you even been eating three meals? Have you been eating two meals?”

Ladybug scrunched her nose. “What are you, my mom?”

“Your mom would ask you the same,” he shot back immediately. “Seriously, Mari, you need to take care of yourself more.”

Too tired to argue with him, she shut her eyes and curled up against his chest. Sleep was a dangerous thing; once she gave into it, there was no way out. “S’okay,” she mumbled. “You’ll take care of me.”

“Then you better let me do my job.”

She giggled. “You are like my mom.”

“And as your mother, I’m putting you to bed.”

Bed. The word sounded comforting and lovely and warm ( Adrien was all that as well). The last thing she felt was Adrien setting her gently down on the mattress, pulling the duvet over her, and then the rest was oblivion.

***

Marinette woke up to the smell of breakfast wafting into her room. Which was a rare commodity because breakfast was her favourite meal to skip.

The bed was comfortable and warm, blankets tucked all around her. Given her penchant for kicking her covers off in the middle of the night, that meant she had been recently tucked in, and—

Adrien. Everything came flooding back. Adrien was here in her apartment—her unpresentable, messy apartment—and he had somehow coaxed her to sleep last night when she could’ve spent the time finishing up her project. He had also managed to get her to detransform, because she was once again wearing the same clothes she had been wearing for at least two days.

Marinette shot out of bed, now properly horrified. She scrambled. She flailed. She stubbed her toe on the drawer and fled into the living room, where the delightful smell of breakfast was the strongest.

Adrien was standing at the stove, wearing her pink apron, still in his Ladybug pajamas. That wasn’t the most surprising part, though: every mess in the kitchen and living room had been straightened, cleaned, or disposed of.

Marinette gaped.

Having noticed her presence, he turned around and waved, spatula still in hand. Sunlight slanted through the windows and onto the couch—the couch that just last night was so full of clothing and papers that no one could sit on—which was now clear. Only cushions sat in their rightful place. It looked like he had performed a full-on exorcism on the mess.

“Adrien,” Marinette managed aloud, “what happened here?”

He flipped an egg. “I tidied up a little when I woke up this morning,” he replied. “And, uh, restocked a bit of your groceries. You were running low.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “In full honesty, I only got up because Plagg was yelling at me about having no proper sustenance, so I decided to clean to pass the time.”

The little black kwami floated out as if summoned. “Just because Tikki likes cookies,” he sniffed, “doesn’t mean I do.” As if to prove his point, he waved a whole wheel of camembert. Marinette stuck out her tongue at Plagg before turning back to Adrien.

“You had time to clean and get groceries?” she asked. “There was… a lot of stuff around here. Like, a lot. It would’ve taken me at least hours to tidy.”

Adrien transferred the eggs from the pan to the two plates. He gestured at the counter, where the digital clock sat. “It’s eleven, so I had three hours to do all of that.”

Eleven. The realization dropped like a bomb and Marinette nearly screamed. “Eleven?” she yelped, whirling on Adrien. “Why did you let me sleep for so long? Why didn’t you wake me up? I wasn’t even supposed to sleep last night and I’m not finished and this means—”

“Marinette, relax!”

She slowed to a halt. “You still have time,” Adrien continued soothingly, in the specific tone he used every time he needed to calm her down. “I let you sleep in because you need to be well-rested to put out your best work, and you need to eat a healthy, balanced meal in order to focus later. You can work all day afterwards. But right now, we’re going to have brunch together, and you’re not going to think of your project until we finish.”

Marinette didn’t want to wait. The fact that she was so close yet not quite made her uncomfortably jittery and the only remedy would be to work work work so she could just get it done with, but that wasn’t rational or reasonable. Besides, the meal Adrien had cooked smelled delicious and it would be rude to not eat it with him…

Relax, she told herself. I’ll finish in time. It’ll be okay.

Marinette breathed in a full body inhale, then let it out slowly. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, let’s eat.”

Adrien’s eyes crinkled and she felt herself relax slightly. “Just sit,” he told her. “I’m supposed to pamper you today.”

The table was already set, so Marinette slid into the chair as Adrien set down her plate in front of her. On it were the eggs he had been frying, a scallion pancake, strawberries, and a generous serving of hash browns. Ever since his father had been defeated, Adrien started dropping by their family’s bakery more and more, and her mother had taken to both feeding him and teaching him how to properly cook. It turned out that Adrien had what Sabine called the Culinary Touch, because once he started learning, everything he made was heavenly.

Her mug was set down before her, and Marinette let out a squeak of delight. “You learned how to do this?” she asked, beaming at the cream heart decorated perfectly on top.

Adrien gave her a cheeky grin. “I love you a latte,” he announced proudly.

Marinette moaned. “You ruined it.”

“Nah, you love my puns.”

“I love a lot of things about you, but your internet-stolen puns aren’t one of them.”

He feigned hurt, clutching his chest. “All of this,” he cried, gesturing grandly, “was for that pun. I only ask for a minuscule amount of appreciation, Bugaboo, yet you wound me with your insults—”

“Shut up, drama queen,” Marinette laughed, picking up her utensils. “Ugh, I’ve been craving scallion pancakes for so long. And you make these exactly like my mom.”

Adrien preened. “We established that I am your mother last night,” he reminded her.

“I don’t claim responsibility for anything I said, agreed to, or didn’t agree to last night. Also, how did you get my transformation off?”

It was Adrien’s turn to groan. “I had to bribe you into saying Tikki, spots off, ” he grumbled. “You don’t know how hard it was. For someone who put up such a struggle about not wanting to sleep, as soon as you touched the bed, you were out like a light.”

Marinette, not remembering anything that happened last night, was more than happy not to recall. “But you managed it in the end, didn’t you?”

“But at what cost?” Adrien speared a hashbrown. “What would Paris think to know that their beloved Ladybug was actually such a bratty menace?”

Torn between curious and mortified, Marinette asked, “What did I do?”

Adrien gave her a wicked little grin. “I’m not telling,” he sang.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg for the answer, Marinette dug back into her breakfast and tried to appear disinterested. Apparent lack of interest was always the easiest way for Adrien to crack.

It only took a minute or so before he spoke up again. “Do you want to know what you did?”

Marinette arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re asking, not me.”

“C’mon, humour me, buginette.”

“Only because you said so, chaton. What deal with the devil did you strike last night?”

He grinned. “I think I’ll save that for another time. You need to get to work soon.”

Marinette glared at him, mentally filing away the fact that she was going to wiggle the information out of him one way or another. Stuffing the last piece of scallion pancake into her mouth, she sat back with a content sigh. “This was good.”

“And it was a well balanced meal,” Adrien added drily, also cleaning his plate. “Which you should be eating despite the fact that you have a final project due. I saw at least three Chinese take-outs in your trash can.”

“One was from last week!”

Adrien wrinkled his nose. “Is that supposed to be better or worse?”

Shaking her head, she smiled at him instead. “Thank you,” Marinette told Adrien, and she meant it. “You’re the best.”

He returned the smile, green eyes crinkling. Back in lycée, her heart would’ve turned to mush if he smiled at her in such a way. Now, five years later, Marinette was no closer to stopping the butterflies in her stomach. It wasn’t her fault he had such a lovely smile.

Adrien was the first to look away, sweeping her empty plate from in front of her in one smooth movement. “I’ll do the dishes,” he offered. “Finish your project, and maybe we can cook dinner together.”

Before Marinette could agree, he leaned down and planted a quick kiss against her cheek in one fluid movement. “Good luck. I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

She stared at him for a couple seconds longer as he headed towards the kitchen. She didn’t deserve Adrien. Amazing, kindhearted, hardworking, considerate Adrien who was everything anybody could ever ask for.

“Marinette?” he stuck his head out. “I love you a latte.”

She groaned. Of course he had to pun.

"I also love you a latte," she replied reluctantly.

(All the embarrassment was worth the grin that spread across his face.)

Notes: This is part 3 of my lovesquare drabbles, although they’re all loosely interconnected and each work as a standalone. If you’re interested, here’s part one, and here’s part two!

Here’s my fic masterlist.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette #adrien agreste #chat noir #ladybug #my writing #mlb fic #stressed marinette LOL whoops

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years ago

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 36: Martin

It’s an interesting weekend, to say the least, partly because of the startling news Sasha uncovered that Jonah Magnus isn’t the only avatar to attempt to extend his life (Jon Prime apologizes profusely for not telling them that, but Sasha points out that it wasn’t exactly important at the beginning and they have to discover some things for themselves) and partly because Tim tells them, Saturday night, that he thinks he’s got enough of a handle on his abilities that he can focus on a single person or object and not risk being blinded by anything else around them. He thinks he can control it. Jon is apprehensive, but agrees that if Tim really wants to test it, he’s willing to let him try a controlled test on Sunday.

They call Sasha, who turns up around teatime with the Primes. One by one they sit opposite Tim in the living room while he takes a deep breath, relaxes, and lets his eyes go slightly unfocused. For each one, he describes what he sees to them while Jon Prime jots down the notes for him, then passes the notebook to Martin so he can stand before Tim. They all know Jon Prime has been marked by all fourteen powers; Tim says he’s hoping to just get clarification on one or two colors he isn’t sure about. It’s apparently too much for him, though, especially since he’s done all the others first, and he passes out. He comes around fairly quickly, but he’s still weak and shaky and both Jon and Martin declare the test at an end. Tim doesn’t argue, but he also won’t go lie down on his own, and the Primes and Sasha quietly let themselves out so the other three can go to bed early.

He’s still a little shaky on Monday morning, but seems in good spirits. Jon hesitantly offers him one of the statements they’ve been saving for Jon Prime; Martin lets them argue for a couple minutes about the recordings before interrupting gently to ask, “Do you actually need to record it for it to count?”

“What?” both of them ask, turning to him in surprise.

Martin shrugs. “I mean…the recorders don’t belong to the Eye, right? So it’s not the act of actually recording them that feeds it. It’s just the reading of them. The…consumption, I guess? If you just go back into the shelves or into the Cavern of Secrets or whatever and read it out loud, that ought to be enough, right?”

Jon and Tim look at each other. “That’s…actually a good point,” Tim says finally. He holds out his hand, and Jon gives him the statement. “Be back in a bit. I hope.”

He brushes off their offers of help and half-staggers towards Document Storage. Jon watches him go, then turns to Martin. “How did you think of that?”

“They mentioned once that…” Martin glances upwards. It’s hard sometimes to be precise without actually mentioning the Primes, so he decides to take a risk and hope Elias’ attention is elsewhere. “Your counterpart used to go out and pounce people to get their statements. But he didn’t record them, just…listened to them. And since we really don’t know what’s actually behind the recorders, except that it isn’t what’s feeding us in return, it just makes sense that he doesn’t need to make it ‘official’ for it to count.”

“God, I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. We really do have a…symbiotic relationship with that thing.” Jon sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair. “I really shouldn’t let you three read any of these statements, but…”

“I don’t think there’s anything to be done about that now, Jon. We’re too tightly connected to it. We could none of us ever deliberately use the abilities it gave us again and I bet there’d be just enough…accidental occurrences to weaken us until we died. Starving ourselves won’t starve it.”

“You might be right, but I don’t have to like it.” Jon brushes his hand against Martin’s and changes the subject. “What are you working on today?”

“Um, we found another statement involving that space station, so I was going to see what I could dig up on that.”

“Good. Just be careful. I’ve got another backlog of recordings to do.” Jon grimaces. “Make Tim take it easy.”

“Easier said than done, but okay.” Martin smiles.

It’s easier than he expects, honestly. Tim is at least pretending to take care of himself, so when Martin tells him that both he and Jon want him to be careful, and Sasha makes it unanimous, he does. Apart from Jan Kilbride’s statement, everything else they’re looking into is something they all know is false, but they have to go through the motions. It’s oddly soothing, in its own way. Most of the morning passes with the three of them simply murmuring to one another when they find something interesting or mocking obviously false statements.

Tim and Sasha have a standing lunch date every Monday, something they’ve apparently done since they were in Research; Martin joined them once or twice, back at the beginning of everything, but bowed out after a while. It’s not that he felt uncomfortable or unwelcome so much as it is he feels like that’s their thing and doesn’t want to intrude. He waves them out absently, a pen clenched between his teeth as he tries to winnow down the list of Jenny Mackintoshes to a reasonable number that might be the one mentioned in the statement, false though it may be—they have to be sure, after all.

Less than five minutes after they leave, Sasha’s desk phone rings. Technically it’s for the Archives as a whole, and it used to be on Jon’s desk, but since that’s where he does his recordings and the relatively infrequent ringing forced him to have to redo a number of them, Tim managed to sweet-talk someone into installing it out on the main floor. Sasha’s desk is just the one closest to the connection. The ringing sounds more like a doorbell than a phone, and Martin’s still not sure it actually connects to the outside. He leans over and snags the receiver. “Archives, Martin Blackwood speaking.”

“Hi, Martin, this is the front desk.” Manal, as always, sounds slightly apologetic for having interrupted him. “There’s a Ms. Melanie King here to see Mr. Sims.”

“Thanks, Manal, I’ll be right up.” Martin hangs up the phone and glances towards Jon’s closed office door, then decides to just go get Melanie and let Jon know when they get back, if it’s important.

The front area of the Institute is a bit hectic, which it usually is this time of day as people pass back and forth on their way to lunch. He dodges around a few people, murmuring an absent response to the greetings of a woman who could almost be Quentin Blake’s drawings of Miss Trunchbull brought to life if she was a nicer-sounding person, and makes his way over to the front desk. Melanie King stands there, coat still on her shoulders and arms folded over her chest, tapping a foot impatiently against the floor, scanning the room as Manal looks up at her in amazement and adoration. Martin bites back a grin and approaches. “Ms. King?”

Melanie turns to him, eyes narrowed, and studies him for a second. “You’re—Martin, right? You used to work in the library?”

“Yep, that’s me.” Martin’s kind of surprised she knows that. “Martin Blackwood. You need to talk to Jon?”

“Yeah. You’d think at this point I wouldn’t need an escort.” Melanie says the last part almost under her breath.

“You’d think, but Elias gets his knickers in a twist about the oddest things sometimes,” Martin says. It elicits a surprised giggle out of Manal, who quickly covers her mouth with one hand and glances at the steps that lead to the first floor, to Rosie’s office and then the Institute Head’s. Sound travels oddly up those stairs from time to time, and now that Martin knows why the Institute was built, that doesn’t surprise him anymore. “Right this way…thanks, Manal.”

To her credit, Melanie waits until they’re halfway down the stairs before she says, “Does her mummy know she’s skipping school?”

“She’s almost twenty,” Martin says, briefly counting back to make sure he’s adding her age up right. “Been working here a couple years. I don’t think she was all that good a student.” He’s also fairly certain she pulled herself out of an abusive home life, or at least a shitty one, but he’s not going to say that out loud.

Melanie looks tired, but also determined. Martin feels like he’s got a mouthful of seltzer and bites his tongue to keep from asking her if she’s okay or what’s wrong; he knows by now what it tastes like when there’s a statement in the offing, and he doesn’t want to accidentally pull it out of her before she’s ready, or before Jon is. Something about her eyes says she’s only going to want to make this official.

Something about the way she looks at her wrist—take that, Tim, I’m NOT the only person under the age of forty who still wears a wristwatch—says she’s in a hurry, so he asks, as neutrally as he can, “Got somewhere to be? We can go faster if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got a plane to catch, but not for hours yet.” Melanie sighs. “No sense in breaking our necks over this.”

“Sure,” Martin says softly. A plane to catch. Ghost Hunt UK only investigates domestic hauntings—it’s right in their name, for Christ’s sake—and they’re on something of an indefinite hiatus anyway. Either Melanie is getting out of the country for a while, or she’s continuing her research on her own, and he’s not sure which outcome he’s hoping for.

Motioning for Melanie to wait once they reach the Archives, Martin pokes his head into the doorway of Jon’s office and waits until Jon looks up. Jon gives him a short nod, finishes reading the statement aloud, and pauses the recording. “Is everything okay? Tim—”

“Tim’s fine. He and Sasha left for lunch a few minutes ago,” Martin assures him. “It’s Melanie King, she’s back to talk to you. I…think you might need the tape recorder.”

“Ah.” Jon’s face goes through an interesting series of emotions that would make Martin smile in any other circumstances. “I…don’t know if you can sit in on this one, Martin, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’m going to finish up what I’m working on and then head out to lunch myself, if that’s all right with you?”

“That should be fine. I’ll run to the canteen when Tim and Sasha get back. Assuming Tim doesn’t try to foist leftovers on me.” Jon smiles. “Send her in.”

Martin ushers Melanie in and shuts the door behind her, then heads back to his desk. Oddly enough—or maybe not so oddly—the break seems to have done some good, because it’s a lot easier for him to winnow down the list, and before long he has five possible matches. He makes note of them, saves his work, and closes his laptop.

He can feel the edges of a migraine starting up, so he shakes out a couple aspirin tablets and swallows them with the last of his tea, wincing at the powdery drag down his throat. Just as he stands up and reaches for his jacket, Jon’s office door opens, and Melanie comes out, all but slamming it behind her. She’s obviously in a bad mood and Martin isn’t sure if it’s something Jon said or just her general irritation. Something in him, though, can’t leave it be. Not that he wants to know what’s causing the mood…just that he doesn’t want it to linger. Not if she’s about to leave the country.

“Melanie,” he calls.

She stops partway across the floor and turns to look at him, arms akimbo. “What?”

Martin holds up his jacket, feeling a little foolish. “I was just going out to grab lunch. Want to come along? There’s a little sandwich place a few minutes away that does some interesting things with turkey, if you like that sort of thing.”

Melanie blinks at him. “You’re asking…me…to go to lunch with you,” she says flatly.

“Yeah?” Martin makes a show of looking around the Archives. “You see anyone else around here I could be asking?”

“Why?”

“Because you look like you could use a friend?”

Melanie’s eyebrows draw together in a frown. Martin is about to elaborate when she says, seemingly apropos of nothing, “I’m a lesbian.”

“Great! I’m gay!” Martin blurts. “See, we have something in common already!”

Melanie actually cracks a smile at that, and her shoulders relax. It’s only then that Martin realizes she thought he was hitting on her and wants to smack himself with embarrassment. Before he can apologize, though, she shrugs. “Yeah, okay, why not?”

Martin manages a smile back, shrugs into his jacket, and leads her out the employee entrance rather than the main steps.

The morning’s haze has burned off, and it’s sunny without being too warm for comfort. Melanie keeps her hands in her pockets as she walks, her shoulders hunched forward. Watching her, Martin is more and more sure he’s making the right call. She was agitated when she got to the Institute and talking to Jon probably didn’t help. It so rarely does.

There’s something off about the sandwich shop when they get there, but Martin doesn’t know what it is until they step inside and see it liberally festooned in paper hearts and glitter-covered cupids. Both of them groan in unison.

“Want to go somewhere else?” Martin asks Melanie.

“God, yeah. Is there anywhere that won’t be doing…” Melanie waves a hand at the decorations. “This?”

“Um…” Martin tries to think. “Curry shop or a pub. Two blocks’ difference in either direction. Take your pick.”

“The pub. I’ll have plenty of chances for curry over the next…however long. And I could use a pint.”

Martin lets the door shut and turns to the right. “Heading to India, then?”

Melanie nods once, but offers nothing further. Martin lets it go for now.

It’s a workingman’s pub, nothing fancy or pretentious. When the team goes out for drinks—more frequently than they used to—this is the one they usually come to, partly because it’s not too expensive compared to some of the others and partly because the barman has a sense of humor as well as a sense of adventure and will make all sorts of weird mixed drinks for Tim. Also, the rest of the Institute prefers going to one of the more ostentatious, upscale places—the sort that cater to the tourists and the businessmen, really. This one’s quieter, which is just the way they like it. The owner, a man about Sasha’s height but closer to Martin’s weight called Pat, nods as they come in; Martin nods in reply, waves two fingers, then gestures at one of the tables. Pat throws him a casual salute in acknowledgment and points at the stack of single-sheet menus on the table by the door. Martin snags two and hands one to Melanie as they drop down in their seats.

Melanie grunts as she studies the list of daily specials. “I can’t think of anything worse than being single on Valentine’s Day.”

“Getting broken up with on Valentine’s Day,” Martin says dryly, also scanning the specials. “Don’t get the stew. It’s basically just last week’s leftovers. The meat pies should be all right, it being Monday and all.”

Melanie looks up at him in evident surprise, but when Pat comes over with their pints, she orders the pie. Once Pat lumbers off, she says, “Jesus, did that actually happen to you, or is that hypothetically speaking?”

“It was a few years ago, but yeah.” Truthfully, he’s always hated the holiday, dating back to when he was a child and lucky to get a generic card from a single classmate whose mother forced them to bring cards for the whole class. It wasn’t much better when he did start dating. By the time his mother waited until he got back from the disastrous date that culminated in his then-boyfriend storming out of the restaurant, leaving Martin with the check and no easy way home, to inform him she had decided to move into a care home effective immediately, he was pretty much over the whole concept.

“You’re well rid of him, then.” Melanie picks up her glass and stared at it. “Dated someone once who broke up with me three days before my birthday. Came back three months later, told me she was so sorry and wanted to give it another chance. I said yes. Like an idiot.”

Martin can’t help the bark of laughter that slips out. “Let me guess. Your birthday’s at the end of November?”

“Third of December. And I didn’t get it!” Melanie slaps her palm against the table. “She pulled the same stunt again that year, but this time I’d already bought her present. It was while I was returning it to the shop that it hit me she was breaking up with me to avoid all the gift-giving…stuff. God. Teenagers are so stupid sometimes.”

Martin raises his glass. “Cheers to that.”

Melanie clinks her glass against his, then takes a sip and relaxes back in her seat. “So…seriously. Why are you doing this?”

“Seriously, you looked like you could use a friend.” Martin takes a sip of his own beer. “And you looked kind of miserable. Didn’t want you going out of town like that.”

“Hmm.” Melanie studies him for a minute, then sets down her glass and holds out her hand across the table. “Melanie.”

“Martin.” Feeling a weird sort of relief, Martin accepts her hand and shakes it. They’re both smirking when they settle back. “How’d you get into doing Ghost Hunt UK, anyway?”

“Started back in uni. One of the buildings on campus was reputed to be haunted,” Melanie explains. “It was one of those stories that get told to first-year students at the beginning of term, you know? Everyone knew someone who knew someone who’d seen a ghost there. Either you believed it and stayed away from the building after dark, or you dismissed it as a story told to frighten gullible firsties.” She shrugs. “Me, I was somewhere in the middle. I was a lot more skeptical back then, you know? But I wasn’t ready to dismiss it altogether. I wanted proof.”

“So, what, you set up a hidden camera?” Martin asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “No, not exactly. I did research. Lots of it. I wanted to know if there’d really been a fire that someone was trapped in, or a student who jumped off the roof during finals week, or a murdered cleaning woman or whatever. And the thing was, there were a couple of events that tallied with some of the stories I’d heard, but, you know…”

“There’s still that question of whether or not it’s just got enough truth to be plausible so people stop looking.”

“Exactly! You get it. Anyway, I was studying Media and Communications, so when the opportunity came up to do our first student film project, I suggested to Andy—we were in the same class and he was my partner—that we do something regarding the alleged haunting. It was….um, actually, it was originally fiction. To be honest, I don’t think either of us really believed it at that point. But…well.”

Martin nods in understanding. “You found something, I take it?”

Melanie’s eyes sparkle. “Boy, did we ever. It turns out there were two ghosts. One of them was pretty harmless—the one that had jumped off the roof. Turned out it was a student who’d been on the verge of failing out and didn’t want to face his family. Mostly he didn’t appear, you’d just hear him crying in odd corners late at night, especially close to finals week. The other one…well, we weren’t quite sure which one she was, but she definitely didn’t die easy, and she wasn’t happy about it. We got some good stuff on camera and beat feet out of there. Our teacher complimented us on our brilliant script and asked how we’d done such good special effects, and…well, we kind of lied to her, but it worked out. After that I think we both knew we were going to make a career out of that. It was just such a thrill.”

She’s genuinely passionate about her work, Martin thinks, and it makes his heart ache for her that she’s not been able to do it for so long. “I talk with students sometimes—more when I worked up in the library, but one or two come down to use the Archives. Had more than a few cite Ghost Hunt UK as the reason they’re studying the paranormal.”

Melanie flushes. “Yeah, well…yeah.”

Pat brings their lunch about then. Martin’s about to prompt Melanie with another question when she throws one at him. “What about you? How’d you end up doing what you do?”

“Do you mean working at the Magnus Institute in general, or winding up in the Archives?”

“Either. Both. How’d you get interested in the paranormal?”

“Honestly? I just needed the job,” Martin admits. “My mum’s been…she’s been sick for a long time, but she suddenly got a lot worse. I was desperate for a job and the Institute was the only place that would hire me.”

“Oh.” Something in Melanie’s face changes. “I’m sorry. What—if it’s not too invasive, what’s…wrong with her?”

Martin shrugs, feeling the familiar prickle of uncertainty crawl up his spine. “Dunno. They’ve never quite been able to figure it out, actually? I’ve been given a big long list of what it isn’t. It’s not MS, it’s not Parkinson’s, it’s not ALS…and so on and so forth. At this point I’m prepared to say she’s got Liliana Blackwood’s Disease.”

Melanie winces. “God. That must be hell on both of you. The whole not-knowing thing.”

“Worse for me, honestly,” Martin says slowly. Something prickles in the back of his mind; he tries to shut out the feeling, but the Eye—he’s sure it’s the Eye—shoves it through his barrier like someone pushing an envelope under a door. “I think she has some idea what it might be, actually. Or why it suddenly got worse a few years ago. But I also kind of think maybe she enjoys it a little. The attention, anyway. Not the actual being…I-I mean, nobody wants their kid to have to take care of them like that.”

“Yeah,” Melanie says softly. “I don’t think my dad would have, either.”

Martin looks up sympathetically. “He was sick?”

“Dementia. Early onset. Mum took care of him until she died, and then—the job, and I just—I couldn’t be his full-time caretaker, and it wasn’t safe to have him at home alone. I had to put him in a home.” Melanie stares into her half-empty pint glass. “Wish I visited him more, before…”

“He stopped remembering you?” Martin asks gently.

Melanie shakes her head. “He remembered me up to the end, but he died a few years ago. I, uh…is your mother still at home or…?”

“No, she asked to go into a home a few years ago.” It’s a polite way of phrasing it. She hadn’t really asked so much as told him she was going.

“Then maybe you know about…not many people really paid attention when it happened. Even the crew at Ghost Hunt UK didn’t really…” Melanie hesitates, crumbling a bit of pie crust in between her thumb and forefinger. “Did you ever hear of a place called Ivy Meadows?”

Martin’s blood runs cold. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah,” Melanie agrees. “Dad was still there when it burned down. The official story was that it had closed down months before and all the patients transferred, but…I never quite got why they did that.” She sighs heavily.

“Corruption,” Martin says under his breath.

Melanie, unfortunately, hears him. “You’re saying the staff was corrupt?”

“No. Well, yes, but…” Martin hesitates. “Look, there’s…let’s just say someone connected to it made a statement to the Institute. It’s—it was a lot.”

“And you believe it?”

“Yeah. See…okay, look.” Martin picks up his glass and downs about half of what’s left in one go. He’s going to need it. “It’s a really long story, and I don’t think either of us have time for it right now, but…all of us who work in the Archives, we’ve got—we’ve developed these kind of…weird abilities. Powers, you might call them even. And one of them is that we can tell when a statement we’re listening to is something that actually happened—I mean, something that actually happened and really does have a supernatural or paranormal explanation—and something that’s fake or the result of a hallucination or anything like that.” He pauses. “It’s stronger for some of us than others, and we all get it in different ways.”

Melanie cocks her head at him. “Really.”

Martin nods. “Yeah, like—when I saw you at the front desk today? I knew you had a statement and I knew it was something that—uh—wouldn’t go on the laptop. You had to use the tape recorders, right? We only use those when it’s a proper spooky statement. Everything else will record digitally.”

Something about Melanie’s posture changes. “So that’s why he believed me.”

“Yep, that’s why,” Martin affirms. “If you want to know what we know about Ivy Meadows…I’ll tell you about it when you get back from India, maybe?”

“I don’t know that I will get back,” Melanie says frankly. She shrugs out of her coat and pulls aside the collar of her Ghost Hunt UK t-shirt, showing him a wicked-looking scar slashing down from her shoulder towards her heart. “These ghosts I’m chasing down are pretty nasty. It’s why I came to gave my statement—in case I get killed by one.” She lets the shirt fall back to its natural position. “I don’t want to die not knowing the truth. Go ahead and tell me.”

So Martin does. He keeps it as bare-bones as possible, but it takes a serious effort; the static gets louder in his mind and the pressure builds behind his eyes as Melanie gets paler and paler. The Eye wants her fear, and while Martin’s role is usually the comforter, the therapist, the let-it-all-out vent switch, in absence of anyone else to give Melanie the information to devastate her, it appears to be settling. Somehow, he manages to get away with telling her no more than the basics.

“Please don’t ask me for more details,” he mutters at last, breaking off a piece of the meat pie. “I won’t be able to not give them to you.”

Melanie visibly struggles to pull herself together, grief and rage mingling in her eyes as Martin tries to cope with the too-big bite he shoved in his mouth. Choking here in Pat’s pub wouldn’t be the most brilliant move in the world, but it was better than laying out someone else’s trauma to give Melanie more. He manages to swallow at last, about the time Melanie takes a deep breath and straightens.

“I want to see that file when I get back,” she says baldly.

“Deal. Anything to get you to actually make the effort,” Martin says pointedly.

Melanie looks slightly embarrassed. “I’m not suicidal.”

“No, but you don’t care if you die or not. I know what that looks like, Melanie. I’ve been there. You think you’ve got nothing left to live for and nothing to lose, so you’re willing to throw your life away on the off-chance it’ll improve things for someone else. The only difference is you’re not going to do it yourself.” Martin waits until she looks him in the eye, then says, “Whatever you’re looking into, Jon’s going to want to hear about it—we all are. I bet you want to know what’s going on at the Institute. And I really would like to actually get to be friends with you instead of—of speed-bonding or whatever we’re doing here.”

Melanie actually laughs at that. “Same, actually. Okay. Deal. I do my best to survive whatever’s waiting for me in India, and when I get back, drinks and I tell you all about it.”

“Sounds like a plan. Wait, here.” Martin grabs a pen out of his pocket—they seem to be almost as ubiquitous as the tape recorders these days—and scribbles his number on a napkin, then pushes it over to Melanie. “In case you need anything. Or just want to chat or whatever.”

“Thanks.” Melanie pulls out her own phone and types busily away at it. A moment later, Martin’s phone pings, and there’s a text from an unknown number: [Here’s mine back. Same deal.]

Martin saves the number and glances at the time to confirm he’s got time. “When does your flight leave?”

“Four. I’ve got to run home and grab my suitcase.” Melanie checks her own phone. “In fact, I should probably finish up eating here and call a cab.”

“Fair. I need to get back to work anyway.” Martin signals to Pat for the bill and hands over his card before Melanie can object. “It’s fine, seriously. I invited you, it’s my treat.”

“Fine, but the drinks are on me when I get back.”

“I accept those terms.”

Outside, Martin holds out his hand; Melanie starts to shake it, pauses, and then bypasses it and goes in for a hug. It startles him, but he hugs her back. In the back of his mind, he wonders when the last time someone touched her in a friendly manner was.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “You’re right. It feels a lot better heading off with having spent time with—a friend.”

“Good.” Martin hugs her tighter for a second, then lets go as a cab pulls up. “Safe travels. Let me know when you get back.”

“I will. You be careful, too.” Melanie winks at him. “Good luck surviving Valentine’s Day.”

“Enjoy a year without it,” Martin snipes back. She actually laughs and waves before getting in the cab. He waits until it pulls out of sight, then starts the walk back to the Institute, feeling oddly better about a lot of things. It’s nice to have a friend. He just hopes she means what she says about being careful.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#the magnus archives #tma #time travel fix it au #death mention tw #suicidal ideation tw #medical mention tw

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musedblues · 4 years ago

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Born To Love You [Part: 7]

summary: When Gwilym ropes you into a lie, the truth becomes painfully obvious. When Joe makes things harder, there’s no telling if he even has a clue

a/n: I can't really believe I've finally finished this. If only you all knew how long this story sat in my drafts before I even considered sharing it. I'm eternally gratful to those of you who’ve stuck around and shared your thoughts and shown me and this fic such sweet love. I can only hope I've done some kind off justice in bringing this wild ride to a close. As always, and especially now, I really can't wait to hear what you lot think. So here you have it.... The End! 💖

w/c: 4k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Even after all this time, not a moment passed that didn't dazzle you. No little gesture slipped by unnoticed, or underappreciated.

From across the room, you adored the way his eyes glowed as he laughed. How they shined and crinkled in a pattern you'd memorized long before you were brave enough to stare. How they always sparkled just so when he spun into a fit of giggles, a sound you couldn't help but turn toward.

Joe tossed his head back, letting out a hearty chuckle as James and Andy filled him in on the details of their recently disastrous road trip. For their anniversary, they planned to cruise around the countryside for a week. But a flat tire, and a run in with a couple wild animals sent them running back to London before the week was up.

You couldn't have gotten luckier, when you found the perfect house in the safest part of the city with the best schools; just a half an hour drive from where James and Andy had moved a couple years before- after living with you for longer than you could recall in a flash.

They helped you move boxes from your old flat, and stood with you in the empty place, taking a silent beat to say goodbye to all the life you each lived there. You'd fondly remember the parties, and even the tears. The day you found out about Olive. The room you brought her home to. The place you loved. But it was never the same after your dear flatmates found a home of their own.

On their generous drives to help you unload boxes in an all new place, that's when your pair of best pals really got to know Joe. They (like everyone else) laughed at most of his jokes, and beamed when he laughed at theirs in turn. When they weren't helping you unload boxes, they were off cackling with Joe, too awestruck by shared conversation to help you move your sofa into a reasonable spot.

And when you and your man with fossil colored eyes were settled, James and Andy still managed to stop by for plenty of surprise breakfast visits. And every time they stopped over, they each took turns insisting that their location was the sole purpose you'd been so keen to move to this part of the city. And while they might have been half right, you'd never let on that it was one of the many reasons.

London just made sense. It was closer to Gwil's new place. He'd been traveling to and from the city for work so often that he'd felt like his usual train car was more of his home than the one down the road from your old flat. So he found a cozy space just outside of London and loads more work within the first few days of settling in. When he wasn't busy on set, or away for an audition, he was just a few streets away- ready and willing to come and take Olive on days he hadn't planned to, at her beck and call.

Some days you missed when all Olive knew how to say were a handful of words. But you knew you'd soon miss all of the girls never ending questions, too. "Why can't cats talk?" "Where do all the badgers sleep at night?" "Why do I have to wear socks with my shoes?" She had a knack for asking the silliest questions when you least expected it. She'd come out of no place while you were busy making dinner. While she should have been practicing tying her shoes. In the dead of the night, at the edge of your bed. She'd stop everything just to ask a question or two, and some days you reckoned she fancied getting you to giggle more than hearing an actual answer. You always chuckled before you could muster the brain power to give any semblances of an educated response. And when you were too busy, getting ready for work, or hurrying about the market before it closed, Olive would ask Joe.

You loved the way Olive made him laugh then, too. Just like you. But before ever giving a reasonable answer, he'd always ask her the same questions back. "Well, what do you think is at the bottom of the ocean?"

And as she decidedly rambled about imaginary creatures and cities, Joe would listen. He'd even remember the names of some of those made up monsters long after Olive had moved through several more memorable questions. You couldn't believe how patient he was. It was astounding to you, the way Joe dropped everything to bend at Olive's will, as she wrapped her fist around his wrist and yanked him across a bookstore toward the children's section.

You'd find them after getting what you strolled in for, and join in for story time, before checking your watch and ruining all the fun. Joe was usually more disappointed for those moments to end than the kid who was hooked on his every fictional word.

You loved Joe's heart. How you could tell when it was in the right place. When he offered help and advice and suggestions to anyone who trusted him enough to pour their heart out to his open ear. How he at least pretended to be excited when your friends begged the two of you to join in a night out at the end of a particularly busy week. Neither of you were keen on letting them down, because you'd come to value those rare nights out with the people you loved. You'd made a sacred, personal decreed to never let your friends forget how vastly you'd cared for them. So you were right behind Joe each time another offer came to sit among your pals and listen to their lame jokes and drunken singing.

But it was no secret that nights in were your favorite. You might have marveled even more so, over Joe's heart, then. You relished how it hammered under your palm, as his pulse raced from your touch. You loved the sound of its steady beat under your ear, as you rested against his chest till morning. He'd run a lazy set of fingers through your hair while the quiet of the new day threatened to lull you to sleep again. Then he'd say something so ridiculously hilarious that you'd laugh your drowse away.

You never took for granted Joe's countless attempts to get you to smile, despite yourself. In the middle of movies, at the end of long hard days- and during times you wondered how much stress you could endure before your head exploded and your dramatic expiration ruined the upcoming holidays.

When you and Gwilym argued over Olive's imminent school year and how many summer holiday trips were one too many, Joe waited for the bickering to end. Then he'd say something that made stupidly perfect sense. He'd make you and Gwil apologize to each other, and you did with all the grace of two grumpy toddlers. Then you'd all go to some posh brunch place and try and enjoy the last of the perfect summer weather that crept into the first few weeks of London's picturesque autumn.

Olive would stop eating to ask one of her latest queries to the sweet elder waitress who dropped off another round of drinks. You'd all take turns giving the kid answers, and steal bits of the chips she'd left over. When your meal was finished, Joe and Gwil went off to see a game together, and you were left with your darling girl for a whole glorious day.

Times with just the two of you weren't very rare. When you could, you made sure to take afternoons off work and save the laundry for later to spend a day with Olive. Of course, some were just as difficult as ever. But between odd growing pains and missed nap times, were icecream dates and trips to the aquarium. The latter, a place she always begged to spend hours strolling through. So when you could, you'd be quick to take her.

And when Gwilym took Olive along to visit his mother's family in Wales, you'd gotten used to the tiny wave of melancholy that came when your girl wasn't attached to your hip. But unlike all the other times before, you weren't nearly as lonely.

When it was just you and Joe, and a handful of days to waste however you pleased, you had to stop yourself from wondering how you'd gotten so lucky. You knew if you thought too long, you'd start to feel bad about how everything came to be. But you learned to let go of the regret attached to the mess you'd made during your first month long visit to London. You realized that it was silly to wish for a redo. Because everything worked out anyway, didn't it?

Joe was always quick to remind you how lucky he felt, too. Sometimes he'd say so, when he worried about the future and stopped rambling long enough to let you promise everything was going to be okay. Or first thing in the morning, when you got to wake up with the sun instead of a blaring alarm. But most of the time, he showed it. He'd leave silly little notes for you to find while you brushed your teeth. He'd bring your knuckles to his lips while waiting in the queue at the market. He'd take photos of you walking through the park and pointing to a pair of birds flying close overhead. He'd upload them in the middle of the night- when he said he was staying up to finish writing a script, or memorizing lines of another.

You'd get the notification and smile to yourself while you pretended to be asleep in the other room. When it was just you and Joe, it felt too good to be true. But that feeling didn't go away when your time alone was over.

Ben asked you to fetch him from the airport after he'd spent months away filming in another country. You and Joe fought over who got to hug him first, but when the blonde materialized from baggage claim, his arms were too stuffed with packages to dream of embracing either of you. He'd collected far too many presents during his time away- all of them for Olive. You scolded him, reminding Ben of the article you read about how kids with fewer toys grew to become more creative and resourceful. Ben argued that since you weren't going to spoil her that he was just going to have to. He'd leave the dozen gifts in the back of your car, and drag you and Joe out to a pub until you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Life felt too good to be true on nights like then, too.

And the feeling remained when Lucy and Rami got back from acting their hearts out in America. They stole Olive away as you and Joe ambled behind them on trips through high end shopping centres. When that day turned to night, your remarkable friends settled onto your sofa to tell all the stories they'd been saving up. Then they crashed there, when the night turned to morning and the sun threatened to rise before you'd stopped giggling long enough to sleep.

Those times were cherished. When your friends came around. When you went out of your way to go and see them, because it had been too long. You knew you were lucky to have mantiatiend a handful of connections with some of the most adoring and admirable friends that must have ever existed.

And on some especially rare, but guaranteed occasions, everyone got together.

The thought of joining forces was usually a never ending sentiment exchanged through the group chat that kept you all in touch. But it was Lucy's eventual doing, of course. She went about renting that darling little cottage in the countryside- the one she'd found last minute for Joe's birthday.

She got there before everyone, before Rami, even. The paint was a little more chipped, and the trees seemed even more mighty, guarding the home nestled miles away from the nearest town.

"You're just in time!" Lucy squealed as you lugged a bag into the house that hadn't changed a bit since your stay a few years back. You snorted a laugh as you stepped closer to the den full of mismatched furniture.

"For what?" You wondered. No one else had shown up yet, the night was very young.

"To keep me company, duh." Lucy shrugged as she moved to wave out of the open front door.

"Does bigfoot live out here?" Olive asked, as she skipped inside, her beloved worn down stuffed penguin tight in her clutch.

"He might." You chuckled. Because hell, you'd come to believe anything was possible at this point. And you didn't realize Olive even knew about the mythical creature, but you had a hunch about who'd been the one to tell her.

"I can't believe this place is still standing. It's charming as ever." Joe marveled, shutting the door behind him. Lucy beamed, turning to glance around.

"Yes! Remember last time?" Lucy asked, like she really wanted to know. Like it wasn't something the lot of you thought back to often. And right when you considered responding, she spoke up again. "Well forget it because this time is going to be the best ever."

The bubbly blonde recruited Joe to help her finish unloading all the treats she'd brought along to store away for the entire weekend you planned to stay. Olive trotted ahead of you toward one of the dozen tiny rooms you remembered struggling to sleep in last time, finding no reason to bite back your smile now.

It was too cold to think of going out back to enjoy the chest full of sporting goods, or the tattered net that somehow still remained. Olive was already complaining about the chill, so you abandoned your bags and tossed her a sweater, deciding to start a fire in the stone place while you awaited everyone else.

Ben was the next to arrive, bringing his usual ton of liquor and a brand new set of books and crayons to keep Olive entertained. You flashed a middle finger his way when the kid wasn't looking, and called dibs on his most expensive bottle of booze he brought to decorate the counter tops much like the time before.

By then the kitchen had been stocked, and Lucy was on a new mission to make some Pinterest worthy snacks. You scolded Ben for encouraging Olive to dance around the countertops and banished them to find some new trouble to cause. Lucy kicked you and Joe out soon after, following close behind with her plate of savory treats.

Rami dashed in from the cold around then, chucking his bags away and rushing to join the rest of you in record time. The fire you'd maintained was starting to die, and the home was too perfectly warmed to dream of starting up another, for a while. So as the evening shifted, you and Ben offered to clean up and carry everyone's rubbish away, while Joe offered to pour everyone a drink. While you went about your duties, Olive was busy yanking on the strings of Rami's hooding, begging him to join in some imaginary game the two of them made up long ago.

"I'm really glad she's joined us this time around." Ben grinned, catching a glimpse of Olive, her curls peeking around the corner, her laughter floating from one room to another. You agreed with the sentiment as you tossed your collection of rubbish in the bin. And as he followed suit, Ben rambled about his high hopes to have a couple of children of his own one day. It was something you'd always suspected Ben was keen on, but a subject he'd only just ventured into discussing lately.

"You ever think about having anymore?" He wondered in passing.

"Sometimes." You smiled to Ben, offering an innocent shrug, before catching Joe's eye from across the kitchen. He balanced a trio of glasses of wine on his way out, shaking his head of coppery hair. He shot you a look you knew well, an eager grin below a set of fiery eyes. "Sometimes" was an understatment. But Ben didn't need to know everything.

By the time Gwil showed up, Olive was on cloud nine. She ran to attach herself to his ankle, so you took his bags while he bent to scoop her up. Then, you reckoned, that this might have been the first time everyone was together that Olive might be able to recall for years to come.

She bounced from one person to another, showing off nicely colored pictures in the books Ben had brought along. He shot you a wink from across the room before she fell asleep with a dozen sunset toned crayons in one fist. You gathered her from the floor and carried the girl to the room you'd chosen hours earlier.

And before you'd even finished tucking the kid away in bed, another set of feet creaked into the room behind you.

"Here's this. And some things she forgot last time." Gwilym extended Olives favorite stuffed penguin in one hand as he rested a bag decorated in cartoon drawn bats on the chair in the corner. Your tradition of trading the girls things might never end. You'd be rattled if it did, actually.

"Oh, thank God. I mean, I know I asked you not to forget that, but I'd forgotten." You chuckled in a whisper, tucking Olive's ratty old penguin beneath the covers at her side.

Gwilym chuckled too, saying something about how he'd nearly left her bag behind on his rush to get here before nightfall. And then a silence fell, as you both waited a beat to make sure Olive was out cold. It was second nature, something the pair of you became accustomed to after the first year, when leaving Olive alone for a minute was usually followed with unhappy, ear piercing cries. And as you thought back to then, you seemed to think back to everything all at once.

"Lucy said that last time we stayed here won't be worth remembering, because this time will surely be the best." You said with a lithe grin. "And I think she may be right, but last time wasn't so bad."

"It wasn't?" Gwilym turned to you with a quizzically raised brow, a hint of a smile on his lips. You knew he was asking if you were sure. If you remembered correctly. How he'd said things he didn't mean, last time you were here. How you hardly slept that night. How it haunted you for days afterward. How he knew that.

"It wasn't." You kept your smile, sure. It could have been much worse. You could have been alone through all of that shit. But you weren't. You had Gwilym. And you hoped he knew what you meant, now. How grateful you were for him, and the kindness he'd show you, how it still remained. You couldn't go on worrying that his company might fizzle away in the years to come. Because it couldn't. You wouldn't let that possibility come to pass. So you bumped your shoulder against his arm and nudged Gwilym to leave the room.

"Let's go have some fun." You whispered. Gwilym let his smile linger as he studdied you for a beat. Then he nodded, and led the way back to everyone else.

The coloring books had moved to rest on the mantel, and bottles of alcohol had moved to the coffee table for easier access. And then you all took turns cleaning up for the evening and flipping through stations on the telly till some classic film flashed across the muted screen. And it was lots better than last time, with familiar drinks mixed in fancy new ways, and favorite laughs decorating the old unchanged home.

By the time Ben had drunken himself into a fit of random laughter, and Gwilym was nodding off between Rami and Lucy, Joe was saying something about American traditions. He demanded everyone's attention, and insisted the lot of you confess at least one thing you were thankful for. And after Lucy shouted the name of the drink in her hand and Gwilym sat up to clink his cup to hers, you all started giving actual answers. Each revolving around family, and friends, and health and happiness. But before anyone could get too choked up, Ben stood to shift gears with his favorite game of drunk history that never really went the way he wanted it too.

But it wasn't till the next morning that you realized it must have been that silly American holiday. And when you rolled over to find Joe was already awake, you announced how poorly you felt for not realizing when he made everyone say thanks. You hadn't even said good morning before you started yammering promises about how you'd remember to have a proper celebration next year.

But instead of saying good morning, or acknowledging your apologises, Joe broke into a laugh. The kind of laugh that reaches his eyes, the way you love so much. Then he told you he loved you, and you said it back; and then you sprung into another lucky day among friends.

You spent the weekend watching Gwilym teach Olive how to bake and assisting her in passing around treats she helped pour spoonfulls of ingredients in to create. Rami was most often roped into her imaginary games, and he played along with ease. You and Joe were invited to join in one morning, but neither of you could grasp the ever changing rules to Olives satisfaction, and you were swiftly kicked out of the loop while she and Rami played on.

Lucy made sure Olive was perfectly content snuggled up with Ben to watch cartoons, before she pulled you into her room with a bottle of wine for each of you to sip from. You spent a whole afternoon there with her, taking turns spilling your guts over all things you could only discuss with your dearest darling Lucy.

And when the getaway was over, everyone left in separate hurries much like before. But unlike then, you weren't so worried about where everyone might end up. You weren't worried about where you were going, either. You'd all managed to keep coming back together so far, and with an established faith that your group would keep finding excuses to do so, you didn't despair.

You remembered everything, on your drive back to London. The time you'd closed your eyes on this ride, years before. How you and Gwilym survived the nonsense you'd swept yourselves up in. Lucy's unconditional friendship. Rami's strong hugs. Ben's strong feelings.

You thought of what Joe said to you, when you met. How he said he saw a future with you, before he even knew your name. And the thought tore you away from remembering everything to look ahead. To look over, and settle your gaze on Joe. His pretty profile, and the shine of his moonstone eyes. You couldn't quite picture the places you'd end up, but you realize that you couldn't dream of a day without Joe at your side. He was always meant to be there.

While you drove, he entertained every one of Olive's questions that echoed from the back seat. You turned a grateful smile his way every now and again and savored the way he smiled back, in the way you loved so much. In a way that you didn't have to wonder how he felt, or what might come next. Unlike before, Joe made up a million of your memories. And unlike before, you knew he always would.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

taglist: @sonic-volcano @imtheinvisiblequeen @redspecialty @itscale @stardust-killer-queen @joemazzelo @dancetohotspace @kiwi-hardy @joeneslee @borhapqueen92 @im-an-adult-ish @johndeaconshands @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @beepbeephardy @slutforbritdick @joemazzmatazz @almightygwil @sadhwstudent @freakibanana @lelifesaver @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band

#joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello imagine #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee imagine

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

Text

Ten Sides

Trying to get myself back into writing long fics again by retconning/rebooting an old fic premise. This is a redo of Tamper.

Summary: After her breakdown, Azula is sent to an institution that alters her moods using spirit energy. Aang is an instrumental pawn in this endeavor.

They like to tamper with her spirit. She supposes that it doesn’t matter because it is broken anyways. They constantly shift it and mold it and faintly Azula knows that it is wrong. But they have tampered with her spirit too much already for her to be alarmed by it beyond the simple acknowledgment that it is unnatural and invasive, no matter how good the intent. And lately she doesn’t have a reason to believe that their intentions are good. She isn’t sure when they began to shift from therapy to control but she hasn’t the means to fend their antics off.

She has become a lab elephant-rat of sorts. Before her, spirit vines have never been used to treat a patient like herself. Combined with the Avatar's reluctant aid, she hasn’t even a chance to resist. So her moods shift constantly and not of her own accord. Not even of their own accord. They shift and bend to the will of Aang. To the will of the Sun Pool facility personal.

Azula is a different person day to day. They will elevate her mood and she will become chipper and bubbly, more like TyLee than herself. Sometimes they will touch her spirit in the wrong way and she will be numb and impassive, almost depressive. More closely resembling Mai in this instance. At some point she had taken to naming each personality that seemed to emerge from them playing with her emotions. Including the real Azula there are ten; Cheerful and bubbly Azula is Sachi. Somber Azula is Yuka. When they have her in a state of unexplainable rage, she becomes Shiori. The passionate and lustful, Aiakahana is the most uncomfortable to reflect upon. Being Aiakahana brings her a sense of shame and embarrassment. Humiliation has a name too, it is Rokora, who was easy to make flustered and awkward.

Other times they are able to bring out a more curiosity driven, childlike version of her. This person, she calls, Inori. They could elicit a more fearful and paranoid version of herself—Kowagaru, she names that one.

There are three emotions that they seem to enjoy amplifying the most; there is a generous and giving Azula, who she has named Shona and a loving and rather sweet version of her that she calls Ai-Emi. Least of all, Azula enjoys being Nari.

Nari is timid, shy, and soft-spoken. Often she is prone to being taken advantage of. Nari is everything Azula dreads letting herself be. She has no fight. She has no control nor dominance. They usually evoke Nari when they want to try a new treatment with her or to subdue her. They know she won’t say no, and if she does then they know that she will eventually submit. She is almost certain that they are trying to mold her into Nari for good. She would certainly be easier to manage that way.

These days, even on the days where they aren’t tampering so heavily with her spirit energy, Azula finds herself in a state of confusion. Somewhere down the lines she has lost herself completely, she is growing uncertain of which personality is her real one. She can no longer tell if she is truly feeling things of her own accord or if they are false emotions. And she loathes the uncertainty, the insecurity.

She lies tethered to a bed, it might as well be a cold metal operating table. The warm and plush sheets are falsely comforting. She supposes that it is another ploy to coax Nari to the foreground as much as possible.

“Try to relax.” Instructs the head of operations, a doctor named Sangyul. She doesn’t think that she has a choice. If she can’t calm herself, Aang will instill serenity within her. She decides that she should just try to calm herself on her own. She lets her body go slack. “Good.” The remark is completely patronizing and is almost enough to bring tension back to her. “Avatar Aang.”

With that cue, Aang steps forward. His eyes are wide and innocent. His demeanor is nothing but friendly and hopeful and yet the sight of it instills nausea within her. “Good morning, Azula.” He greets.

She stares at her palms.

He has been doing this long enough to know that he won’t be getting a response. Sangyul fixes a few spirit vines across her forehead and at her temples and beckons Aang forward. The smile that the Avatar offers is supposed to be reassuring. It only makes her feel sicker, some part of her wonders if he does know exactly what he is doing and that he reaps some sick joy from it. She closes her eyes as his fingers press against her forehead. The spirit vines radiate a faint purple as Aang taps into their power.

She can feel him working his way in. She has long since given up on trying to wall him out. His fingers are phantasmal and they pull and tug on invisible threads of energy. In her mind, their color varies; brilliant red-orange, she thinks, is their natural state. An aura of power and control and confidence. When she is angry they flare a brighter red and when she feels passion, the hue is more scarlett.

Aang’s energy, as it invades hers, is a white-blue, tinged with the purple of spirit vines. It creeps in and curls around the vulnerable threads of her aura and emotions. The white-blue tendrils fan out until they touch each and every thread. It is a tedious process, a slow one. Once the first thread is wholly wrapped in pink, he moves on to the next and then the next. Even after all of this time, he still hasn’t mastered the art. Every now and again, he forgets to unravel the thread--or simply can’t seem to do it--and so pink turns bright red and then deep red.

The purple radiating upon and around the spirit vines is beginning to fade. Aang doesn’t have time to go back and correct his mistakes. Half of the threads of her mood are pink and the other half are left scarlet.

Azula hasn’t yet come up with names for the hybrid emotions he has been leaving her with lately. Granted, this time there is more pink than scarlet. She is exhausted. Exhausted to the point where she can barely lift a finger.

“You alright?” Aang asks.

She yearns to tell him that he can save his false care, but only manages a sleepy murumer.

Like clockwork, they peel the vines from her head and lead her back to her room to sleep it off. When she wakes she won’t be her.

.oOo.

Aang is sitting at the foot of her bed. With nothing else to do, he observes her sleeping form. These days, she looks so small and fragile. In that way, she doesn’t even look like her. When her eyes flutter open he wishes that he could be elsewhere, for both her sake and his own.

“Avatar.” She greets, her voice is low and soft with sleepiness. She heaves herself upright and eyes the boy. Her expression is too kind for it to be her, the real her. His stomach lurches, Sangyul will be pleased with his work, but he only feels disgust.

“They said that it might be good for you if I ate dinner with you.”

Azula swallows, “you...you want to have dinner with me?”

Aang’s unease grows when she struggles to meet his stare. He offers her a soft, albeit, uncomfortable smile. He is all too familiar with this mood. “Yeah, I think that it would be good for you to have some company.”

She gives a rather sheepish smile. “I think that, that would be nice.”

Aang rubs the back of his head. “Yeah.” He lays down a small box containing fried rice, noodles topped with an egg, and a small assortment of fruits.

“Did you make all of this?”

He did, he had carefully put it together, a little something to lift her mood but also because the stuff that they try to feed her looks foul. He shakes his head anyways, he knows how she will take it if he says that he had cooked for her and it makes him feel terribly awkward and guilty.

“Oh.” She looks downcast. Disappointed. It is better if she is. Her smile returns, “well, it is good to have a meal with you, Avatar.” Her fingers brush over his; he hadn’t painted her aura with enough deep red for her to dare anything more than that. But he is well aware that she wants to, that she wishes she had the courage for it. He can see it in her eyes, it is the look Katara had given to him some time ago, before he had lost his way.

He wants to tell her that it is nice to have a meal with her too, but it will have the same effect as telling her that he prepared dinner for her. “Please just eat, Azula.”

Her face falls again. She picks up her chopsticks and hovers a few noodles in front of her mouth before putting them down again. “You’re angry with me.”

“No! No! I just…” he just what? “I just...they don’t give you a very long dinner time and I need to make sure that you have time to finish it.” He finishes lamely.

She has a few quiet bites before offering him one. Again he shakes his head, “it’s your dinner. I already ate.”

When she finishes her meal he finds himself wishing that he were right about her having short meal times. There is no food left to keep her occupied for what remains of the hour and it is a good twenty minutes. She twirls her bangs around her pointer. Were she Azula, really Azula, he would use this extra time to ask her how she is feeling. There is no sense in it when he knows how she is feeling. How he has forced her to feel. She loves him. For now, anyhow.

Not for the first time, he questions how this is supposed to help her heal and recover. And not for the first time, he concludes that helping her get better had never been a goal at all. He will tell them that he no longer feels up to treating her.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here, Avatar. You’re the only person here who isn’t...cold. I think that you actually care for me.” She pauses, moving closer towards him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me or how to fix it. They’re supposed to help me but they don’t. You do though, you try, I think.” She wraps her arms around him and nuzzles her face into his chest.

His stomach knots. He isn’t a bad guy, he is worse than that. And he has probably just proved that by letting her lean into him and hugging her back. He feels like he is taking advantage of her. He shouldn’t be hugging her back. Even if comforting her is his only goal. She isn’t crying this time but he has been around her long enough to sense the hurt. Even if it is buried under layers of false emotions. Azula is still there. The real Azula. He sees her in those sad eyes. Her grip tightens. Her expression isn’t suited for her, it is too timid and too soft. And yet there is a flicker of fierceness behind those eyes. Something that still fights, perhaps a sparkle of resistance. He decides that he can’t leave. Not yet.

#Azula #Avatar The Last Airbender #Aang #Azulaang #Fanfiction

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rons-wheezely · 5 years ago

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Ron || Inseparable

[Requested]

Genre: Fluff

Summary: this dude you don’t know really wants to be your friend??; Ron x reader “...I mean, I guess he’s cute or whatever, so it’s fine.”

----

It all started in charms class. Ron dreaded that class more than anything in the world, spells and incantations were definitely NOT his thing. Today, Professor Flitwick set up a bunch of locks in front of each student. He cleared his throat and said," Today, students, we will be learning blah blah blah.."

Every time Flitwick speaks, it's like jibberish to Ron. He's tried many times to concentrate, but last time he pulled a muscle or something because he had migraines for a whole week. Hermione says it's because his brain was smaller than a pea. What in the bloody hell was a "pea"? Definitely not piss, he hoped. He sucks at this class and it's painfully obvious..

"Ah, everyone play close attention to y/n's incantation and the subtlety of her wand. It's near perfect for a first try."

Ron turns his sights to you, who is now burning a Gryffindor red, as you redo the spell for everyone in the class. There was something beautiful about how you casted the spell, dare I call it magic. Ron Weasely couldn't take his eyes off of you like a star struck fan meeting his favorite quidditch team.

After that, Ron kept spotting you in crowds from class to class. He didn't want to sometimes, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't escape the memory that replayed in his head. The way his heart leaped out of his chest, how his fingers itched to shake yours for the first time and introduce himself. It was like you radiated some type of aura that drew him in. It's an overused description, but there was no other way to describe the way you pulled him in like a sinking black hole. A problem still stood between him and his desires, however.

"I just wish we weren't strangers and that I could ask her out already, but then I'd--" Ron pouted to his friend Harry, who always seemed to get the girls. "You wouldn't understand though, since everyone seems to think you're the 'chosen one'." He mocked the voice of the masses. Everyone loved Harry, after all.

"Why don't you just talk to her?" Harry shovels his lunch into his mouth,"There's nothing stopping you, is there?" Harry says this so nonchalantly as if he's done it several times himself. "Unless you're chicken of course."

Half out of spite and half out of impatience, he wanted to prove that he could be friends with you. He introduced himself to you in the next class he shared, and days after that he'd wave to you when you two made eye contact. He thought it was embarrassing to be so excited to see someone he didn't know well, but it didn't stop his heart from beating faster than it had before.

After a week, Flitwick assigned a new project. "You shall team up with one person of your choosing and begin today's work." Before he was even finished speaking, you could see people making eye contact with their friends across the room. You didn't really have anyone you knew, as per usual, until you suddenly make eye contact with Ron Weasley.

His eyes are sparkling and it's like his whole life has lived up to this moment. He coughs into his elbow as he dusted off his robes when he stood up. Did he remember to brush his teeth this morning? God, he hopes so. He takes a deep breath and walks over to your seat. "Do you, uh, want to be partners?" He shifted under the feel of your gaze,"For the project of course; only if you want to."

Of course, you aren't in the position to say no, being that you've never been asked before, so you agree. However, that was just the beginning of your friendship with Ron. Overtime, it was like you two were always joined at the hip. You two would meet up and walk to class together, eat together, and even get caught up in Harry's adventures together. You never expected to be this close with Ron, or even anyone for that matter.

After school hours, you and Hermione hung out in the courtyard. It was her move in Gobstones when she brought up an interesting question. "I'd never actually think I'd see the day that Ron could be tolerated for more than a week. How do you do it?" She paused and mulled over her words. She spoke up again saying," Do you ever think he's clingy sometimes? It's like you two are conjoined twins or something... I'd say he was in love with you if it wasn't for Lavender Brown."

You hesitated in your response, feeling as though you were revealing too much," ...I mean, I guess he's cute or whatever, so it's fine." you attempt to shrug it off and focus on the game. Hermione's eyes burned holes into your skin as you tried to shake her uneasy stare.

Hermione gasped so loudly, it caught you off guard. Did you say too much? Did you say something wrong??? You shushed her in a panic, looking around at the other students staring at you. She recomposed herself with a deep breath, but she exploded in a flurry of whispered questions.

"So you think he's cute?? As a friend or... as something more? How long have you felt this way? Does anyone else know about this?" Hermione bombarded you with so many questions it was like the room started spinning.

"I wouldn't mind if we were something more," You could see Hermione about to gasp again," BUT I really don't think this is the kind of love story you think it is. He dated Lavender Brown up until two days ago, so he probably doesn't think of me that way, like you said earlier." The more you talked, the more you felt like you were giving away the secret krabby patty formula. Why can't you shut up?? "He probably likes girls like that."

"Or maybe he wanted you to be jealous?" Hermione spoke and won the game in one smooth turn,"Think about it." As you clean up the game pieces, she puts her hand on your shoulder. "I know that when he was dating Lavender, he walked with her to class, right? But don't you normally walk with him?" Hermione strolled the hallways with you. This situation was so stiff the outside air of the courtyard was suffocating you, leaving no room albeit to give in.

"I.. I don't know, Hermione. Maybe we're thinking into it too much?" Your head drifts to the outside scenery of Hogwarts. "Besides, why would he want to date me?"

A couple days later, Ron came back to the old routine of walking with you everywhere as if he'd never left. You wouldn't have even noticed if it weren't for that conversation with Hermione. It itched in the back of your mind like a spider on the back of your neck. You felt like you were reading too far into his jokes, and when he laughed at one of yours, there was a flip in your stomach and blood rushed to your face.

Now, his touches set your skin ablaze. It lingered and danced along the surface of your senses. Every breath of his that reached you was warm, his hands were a little too soft, and you could list a thousand other things that sent your mind running. Does he really like you like that?

"I thought she'd crack by now, Harry." A frustrated Ron brewed in his own bits of misfortune. "What if she's not into me like that?"

Harry looked at him. Harry's eyes glance at the clock before responding," Ron, it's like 11 pm and you're thinking about y/n?"

Ron nodded with a pout on his face.

Harry sighed," Why don't you just tell her?" Before Ron could reply with a flurry of doubts, Harry interjected. "You've literally had a crush on her since like First year, and I haven't seen you make your move. If you're that worried, you could try..." He looked around the dormitory room for a clue. His glasses glinted like an anime character when his eyes settled on a potions book. "You could always make a uh, forgetfulness potion?"

That seemed to satisfy Ron's stress and he laid back down in bed. He predicted that in the next 24 hours, he'll have confessed his feelings and then forced you to take his concoction of a "forgetfulness potion."

"Y/n." Ron had taken you outside the Great Hall during lunch. His palms are so sweaty and cold it could be a slip 'n slide (except he wouldn't know what that was.) You were talking to Harry about the next Quidditch game when he decided to confess. It took some persuading to leave the conversation, but you eventually gave in.

"Yes, Ron?" You prodded his shoulder. His face was pale, and the awkward silence was becoming unbearable. "...Ron? Are you monologuing or something?"

"I... I like you."

"Uhh me too? That's why we're friends." You weren't sure if your mind was playing tricks on you again. He wasn't confessing.. right?

"No I--" He stammered. "I like you. Like a lot. Since first year.." This was it. Any second you would reject him, and then he'd have to whip out his potion and apologize profusely while you guzzle it down.

"Oh." You blinked. Once. Twice. "Really? So this is a confession?"

"Will you go out with me?" He looked into your eyes. He was done for, he knew it. But, the disgust of rejection never came.

"Yeah.. I'd actually like that, Ron." You hugged him with all of your might. If this was a dream, then you hoped you'd never wake up. You were trying so hard not to let your feelings get the best of you, if only you knew he felt the same way. This past month's emotional procrastination was futile, and you can now admit the blooming feeling in your heart.

Ron was stunned. It was only until his robes were getting wet that he looked down. You were crying, but they were tears of joy? He really was prepared for the worst. Once the shock had died down, he embraced you. He never thought this day would come, but when it did, it was the greatest emotion he'd ever had. He kissed your forehead as the rest of your face was buried in his arms. "I love you."

----

-A/N-

Just a heads up, in the future I’d like to write and include other HP characters if y’all don’t mind (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ It’ll be about other HP characters in the same year probably, except for the other Weasleys. Love you guys ♡

p.s. I’m sorry that I took so long on this rip I wrote a whole different ending where you fake date Harry for a hot second, but it got out of hand and I scrapped it lol

#ron weasley #ronald weasley #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley x reader #x reader #hermione granger #harry potter #HP ron weasley #HP imagines #harry potter imagine #hogwarts #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts x reader #fanfic #hp fanfic #ron weasley fanfic #imagine #hp x reader

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