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thepatricktreestump · 4 years

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Crush pt3 - peter parker imagine

crush masterlist

part 3 – the homecoming dance

It seemed as though after spending that evening in his apartment, everything between you and Peter changed. There wasn’t any awkward tension or tip toeing around your feelings. You could simply just feel and not have to be ashamed or embarrassed by it. He started going to meet you at your locker before school, complimenting you on whatever outfit you were wearing, and holding your hand, which was your personal favorite. It was like a reminder that you were finally his. Although neither of you clarified whether you were officially dating yet or not, it was obvious something had changed in your friendship. MJ and Ned were quick to point out this change, teasing you two relentlessly but also congratulating you both.

Even outside of school, Peter was still tugging at your heartstrings. He sent you adorable texts and even facetimed you before bedtime to talk. One morning before school he had even gotten you some iced coffee, and another day offered to walk you home. He was definitely the sweetest boy you had ever met, and you found yourself falling harder and harder for him each day. As the dance approached, Pepper helped you slowly get ready. She went out with you to find the perfect dress, one that complimented your eyes and cascaded down your hips, as well as some matching jewelry. She also briefed you on some dance lessons just in case your brain went blank in the middle of a slow song. You giggled to yourself as you imagined Aunt May doing the same with Peter.

Before you knew it, the night had finally arrived, and you were excited and nervous all the same. Staring at yourself in the mirror, fancy hairstyle framing your makeup painted face, you smiled. You wouldn’t have wanted to spend this night with anyone else but Peter. Walking down to the lobby you smiled at your dad, beaming at you with teary eyes. “You look absolutely stunning, y/n,” he gave you a big hug. “Can’t believe my little girl’s all grown up.”

“Best believe it,” you smirked. “I’ll be up and off to college before you know it.”

“Ah you won’t be gone long,” he shook his head. “I know you’ll breeze right through it. You’ve got your father’s brains.”

“If only she had your confidence too,” Pepper teased. “Then she’d be unstoppable.”

“Yeah right,” you scoffed. “I’m a teenage girl in high school, dad. You probably have more confidence than all of us combined.”

“A visitor has approached the door. Would you like me to let him enter, Mr. Stark?” JARVIS chirped through the building and you felt giddy, heart beginning to race.

“That must be Peter,” you smiled and you saw your dad tense behind you as you rushed towards the door.

“Peter?” he raised an eyebrow, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Yeah,” you opened the door, proudly presenting your date to your father.

He stood there in the doorframe, just as you imagined, but almost even better. Hair swept back neatly, sporting a tuxedo and a bowtie, smelling faintly of cologne, he was handsome as ever. You wanted to kiss him right there on the spot. “Y/n! You look beautiful,” Peter gasped and you blushed, looking up at him, shy.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “You look very handsome too.” Your dad stepped out from behind you to get a good look at the boy and you stepped back to let them introduce themselves, noting the almost surprised look on both of their faces. Did Peter really think you weren’t going to introduce him to your family?

“Nice to meet you sir,” the boy extended his hand, looking a bit jittery. “Peter Parker.”

“Tony Stark…” your dad drew out his voice, seeming very off, and you stared at him strangely, confused. They shook hands slowly, both staring at each other weirdly, and you narrowed your eyes at the interaction, letting Peter step into the room and watching as the two of them struggled to find words to say.

“Big fan of your work,” Peter nodded slowly, smiling anxiously, entire body tense. “You’re a good man, Mr. Stark.”

“Going to keep my daughter safe tonight, Mr. Parker?” your dad asked, ignoring Peter’s praise, and you rolled your eyes, sighing, slugging him in the shoulder playfully.

“Y-yes sir, of course, absolutely,” Peter insisted, almost as if trying to convince himself, and Tony hummed, still skeptical. Your father turned to you and you instantly felt strange yourself, hoping everything was okay.

“Mind if I have a couple words with Petey here?” your dad asked and you stared at him quizzically.

“Sure, is everything alright?” you turned your head to the side.

“Of course, you know, just the regular don’t hurt my daughter or I’ll hurt you type of talk,” he reassured and you chewed on your inner cheek, looking up at him, hesitant.

You lowered your voice, leaning into his ear to whisper. “Just don’t mess this up, okay dad? I really like him,” you pleaded, and he smiled softly, nodding.

“It’ll only be a couple minutes,” Tony replied. “Why don’t you go out and wait with Happy in the limo. I’m going to talk to Mr. Parker for a little bit.”

Reluctantly, you followed his instructions, going out to wait in the backseat of the vehicle with Happy. Meanwhile, your father confronted Peter in the lobby, pulling him aside so that they were alone. “Look, Mr. Stark, I can explain really-” Peter began but Tony shook his head, shutting him up.

“No. What did I tell you?” he asked bitterly, taking off his glasses, cursing. “Shit. You’re not supposed to be doing these things, kid. And with my daughter? Are you serious? You have a job, people to protect, yourself to worry about. You can’t be involving other people who could potentially get hurt, just so you can boogie for a night in your high school’s gymnasium.”

“I know, I know. But it’s so much more than that,” Peter sighed, apologetic. “And I swear, I wasn’t the one who approached her Mr. Stark, I would never try to mess with your daughter. I know you told me already and everything, but I swear, she approached me. And I didn’t want anything to happen but she just, she’s really a great girl, Mr. Stark. She’s so smart and funny, and she kept asking me to hang out, and we kept talking and I- I couldn’t help but catch feelings. And there was this dance coming up and my aunt, you know my aunt, she kept bugging me to ask someone, and the only person I could think of to bring was-”

“Her. Okay, I get it, kid,” Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But I don’t think you understand. She likes you. A lot. She’s really fallen hard. You’re all she ever talks about. And I’m just afraid if this keeps happening, whatever this is between you two, something bad could happen. You having these powers, being, you know, Spider-Man… It’s a full time gig. There’s no option for girlfriends, Peter. If something ever ends up happening to her, that’s not only going to be on me anymore. That’ll also be on you. And you’re just a kid, I don’t think you’re ready for that yet. I don’t think anyone ever is.”

“I promise I’ll be careful, Mr. Stark. I’d never let anything happen to her, I care about her a lot. I really do,” Peter swore.

“It’s not a matter of how much you care, Romeo. You can’t control things like this,” Tony argued. “Think of what would happen if anything happened to her. If anything happened to you! She’d be devastated. She wouldn’t be able to take it. And if you two stay together, she can’t know. She can’t know about any of this, about your powers or your suit, or the fact that we already know each other. It would be based upon a lie. And she doesn’t deserve that.”

“So what? I’m just not allowed to have a girlfriend?” Peter began to get annoyed. “I can’t be a normal high schooler sometimes? I’m not allowed to bring the girl I like to one school dance?”

“Look kid, none of this is normal. Not a single bit of it. And I know that’s not fair to you, but that doesn’t mean it has to be unfair to anyone else either, okay? Being a superhero, that whole gig, being Spider-Man, that comes before anyone else. Especially girls, no matter who that girl is,” Tony explained. “I’m sorry, but no means no. You just can’t have both.”

“And apparently I can’t choose either?” Peter stared at him, desperate, but Tony insisted.

“Being a hero means doing the right thing,” he said firmly, finalizing his statement. Stark looked at the boy, noticing the sadness in his eyes, and shook his head. It was for the best. “Now go. Have a good night. Give her something to remember. Take care of her.” There was a pause and he sighed. “You can plan on telling her tomorrow.”

Peter blinked at Tony, trying not to either punch him in the face or start crying, watching as your father walked away, unsure of what to think or do. He wanted to swing away, to the highest rooftop, and scream at the sky. But he couldn’t. He had a dance to go to and a girl to take care of. A girl he couldn’t even keep if he wanted to. Walking silently to the limousine, he opened up the door, and you greeted him cheerily, but he remained quiet, making you concerned, furrowing your brow. “What’d he talk to you about? You were in there for a while, I thought you’d never come out,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but he still looked different. Almost sad. “You okay, Peter?”

“It’s fine,” he shook his head. “He just uh, he told me to have a good time.” He gave a fake smile and you stared at him, concerned, wondering what the fuck your dad just did to make him look so goddamn depressed.

“A-are you sure that was it?” you wondered, and you could pick up the same type of tension on Happy. It was like everyone knew something you didn’t.

“Yeah, just forget about it,” Peter insisted. “It’s fine.”

When you arrived to the dance though, he seemed distracted and distanced, making you worry even more. Ned and MJ greeted you both with their dates, and you all poured glasses of fruit punch and took silly photos at the booth. When it came time to dance, you begged Peter to join you, and you swayed your hips to the music and twirled around in circles, trying to get him to loosen up, but he still seemed off. “What’s up with Peter?” MJ finally cracked as soon as you had stepped away from the boys and you shrugged.

“He’s been like that ever since he picked me up from my house,” you frowned. “I feel like something’s wrong.”

“Did you ask him about it?” MJ wondered and you sighed.

“Several times, but he won’t tell me what’s up,” you replied. “I’m almost scared it might be something I did. We were fine until he came over. Maybe the tower and my dad and everything scared him off.”

“I don’t think so, Peter doesn’t seem the type to ignore you,” MJ insisted. “Just let me know if I can help. I hope you figure it all out soon.”

“Thanks,” you gave a sympathetic smile. “Me too.”

“Best of luck, buddy,” she winked, going off to grab some snacks.

You shook your head, hoping everything would work out. Maybe the dance was just making him nervous. You made your way through the sea of people crowding the gymnasium, trying to find a familiar face. A slow song began to play, one of your favorites, and you instantly rushed towards Peter, holding out your hands. “Come on,” you begged. “Slow dance with me? Please?”

“S-sure, of course,” he smiled, getting up from his chair, making his way to the middle of the dance floor with you. He set his hands on your hips and you rested your arms on his shoulders, smiling as you looked into those hazel eyes you grew so fond of, thinking about just how much he meant to you. Sure, it started off as a silly little crush, having your eyes out for the smart nerdy boy in your chemistry class, but now? You felt like Peter was your best friend, and you wanted him to be something more. He was easy to talk to, to relate to, to be around. When you were with him, it was like the entire rest of the world disappeared.

“Can I tell you something?” you wondered and Peter looked at you, caught off guard.

“Uh yeah, yeah, sure,” he agreed. “But um, I have something to tell you too.”

“You do?” you raised an eyebrow, interested. You secretly hoped it was the same thing. “Maybe you should go first.”

“Are you sure?” he looked quizzical, almost unsure of himself.

“Mhmm,” you smiled, still swaying your hips, looking into his eyes, hopeful. What if he was going to tell you how much he liked you too? Or what if he asked you to be his girlfriend? What if he told you he loved you? No! No way. That would be way too soon. Wouldn’t it? Your heart raced as you watched him struggle to find the words to say, excited as ever, but as soon as they left his mouth you wished he had never said them at all.

“I don’t really think this is working out,” he whispered and you stared at him, beginning to feel your heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

“W-what?” you stammered, freezing in your place, confused.

“Us,” Peter clarified, looking down at the floor, embarrassed. “I think I made a mistake. Asking you to the dance. And I’m sorry.”

“Wait, what?” you almost laughed, trying to convince yourself this was all some crazy prank or something, but you looked up and saw the pain and sadness in Peter’s eyes and you suddenly knew something wasn’t right. Maybe that’s why he had been acting so weird. Did he regret asking you to the dance? He seemed so excited when he had asked you. And he had told you all week how much he was looking forward to it. Was it all just some big lie? You shook your head, still in denial. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m sorry, y/n,” Peter mumbled, breaking away from you, walking off the dance floor. But you didn’t know what to do, instead just standing there, tears of your own forming in your eyes.

Were you fooling yourself? Were all of these feelings just one sided? Were you too stupid to see what was happening all along? You hated yourself for thinking someone like Peter could ever like you. You were just friends, and that was it. God, Ned and MJ probably thought you looked stupid too. Tears welled up in your eyes as you exited the gymnasium, pulling out your phone, sitting on the curb in your dress, hating yourself for messing everything up. Your phone rang several times before you sniffled, clearing your throat.

“Uh, hey dad?” you whimpered.

“Y/n?” Tony asked, concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Can you pick me up from the dance? I want to go home,” you told him, voice shaky, wiping tears from your cheeks.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he reassured. “I’ll be there in ten. Hang tight.”

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duallygirl178 · 4 years

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Dearest O'Malley chapter 2

Chapter 2

1972 of two years later, Gonzo and Dean moved away and I was stuck by my lonesome with no friends. A lot that was happening in change since Impa disappeared. I waited for him to come back for weeks and still nothing. Pretty soon, I was up for sale by an old lady that would only drive me to church and back home. Her husband was a good-for-nothing jerk that kicked me when I didn’t start up. When he passed away, I was mighty glad and the son of a whisker goat was so mean you could have fed him lead through a gun barrel at breakfast and he still wouldn’t care. A nice lady by the name of Gladas came and looked at me. I was loving all over her as hearts threw themselves up and floated. She said I was very sweet and before I knew it, I was sold to a new home to Gladas. The yard was so green and the apricots were growing in perfectly. I was going to be very happy here. I was driven every day to work and to church as Gladas put up with me no matter if I did something on purpose. I began to open up more to her and had space and places to rest under where there was shade. I had places to go and had smells to discover around me. I caught the oil stain stench on the dirt of a 1950s flatbed truck. I had three companions to boss around because they behaved like a bunch of rowdy 2nd graders, notice that the flatbed didn’t do anything about the behavior. They didn’t listen to anyone. One of them was a female that behaved very well and listened. She was flirty and had serious eyes for me. That was okay for me though because I was interested in her as well as long as I got to be leader and that’s exactly what I wished for. I wasn’t a virgin before I met Gladas. I felt pretty lucky to be the boss of the flock. What could I say; I had become the attention of the eye and a lady’s man. However, what irritated me was when people saw me, they’d call me “she” instead of a “he” and I embarrassed Gladas on purpose by shutting off after Gladas turned the ignition on. After a while, people began to stop with the questions and started taking pictures of me. At work, I’d relax in the parking lot and nap until Gladas got off work. Sometimes, it would be cold in the spring mornings and sometimes it would be just right. I got more sleep hours in so if I wanted to go out and stay late, I would have energy.

There would be a red hot rod that would be the biggest jerk in the school parking lot. He usually picked on white cars and little ones too. Well one day, the son of a whisker goat came to me, picked on me for a few minutes, and insulted me. I knew I don’t like bullies nor did I tolerate it but he wanted my spot in the parking lot. I refused to give it up. After insulting me for one last time, I gave him a few warning snaps and yelled if he’d like his grille ripped off before I attacked him. He still didn’t back off and when I had the last straw, I attacked him. I tore off his fenders in a good old-fashioned car fight. I grabbed tight of the hot rod’s side fenders and dragged him like a chew toy. I shook and rolled him over as everyone turned their attention to the fight. My grip tightened more and with my back tires, I gave him a mighty toxic shock. The hot rod went into a cardiac arrest and fell into a coma because I was so strong. It took a tow truck to pick him up an hour later as I sat in my parking lot as a winner. The owner of that hot rod was notified to come to the auto repair shop at once. Although, I lost my passenger side mirror in the fight, but it wasn’t too bad. I was proud of myself. I felt a little bit of my father in me when I was fighting; he didn’t take any insults from anyone and he would destroy them that would to harm us. I imagined if my dad were here to see this, he’d be proud. His lessons were trying to get me to fight for what I had in need and how to avoid it being stolen. I refused to give up my parking spot and that would have made my dad proud. I had refused to listen to him and today I understood. It was about defending what you have under your hood. I heard what Chevrolet owner say, “If you mess with a Chevy, you get the teeth”. That hot rod learned it the hard way not to bully others. I was sure that if Gonzo were there, he’d tear scoot-deep into the little buster with no mercy.

After work, Gladys and I went home to relax and figure out what’s for dinner. Gladys was telling her husband I got into a fight today and won. I could hear a blurt noise round of laughter from inside the house. Something of it had to do with what I did. I hung out by the apricot tree in the shade. They were ripe and sweet this year. Tomorrow that hot rod will be at the auto repair shop and I didn’t have to worry about him. He got what he deserved and most of it was his fault for being a bully.

On Sunday mornings, Gladys would prepare me for church. It was for decent dressings and as a young boy; I didn’t even fight to get clean and decorated with a bow tie. Her husband would dub a little man’s perfume on me so I’d smell handsome. At church, I’d sit in the parking lot and listen to for the music to play. I trailed off into a flashback when Impa, Gonzo and I were exploring an old abandoned church. We were looking for items left behind; coins, valuable items, and things, but no one came back and was never torn down. The building itself, had sunk in foreclosure and the money was sucked dry. I came out of the trance when the clock tower bell struck the hour. I still wondered what happened to Impa. I always had been wondering for years about him. I wondered why he was never found. I had dropped the fear of aliens chasing us two years ago and I forgot all about its features over time. All I cared about was finding my friend again. and finding out if he was okay. I looked at the keychain I held on to and I remember him wearing it. He’d wear it as an earring just to look cool. I smiled a little and thought, Impa never went anywhere without it. It was his lucky charm for when he wanted single women. I hoped wherever he was, I wished he could come home. His owners were worried sick about him. I could never forget the good times we had with Impa. Where there was trouble, there was adventure.

After church, Gladys took me home where she undid the bow tie to remove it. I knew I would have to wear that confounded bowtie and I didn’t like it. Gladys technically wanted me to wear it just for Sundays only. I was glad Gonzo wasn’t here to see me in the bowtie. Because he’d be calling me “Oswald Cobblepot” from the Batman TV shows and “sir” or “fancy boy” and I knew I didn’t like that. Gonzo had called Impa a few names like “wacko” and “biker head” and I knew I didn’t want to be there. My other trips into town were grocery shopping and carrying them home that day. Getting a check up at the mechanic’s for an oil change and renewing my license tags at the DMV.

On special occasions, Gladys let me have caffeine at night. It got me really wild but it tasted good. It would take her husband hours to get me to settle down and I know they’ve argued not to give me coffee at night before bed. I had to take sleeping pills and supplements just to get me to sleep. I was a wild boy and I sure was a mess so Gladys stopped giving me coffee at night. In the mornings, I would watch the news from the windows to keep up with the weather and it would be for the rest of the week. If it were going to rain, I’d prepare for it to pour down like a watering can. If it were going to be hot, then I’d pack a bottle of sunscreen or park in the shade. If there was going to be flies, it would be a good idea to pack a fly swatter. Monday, I didn’t see that hot rod and it was very nice. All the cars were so proud of me. I just told them if you were born in Texas, you’d stand up and fight for others but really, it was nothing. To change a bully, you’d really got to teach them a lesson that enough is enough. The flies near the dumpster were terrible, every car in the lot was getting bugged by them…including me. I shook to get them off, I stomped my tires to kick them off, rolled over and snapped at them, but nothing seemed to help. I would just have to deal with them no matter how irritating they were. Tomorrow I’d better come prepared with an insect killer. The school only had that dumpster dumped out every once every three weeks and the odor was unbearable. It was about time that Gladys got off work to go home. I couldn’t wait to get away from the dumpster. On the way home, Gladys put on the radio and there was a song made in the 1939 called “Why don’t you get lost” and it wasn’t instrumental when it was playing. I kind of liked it because it matched on what kind of day I had when that hot rod was bullying cars at school. I just wanted to tell him “why don’t you get lost” as well as the flies that was buzzing around. The night had fell cool and early for a summer season. It was comforting.

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beanfic · 6 years

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Full Moon

Pairing: Tyler x reader

Word count: 1386

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: This was an anonymous request, and I brought in my inner twilight nerd to write this, and honestly I had a lot of fun with it! I hope you enjoy it!

Request: maybe one where it’s a Supernatural AU! And Tyler is a werewolf or sumn and the reader is human? He keeps the secret from the reader and the reader finds out and it’s all fluffy at the end?

“When are you guys going to call it official? You’ve gone on five dates already!” Your mom was in the kitchen, pretty much blasting you with questions about this guy you have been seeing. His name was Tyler. You met him at a carnival, of all places, and you guys hit it off instantly.

You shrug, “Maybe I will suggest it at my dinner tomorrow!” You grabbed the toast your mom gave you and headed up to your room. You grabbed your phone and dialed Tyler’s number.

“Hey babe!” he picked up immediately.

“Hey, Ty! I had a question, would you like to go out to a super fancy restaurant tomorrow night for fun?” you suggest. There was a long silence before you had to say his name again to see if he was still there.

“Sorry, I’m here, but, um, uh, tomorrow? Night?” His voice seemed shaky.

“Yeah, tomorrow night is Saturday? We always do dat aboutes on Saturdays?” You were confused why he was acting so weird.

“No, no, I know. It’s fine, I have just been feeling a little sick!”

“Tyler, if you’re sick then I can just come over and bring you noodle soup!”

“No, I wouldn’t want to get you sick.” His responses were starting to get on your nerves.

“Do you not want to see me? We always do dates on Saturdays. Are you seeing someone else?” you asked sternly.

“Of course not, Y/N, I want to see you, I’m just scared,” he mumbles.

“Scared of what, Tyler?”

“I… I can’t tell you yet.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night. Pick me up at 6:30.” You hung up with frustration before you could hear his response.

Why was he acting so weird? Was he keeping something from you?

You glanced at your watch, it read 6:33. Tyler was three minutes late, and you have been worrying about what he was scared about ever since you got off the phone with him yesterday. You eventually see Tyler’s car pull up to your house. He was wearing a black dress shirt and black pants, with a red bowtie. He always loved the red and black color scheme.

“You look so handsome!” you told him as you opened the door. He pulled you into a hug, and complimented your black dress.

“You ready to go?” Tyler asked while running his hand through his hair. He seemed nervous, but you tried to ignore that.

“Yep!” You grab Tyler’s arm and he leads you out to his car. He opens the door for you, and you hop into his car. He always kept it super clean, but today it seemed like it was bit of a mess. This made you worry about Tyler even more.

You arrived at the restaurant which was this fancy steakhouse in Downtown. You ordered a glass of wine, now that you just turned 21 a few months ago you could finally legally drink.

“I think we should go on a walk after dinner, I have something I need to show you.” Tyler stopped eating and looked in your eyes. He spoke in a serious tone which took you off guard.

“Uh, okay. Is everything okay Ty?” you ask and he nods but didn’t say anything else. You both finished dinner with casual conversation about work, friends, and how school was going.

“Do you believe in vampires?” Tyler asked. This question made you almost spit your drink out.

“I don’t believe in any of that supernatural shit, especially since people are convinced they exist. Like it’s storytelling, it’s dumb,” you explained, but you could notice Tyler getting more and more uncomfortable.

“What if I told you that they are real?” he raises one of his eyebrows, but you just roll your eyes.

“We’re too old for this.”

The both of you finish up dinner, and Tyler grabbed your hand the moment you were out of the restaurant.

“I want to go on a walk with you, follow me.” Tyler leads you behind the restaurant into this forest. It was hard for you to keep up with him on the damp soil in your heels but you did your best.

“Ty, are we almost there? My feet hurt,” you complain after what seemed like 20 minutes of walking.

“Almost.” Tyler gets on itching his neck and his arms, and was sweating profusely. Finally Tyler stops and faces you. He places his hands on your shoulders. His eyes were red, and his pupils looked huge.

“Tyler, are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

“Do you see the moon?” he asks. You look up at it. It was bright in the night sky, and was surrounded by stars.

“Yeah, it looks like a full moon,” you say with hesitation.

“Y/N, I want to be with you. I have never felt like this with anyone else. You make me feel safe, and I want you to feel safe too, but what’s about to happen might scare you. Do you trust me?” His words made your heart flutter.

“Yes, Tyler, I want to be with you too.” Your breathing started to get faster and deeper. Tyler walked away from you and turned around. He kneeled on the ground and bent over. His breathing turned into a pattern, and his back started to hunch more and more before you could hear his clothes starting to rip.

Your eyes wide, and your breathing stopped as you saw Tyler’s arms grow hair instantaneously, and his nails transform into claws. He turned around and looked at you. Tyler was a werewolf.

“Holy fuck balls,” were the only words that could come out of your mouth. You weren’t necessarily scared, and not as confused as you should be, but just amazed that they were real.

“Do you believe in them now?” he asked. His voice was deep and raspy, and his teeth were sharp now. Hair covered his entire body, and his ears resembled your own dog’s ears. He wasn’t as wolf like as the pictures in children's book show, you could still tell he was part human.

“Yes,” you whisper. You walk up to him and take his paw. It was about three times as big as your hand. “How long does this usually last?” you ask.

“Until dawn.” Tyler suggests that you sleep in the forest so that no one finds you, especially because you had to keep it a secret. You go and grab some blankets from his car and cuddle up next to him. You had never thought that you would fall asleep in a supernatural creature’s arms, but here you were.

You woke up to a naked Tyler next to you, which scared you more than the events that happened last night.

“Tyler, wake up!” you scream and you threw a blanket so he could cover himself. He woke up instantly, and his cheeks turned red.

“Sorry, I always rip my clothes.”

“So, you’re a werewolf?”

“Yep,” he chuckled.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Isn’t that something, you know, you mention to someone who is practically your girlfriend?” you start to raise your voice but Tyler was quick to shut you up with a kiss.

“So, you want to be my girlfriend even after what you saw?”

“Yes, but answer my question!” You cross your arms with frustration which made Tyler smile.

“You’re cute when you’re angry, but I didn’t tell you for obvious reasons. It’s dangerous for humans to know, and I’m not even supposed to fall in love with humans, I’m supposed to fall in love with my kind,” he tries to explain. You didn’t really understand him, but you didn’t want to push it more at the moment.

“Should we head back to our place now?” you suggest and he nods. He grabs his pants which weren’t as ripped and put them on while you looked the other way. He dropped you off at your house, and right before you got out of the car he grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Hey, Y/N. Thank you for not being afraid, and for believing and trusting me. I love you.” His words left you stunned, especially the last three.

“Of course, I love you too, Tyler, even if you are a mythical creature.” You pull him into a kiss goodbye.

#tyler joseph fanfiction #tyler joseph #tyler joseph one shot #tyler joseph drabble #tyler joseph imagine #twenty one pilots #tyjo #twenty one pilots fanfic #twenty one pilots oneshot

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burclay · 6 years

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Fanciful Notions

Yaz had forgotten about the wedding.

Or, she hadn’t forgotten, really-- it had just been far in the future, and then she had started time traveling and it became even farther in her own personal future, but then one night her mum said, “Yaz, Sonya, aren’t you two going to your friend’s wedding tomorrow?” -- Yaz brings the Doctor as a plus-one to her friend's wedding. It's completely platonic (or so she thinks).

AO3

Yaz had forgotten about the wedding.

Or, she hadn’t forgotten, really-- it had just been far in the future, and then she had started time traveling and it became even farther in her own personal future, but then one night she and the gang were having tea with her family, squeezed around their dining room table, talking about their plans for the next day, and her mum said, “Yaz, Sonya, aren’t you two going to your friend’s wedding tomorrow?”

“Oh, is that tomorrow?” Yaz asked. The wedding was that of one of her primary school friends, Saira-- they had kept in touch after they had stopped going to the same school, and Saira had tutored Sonya in maths for a while. And now Saira was getting married, and Yaz had almost forgotten about it.

“What, lost track of time?” Sonya asked, cutting her eyes to Yaz.

Yaz rolled her eyes.

“Must’ve,” was all she said. Sonya had figured out about the whole time travel thing ages ago and had spent the weeks since threatening to tell their parents. It didn’t matter-- either their parents wouldn’t believe her, or they would and Yaz would keep doing what she was doing anyway, but she would rather not deal with the fuss of having them find out and potentially disapprove.

“Hold up,” Ryan said. “Is that Saira who was in our class year five?”

“Oh, are you coming to the wedding?” Sonya asked.

“Sonya,” Yaz warned.

“What?” Sonya asked. “It’s just a question.”

“Yeah, I said I’d be there,” Ryan said. “Don’t know what I’ll wear.”

“I have an old friend who was about your height,” the Doctor said, her mouth full. “You might fit some of his clothes.”

“Is this the one with the eyebrows?” Ryan asked. “Or bowtie? I’ve always wanted to wear a bowtie.”

“I was thinking of eyebrows,” the Doctor said. “Although I could definitely lend you a bowtie.”

“I’ll take it,” Ryan said.

“Do you want to come, Doctor?” Yaz asked. “I can take a plus one.”

“Oh, you mean like a date?” Sonya asked.

Yaz wanted to kick her under the table, but she had no way of telling whose leg was whose, and she wasn’t about to run the risk of kicking her mum instead.

“I mean like two friends going to a wedding together,” Yaz said. “As friends.”

She thought she caught Graham and Ryan exchanging a look, but she ignored it. There was nothing wrong with taking her lonely time traveling friend with her to a wedding so that she didn’t have to sit alone in her giant spaceship all day pretending to be busy. She knew what the Doctor got up to, and it was a little sad, to tell the truth.

“Oh, I’ll have to find something to wear,” the Doctor said. “Haven’t had to dress up since I was a man!”

Yaz raised an eyebrow at her.

“Kidding!” she said. “I mean since I was younger. Smaller, you know. Clothes fit differently, now that I’m-- blonde. Anyway. I’m sure I can find something lying around.”

Translation: she’d be ransacking the TARDIS wardrobe later. Yaz smiled to herself, thinking of the Doctor running through the wardrobe, pulling out random pieces, trying to put them together, and then she immediately schooled her expression into something that Sonya, her mother, and Ryan wouldn’t all tease her about later.

“Well,” Ryan said, “if you can take a friend, think I could get away with inviting a granddad?”

He was next to Yaz, so she figured she knew where his leg was. She kicked him under the table.

“What, me?” Graham asked. “You want me to come to a stranger’s wedding?”

“Could be fun,” Ryan said.

“Hope it’s not too strange,” Sonya said, with another look at Yaz.

“Might be if you’re there,” Yaz said, getting up to take her dishes to the sink.

Later, she walked her friends down from the flat. Ryan and Graham split off with a wave, and Yaz found herself standing at the door of the TARDIS with the Doctor.

“Are you sure I’ll be welcome tomorrow?” the Doctor asked. “I haven’t been to a 21st century wedding in at least a thousand years. And I’ve forgotten how to dance!”

“It’s fine,” Yaz said. “Saira’s nice. She’ll love you.”

“What should I wear?” the Doctor asked. “I don’t know what people wear to weddings! Oh, I hate when I can’t just wear the same outfit as always.” She paused. “Yaz, I think I’m nervous. Is this what nervous feels like?”

“You’ll be fine,” Yaz repeated. “Just find a pretty dress or something.”

“Oh! A dress!” The Doctor grinned. “I always wanted to wear a dress. Don’t think it’d be practical every day, but I think I can pull it off for a wedding.”

“You’re going to hate it,” Yaz said. “But I’m excited to see it.” She smiled, touching the Doctor’s arm. “Night, Doctor.”

“G’night, Yaz,” the Doctor said, and she disappeared into her TARDIS with a smile.

Yaz walked back up to her flat, enjoying the cool air against her bare arms. She ignored Sonya’s pointed, “Does it always take you that long to walk down the stairs and back?” and walked into her room, changing into a pair of pajamas and falling backwards onto her bed.

She woke up the next morning to a flurry of texts from the Doctor:

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (3:16 AM): Yaz!!! ! !! What time’s the wedding???? 👰 👰

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (4:29 AM): I found a pair of heels in the TARDIS but she *really* doesn’t want me to wear them what do I do?

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (4:43 AM): Never mind, I can’t walk in heels. Do you think it’ll be okay if I wear flats??? I really haven’t done this before!

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (5:08 AM): YAZ!!!! THIS IS HARD!!! 😰😱😬

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (5:43 AM): Are you sure your friend will be okay with me being there?

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (6:01 AM): I think I’ve decided on an outfit! 💃💃💃

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (6:06 AM): Actually, I’m just going to wear my regular outfit until you tell me it’s time to go.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (6:24 AM): I can’t get my dress off!!!

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (6:25 AM): This is why I only wear one outfit, you know. I know how it goes on, I know how it comes off. Easy.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (6:38 AM): Now I’m bored.😩😴 Can I bring you breakfast? 🍳🥞🥓

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (7:36 AM): The cafe by your flat makes EXCELLENT croissants.🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐☕️☕️☕️

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (7:37 AM): I’ve saved some for you and the gang, by the way.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (7:45 AM): Ryan and Graham aren’t answering my texts either. 👎 Why do humans have to sleep so much??? LOL!!!

Yaz looked at her clock. It was 8 AM. She laughed and texted the Doctor back.

yaz!!!!!!!😊😊😊 (8:02 AM): relax, Doctor! wedding’s not til 3. I’ll pick you up at the TARDIS when it’s time to go. croissants welcome anytime😘

Barely a minute later, she heard a knock on the door. She jumped out of bed, still in her pajamas, phone in her hand. She worried for a moment about her how her hair looked, reminded herself that the Doctor didn’t care how her hair looked, remembered that if she stopped to brush her hair Sonya or, worse, one of her parents might get to the door first, and ran to open the door, grabbing a pair of shoes along the way. The Doctor was standing there, in her striped shirt and long coat, holding a paper bag.

“Croissant?” she asked, holding out the bag.

“Yeah,” Yaz said. “Outside, though. Don’t want to wake everyone up.”

“I’ll be quiet!” the Doctor hissed.

“Not gonna risk it,” Yaz said, pushing the Doctor out the door and closing it behind them. “Come on, we can go down by the TARDIS.”

“Oh, all right,” the Doctor said. “The TARDIS it is, then.”

Yaz slipped her bare feet into her shoes and followed the Doctor down the steps, smiling to herself.

She sat outside with the Doctor for almost an hour, eating the croissant and talking about where they might go the next day. It was idyllic, really. Eventually, though, she got a text from Sonya:

Sonya🤞🏽🎧💅🏽 (8:54 AM):where r u? need help deciding what 2 wear

Sonya🤞🏽🎧💅🏽 (8:54 AM): ooooohhhh are u w/ the dr???👀👀👀

Yaz rolled her eyes.

bitch (8:55 AM): yeah, we’re just outside.

bitch (8:56 AM): you should thank me, by the way. she was going to come inside and wake everyone up.

Sonya🤞🏽🎧💅🏽 (8:56 AM): whatever. just get ur butt up here k?

bitch (8:57 AM: fine.

“Got to go,” she said to the Doctor. “Sonya’s having a clothing emergency.”

“Thought the wedding wasn’t until later,” the Doctor said.

“It’s not,” Yaz said, standing up. “But we have to do our hair, and maybe makeup, and get dressed, and then get to the venue. It takes time.”

“Oh, I forgot about makeup,” the Doctor said, jumping to her feet. “Do I have to do makeup?”

“You don’t have to,” Yaz said. “It’s just if you want it. But you look good the way you are.”

The Doctor grinned.

“Thanks, Yaz,” she said. “S’pose I’d better get to bringing Ryan my old suit.”

“If he’s even awake yet,” Yaz said.

“Humans!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Why do you sleep so much?”

“Ryan makes it a bit of an art form,” Yaz admitted. “Talk to you later, Doctor.”

She ran back up the steps to the flat. Sonya was waiting for her in the doorway, head tilted to the side, a challenge in her eyes.

“Morning,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, shut it,” Yaz said.

“Wonder what could drag you out of the flat at nine in the morning,” Sonya said, turning to walk back inside.

“At least I was awake to be dragged,” Yaz said. Sonya rarely got up before ten on weekends. “Is this how you treat your sister who’s about to help you pick out an outfit?”

“Two outfits,” Sonya said. “I need a new one for the reception.”

Yaz rolled her eyes.

“Two outfits, then,” she said. “Show me the choices.”

She helped Sonya find the right outfits, and then she picked out two for herself. By the time she was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to decide how to wear her hair, she was already tired of the whole thing.

But… she was really looking forward to seeing the Doctor in a dress later.

She didn’t do makeup-- she had always hated it, and besides, her face was fine the way it was. With her hair done, and all dressed up, she would look different enough, anyway.

She twisted her hair back into a low bun, checked the time on her phone to see that she had both three hours and over fifteen new messages, and sat at the kitchen table, reading her texts.

Ryan💯💯💯 (9:12 AM): did you tell the dr to come over here

Ryan💯💯💯 (9:12 AM): i need my beauty sleep yaz!

Ryan💯💯💯 (9:12 AM): dope suit though. past her had style

Ryan💯💯💯 (10:48 AM): good news i’m awake again. doctor’s gone. i’ll assume she’s off trying to find someone who’ll talk to her.

yaz (11:13 AM): yeah, pretty sure she’s just been texting me from the TARDIS. I’ll keep you posted.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:15 AM): Pretty sure I just woke up Ryan… 😬

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:21 AM): Update!! ! He looks great in my old suit! 🤵🏿🌈💥🎩🎊

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:34 AM): Update to the update… he went back to bed… 😥

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:46 AM): YAZ I’M BORED AND GRAHAM WON’T TALK TO ME HELP!! ! !!

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:48 AM): Sorry, I know you’re getting ready with your sister. No pressure to respond.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:54 AM): Guess I’ll go back to the TARDIS. You can find me in there if you need me. Parked in the same place and everything.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (10:05 AM): Yaz! Should I curl my hair? I just found a curler and I think it’s a sign from the TARDIS. 🛑 🔔✅

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (10:24 AM): Update on the hair situation: I did it, it looks great, only burned a little of the bottom and I can hide it underneath all the other hair.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (10:27 AM): OOH! If it’s curly it shows my earring! I love my earring! 👂🏻👂🏻👂🏻👂🏻👂🏻

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (10:32 AM): Oh, I knew I would have trouble putting this dress on again… Yaz!!!!! How do the women in those red carpet pictures do it??? ? ?? ? 😬💃😬

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (10:48 AM): I figured it out! Got really distracted along the way, started tinkering with the hair curler. I’m going to make it sonic! 💥👌🏻👓

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (11:01 AM): Got my dress a bit dirty. 😬😬😬 Glad I have the TARDIS to help. 💦💃🚿

yaz!!!!!!!😊😊😊 (11:15 AM): Doctor, you cannot use the 💦 emoji in that context. I don’t know what Ryan’s been telling you, but do not listen to him, ok?

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (11:15 AM): Yaz!!! ! ! ! !! Are you ready?? ??? ?? I want to see your outfit!!! !!! !!

yaz!!!!!!!😊😊😊 (11:16 AM): I’m not dressed yet. and I said I’d drive Sonya so we can’t take the tardis to the wedding. but anyway you can come hang out up here if you want

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (11:16 AM): YAY!!!!!! HANGING OUT WITH YAZ!!!!!!! !!!! I’ll be right up!

“Doctor’s coming up,” Yaz called out to anyone who might be listening. Really, they were all used to it by now. When Yaz was home, the Doctor was nearly always around. Sometimes she went with Ryan and Graham, but Yaz got the sense that they were more private-- she was used to sharing her space. One more person didn’t make a huge difference. Especially when that one more person was the Doctor.

“Oh, is she now,” Yaz’s mum said from the living room sofa.

“Getting ready for your date?” Sonya asked, yelling from the bathroom.

“Not a date!” Yaz yelled back. Her mum scoffed, and Yaz was about to say something else, but then she heard a knock on the door, and she opened it to see-- well, the Doctor, but an almost unrecognizable version of the Doctor. She hadn’t realized how much she had come to think of the Doctor’s charity shop outfit as integral to the Doctor’s self, but of course, when she only ever wore the same outfit, of course it would imprint itself on Yaz’s mind.

But this-- this was different.

The Doctor was wearing a dark blue dress, the same color as the TARDIS, Yaz noticed. The skirt rippled down to the floor from the waist in small pleats, gold-sheathed toes poking out from underneath. Above the bodice, a sheer golden cape radiated from a clasp over her chest. Through the fabric of the cape, Yaz could see the blue of the dress gathered at one shoulder to make a strap, leaving the other shoulder bare; it was the most skin she’d ever seen the Doctor show, although maybe that wasn’t saying much.

She heard footsteps behind her, and she glanced back to see Sonya leaning against the wall, eyebrow raised.

“Admiring your girlfriend, Yaz?”

“Not my girlfriend!” Yaz exclaimed.

“Why not?” the Doctor asked.

Yaz whipped her head around to look at her, mouth hanging open.

“I’m a girl,” the Doctor said, “according to your human rules, and I’m your friend.”

“Not what it means, Doctor,” Yaz said.

“She really is an alien,” Sonya said in Yaz’s ear, quietly enough that their mum wouldn’t hear but loudly enough that the Doctor would.

“Yep!” the Doctor said. “Anyway. First time wearing a dress. What do you think?”

“Yeah, Yaz,” Sonya said. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m not hanging out in the public parts of the house when you’re around,” Yaz said, grabbing the Doctor’s wrist and leading her into the flat.

“Ooh, going to the bedroom, are you?” Sonya asked.

“Hey, at least I have a date,” Yaz retorted.

“Thought you said it wasn’t a date?” the Doctor asked.

“It’s not,” Yaz said, thoroughly exasperated. “Come on, Doctor.”

She pulled the Doctor through the hall into her room. Her mum called, “Door open, Yaz,” as she passed, and Yaz replied, “I’m an adult heterosexual, I think it’s all right!”

Once in her room, she sat on the edge of her bed and sighed.

“Sorry about that, Doctor,” she said. “My family’s impossible.”

“It’s all right,” the Doctor said. She started to sit down, then jumped back up. “Am I going to ruin the dress if I try to sit?”

“I doubt it,” Yaz said, looking critically at the fabric. It was neatly pleated, but didn’t look like it was going to wrinkle much. “Anyway, you’ll be sitting once we get there, so you might as well ruin it now.”

“Good point,” the Doctor said, and she sat down next to Yaz. As she did, she picked up the corner of Yaz’s gold sari, which she was planning to wear for the ceremony. “This yours?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Yaz said. “Just for the ceremony, though.”

“Oh, was I supposed to have two?” the Doctor asked.

“Nah,” Yaz said. “I’m just trying to one-up Sonya, if I’m being honest. It’s petty, but--” She shrugged. “That’s sisterhood for you.”

“Fair enough,” the Doctor said. “Never really got to be a proper sister.”

“Bet you were an annoying brother,” Yaz said.

“Oi! I was pleasant!” the Doctor exclaimed.

“I’m sure you were,” Yaz said. “Youngest?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor admitted. “‘Course, now I’m the oldest, too.” Her voice had turned just the slightest bit sad.

“Sorry,” Yaz said, looking away. “I forgot.”

“It’s all right,” the Doctor said. “I carry them with me, remember?”

“Still,” Yaz said. “Has to hurt.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor admitted. “Still. I’m used to it.”

Yaz looked back at her. The Doctor was looking away, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Yaz looked up and saw her old glow-in-the-dark stars, flat against the white ceiling in the daytime.

“Have you always had these stars?” the Doctor asked.

“Since I can remember,” Yaz said.

“Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor said. “Always looking at the stars.”

Yaz smiled.

“They’re not entirely accurate,” she said. “I wanted to rearrange them like real constellations when I got old enough, but my mum said I wouldn’t be able to get them back on. I figured the wrong stars were better than no stars.”

“The universe is infinite,” the Doctor said. “Somewhere, surely, there’s a sky that looks like that.”

Yaz grinned.

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it,” the Doctor said. “We can try and find it sometime, if you take a picture.”

Yaz took out her phone and laid back on her bed to snap a picture. She texted it to the Doctor.

“There,” she said, sitting up. “Now it’s official.”

The Doctor looked at her with something in her eyes that Yaz couldn’t quite place. For a moment, she held the Doctor’s gaze, trying to figure out what she was seeing. The air seemed to thicken around them.

Yaz looked away. The air thinned out again. She checked the time on her phone.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she said, gathering her outfit. “You going to be all right in here?”

“‘Course I will,” the Doctor said.

“Don’t talk to Sonya,” Yaz said.

“No promises,” the Doctor said.

“And try not to poke around too much,” Yaz said. “This is my stuff.”

“I can promise that,” the Doctor said. “Can I upgrade your laptop?”

“Only if you can do it without logging on or destroying my files,” Yaz decided.

The Doctor took out her sonic screwdriver with a wicked grin on her face. Yaz opened her mouth to say something else, realized she didn’t know what she would say, realized she was horribly curious what the Doctor was going to do to her computer, and left the room with half a smile.

She changed into her sari in the bathroom, humming to herself. She looked at herself in the mirror, angling this way and that, admiring the dark brown fabric against the gold top underneath. She loved having an excuse to wear it, really; she had gotten it for a cousin’s wedding back when she was still in school, but she hadn’t worn it since.

Yaz walked back to her room, fabric swishing around her feet. The Doctor was exactly where Yaz had left her, sitting on Yaz’s bed, looking intently at Yaz’s computer. The only difference was that now the bottom of the computer had been cracked open, and the sonic was buzzing, casting an intermittent orange glow onto the circuits. The Doctor was so completely focused on whatever it was she was doing that she didn’t hear Yaz come in, and Yaz got to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a moment and watch the Doctor’s intense concentration. There was something about the way the Doctor looked at things, she thought-- the way she leaned forward with intensity in her eyes and figured things out.

And then Yaz cleared her throat and the Doctor looked up, and suddenly that intensity was focused on Yaz. Yaz swallowed, suddenly nervous, while the Doctor jumped up and put her hand on Yaz’s shoulder, looking Yaz up and down with an open-mouthed smile on her face.

“Yasmin Khan,” she said. “You clean up well.”

A smile burst onto Yaz’s face, and she ducked her head.

“Thanks, Doctor,” she said.

Sonya passed behind them.

“You’re flirting,” she said, her voice floating into the room from behind Yaz.

The moment between Yaz and the Doctor broke. Yaz stepped back, blushing, and called, “Mind your own business, Sonya!”

“Didn’t deny it!” Sonya called back, already in her own room.

Yaz rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why?” the Doctor asked, her head tilted with genuine curiosity.

“It’s embarrassing, that’s all,” she said. She shrugged. “We have to leave soon, anyway. I’m going to pack up my other outfit.”

“Need help?” the Doctor asked.

Yaz thought for a moment, then said, “No, I want to leave it a surprise.”

“Oh, I love surprises,” the Doctor said. “I’ll turn my back, then?”

“It’s not that high stakes,” Yaz said. “You can if you want, though.”

The Doctor faced the wall, and Yaz opened the door to her closet and pulled out a suit on a hanger. This one was brand new. She had wanted it for a long time before buying it, but she hadn’t had the chance-- or the courage-- to wear it yet.

She folded each element of the suit with care and put them in a bag. She took a deep breath, then tapped the Doctor on the shoulder and said, “Let’s go.”

Of course, it wasn’t as easy as all that. It took almost twenty minutes to wheedle Sonya into the car, and then five more to argue over who got shotgun (Sonya wanted it, but Yaz pointed out that the Doctor was the guest. The Doctor said she didn’t care, but Yaz stood her ground, and eventually Sonya slid into the backseat, grumbling). Finally, though, they were on their way to the ceremony.

It was an outdoor wedding, held in a local park. Yaz hadn’t met the woman Saira was marrying, but she had a vague inkling that this was an interfaith wedding; Saira was Muslim, of course, they had gone to the same mosque as kids, but Yaz didn’t know about her fiancee. Of course, she was about to find out.

The Doctor seemed thrilled about the whole thing, from the outdoor setting to the arch at the end of the aisle to the simple fact of white folding chairs for the guests. Yaz practically had to drag her to a seat, and then when she got distracted talking to one of her old friends, the Doctor wandered off and Yaz had to excuse herself to go find her. (Her friend told her that she and the Doctor were a cute couple-- Yaz would have corrected her if she had had time, but she really was worried about what the Doctor was getting up to.) It turned out the Doctor had just gotten distracted by Ryan and Graham’s arrival, and Yaz was able to maneuver them all back to a set of seats just before the ceremony began.

The ceremony was gorgeous, of course. Yaz hadn’t seen Saira in far too long; now, wearing a vibrant blue sari and looking at her wife with love in her eyes, she was radiant, and Yaz glowed knowing that her old friend had this love in her life. The other bride looked wonderful in a full-on white tuxedo, her short hair styled to perfection. Yaz hadn’t really been around a lot of couples of two women before-- her eyes kept moving to the ways they touched each other, the way the one put her hand on the other’s elbow, the way they looked at each other. The way they leaned in when they kissed.

It gave Yaz a feeling she hadn’t really felt before. She didn’t know what it was, but it felt… warm, somehow. She smiled as the brides kissed, wife and wife, and clapped along with everyone else.

“Isn’t it brilliant?” the Doctor asked, her breath warm on Yaz’s ear. “I love love.”

Yaz smiled, still looking at the happy couple.

“Me, too,” she said.

When it was done, and everyone was milling about, Ryan, Graham, Yaz and the Doctor joined the queue of people waiting to congratulate the brides, Sonya tagging along like the little sister she was. It wasn’t long until they were at the front, and Saira looked thrilled to see Yaz and Ryan, a little confused about Graham, and downright conspiratorial about the Doctor.

“When’s your wedding?” she asked Yaz, cutting her eyes to the Doctor.

Yaz shook her head.

“She’s just a friend,” she said. “She was in town-- I asked if she wanted to come--”

Saira raised an eyebrow, and Yaz rolled her eyes.

“Whatever,” she said. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Saira said, her skeptical look replaced with an angelic smile.

The reception was in a hall just across the street from the park. Sonya insisted in changing into her second outfit in the car, and first-- she emerged in a pink dress that even Yaz had to admit popped really well against her skin tone.

“Not that you’re going to outdo me,” she said to Sonya as she slid into the car. It was a tight fit-- Yaz wasn’t entirely sure she’d be going the changing-her-formalwear-in-the-car route in the future. But she was stuck in it now, so she managed to maneuver herself into her suit. She checked herself in the rearview mirror-- her hair still looked good, she still wasn’t wearing any makeup-- and opened the car door.

It was hard to make a dramatic entrance when the door she was entering from was that of a fifteen-year-old sedan. Still, Yaz did her best, sliding out right into a dramatic pose, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach.

“What do you think?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

“When did you get that?” Sonya asked.

“When you weren’t looking,” Yaz retorted. It wasn’t Sonya’s approval she was looking for.

She glanced at the Doctor.

The Doctor’s mouth was wide open.

“Yaz!” she said. “You didn’t tell me you had a bowtie!”

And just like that, Yaz’s nerves dissolved, and she laughed.

“And I suppose you have some sort of opinion on bowties,” she said to the Doctor, only half teasing.

“Used to,” the Doctor said. “Haven’t thought about them in a while.” She considered for a moment. “But I just decided I still like them.”

Yaz smiled even wider, until she saw the knowing look in Sonya’s eye.

“Where’d Ryan and Graham get to?” she asked. “Come on, let’s go find them.”

But she held out her arm, and the Doctor took it, like some kind of Victorian courtship, and Yaz knew Sonya noticed.

Ryan and Graham turned out to already be in the reception hall, sitting at a table with a couple more primary school friends and their dates. Sonya, Yaz, and the Doctor sat down just in time for the first dance between the two brides.

Watching them, Yaz had the same warm feeling she’d had earlier. Unwittingly, she glanced at the Doctor, and realized that feeling was getting bigger, and warmer, and suddenly it hit Yaz like a really big truck: she wanted that. She wanted what Saira clearly had, that closeness, that smile. With another woman. Yaz wanted to live her life loving women.

And-- she almost didn’t admit this to herself-- and when she did it was in the mental equivalent of a whisper-- but-- she sort of wanted the Doctor to be one of those women.

Which meant Sonya and her mum were right. Yaz hated that.

She looked away from the brides, pretending to have been distracted by the towering cake, and pressed that warm feeling down. The Doctor was a friend, a weird and wonderful alien friend, who didn’t even see human relationships the same way Yaz did. Even if everyone else assumed they were a thing.

Still uncomfortable, Yaz’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in the buffet table in the corner, the dark gray carpet, the sky-blue tablecloths, the dressed up people sitting around her. At one point, she made eye contact with Graham, and he gave her a knowing look that she didn’t quite like.

Finally, after some interminable amount of time, the dance was over, and all traces of Yaz’s warm feeling dissipated in favor of nerves and discomfort. She had named her feelings; now she had to deal with them, and she wasn’t sure whether she was brave enough for that.

“Yaz!” the Doctor said as a faster song came on and people started moving to the dance floor. “We should dance!”

“Maybe in a bit,” Yaz said. “You go on.”

“You all right?” the Doctor asked, hovering halfway between standing and sitting.

Yaz waved a hand.

“Fine,” she said. “Seriously. Go dance.”

The Doctor hovered for another moment, but when Yaz just gave her an encouraging nod, she got up and went to the dance floor. Ryan joined her, and Yaz got a good laugh at the two of them, possibly the world’s most awkward dancers, before Graham dropped into what had been the Doctor’s seat.

“Ugh,” Yaz said. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?” Graham asked. “I just thought you might want to talk.”

“You’re such a grandad,” Yaz groaned.

“Well,” Graham said, “I don’t have any biological grandkids, so you and Ryan’ll have to do.”

Yaz hesitated.

“I think I’m into women,” she said, the words coming out all in a rush.

“Any specific women?” Graham asked, a twinkle in his eye.

“You know,” Yaz said, blushing, “I think you know the answer to that.”

But Graham didn’t say anything, and Yaz rambled on.

“She’d never be into me,” she said. “She’s, like, a thousand years old or something. And an alien. And probably has a lot of other options. And if you tell Ryan anything I’m saying, I’ll get the Doctor to take us to a supernova and throw you in myself.”

“Whoa,” Graham said. “The Doc’d never let you do that.”

“I’m smart,” Yaz said. “I could figure out how to work the TARDIS.”

Graham chuckled.

“I’m sure you could,” he said. “But really, Yaz. If everyone looking at you thinks you’re a couple, you can’t be that far off.”

“Maybe,” Yaz said. “I didn’t even know I liked women until just now, Graham. This is all going a bit fast.”

“Fair enough,” Graham said. He clapped her on the arm in a very grandfatherly gesture. “Just so you know, I’ll support you, whatever happens.”

Yaz smiled.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Graham said, “I’m going to go check out that buffet.”

He stood up and left, and Yaz looked to the dance floor, trying to find Ryan and the Doctor, almost lost in the crowd-- after a couple moments’ search, she saw the telltale blur of the Doctor’s hair flying absolutely everywhere, and, next to (or, more accurately, above) it, Ryan’s head bobbing awkwardly.

Yaz got up. She hovered for a moment. She actually had no idea what to do now-- she felt a bit too awkward to go dance with Ryan and the Doctor, but she didn’t really want to keep sitting where she was. She wasn’t particularly hungry. She didn’t want to be alone outside or anything.

Well. If she was going to be having a sexuality crisis, she might as well be having it on the dance floor. She made her way over, stepping around chairs to get to the music. She didn’t seek out Ryan and the Doctor; she just started moving, getting lost in the beat and the crowd, trying her absolute hardest to forget she was anything other than a bass line and a melody.

It worked for maybe half a song, until she felt a hand on her arm, pulling her around. She knew who it was before she turned; sure enough, it was the Doctor pulling her into a circle she had created with Ryan and a few strangers. Yaz let it happen, ignoring the Doctor’s eyes on her in favor of grinning at Ryan, who grinned back, grabbed her hand, and twirled her under his arm. Yaz laughed and raised their joined hands in a goofy attempt to twirl him back, but he almost fell trying to duck under her arm, and so she let go.

“Do I get a twirl?” the Doctor asked from Yaz’s other side, shouting to be heard over the music.

Yaz turned to her, eyebrows raised. The Doctor was holding an arm out, and after a moment’s hesitation, Yaz took it, ignoring her butterflies, and let the Doctor spin underneath her arm. The Doctor tripped a little on her dress and wound up facing Yaz with a breathless smile, and Yaz couldn’t help but grin back.

“Not going to be wearing a dress next time I do one of these,” the Doctor said. “I miss my pants. Nice and short.”

Yaz laughed. She didn’t let go of the Doctor’s hand. Their eyes met, and for a dizzying moment, Yaz forgot about everyone else in the room, she forgot about her newfound uncertainty, and it was just her smiling with (smiling at) the Doctor, jumping around on the dance floor

The moment didn’t last-- the song ended seconds later, and the brief silence that followed was enough for Yaz to feel awkward and take her hand away, stuffing it in one of her pockets.

“D’you want to get some food?” she asked the Doctor (and Ryan, but mostly the Doctor).

But before the Doctor (or Ryan) could answer, the music shifted into a smooth, slow ballad. All thoughts of food left Yaz’s mind, even as Ryan made a beeline to the buffet. She was vaguely aware of people around her coupling up, and the Doctor was in front of her, looking extremely confused.

“How’re we supposed to dance to this?” she asked Yaz.

“It’s-- it’s a couples thing,” Yaz explained. “You dance with someone else.”

“Oh, I really don’t spend enough time at parties in this century,” the Doctor said, her nose wrinkled.

Yaz shrugged. She tried to figure out what to say; she came up with nothing.

She was saved when, a moment later, the Doctor’s face sprang back to its usual intense expression as she looked right at Yaz and said, “Yasmin Khan. May I have this dance?”

A huge, almost silly grin sprang unbidden onto Yaz’s face. She tried to suppress it, realized she couldn’t, wondered if her hair was still in place, and then, finally, remembered that she still had to answer the Doctor’s question.

“Of course,” she said, twisting her hands in front of her. She held her arms up a little awkwardly.

“I’m not sure how to do this,” the Doctor said.

Yaz swallowed. She stepped forward and let a hand rest on the Doctor’s waist. The fabric of the Doctor’s dress was really soft, she noted, in a part of her brain that was completely detached from the fact that she was about to slow-dance with the Doctor.

“Like this,” she said. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

The Doctor did, and Yaz let her other hand rest on the Doctor’s shoulder, which maybe wasn’t how most people in the room were dancing, but a lot of them were much closer to each other than Yaz was really comfortable with. One of the Doctor’s hands rested on Yaz’s waist, and the butterflies in Yaz’s stomach fluttered.

And then they were dancing. Swaying to the music. Yaz’s eyes met the Doctor’s, and then she couldn’t look away; that was what the Doctor’s eyes did, after all, they trapped Yaz’s gaze with everything they held. Yaz smiled, and the Doctor smiled back, the exhilarated kind of grin she gave Yaz when they were just about to take some ridiculous risk to save an alien world, and Yaz felt that warm feeling come back, jumping all the way down to her toes. Somewhat subconsciously, she pulled a little closer, still holding the Doctor’s gaze. She could almost feel a physical connection, a sort of thickness between them, something she didn’t quite know how to handle. It had been all well and good having flings in school, but this-- this was something serious, something big, and Yaz didn’t want to risk what she already had.

But the tension was pulling her in, and she felt the Doctor pulling her closer, and suddenly her eyes were sliding closed, and then her lips were on the Doctor’s, and the warm feeling spread until Yaz thought she might just explode, and the only things in the universe were her hand on the Doctor’s waist, the Doctor’s hand on her waist, and the Doctor’s lips on hers.

Until Yaz realized what was happening, and the warm feeling she had had turned hot and uncomfortable. She was kissing the Doctor. Her heart was leaping, but-- this was a risk she hadn’t meant to take. A risk she wasn’t willing to take.

She jumped back and opened her eyes, avoiding the Doctor’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. She felt separate from everything, separate from the Doctor, separate from the wedding, separate from her own body. Not waiting for the Doctor’s response, she turned tail and fled, pushing through the dancers, through the tables, ignoring Sonya’s snide remark flung from the buffet line. She shoved through the doors to the outside, letting the cool sunset air hit her face, and sank down onto the front steps, trying her hardest to breathe. She untied her bowtie and unbuttoned the top button of her shirt, which helped a little, but that hot and uncomfortable feeling was still there, crawling underneath her skin, and it was all she could do not to curl in on herself entirely.

She heard the door open behind her. For a moment she thought it was just a random guest, but then when the footsteps stopped just behind her she figured it was probably Graham or Ryan or maybe even Sonya, so she said, “Leave me alone,” but it wasn’t Graham or Ryan or Sonya who replied.

“Are you all right?” the Doctor’s voice said, and Yaz looked up, twisting her body to see the Doctor looking down at her with concern written all over her face.

“I’m fine,” Yaz said, but she was sure the Doctor could hear the defeat in her voice.

The Doctor hesitated for a moment.

“Can I sit?” she asked.

“Can’t stop you,” Yaz said.

The Doctor gingerly lowered herself onto the step next to Yaz.

“Did you want to talk?” she asked. “Only, I think these things are better when you talk about them.”

“What things?” Yaz asked, looking straight ahead.

“Things like when you’re dancing with your best friend Yaz and then she kisses you and runs out of the building,” the Doctor said. “Just as an example.”

Yaz laughed. Embarrassingly, she felt a lump in her throat, like she might cry.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want to-- ruin anything.”

She felt the Doctor’s eyes on her, but she still didn’t turn. She wouldn’t have been able to bear those depths just then.

“Ruin what?” the Doctor asked.

“I don’t know,” Yaz said. “What we have. Traveling. Friendship.”

“Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor said, her voice quiet. “I don’t think you could ruin anything if you tried.”

Yaz did look at her then, and she was surprised at what she saw. The Doctor wasn’t looking at her with fire in her eyes; her whole face was relaxed, and Yaz saw a quietness in it she hadn’t seen before. Part of her wanted to interpret that quietness as love, but-- she wasn’t sure if that was really there or she just wanted it to be.

“I like you,” she said. “As a friend, or as more than a friend, or-- or whatever. I’m really glad I met you, Doctor.”

“You should know,” the Doctor said, “the people I get involved with, it doesn’t always end well.”

“I decided ages ago,” Yaz said. “I’m taking that risk.”

To her surprise, she saw tears in the Doctor’s eyes.

“I’ve pushed people away,” the Doctor said. “Spent years mourning. Not traveling with anybody because I wasn’t willing to risk losing them.”

“I know,” Yaz whispered. She was dizzy with uncertainty now, with wanting to know how this conversation was going to end.

“But I need to take that risk, Yaz,” the Doctor said. “As long as you know what you’re getting into.”

Yaz nodded. Now there were tears in her eyes.

“I know,” she repeated. “And I can make that decision for myself, Doctor. I need you to trust me to make that decision.”

“I do,” the Doctor said. “I trust you.”

“So,” Yaz said. “Does that mean you-- want to date?”

“I’m rubbish at dating,” the Doctor warned. “Just to warn you. Humans have all these rules, and really I just want to travel with people whose presence I enjoy.”

“That’s not a no,” Yaz said.

“Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor said, and Yaz shivered to hear the Doctor say her full name like that. And then the Doctor slid closer, and Yaz’s mind went blank.

She and the Doctor sat on that step for the rest of the party. They mostly talked, but Yaz got to lean her head on the Doctor’s shoulder, and the Doctor was holding her hand, and not even Sonya coming outside to bother them into leaving with a snide remark of, “I thought you weren’t dating,” could bring her mood down.

“Does this make us girlfriends?” the Doctor asked, as they got out of the car. “Like you were saying earlier?”

Yaz tried to remember what she was talking about. Earlier felt like it was miles away.

“I think it might,” she said.

“Brilliant,” the Doctor said, and she kissed Yaz goodnight outside her door.

#doctor who #dw #thasmin #writing #fic #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan

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sassycassie-s-writing · 6 years

Text

The Prince’s Birthday Ball

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Final Fantasy XV/Prompto Argentum

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: Classic Trope!

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) This one is 3,300 words... that’s longer than I intended... XD

^^^^^

“Rory, emergency!” Prompto exclaimed the moment I picked up the phone.

“What’s up, Prom?”

“Do you still have that pretty silver dress you wore to high school formal?”

“Yeah…”

“How fast can you be fancied up for a formal event?”

“Well, depending on how fancy, anywhere between a half-hour to two hours. Why? What’s going on Prompto?”

“I was supposed to be on guard duty for the prince’s twentieth-birthday gala—‘cause I joined the Crownsguard, remember?—but Noct just called and said I’d been removed from guard duty so I could go as a guest instead because I'm his friend from school. But I have to bring a date.”

I blinked. Prompto and I had been friends since we were in elementary school. Sometimes I’d joined him on his runs. I went from being able to lap him to being lapped by him in a very short span of time. When he became friends with Noctis, I did too by proxy. Sometimes the three of us hung out at Prompto’s place together because his parents were never home.

“Prom, Noct already invited me to the gala. Like three months ago. You were there. I said I didn’t want to go because it’s not my crowd.”

“I knooow but pleeease, Rory? You don’t have to stay too long. As a special favor to me. And to make it up to you I will get you ice cream or something tomorrow. Please, Aurora? Please, please, please?”

I sighed, pushing the left side of my sliding closet door to the right to find my formal gown. “Fine. But you owe me big time.”

“Yes I do! I’ll come get you in like an hour!”

“Okay.”

“Bye!”

“Bye Prompto.” I hung up and stripped my casual clothes off. “MOM! I'm going to Noct’s birthday ball after all! Prompto basically just begged me to go!” I shouted, changing from my comfy weekend bra to my nice fancy bra.

My mom appeared at my bedroom door as I shimmied into my gown. “Sweetheart if you’re going to the prince’s ball, you can’t wear a high school formal dress.”

“Uh… why?”

“It’s a bit hokey and juvenile. But I have just the thing. Brush out your hair and get started on your makeup. I’ll be right back.” Mom left—heading for the attic.

“Uh… okay,” I said, getting out of my silver gown and into my bathrobe. I brushed out my hair and dug my makeup bag out of my dresser, heading into the bathroom for the better lighting and the magnifier mirror.

Mom reappeared, holding something out. “Your sister wore this to her friend’s wedding when she was studying in Altissia.”

“My heck. It’s gorgeous.”

“I know. Put it on. She won’t mind if you wear it for a night. I don’t think she even fits in it anymore. I think she got too tall in the torso.”

I shed my bathrobe and slid into the gown. It fit me perfectly. The satin was smooth against my skin. “Wow. Thanks Mom. I’ll be sure to thank Cilla later too.”

“Are you wearing your silver heels?”

“I was planning on my black ones when I was wearing the silver dress but now I'm planning on the silver ones.”

“Good. Let’s get out the curlers.”

“Mom, we don’t have time for curlers. Prompto is coming to get me in an hour!”

“Well then, let’s bust out the curling iron. Your ends need to at least be curled under.”

“Okay,” I said.

Getting ready was a whirlwind. Hair, makeup, jewelry, heels. I was buckling my left shoe when the doorbell rang. I couldn’t get up to get it, but I heard Mom open the door.

“Aurora! Prompto’s here!” Mom shouted from downstairs.

“Coming! Just putting on my other shoe!” I called. I slowly got back to my feet so I wouldn’t tear the dress and headed for the stairs.

^^^^^

Prompto stared. Aurora had been beautiful at high school formal their last year. He remembered seeing her in the silver gown, shimmering like the ocean in moonlight and beaming behind dark-painted lips.

That was nothing compared to this.

The gown she wore was holographic satin, shifting between blue and green and purple. It flowed around her legs and had cap sleeves and a high but somewhat wide collar. The bodice was lightly embroidered with silver threads and star-shaped rhinestones. Her lips were a dark purplish pink and her eyelashes were long, thick, and painted black. The ends of her hair were curled underneath, with sections above her ears twisted back to hold her hair away from her face, clipped in place by a beautiful, ornate silver barrette with blue, green, and purple stones set in it.

A blue star rhinestone was glued to the corner of her right eye. She wore a silver star on her necklace—the same necklace she always wore—and tiny diamond stud earrings. He caught a glimpse of elegant silver heels under her gown as she came down the stairs. There was a smile on her face—but it quickly dropped as he stared.

“Prompto please say something,” she said.

“You look stunning,” he said.

Well, not said so much as barely managed to whisper because he was speechless.

Under her rouge, she blushed. The light pink spread to her ears. “Thanks. Not too bad for an hour of warning, eh?” she joked.

“No. Not too bad at all. Really good. Incredible, actually,” he rambled.

Mrs. Aubade—Mama Aubade, as Prompto had called her since he was ten—ushered the two of them together for a picture. “Mom,” Aurora complained. “This isn’t a high school dance!”

“No, it’s even more important and you both look so beautiful and handsome!” Mama Aubade said. “Now smile, Rory.”

Aurora’s smile had always been breathtaking to Prompto. Even when they were kids and she had a mish-mash of baby teeth and “grownup” teeth all crowding together. After she got her braces off in high school Prompto couldn’t help but be floored every time she beamed. She smiled with little reserve. Sometimes, when she was particularly elated, or just laughing, her lower lip would curl down and she’d smile with her bottom teeth exposed too.

When she smiled for the picture, Prompto wished he could have looked. But instead he focused on the camera. “You’ll have to send that to me, Mama Aubade,” he said.

“Of course, sweetie,” Aurora’s mom said. “Now get goin’. You don’t want to be late!”

“We will. Love you Mom!” Aurora said, already fumbling for the front doorknob.

“Baby, don’t forget this!” Her mother handed her a small turquoise clutch bag with a thin strap on it to wear as a purse. “Phone. Lipstick. Compact mirror. Tissues. Call if anything goes wrong. Or if you get lost.”

“Mom. I'm twenty and it’s a royal gala. This isn’t an awkward first date!” Aurora took the clutch from her mom—and Prompto’s hand. “Love you. Don’t wait up. We shouldn’t be too late!” She pulled Prompto out of the house. He yelped in surprise and waved to her mom as Aurora shut the door. “Sorry about that. You know Mom.”

“I thought it was fine,” he said. Awkwardly, he offered her his elbow. She took it, holding the bend so he could help her down the front porch stairs in her heels. She’d been wearing heels to special occasions since she was seventeen—he knew by now she had a hard time going down stairs in heels. She could sprint upstairs in them no problem but down was too difficult. “You really do look amazing,” he added. And I’ve had a crush on you since we were twelve. Six help me.

She beamed at him, and Prompto felt like the evening was suddenly noon for all her brightness.

He’d seen her darker than a storm cloud before, but she had starlight in her eyes and smiled like the moon.

^^^^^

“You look really handsome too, by the way. That bowtie really brings out your eyes,” I said as Prompto got the door to the car for me. He smiled, circled the car, and climbed in. Usually I was nervous about how he drove, but tonight I was confident he’d do just fine.

“Don’t you remember? You gave me the tie,” he said, adjusting it as he started the car. It was a deep indigo silk bowtie that really made the violet tint to his blue eyes pop out. He pulled away from my house and headed for the Citadel. “When we were in high school.”

“No, yeah, I remember,” I said with a smile. “But I haven’t seen you wear it in forever.”

“Well… not a lotta reasons to wear bowties in my life,” he remarked. His hands were clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel.

“Nervous, Prom?”

“Uh… to be honest, yeah. Never been to a gala as a guest before. I’ve played guard duty at a few, but I’ve never been as a guest.”

I reached over and patted his shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine. Promise. You’ve got me! Mom has me properly trained in etiquette and all that outdated junk.”

Prompto laughed—a single loud “HA!”—and then shrunk against the driver’s seat. “Sorry. That was just really funny,” he apologized, shooting me a quick glance as we passed under a streetlight. “Man. You look like the northern lights tonight.”

My ears and neck grew warm. “Thanks,” I said.

Underneath his suit jacket and shirt, I caught sight of a plain black satin ribbon wrapped around his right wrist. I knew he was hiding something under it. He never left his right wrist exposed. Not even to go swimming. Even when he wore long sleeves he had something wrapped over it. I’d asked him about it a couple times, but he always shot the conversation right down so I’d given up.

“I hope you’re a better dancer than me, by the way,” he said, distracting me from my thoughts.

I laughed. “Prompto Argentum, I’ve been in ballroom classes since I was twelve, remember?”

He chuckled, but the sound was breathy and embarrassed. “I do remember. I remember you trying to teach me and me bruising your foot from how many times I stepped on you.”

“Well, tonight will go better. I'm not barefoot so it won’t do as much damage,” I teased. “’Sides, you’re more coordinated now. Right, big bad Crownsguard boy?” I couldn’t help but giggle. Mutual teasing had always been part of our friendship.

He snorted. “Right,” he agreed, traces of sarcasm flavoring his tone.

The drive to the Citadel felt pretty short when we filled it with talking. We laughed a lot too. Once we arrived, I checked my lipstick in the car’s mirror. I’d meant it to take just a second, but I’d smeared the corner a little and had to slightly fix it with a tissue. In that moment, Prompto came around and got my door for me. “Prom you don’t have to get the door when I'm getting out,” I sighed.

“Uh, sure I do. Don’t I?”

“Well technically yeah, but waiting in the car is so weird.”

“My lady,” Prompto said as I took his offered hand and let him help me climb out.

“You’re a dork,” I replied with a smile. He smiled back and looped my hand through his arm

where he was still holding it. He escorted me inside.

“Guys! So glad you made it!” Noctis exclaimed, weaving through the crowd to reach us when we entered the ballroom. “Seriously. Some duke’s been talking politics to me for like five minutes and he’s so boring he’s putting himself to sleep.”

I snorted, hiding behind my hand. “Sorry,” I said.

Noctis took a moment to take everything in about us. “Wow you guys look good together!”

Prompto turned red under his freckles. “Thanks,” he squeaked.

“Rory, you gotta show Ignis how spectacular you look. He’ll be über impressed.” Noctis gave me a sarcastic look. I snickered and let him lead us through the people to where Ignis was. I’d met Noctis’ retainer a couple times—usually when he was picking up Noctis from Prompto’s place when we’d hang out—and got the feeling that he was a piece of cardboard taped to a broom who occasionally made facial expressions.

Tonight seemed like a night when Ignis’s cardboard face didn’t want to move much.

“Hey Iggy! You remember Rory right?” Noctis asked.

“Miss Aubade and I have met on several occasions, yes,” Ignis said.

“Look at her dress! Look how awesome it is!” Noctis exclaimed—in his rather subdued way.

“Indeed. Altissian craftsmanship, I presume?”

“Uh… I think,” I said. “It was my sister’s. She wore it to a wedding in Altissia.”

Ignis definitely wasn’t as impressed as Noctis seemed to think he’d be. I wasn’t upset about it though because Ignis was Noctis’ friend, not mine. “I see. It’s lovely,” Ignis said, slightly deadpan.

Noctis glanced at me and Prompto and rolled his eyes.

Prompto tugged on my hand. “Hey Rory, may I have this dance?”

We both looked at Noctis. “Do you mind if we slip away for a minute?” I asked.

He waved us off. “Not at all. Have fun,” he said.

Prompto and I both giggled and rushed to the dancefloor.

^^^^^

“Look at ‘em, Iggy. They’ve been basically dating since we were sixteen and they’re literally the only two people on the planet who don’t realize it,” Noctis said.

Ignis grunted in agreement and took a sip of whatever was in the fancy flutes being passed around that no one would let Noctis touch until his next birthday. Ignis wasn’t terribly invested in Noctis’ school friends when there was work he could be catching up on.

Still, his interest was piqued when he saw the girl in the northern lights gown teaching Prompto to dance—where to put his hands and how to do the steps. “You didn’t mention she actually knows how to dance,” Ignis remarked.

“Oh yeah she’s been in ballroom classes since before I really met her,” Noctis said. “That important for any reason?”

“No. Just curiosity.”

Noctis blinked. “Did you think they were going to embarrass me because they’re from commoner households?”

“I didn’t have any preconceived notions about their behavior tonight. Prompto is part of the Crownsguard now. He’s attended these before and knows the protocols—or should. And I was unaware that Miss Aubade was coming.”

“Yeah, well, I told Prompto he needed to bring a date and I knew that his first call would be to Rory. He always goes to her in a crisis.” Noctis snickered.

^^^^^

“There you go. You got it. Waltz isn’t too hard, see?” I asked.

Prompto chuckled, breathy and awkward. “Uh-huh. Uh, yeah,” he said. “If you just ignore the fact that I’ve already stepped on your feet three times.”

His breathing was getting a little heavy and we hadn’t danced that hard. I knew what that meant. The anxiety was kicking in.

I let go of his shoulder, and dropped our hands, but kept mine in his. “You look like you need some air. Come on,” I said, tugging him away from the ballroom and out onto the balcony. He leaned against the railing. I copied his position and nudged him in the arm with my shoulder. “You did great, Prom. I'm proud of you.”

He snorted derisively. “How could you be? I'm a screw-up in a place like this.”

“No you’re not. I guarantee if I went into that ballroom right now and asked Noctis for a dance, he’d be even worse. And he’s the prince. Your ability to dance doesn’t determine whether or not you’re a screw-up.”

“She’s right by the way,” Noctis’ voice remarked from the entrance to the balcony. “I suck at dancing.” He gave us a wink with some finger guns and retreated back into the party.

Noctis’ birthday was in August, but that didn’t stop a chill breeze from blowing since it was after dark. I shivered, wishing I’d brought the shawl that went with my silver gown—a black thing that looked classy and elegant and kept me warm.

“Here,” Prompto said, noticing my shiver. He slid out of his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, tugging it at the front to secure it around me. I could smell his cologne clinging to the fabric and feel his heat lingering with it.

“Thanks,” I said with a grin. My ears grew warm. I wondered why. Why was I getting a little blushy over something he’d done five hundred times?

It wasn’t rare for him to lend me his jacket. I was always colder than he was and he didn’t like sleeves anyway.

He nodded. “Y-yeah.” Quickly he turned to look out over the balcony. The moon was rising, casting its pale light on Prompto, making his freckles almost sparkle and shine against his pale skin. “Beautiful night,” he said, shooting me a quick look. He rested his hands on the balcony. I glanced at the black ribbon around his right wrist. Shaking my head, I concentrated on the sky above us.

“Yeah. Thank you for inviting me, Prompto. I know I didn’t want to come but… any excuse to hang out with you is a good one.”

“You… you think so?”

“Of course! You’re my best friend. One of my only friends, really. There’s you and Noct and that’s kinda it.” I shrugged and pulled his jacket more securely around me, absorbing his leftover body heat.

“Oh. Well. Thanks. And thanks for coming.”

I smiled. “My pleasure.”

Impulsively, I set my hand on top of his on the railing. My pinky pushed his white sleeve up a little to expose the black ribbon better.

“Prom… when are you going to trust me with what’s under this?”

“I’m not… hiding it from you. I'm hiding it from… from me,” he admitted.

“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad,” I reasoned.

He scoffed. “What makes you say that?”

I curled my fingers around his and smiled up at him. “Because it’s you. And you’re the nicest, sweetest, funniest person I know. So anything you’re hiding can’t be that bad because it’s part of you.” I turned so that I was facing him. “Even if it is something bad, that doesn’t change who you are. You’re still Prompto.” My Prompto, I added silently.

The thought pulled me up short. Since when did I think of him as my Prompto? I mean, sure he was my best friend but that didn’t make him mine.

He gave me a smile. The lighting made his eyes more purple than they’d ever been before.

“Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

Were we standing this close before? Or was I only just realizing that he was so close I could almost brush his torso? I swallowed. I was pretty sure we hadn’t been standing quite this near a few seconds ago. I could see the glitter of the New Wall and the stars beyond it reflected in Prompto’s eyes.

“Prompto…”

“Aurora… I—”

We cut each other off in the same moment, closing the distance between us. My arms wrapped around his neck and his arms snared my waist, pulling me flush against his torso. I took a deep breath. His jacket slid off my shoulders when I lifted my arms and landed at my feet.

After a moment, we broke apart. “I—did we just…?” I stammered, trying to figure out what was running through my mind. My thoughts were spinning too fast for me to make sense of.

“We did,” he confirmed.

“Oh good.” I pushed slightly closer into his arms. He bent down and met me with enthusiasm.

^^^^^

“Finally,” Noctis hissed to Gladio and Ignis. Gladio was snickering and Ignis looked bored. “I’ve been waiting for this for years!”

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sunflowerstrays · 6 years

Text

my valentine // yang jeongin (I.N)

my valentine, chapter 1 ~ master list

yang jeongin x reader.

words: 2.2k.

genre: fluff.

summary: you are a fool for love and broken hearts, and jeongin is a fool for you

“I hate them all,” you say into Jeongin’s jumper, trying hard to not blow your nose on it but after having already emptied the only box of tissues in the house, you aren’t left with many options. “All men suck. Except like, two of them.”

“Dare I ask which two?” Jeongin asks, stroking your hair softly and letting you cry on to him for what feels like the hundredth time over a boy.

This always happened to Jeongin. You, his best friend since starting school, would begin talking to this guy you liked, the two of you would grow close and Jeongin would make a conscious effort to smother his feelings for you. Then, aforementioned boy would blow you off and you’d come crying to Jeongin, and as your best friend he would have to comfort you. Following this, whenever he would finally build up the courage to tell you his feelings, you’d find another boy to entertain you.

But this time it had been particularly difficult to support you, as the boy that you had been speaking to you had been since the end of last year, and tomorrow was Valentine’s day. Being the romantic you were, you loved the ideas of dinner and candles and beach walks and cinema dates and just anything that screamed romance. Unfortunately for you, the majority of the boys your age didn’t care for such niceties.

Unfortunately for Jeongin, he did, but you never saw it that way.

“Kim Seungmin is a very decent guy,” you say, “and Nakamoto Yuta.”

“First of all, Yuta doesn’t know you exist, sorry to crush your spirit,” Jeongin says, watching you finally peel yourself from his chest with puffy eyes and a red nose. You wipe the last of the mess away on the back of your hoodie before sighing tiredly, “and Seungmin hates everyone.”

“He loves me.”

“That’s not the point,” Jeongin says with a chuckle, “most people love you, y/n. Besides, what about me?”

“You aren’t a man,” you say blatantly, making Jeongin squeal with laughter. He doesn’t know how to react, but pushes your shoulder anyway as you giggle at his childishness.

“I’ll have you know I am the manliest man-”

“Jeongin you cried last week when Seungmin had taken your juice box at lunch and hid it from you. I don’t think men drink apple juice with a straw,” you say, making him squeal again as he tackles you with a tickle to your sides. You used to be so ticklish as a child, but unfortunately for him you got over that, so now the two of you are just laying beside each other on his bed, his face resting on your shoulder.

“But, out of all the boys, you are my favourite,” you say, poking his nose before rolling over to face him. “It just really, really sucks. I was so looking forward to a fancy Valentine’s date. I even bought a pretty dress for it and everything, Jeongin.”

“Then wear it still,” Jeongin replies halfway in a train of thought, making you raise your eyebrows at him. The two of you sit close enough together that you can see his individual eyelashes, your nose almost brushing his. So many times that the two of you have found yourselves in this position, and so many times Jeongin has dreamed of finally telling you. But he never has, and now definitely isn’t the moment.

“Care to continue that train of thought, bub?” You ask Jeongin, poking his cheek and laughing when he grasps your hand instead.

“Wear the dress, and I can take you out somewhere,” Jeongin says, and your heart launches itself out of the window and into the sky. “It would be really fun.”

“Are you sure Jeongin?” You ask, feeling so soft for your best friend at that moment. He listens to all of your problems, is there through all of your heart aches and still supports every relationship you begin to develop, despite knowing it will most likely fail within a few weeks. Your habit of falling hopelessly for boys so quickly was really becoming a problem, but being the star he is, Jeongin was always there to clear up your problems.

“Of course, y/n,” he grins, giving you your favourite toothy smile of his. “We’ll have a great time!”

“Do I get to know where we are going?” You ask Jeongin, who shakes his head as he pulls out his phone and begins planning the date in front of you, fighting to stop you from looking. The room is filled with your laughter as the two of you play fight, and you remember why you love him so much.

“Just wear the dress and easy shoes, and I’ll pick you up at six,” he winks at you, making you howl with laughter at his weak attempt at being a flirt. Jeongin may be many things - talented, smart, funny, beautiful inside and out - but being flirty was not his forte. He just grew too awkward and red whenever he would speak to a girl that wasn’t you or his mother. Most of the time you found it hilarious, and would try your best to sort it out for him, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the hang of it or his cheeks.

Little did you know it was because the girl he would speak to in that manner was never you, and you were the only one he wanted to talk to like that.

The two of you laid in his bedroom for a while longer before your mother called and asked for you home, fearful of a thunderstorm tonight. You roll your eyes before hanging up and sitting up, facing Jeongin who lays in the same position with sad eyes.

“I will see you tomorrow at six,” you say, reaching down to boop his nose again before climbing rather ungraciously over him and leaving his bedroom. When you turn around Jeongin has sat up and is staring at the various photos on his bedroom wall, his face a mystery. You frown, reminding yourself to text him later to check that he is actually okay; so many times recently he has zoned out like this, and it’s beginning to chew at your insides with worry for your best friend.

Even though, theoretically, tonight was just a meal out with your best friend, you were awfully anxious. There was this gnawing feeling in your gut and you were anxious about something going wrong; which, quite frankly, was ridiculous, seeing as Jeongin and you had hung out a thousand times before, and it had only gone wrong on a few number of occasions. One occasion included when Jeongin had tripped you up on a walk beside a river once, you had fallen in and broken your wrist during the fall. But other than that one time, nothing had ever gone disastrously wrong; so why was tonight any different?

Because it was Valentine’s Day, you told yourself. And best friends didn’t hang out on Valentine’s day.

Because of the occasion though you had made an effort to look nice. You had gently curled your hair, hung the earrings your mother had gotten you for your sixteenth in your ears, and worn the pretty dress Jeongin had told you to wear. It was simple, a flowy dress that was white and had a pretty lace skirt, and coupled with a light jacket and leather sandals, you looked as if you were going on a real date.

But that felt unnatural when describing an outing with Jeongin. Date and Jeongin weren’t two words you had ever really thought of together, except from that one time when you were fifteen and you went through an odd month or so of crushing on him. Now, it just seemed… off.

At six o’clock on the dot Jeongin interrupts you from your thoughts by bashing your front door down like he does every time. You roll your eyes as your mother answers the door, giving you an extra second to put on a swipe of strawberry red lip gloss before grabbing your bag and phone. Jeongin stands at the base of your stairs, chatting about how excited he is for tonight with your mother.

He wears dress pants and a white shirt, even with a cute bowtie that brings a smile to your face, yet his usual jacket is slung over his arm and he wears black trainers under the smart trousers. You giggle at your best friend’s attempt at dressing up, alerting both your mother and him of your presence.

“Oh, wow,” Jeongin lets slip, making you blush as you walk down the stairs. Your mother, who wears the brightest smile on her face, pushes the two of you together for a photo. Jeongin laughs, his body awkward as he stands next to you for one photo, then wraps his arm around you for the second. His hand rests ever so gently on your waist, his touch so light like it isn’t even there, but it still makes you feel giddy. Why, you have no idea.

“Have fun kids! Jeongin please have her home at a sensible time,” your mother says, ruffling your curls before waving the two of you a goodbye.

“I have a confession to make, y/n,” Jeongin says, offering you his hand as you both walk down your garden to the street. Suddenly you launch into panic mood, wondering what he has to confess; what if he hates you, or was planning to ditch you tonight, or- “If we want to catch the bus to get to our destination before nightfall, we are going to have to run.”

You burst into laughter, half at yourself for being such an idiot and half at Jeongin’s inability to coordinate things on time. The two of you break into a jog, and you are glad that you stuck to his idea of wearing normal shoes instead of the heels you had debated over.

“Is this why you told me to wear flats?” You ask, your chest aching and legs slightly sore from running to the bus stop once the two of you sit down. Jeongin, with cheeks as red as the bus the two of you sit on, giggles at you, squeezing your hand and keeping it in his.

“Not quite, but I also didn’t think we’d have to run for the bus,” he chuckles as the two of you grin at each other. This is the same bus you’ve caught a hundred times to go into the city, where Jeongin and you would waste whole days trying on the most ridiculous clothing you could find, or eating an insane amount of food at all the new and different restaurants that would crop up over time.

The two of you ride the bus, and despite your pestering, Jeongin refuses to tell you anything about tonight. The two of you catch the bus into the city, and when you expect Jeongin to jump off, he doesn’t. Instead he just squeezes your fist, rests his head on your shoulder and sings for you to wait.

So you do. You chat with Jeongin softly, eventually giving up on asking about tonight and trying to place where on earth the two of you are going. Jeongin tells you how he had to borrow Hyunjin’s trousers for tonight because he didn’t own any smart ones himselves, and they were secretly rolled up and pinned for the occasion. You can’t help but really laugh at this, because only Jeongin would borrow the trousers of his tallest friend and wear them out to an event like this.

He also keeps complimenting you the whole time, and eventually your cheeks are stained with the constant blush on them. The two of you take goofy photos on Snapchat, trying out all of the different filters and spamming all of Jeongin’s friends with the photos. By the time you have tried all of the filters and annoyed the living daylights out of Seungmin, Jeongin pulls you to your feet suddenly and drags you from the bus.

It takes you a second to realise where you are, but when you do, you hug Jeongin tightly and refuse to let go. It was your favourite place to go, and the place that you went to with Jeongin only at this point. The beach.

He knew it was your favorite because the first time the two of you had gone there, you had told him how in love you were with the sea and open skies. With the sun beginning to set and the sea lapping gently against the beach, your heart was overflowing with love for your best friend; only he remembered these things about you.

The two of you wandered along the beach, Jeongin remaining quiet and observant of you as you drunk in the atmosphere around you; almost every restaurant was full of couples enjoying each other’s presence, and it was leaving you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. When Jeongin brushed his hand across yours, you couldn’t help but cling on to it, wanting to let yourself pretend even for a few seconds that something could happen between him and you. Tonight, you promised yourself, that you’d let this slide. This whole date thing with Jeongin, it was only a one time thing under extreme circumstances, you promised.

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gripefroot · 4 years

Text

The Milan Job

The first thing Bucky notices about Stark’s Milan penthouse is that there are no doors.

Well, there’s a door to the bathroom. But there’s not a single bedroom - the main part of the loft is open and surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and a set of glass stairs lead up to a balcony where a half-dozen bunks are lined up neatly, beds made and looking pristine.

Bucky hates it.

“Are we serious about this right now?” Sam blurts, rolling his suitcase in as he stares at the balcony. “Because I did not come prepared to listen to Steve snoring for the next four nights.”

“I don’t snore,” Steve protests, walking in behind Sam. He takes a look at the sleeping arrangements, and grimaces.

“Wear ear plugs,” Tony says from the open kitchen, where he’s mixing himself a drink. “All the hotels are booked for fashion week - this is all we got last minute. For the record, it’s normally just a king-sized bed up there, because Pep and I don’t usually invite guests to our vacation homes. If you don’t like the bunks, we can switch it out and get sleeping bags.”

“Oh, a sleepover!” Your gushing voice enters the penthouse next, trailed by Natasha. Bucky presses his lips together as he runs his fingers through his five-hour-flight hair, wanting to joke with you but feeling rather constrained in the setting.

So much for mission sex.

“I don’t believe you for a minute,” Nastasha slides her sunglasses up on her face, arching a brow at Tony. “If you wanted to get us hotel rooms, you could have.”

“Maybe,” Tony says with a sly shrug. “But this is like a team-building activity. Six adults, one bathroom. If we can make it through this, we can make it through anything.”

“So no hot dates, Sammy,” you tease, wandering over to admire the city view. “A city chock full of models, and you’re on a chastity leash.”

“Aw, c’mon, 28,” Sam protests, as Natasha sniggers and even Bucky cracks a smile. That open bar Tony has stocked is looking mighty fine. “Where’s your imagination?”

You turn, back to the windows as you send Sam a sly smile - your eyes flicker to Bucky. There’s a funny feeling in the region of his stomach, and he smiles back.

“I wonder,” you say woefully.

“This place is tiny,” Natasha reports, measuring her strides from one wall to the next. “Are you even allowed to have six people here?”

“You don’t call the fire marshal on my penthouse, and I won’t call the police on those knives you snuck through security,” Tony deadpans, taking a sip of his drink.

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Anyways, we’ll have a briefing tomorrow morning from my friend,” Tony adds, striding around the bar and into the living space. You’re still standing there, arms crossed, and Bucky fancies that you’ve been admiring his behind. Makes him wanna wiggle it, just to hear you laugh. Can’t do that here. “Then we start our patrols in the evening. White tie, remember.”

Bucky remembers. He’d packed the tuxedo Stark had made him buy two years ago when he’d first joined the Avengers.

“This place is whack,” Sam complains. “What’s the use in keeping an eye on bad guys if I’m being suffocated by a bow tie?”

For once, Bucky agrees with Sam.

“I don’t remember you telling us white tie,” you interrupt, attention now on Tony as a little frown forms between your brows. Still cute. “I brought my normal gear.”

If we’d packed together like we normally do, I could’ve reminded you, Bucky thinks, but doesn’t say.

“Milan Fashion Week has strict dress codes,” Stark explains. “All security is in Armani, minimum.”

“Does Pepper keep a suit here I could borrow?” you ask.

“No, because when I bring Pepper to Milan, she’s not on duty.”

Bucky sees Steve’s face pinch and his ears turn bright red all the way across the room - and the temptation to laugh is quickly smothered into a cough.

“Come on, 28, we can go shopping,” Natasha suggests. “Scope out the town. Rustle up some food. Leave these bozos in this shoebox to smell each other’s breath.”

“Excellent idea.” Your smile is beaming. Bucky feels like scowling - losing you already? Not fair. And he’s stuck with Steve and Sam and Tony - even worse. He doesn’t support this idea, not one bit.

He supports it about fifty minutes later, when his phone dings and he gets a text from you: a picture taken in a fitting room, involving a red dress that shows off your legs and thigh holster - a little coy smile on your face, as if daring him in some way or another.

Bucky coughs, nearly launching himself off the couch where he’s been lounging since you left. His face feels like it’s burning. Quickly he shuts off the screen, and tucks it back in his pocket.

“So, long story short, he fixed up my jacket and I gave him a bottle of whisky, and we’ve been friends ever since,” Tony explains of his friend Auernon. “Gave him a ref to get into fashion school, and so here we are. It stands to reason he would call upon an old friend when those bomb threats started rolling in…”

Bucky’s phone dings again. He’s gonna have to silence it. But curiosity overwhelming his caution, Bucky pulls it out of his pocket ever so slightly, staring at the picture that pops up. A teal dress this time, one that flows to the floor but shows off your shoulders. That smirk in the mirror - to die for. You know what you’re doing. He gulps thickly.

“Sorry,” he mutters, aware of Steve’s eyes on him. Quickly he shuts off the sound, adjusting the way he’s sitting ever so slightly as he pretends to be interested in Tony’s story.

The phone vibrates another half-dozen times. A velvet burgundy suit, with a slit in the white blouse down to your navel. A gold ball-gown, regretfully captioned with ‘can’t take down bad guys in this.’ An emerald green number that Bucky supposes is meant to look old-fashioned, with a bright-pink petticoat showing beneath the hemline. It makes his mouth water, thinking of getting his head beneath that skirt…

Anyway, Bucky didn’t listen to a word of the conversation.

Six hours later and the skyline is getting dark, Stark has ordered a dozen pizzas (ten and a half of which are gone), and you and Natasha finally return. There’s a bustling of bags and packages, and giggles, and when you stride into the kitchen to dump a tower of boxes on the counter, a complaint:

“You guys only saved us anchovies?” you protest. “Rude.”

“Double rude,” Natasha agrees. “Would be a shame if those fishes slithered into certain pillows, tonight.”

It’s been long enough since your last photo that Bucky is comfortable enough to stand - which he does, carrying his plate into the kitchen as he eyes you up and down. There had been no indication which dress you had bought - and by the sparkle in your eye as you meet his for the tiniest moment, Bucky can’t help but feel a sliver of anticipation.

“Sheesh, you buy enough to outfit the entire team?” Sam asks, refilling his drink as he pokes around some boxes.

“Nope. White tie at a fashion show is no joke,” you inform him.

“That’s true,” Natasha says. “Just don’t tell the Depression Grandpas how much you spent. We’ll be up all night arguing economics and moralities.”

“Since we’ll all be up all night listening to Steve snore, anyway,” you joke.

Bucky leans over, trying to peer into a bag - but you reach over and snap it shut.

“Nice try, Barnes,” you way warningly. “But that’s private.”

He likes the sound of that.

“Did you call me a ‘depression grandpa’?” Steve asks with a frown, moving towards the kitchen as well. “What’s that supposed to mean, Nat?”

“Only that you’re stingy.”

“Cheap,” you add.

“Obsessively frugal.”

“Miserly.”

“Tacaño,” Sam offers, and the room silences. At the confused glances his way, he shrugs. “Four years of high school Spanish, baby.”

“28 spent nine hundred euros on her dress alone,” Natasha informs the group at large.

“Nat! I told you not to tell!” you protest, but you’re laughing at the general shocked outcry. Now Bucky has to see the dress - it had better be worth it.

“Was that really necessary?” Steve asks, brows furrowed. Bucky answers in his head: yes, and he hasn’t even seen the dress yet.

“Wow, even I’m shocked,” Sam says.

“When in Milan,” Tony calls over from the living area. “Nice work, 28. I look forward to seeing it.”

“At least someone’s supportive,” you say tartly, sending Steve and Sam (and Natasha) all severe glares. Then your eyes land on Bucky - he quirks a brow, ready. “And doesn’t Grandpa Two have any reprimands for me?” you ask sweetly. Bucky interprets this as, “Did you like the pictures I sent?”

“Several,” he says, when in fact meaning, “Thanks for the public boner, babe.”

Your smile stretches across your face as Sam starts to snicker.

“You could’ve fed three families with that cash for a year in my time,” Bucky begins. His intended response: “I just wanna eat you up right now.”

“Times have changed,” you point out, and he sees the glint in your eyes: “I wouldn’t complain in the slightest.”

“Still could’ve done something better with that money. Donated it. Saved it.” Bucky is grinning, hoping you hear the hint: “When are you gonna let me take it off of you?”

“I suppose,” you allow. “But I needed a dress, and now I have something to wear to all future work functions.” Oh, he loves this playing. He knows exactly what you mean.

“Anytime.”

Bucky is so ready. To show you how much he enjoyed those pictures, to wrap his fingers around Tony’s throat for booking lodging with no freaking doors.

“Can we see it, at least?” Sam asks.

You grin, and pick up the boxes to take up the stairs. “You’re gonna have to wait for the mission, Wilson.”

Oof. Bucky doesn’t like that. Without any privacy, he’s going to have to wait, too.

He hates this mission.

The next evening’s security set-up at the catwalk doesn’t lessen Bucky’s disgust. Sam was right about the bowties - Bucky is sliding his index finger beneath his collar every ten seconds just to try to get some air. Not that the air is any good, anyway; it stinks like too many people and too much perfume. There’s sweat on the back of his neck, and the com device in his ear isn’t staying put. He can still hear Stark’s voice, though. Hard to ignore, unfortunately.

“Can we please try not to kill anyone today?” Tony sounds peeved. “I know you’re scowling, Barnes. This is my friend’s first show and no one wants a bomb.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” Natasha says sardonically. “You mean I don’t get to use my knife for anything more exciting than cutting grapes?”

“I want a bomb,” says your voice, stationed somewhere else. Bucky suppresses a sigh. “I haven’t seen a single suspicious person. This is boring.”

“Keep your eyes up, 28,” Tony barks. “No jokes.”

“Wow, this must be serious,” Natasha says dryly. “Stark can’t take a joke. Oh wait - he never can.”

There are grumbles from Sam in agreement. A trace smile flicks at Bucky’s lips - but he continues to stand stoically, eyes on the opposite wall as frivolously dressed models and uptight makeup and hair artists follow them around. There’s at least four people crying; someone is shouting, and he’s pretty sure that girl that just walked past in towering heels has a sprained ankle. Too late to back out of the show, though.

“Aerials are clear,” Sam reports.

“Parking and valet are clear,” Steve next.

“Sitting in the audience is the most boring job,” Natasha states.

“Once I finish with Auernon, I’ll swap you,” Stark says.

“Basement is clear,” you say.

“Backstage is terrible,” Bucky mutters, hopefully not loud enough that anyone near him can hear.

“I’ll trade with you, Tin-man,” Sam jokes. “I’ll take models over electricians.”

“Let Bucky stay,” you insist. “He needs a date more than you do, Sammy.”

Wow. Just, wow. Bucky’s face is burning, but he’s struggling to suppress a smile, too. “I can get a date on my own, thanks,” he growls, and there are snickers audible from Sam and Nat. And you.

“Which means he won’t,” Steve clarifies.

“Ten minutes to showtime,” Stark snaps. “Stop bantering and do your jobs.” There’s a fizzle, and a click. Stark has left the conversation.

“Wow, tetchy much?” Natasha snarks.

There’s static in Bucky’s ear - he winces, and then your voice, whispered, comes through: “I got us a different frequency, Buck. We’re muted to the team.”

“Wow,” he murmurs back, impressed. “You must be bored if you’re fiddling with electronics.”

“And you’re having such a great time, huh?”

“No. I miss you,” Bucky says, and his voice is petulant - he doesn’t care. The night before had been awful; not just Steve’s snoring and Sam’s sighing and tossing and turning and Stark’s annoying watch lighting up practically the entire loft - but Bucky had been able to watch your bunk all night, but powerless to do anything. Not even to say anything. Yes, he’s grumpy - and he’s not even sorry.

“Oh, baby,” you sigh. “Don’t worry about that. The show’s about to start.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’ll see.”

Bucky likes the sound of that - and he’s smiling like a dope as models run off last minute towards the blaring music and flashing lights of the state. There’s still crying from inside the make-up room. It’s making his head hurt.

A voice can be heard from the main stage area now, jabbering in Italian over the speakers. Bucky doesn’t care to listen, so he doesn’t. Absently he turns to walk down the hall, peer down a corridor, take note of no bombs, and return to his place.

Boring. Completely boring.

No, not boring at all - exciting! Enticing! Captivating! Bucky’s jaw drops as he catches sight of you moving down the hall towards him, shaking back your coiffed hair as your lips curl into a smile. Forget the show. Forget the mission. This. This.

You had not sent him a picture of this particular dress - Bucky would’ve remembered it. Dark blue and glittering like stars with glitter all over - or whatever fashion people use to make dresses glitter - swooshing on the ground and showing off at every other step...a slit on the side, showing off your leg, and which goes…

...all the way up to your hip.

Bucky is drooling by the time you pause in front of him, his clasped hands covering his crotch and your eyes sparkling brighter than the glitter. Hands on your hips, and he drags his eyes away from the skin of your thigh. You must be wearing the holster on your other leg...he wants to find that out first hand.

“Worth a thousand dollars?” you purr.

“A million,” Bucky says, his voice thick and rough. “I want my head under there so bad - ”

“Bucky!” you interrupt with a laugh. “Save it for when we’re alone.”

“And when will that be?” he growls back. “Stark’s dumb penthouse - ”

But you don’t give him a chance to finish that rant - winding your fingers through his, you arch a brow in challenge and start to lead him down the hall away from the show.

Yep. Forget the mission.

“I’ve had a chance to scope things out,” you say over your shoulder with a grin. “Security here is pretty pathetic.”

“Not surprised,” Bucky says, but he doesn’t want to talk about security. He’s watching how you swerve and sway and sparkle and he wants his hands all over you about five minutes ago -

A metal door. You punch in a key code - and it swings open.

“Supply closet,” you whisper, dragging him inside and it clangs shut. “All the seamstresses have been sent off to the next designer. We’re safe here, for about twenty minutes. ‘Til the end of the show.”

Bucky is tracing around the curve of your waist and hips - not as smooth as your skin, but that dress. “Enough time,” he mutters, dipping his head to nip at the soft flesh of your neck and throat.

“Bucky…” It’s a sigh, and makes heat rush through his middle. His favorite noise in the world. “Don’t mess up my dress. I spent big money on this.”

“My reckless girl.” He trails hot kisses up your jaw, loving the way your softness melts into his arms. “Spending so much money on something that can get ripped up.”

“Buck, don’t you dare!”

“I was speaking generally.”

Your eyes are sparkling as he pulls away, grinning at your beaming smile. His metal hand slides between that slit in your skirt, and he nearly groans at how hot and smooth your thigh feels.

“Babe,” he says huskily, lips ghosting over yours as he tastes your breath. The tips of his fingers find lace blocking his way, and he nearly growls again.

“Bucky,” you coo back, your own hands tracing a pattern along the lapels of his jacket before moving lower. And lower. And finding his very apparent reaction to your appearance. Sucking in a breath, Bucky finds that his blood is rushing almost unbearably hot, his vision tunneling. Without thinking he gives the lace a tug, and it snaps apart in his fingers as you blink in surprise.

“Bucky!” you say, scolding now even as you laugh. “I didn’t bring a spare pair.”

“Don’t care.” He tosses the ruined underwear over his shoulder, and steps forward until your back is against the concrete walls, eyes daring, and his thigh between your legs.

“So much for going fast,” you tease. “You could be here all night, huh?”

“Yup. You too?”

“Uh huh.” You slide down the zipper of his trousers, eyes never leaving his as he twitches painfully.

“Without messing up our clothes?” Bucky grumbles.

“We’ll manage,” you promise, your breath hot on his lips. That’s enough for him - he dives back in for a kiss, tongue tracing yours as he pushes back the rest of your skirt, tracing up your thigh holster as his throat closes over entirely.

“Babe,” he grunts, and as his trousers are pushed down to his knees, he hoists you up around the hips so that your feet are dangling, and your lip is caught between your teeth as your legs wrap around his waist.

“You really do like my dress, don’t you?” you purr, eyes all dark in the dim light. “Show me, Bucky. Show me how much you want me; how much it kills you we can’t be alone in the penthouse.”

A challenge. He likes that.

A little more roughly now, your back is pressed against the wall as Bucky guides himself into your already wet, heated core. His legs nearly gives out - but with a grunt he thrusts inside, and your eyes flutter shut with a whisper of a moan. Then the worst possible sound reaches his ears, and your eyes pop back open.

R - i - i - i - p.

Horrified, Bucky looks down - the slit hovering to your waist now where your skirt is riding up, is about an inch longer than it was earlier. He can see three or four popped seams, and he swallows.

“Bucky.”

“Shh.” He buries his face into your sweet-smelling neck, rocking into you as your thighs tighten around his hips. “I’ll buy you a new one, babe.”

A husky laugh from your throat, turned to a lengthy moan as Bucky speeds up. Can’t really help it, at this point.

“You sure you wanna spend money on that?” you gasp, fingers tight on his collar.

He manages somehow to choke out, “I only spend money on necessities. And you, in this dress, is more important than oxygen right now.”

Bucky is sounding like a clumsy idiot, he knows - but your giggle in his ear is worth it. Then there’s no more energy for teasing; he’s about ready to explode, and your breasts are heaving as you breathe, sharpening and growing louder and -

This time, his legs really do give out - with a grunt and a curse, Bucky’s arm tightens around your waist as he falls to his knees, dragging you down the wall as you laugh. Figures. But he’s spent and a little drained, and doesn’t move for a minute. No, he’s happy to taste the salty arousal on your throat, careful to leave no marks, as you pulse around his extra-sensitive bits, your fingers caressing the back of his neck, his ears, his jaw…

“Bucky…” a sigh, and your lips are on his cheeks. He grunts in response - he can hear the distant clamor of the show, but he doesn’t care one bit. Even if someone were to walk in right at that moment, he wouldn’t be the least bit bothered - unless it was Sam, of course. Bucky would not be ashamed for anyone else to know how lucky he is to have the best girl in the world, who wants him. Anyway, they’d probably be jealous, anyway.

“My dress,” you say mournfully after a few more moments, and regretfully Bucky pulls away from sniffing your hair, and examines the damage.

It’s really not bad. The slit is just higher than it’s meant to be, and without your underwear, a little too revealing. Well, a lot, in Bucky’s opinion. No one else needs to see you but him. He frowns as bit as he smooths over the torn seams before holding out a hand to help you to your feet.

“Wait,” he says, a sudden idea striking. Hurriedly he tugs back up his trousers, striding over to one of the many shelves. It takes only a half-second to find what he needs, and belt hanging loose, he kneels down in front of you and yanks a needle and some dark blue thread from the little case.

“Didn’t know you could sew,” you tease, and he pokes the thread through the needle.

“Used to repair my own clothes all the time,” Bucky replies easily. “Ma made me start doing it when I was eight. Got sick of reattaching buttons and fixing skidded knees. Then in the army, didn’t have much choice if I didn’t want a brisk Russian breeze ‘round my privates.”

“Well, it’s kind of you to make amends for ruining my dress.”

Bucky snorts, tugging the seams back together as you stand absolutely still. It’s an easy repair - only takes about two minutes until you’re appropriately covered again, and he smirks in satisfaction. And then slides the skirt aside again, to kiss your soft thigh several times in further amends.

“Hey,” you half-protest, laughing softly as he moves closer to your center - he doesn’t even care that you’re still hazy and loopy. He could drink you up all day.

“You wear this dress, you’d better be ready for me,” Bucky says matter-of-factly. “This is serious.”

“So serious.”

You’re salty on his tongue, and your voice sweet in his ears and Bucky is sure his trousers are gonna get a little dirty on the knees but he doesn’t care, and -

He pulls away, licking his lips as he tilts his head to listen. Already you’ve stiffened, a hand on his shoulder for support as the tromping sound of several heavy bootsteps are heard outside the door.

“Doesn’t sound like models,” you whisper. Bucky is already doing back up his belt as he stands.

“Finish later?” he asks lightly, as blaring alarms start to sound, along with shouts and screams. Your lips curl into a feral smile, and you whip back your skirt to tug out your little pistol.

“I’ll hold you to that, Barnes. Bad guys first.”

Bucky smirks, and yanks open the door.

It’s a sunny morning at Avengers Tower two weeks later; you’ve been enjoying a lazy breakfast with Natasha (Bucky is in the gym, unfortunately), when one of the peons from downstairs comes up the elevator with a massive white box, wrapped in pearl-sheened ribbon and a tidy, though enormous bow. “That must be for me,” Natasha says, hopping down from her stool at the kitchen bar.

“Agent 28,” the peon says, reddening slightly.

Oh! A surprise. You stand to take the box from the peon, who is breathing heavily as they return to the elevator. A smile tugs at your lips as you give the box a once-over.

“They scan for bombs and other tech downstairs,” Nat informs you.

“A perk of living here, really,” you joke, tracing your fingers over the ribbon. “That and all the pizza Stark buys.”

Natasha peers over your shoulder. “Well, what is it? Let’s see.”

“I really don’t know,” you admit. “Wasn’t expecting anything.”

With a swoosh and a swipe, the knife at your waist has cut through the ribbon. Absently you push it away, sliding the knife back into its holster. The lid slides up easily, and a crinkle of tissue paper makes your heart skip a beat as Natasha gasps.

Folded neatly beneath the layers of tissue - burgundy layers of chiffon and silk with a high-end brand stitched into the nape of the neck. Very impressive. As your heart begins to hammer in your chest, you bite your lip and tug out a thin white card tucked inside the blouse. Typed in 12-point Arial font, probably on any old computer, reads:

Amends.

You laugh.

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365daysofj2 · 8 years

Text

Of Casseroles and Carnal Relations (Disabled!Jared 'verse, NC-17, 3/?)

Jared’s phone rings and he grins when he sees that it’s Jensen. He answers the call and puts it on speaker, setting the phone down on the table next to him. “Hey, Jensen.” “Hey! How’s it going?” “Not too bad. How was your meet?” “Well, we won, but only because the other team forfeited three races.” A cat suddenly meows audibly in the background. He hears a shuffling sound and then Jensen says, “Dean, knock it off,” in a muffled voice before he speaks to Jared again. “Sorry, one of my cats decided he wanted to say hello.” “How many cats do you have?” “Three,” answers Jensen. “Dean and Sam were littermates, and then I got Cassie a couple years later.” “So, you knit and you own three cats. Are you sure you’re not my grandmother in disguise?” Jensen laughs. “I wear cardigans, too. If I wasn’t a high school teacher I’m pretty sure I’d have to be a librarian.” “But do you knit the cardigans yourself?” There’s a short pause before Jensen responds. “Not always,” he murmurs sheepishly. “Sometimes people give them to me as gifts, along with ties with math symbols on them.” “Well, at least you teach math and not English,” Jared points out. “You have a tiny bit of masculinity left.” “Masculinity is overrated,” replies Jensen. “Not that I go around wearing lacy panties or anything—well, not since I graduated college, at least. You went to Etown, were they still doing the Rocky Horror midnight show?” Jared grins. “Yeah, they were. I played Dr. Scott all four years. Saved them from having to borrow a wheelchair from the OT department.” Jensen chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it would. The girl who played Riff-Raff when I was there could pop wheelies like nobody’s business. She tried to teach me, but I was hopeless.” “Who did you play?” “I played Brad once and Rocky twice,” answers Jensen. “I got in trouble for wearing an actual Speedo, but I was a swimmer, so I had a ton of them. I didn’t see what the big deal was, when we were allowed to wear them in the pool all the time.” Jared chokes a little at the mental image of Jensen in a Speedo and nothing else. “Do you still swim?” Jensen snorts. “You mean, do I still wear Speedos? Occasionally. You should come to the pool with me sometime. Could you get in a hot tub?” “Depends on how it’s set up,” says Jared. “If there’s steps going down, then yes.” “There are,” says Jensen. “Are you free tomorrow? I could get you a guest pass.” Jared grins. “That sounds like fun. I haven’t been in a pool in forever. I went to hydrotherapy for a couple months after I had my hip replaced, but that was almost three years ago.” “Still got your swim trunks?” “Yeah, I just gotta find them.” Jared glances over at Sadie, who’s taking a nap on her bed. “Sadie can help me look later.” “Why don’t I come help you look?” suggests Jensen. “And maybe cook you dinner?” Jared can’t help but smile. “I would really like that.” “Do you like casseroles? I make this great chicken and broccoli alfredo casserole with whole wheat pasta.” “That sounds amazing,” replies Jared. “I think we’ve got some garlic bread in the freezer, too.” “Great!” Jared hears a door creak in the background. “Let me change and pack up the food and I’ll be right over.” Jared grins. “Can’t wait. See you soon.” He ends the call and pockets his phone. Jensen gets there about half an hour later. Jared’s not sure where he lives, just that he mostly works at home. He doesn’t even know what pool he uses. Sadie opens the door for Jensen and he comes in carrying a giant grocery bag. “Where’s your kitchen?” Jared turns his chair. “Follow me.” Jensen hoists the bag onto Jared’s countertop. “I didn’t know what you’d have, so I kinda brought everything. Except the pans. I hoped you’d have those.” “What do you need?” “I need a big pot to cook the pasta, a bowl to microwave the frozen broccoli, the biggest mixing bowl you have to mix everything, and a small mixing bowl for the topping.” Jensen starts taking jars and bags and boxes out of his grocery bag. Jared wheels into the kitchen. “Sadie, come here.” The wall cabinets in the kitchen are the standard ones, but the lower cabinets have been replaced with large drawers to be more accessible to Jared. He points to one of the drawers. “Open.” Sadie pulls open the drawer with a special strap. Jensen takes the pans he needs out and sets them on the counter. “Close it,” says Jared, and Sadie pushes it closed. She repeats the process until Jensen has collected everything he needs. Jensen starts cooking the pasta and cutting up the chicken with his own knife. Jared wheels back out of the kitchen to let him work, but he sits near the dining room table and watches Jensen’s progress. Once Jensen’s got the casserole assembled and in the oven, he sets a timer and comes out to sit with Jared and Sadie. “I guess you like to cook,” says Jared as Jensen wipes a splotch of alfredo sauce off of his t-shirt. “I’m not the best at it, but I do all right,” replies Jensen. “I know my way around a kitchen, and I haven’t set anything on fire yet that wasn’t supposed to be.” Jared raises an eyebrow at that. “There are things that are supposed to be?” Jensen grins, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I like to make alcoholic pan sauces.” “That’s awfully fancy.” Jensen shrugs. “Not really. Not once you know what you’re doing. I used to live with a classically-trained chef, so I picked up a few things here and there.” He stands up. “You got any wine? A Chardonnay or Pinot Grigio would be best.” “I think we have some mini bottle of Pinot Grigio in the pantry.” Jared sends Sadie to open the door and wheels up to it. He locates the four-pack of mini bottles and carefully lifts two out. He sits them in his lap and then carefully sets them on the counter. “There are wine glasses in the big cabinet on the left of the stove.” Jensen retrieves the wine glasses and sets them out. “It’s a proper dinner for two now,” he says, smiling. He glances at the timer. “Oh, shit, I need to put the bread in.” He pulls the bag of garlic bread out of the freezer and hunts around till he finds a baking sheet. He quickly shoves the bread into the oven and adjusts the temperature slightly. “Okay, we’re good.” He comes back to the table and sits down. “You really didn’t have to do this, you know,” says Jared. “Gen would have fixed dinner when she got home.” “Well, I wanted to,” replies Jensen. “I haven’t seen you in three days, so I wanted to do something special for you.” Jared shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “Three days. Imagine if we’d been apart for a week or two.” “If I’d been away for a whole week, I wouldn’t bother stopping to eat,” replies Jensen with a smirk. “I’d have my way with you the second I got in the door.” He sobers. “I mean—can you—?” “My dick works just fine,” says Jared with a small chuckle. “However, it takes a lot of pillows and cushions to maintain certain positions for any length of time. I can’t put weight on my knees or hands, so I’m pretty limited in what I can do.” Jensen nods slowly. “But you can do some things…?” “It’ll make sense when you see it,” Jared assures him. “You’re a young, fit, healthy guy—you’ll do fine.” He reaches out and pats Jensen’s knee. Jensen grins, but the moment is ruined by the shriek of the timer. Jensen takes the pans out of the oven and dishes up the casserole and bread and brings the two plates to the table. He returns to the counter to pour the wine and grab the silverware. Once he sits down, Jared moans out loud at the amazing smell of herby, cheesy, garlicky goodness. “I hope it tastes as good as it smells!” Jensen beams and picks up his glass. “Better, actually.” Jared takes a bite of the casserole. Jensen’s right—it tastes even better than it looks. The crumbly topping is surprisingly flavorful and the cheese mixture is deliciously gooey and thick. The chicken is moist, the broccoli crisp, and Jared’s pretty much ready to marry Jensen if this is what he’s gonna get every night. Jared moans with pleasure again and Jensen blushes in the most adorable way. Jared doesn’t even remember his wine until after he’s cleaned his plate. “Please tell me you’re leaving the leftovers,” he says between sips of wine. “I guess you can have them,” Jensen replies, pretending to begrudgingly agree. “Good, then I’ll put out.” Jared smirks as Jensen nearly spits out his wine. Jensen swallows hard and coughs lightly a couple of times. “Shit, don’t do that!” “Sorry,” says Jared. “Offer still stands, though.” He wheels back from the table and points his chair toward his bedroom. “Come on, Sadie. Time to get ready for ‘bed’.” He trusts that Jensen will hear the air quotes. Once inside his bedroom, Jared pulls off his shirt and Sadie helps him shed his shoes, socks, and jeans, dropping them in the clothes hamper. With just his boxers left, he wheels to the door. “You can come in now,” he calls to Jensen. To Sadie, he says, “Open the clothes closet.” She obeys, pulling open the door of his clothes closet, where he stores his long-neglected sex wedge. Jensen comes in and Jared points to the closet. “Can you please grab the big red pillow and put it down at the foot of the bed?” Jensen nods and complies, even though it’s clear he’s not quite sure what he’s getting into. Jared slowly stands up and Sadie sticks close to his side as he maneuvers himself into place on the wedge cushion. It’s basically a bowtie-shaped cushion that puts his ass in perfect position without him having to support his weight on his legs to do it. Jensen gets the hint and sheds his own clothes, tossing them aside and moving to the end of Jared’s bed. He nods down at Jared’s shorts. “Need a hand with those?” “Definitely.” Jensen carefully slides Jared’s boxers over his hips and then his knees and feet. Sadie comes over and grips them with her teeth, which surprises Jensen, but he lets go. She puts them in the hamper and sits at attention next to the bed. “You’re off duty,” Jared tells her. “Go lie down, pretty girl.” Sadie trots off to her bed in the corner and Jensen turns to Jared. “It’s not gonna scar her for life if we fuck in front of her?” Jared laughs and shakes his head. “She’s seen it before. She’ll be asleep before we really get going, anyway.” He gestures at his nightstand. “There’s lube and condoms in the top drawer. Make yourself useful.” Jensen chuckles and opens the drawer. He grabs a condom and the bottle of lube and raises an eyebrow. “Well, someone’s a little overconfident.” “What can I say? I’m an optimist.” Jensen comes back over and sets the supplies on the mattress next to the cushion. Then he crosses to the doorway and turns out the lights, leaving only the glow of Jared’s alarm clock and the tabletop Christmas tree in the corner he never took down. He steps into the space between Jared’s legs and captures Jared’s lips for a kiss. Jared rests his ankles on Jensen’s hips, taking the pressure off his knees. Jensen’s tongue dances around Jared’s, giving him the barest hint of the sweetness of wine and the slight tang of Italian herbs. Jared’s almost fully hard now, and he can feel Jensen’s hard length pressing against his own. Jensen obviously feels it too, because he reaches down and takes both their cocks in one meaty fist. He swipes the tip of his thumb over Jared’s slit and Jared gasps, breaking the kiss to catch his breath. Jensen jacks them both just roughly enough to make Jared’s pulse pound in his ears. Jensen kisses a trail from Jared’s jaw down to the hollow of his throat, and drops to his knees to take Jared’s substantial cock into his mouth. Jared’s nerves sizzle with electricity as Jensen flicks a bead of precome off the slit and then flutters his tongue over the sensitive spot, eliciting a full-body shiver from Jared. He wraps his legs around Jensen’s shoulders as Jensen laves a thick stripe down Jared’s shaft to the base of his cock. He teases Jared’s balls with the tip of his tongue and Jared’s not sure he’s going to last until the main event. It’s been a long fucking time, okay? Jared throws his head back and tries to remember how to breathe as Jensen does beautifully obscene things to Jared’s cock. with his mouth and tongue. Finally, Jared reaches out and pushes Jensen away. “Enough teasing,” he rasps, voice hoarse from exertion even at this early stage. “Just fuck me already.” “Geez, you’re fuckin’ bossy.” But Jensen tears open the condom packet with his teeth and rolls it on. Then he squeezes a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and slides one cautiously into Jared’s hole. Jared throws his head back and forces himself to relax and breathe through it as Jensen presses further in. He hasn’t done this since college, and it’s long overdue. Jensen presses past the ring of muscle to brush the sweet spot and Jared chokes on a groan of pleasure. “You all right?” Jensen asks in a low, breathy voice. “Peachy.” Jared squeezes his eyes shut. “Keep goin’.” Jensen does as he’s told, adding a second finger and driving Jared nearly to the brink. It’s been way too fucking long. Jared slides his ankles back down to Jensen’s narrow hips. Jensen leans forward and covers Jared’s mouth with his own, swallowing the breathy gasps and bestowing upon Jared’s tongue the sweet essence of white wine. Jensen adds a third finger and Jared nearly loses it right then and there. He breaks the kiss. “Do it,” he gasps, barely audible. Jensen crooks his fingers in a way that makes Jared see starts. Then he draws them back and eases his considerable girth into Jared’s hole. Jensen’s bigger than his compact build would suggest, and Jared has to consciously relax to let him in. Jensen draws back and runs a hand through Jared’s hair. “Relax, babe. I gotcha.” “I know.” Jared curls his fingers around the edge of the cushion as Jensen starts to thrust in earnest. It’s almost too much for Jared’s already overloaded senses. The endorphins have kicked in, and Jared’s floating on a chemical high, completely free of pain for the first time in years. He moans, long and loud, and Jensen redoubles his efforts in response. Jared goes boneless as Jensen plunders his ass in ways Jared has only dreamed about. “So close,” breathes Jared, digging his heels into Jensen’s sides. Jensen hits home once, twice, and that’s it for Jared. He comes with the force of a thunderstorm, lightning singing along his nerves from his cock all the way to his toes. Jensen stutters in his rhythm and Jared feels the warm rush of Jensen’s release soon afterwards. Jensen pulls out with exaggerated care and drops to his knees, pressing his forehead between Jared’s thighs and gasping for breath like a dying man. Jared reaches down and grasps Jensen’s hair to pull him up toward the mattress. Jensen takes the hint and crawls up alongside Jared’s cushion, sprawling out and throwing an arm over Jared’s stomach. “Y’okay?” “Never better,” Jared replies without hesitation. “How ‘bout you?” “Gimme a minute.” Jensen’s panting like a dog in heat, and he curls in on himself and scrubs a hand over his eyes. “Holy fuck, that was hot.” “All thanks to you.” Jared runs a hand through Jensen’s sweat-dampened hair. “You did all the hard work.” Jensen pushes himself up on one elbow and presses his lips to Jared’s. “Don’t sell yourself short.” Jared smirks. “Nothin’ short about me.” “I’ll say,” replies Jensen, and kisses him again.

#j2 au #j2 fanfic #j2 #365daysofj2 #disability

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