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anika-ann · 4 years ago

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My Timid Hello, My Clumsy Goodbye (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, canon semi-compliant?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Barton!reader Word count: 8900 (...sorry)

Summary: You’re spending the evening and the night before your wedding with the two most important men of your life.

When the sun rises again, you’ll say your ‘I do’ in a close circle of friends and family. It’s not a goodbye to your old life and it’s not a hello to some enormous change; but you will no longer be a Barton. You will be a Rogers. Why not reminisce a bit?

Warnings: mention of an abandoned baby, blood and injuries, alcohol, implied possibly rougher sex (nothing graphic) ...mature?, language, so much sappiness... let me know if I missed any

A/N: For what-is-your-backupplan-today 10th anniversary of CA:TFA challenge. Prompts in bold. Thank you for coming up with this wonderful theme and hosting this challenge! Long live CA:TFA!

A/N: Throughout the fic, you’ll find snippets of lyrics from SYML’s "Everything All At Once”. Honestly, the song has a completely different meaning to me, but tearing it out of context works for this story just fine :) When you’re done reading, I recommend the music video. It friggin’ broke me in the worst and best ways. Enjoy!

This is my hello This is my clumsy goodbye I'm putting my glass down I wanna remember tonight

Tony rented an island for you. Clint nearly passed out learning about it and grumbled for days about having a hard time to top that, which, no arguing, was understandable.

It was an incredibly extravagant thing to do, throwing around money that could have been used for a much more honourable cause, but you couldn’t complain. One should not look a gifted horse into mouth – and so you didn’t.

Because Tony Stark renting an island was his premature wedding gift. The fact that your brother bitched about not being able to top that, well, that was his problem. You were certain that deep down, he knew you didn’t need any fancy gifts like that.

Then again, Tony’s gift might have been epically overpriced, but not exactly unthoughtful; along with a private island came a private jet and you being literally flied under radar so no single paparazzi knew where you and America’s golden boy Steve Rogers would seal the deal with your ‘I do.’ So, you were everything but ungrateful to your friend that he succeeded at pulling off such covert operation; and frankly, this place was nothing short of wonderful.

The golden sand was pleasantly warm under your toes as you as you and Clint walked towards the two single beach chairs facing the ocean. Wearing bikini under the baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, sunglasses on top of your head, because why would you deprive yourself the gorgeous view of the sun beginning to set down, you followed your brother – not in blood but in every other sense – to the seats, allured by the view, the serenity and the cold sixpack in his hand.

You had already had a traditional bachelorette party with your girls – with the team, with your family. Natasha, Wanda, Pepper, Sharon and Maria. The night had been the perfect blend of what was considered typically feminine, dress up, fanciness and wine and gossip, and a fun night out with shots, dancing, karaoke and pool. That particular night sadly was interrupted shortly by an annoying photographer, but he soon understood it was not very clever to annoy three and a half Avengers or the CEO of Stark Industries for that matter.

Clint however… Clint deserved a special evening with you. With the rest of the team in various state of chilling out, scattered around the luxurious small houses and gorgeous beaches, you two were left the privacy such moment required.

Even if the special moment consisted of simple talking and drinking beer while watching the sun set, a symbolic end of one phase of your life – a phase that was undeniably tied to the famous and yet barely known archer, one of the seven defenders who rushed into the Battle of New York to save the Earth.

One of the seven had been your brother, having previously been controlled by the monster who brought an army from outer space; there was no questioning whether you would join the fight or not, no matter how you preferred the latter part of your field medic job title to the former.

Another of these brave people, as it turned out, was your future husband. A man you had met for the first time that day, but whom you didn’t hesitate to push back down when he got hit by a freaking alien weapon and stood up, wanting to shake it off as if it was nothing. Your medical training told you not to let him; and your stubbornness had been just a touch stronger than his that day.

Apparently, Steve found you always standing your ground to be one of your most endearing qualities.

What a fancy way to express it instead of simply calling you a stubborn pain in his ass.

“You’re lost in your head, Twinkie,” Clint hummed, playfully nudging your ribs with an elbow, bringing you back to the present.

Your nose automatically scrunched at the childhood nickname.

“You gotta stop calling me that, Bobo,” you retorted, a grin spreading on your face as it was his turn to grimace.

You knew it was nothing but an act and that he in fact loved that nickname, because it held so much sentiment, so many memories… as did his endearment for you.

Bobo had been your first word or so Clint always claimed. Obviously, you wouldn’t remember.

You wouldn’t remember your parents, having been only two days old when your mother left you with a damn circus which was in your hometown at the time. You couldn’t recall how you wouldn’t stop crying until you heard a seven-year-old Clint humming a lullaby for you, with silly replacements of lyrics that always made you laugh later on when you could understand them.

How he started calling you Twinkie, because he was a sugar addict and apparently, you were sweet and small and he liked you; so much that he soon appointed himself to be your brother, your bro, your Bobo.

Once you were older and learned that your involuntary nickname for him also meant ‘crazy’ in Spanish, you were sold to that Bobo endearment forever.

Including the night before your wedding.

“You keep zoning out on me, Kid. Getting cold feet?” Clint hummed, casually handing you a can of beer, opening it up for you.

You automatically reached out and took a sip, eyes fixed on the warm colour on the horizon. What a ridiculous question… but kind and caring, with a hidden promise of getting you out of here if you just asked. Your amazing, protective, crazy brother.

You couldn’t but smile widely, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“You offering to kidnap the bride, Clint? I’d like to see you try. You were always better at trapeze than at being an escape artist.”

Clint scoffed. “Please. These are amateurs. I bet I could pull it off.”

That drew a laugh from you.

“Are you calling the Avengers amateurs? Better yet, are you calling your wife an amateur?” you teased him, watching his face lose colour when he realized that he did exactly that. You leaned over and patted his thigh. “Don’t worry, Bobo. I won’t tell Nat.”

Clint visibly relaxed, but a shadow of worry twisting his expression.

“Seriously though. Where’s your head at, Kid?”

You just shrugged, smile resting on your lips as you wondered if you ever felt so relaxed. It went along well with the reminiscing of the past and despite the fact that tomorrow was a big day and you should probably be nervous, you weren’t. Not in the slightest, more like the opposite. You were giddy even; it dawned to you that nothing in your life had ever felt so right.

No moment in your life offered you such serenity to your heart, your shoulders free of any weight, body light as air.

“Just taking a trip down the memory lane. Thinking about how lucky I was to be dropped at your circus of all circuses of the world,” you grinned at Clint, your tone remaining completely serious.

Because you were being serious – words couldn’t express how grateful for everything that led to this moment you were. How grateful you were to your brother for watching over you, making sure you would always see the light of a new day, guiding you when you found yourself in a dark.

Clint didn’t react beside his fingers twitching and you knew he was giving you the chance to say what you needed to say.

“About how you taught me pretty much everything I know. About how while I might not be the best person in the world, my brother, who is the best brother ever, made me into a decent person and I owe him everything I am. And how I should probably feel guilty for tying myself to another guy who just swept in and whisked away your little sister.”

Clint stared at you, gulping as his eyes gradually filled with tears. You found yourself in a very cheesy moment, bordering on absurd and it was almost too much to handle – but Clint took a deep breath, cleared his throat and swallowed his tears.

“Well, that bastard did steal my greatest life achievement with way too little effort,” he remarked, voice cracking slightly, the image of him causing your eyes to burn as well even if his words made you both tear up and burst out laughing.

“Dammit, Clint, stop making me laugh and cry at the same time…”

“You started it!” he pointed his index finger at you accusingly, taking a large sip of his beer to drown his sentiment. “But for the record, you should not feel guilty. It’s not like you’re leaving me.”

“I know, but-“

“And if you were, you’d be leaving me in good hands.”

“That’s true, Natasha does have a grip on you and might keep you outta trouble-“

“She’s the one who gets me into trouble half of the time!” Clint cried out in protest and you would have argued if it wasn’t the truth.

But before he had met her, Clint was able to make up his own trouble just fine – he was more than half of a reason why while doing a bit of trapeze yourself, you also grew interested in medical care. Because who else than the little sister should treat her big brother’s wounds when he got too crazy?

“In all seriousness, I’m proud of you, Twinkie,” he said sincerely, one corner of his lips raised in a lopsided smile. “You’re entirely entitled to have your own life and if there’s one guy in this whole damn world I’m willing to trust to have you… well, I guess it’s that big blond dumbass.”

“He can be a bit dumb of ass occasionally, can’t he?” you mused lovingly. “I guess it’s right what they say… we do pick our partners similar to our parents, maybe not only in looks. I didn’t really have a dad, I had you, so…”

Clint sighed, smile widening, before it slipped from his face as he caught up on the not-so-hidden insult.

“Hey!”

You couldn’t but laugh at his shocked expression, accidently spilling a splosh of beer on the sand.

“Just… maybe make sure that even married, you still find time to hang out with your big dumb of ass brother every once in a while?” Clint suggested, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

Your whole demander softened, a little pang of guilt stinging in your heart as he took your words too seriously – and at his worry.

“Clint… I will always find time for my amazing brother.”

“Well, you’re marrying a pretty amazing guy too, so, you know, I understand the dilemma…”

You snorted when he seemed to genuinely fawn over your future husband, shaking your head before downing the rest of your drink.

“As amazing as Steve might be – and gosh, he is, don’t get me started – you still own a pretty big chunk of my heart.”

“Good. You are a Barton at heart,” Clint hummed, pretending that a few tears didn’t roll down his cheeks, leaning towards you as his expression once again grew serious.

Your chest tightened. Oh no. He was gonna say something to make you cry too – as if you already weren’t at verge of crying, emotions bubbling under the surface.

“Clint-“ you warned him silently, but he spoke up anyway and you gulped, bracing yourself.

“Just… whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect housewife, but a good woman.”

That was not what you were prepared for, as touching as the sentiment was.

You burst out laughing, head thrown back, hands clutching at your stomach as it actually hurt with the sudden clench. Tears did spring from your eyes, a perfect blend of touched and infinitely amused at your brother’s words.

“Har, har, that’s what I get from trying to speak from heart…” Clint muttered grumpily and you willed yourself to calm your hitching breaths as you looked at him, the pout of his mouth causing you to cackle again.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… I am moved, I really am. Thank you. But me? A perfect housewife? And you realize I’m marrying Steve Rogers, right? The epitome of a good man? He would probably threaten to sock me in a jaw if I tried to change into something I’m not just for his sake and actually sock me in my jaw if I turned into a bad woman.”

Clint’s eyebrows jumped, a smirk appearing on his face. “That’s a lot of punching.”

“My thoughts exactly,” you agreed, reaching for another can, pausing when a thought occurred to you. “Just so we’re clear, I might turn into a bit of a housewife when we have kids, alright? And I want to be a good wife, a good partner to Steve, which is what I’m trying to do even now.”

“I mean, yeah, sure, wouldn’t expect anything less. But… just promise me you’ll stay you and that you’ll keep giving him a run for his money, keep him on his toes a bit,” Clint shrugged with a grin, drawing another chuckle from you.

You saw his point – and you fully intended to keep Steve on his toes. You had a good reason to believe that your future husband enjoyed when you did.

“Oh Clinton… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He nodded contentedly, picking up another beer and raising it for a toast, his can clinking with yours.

“Cheers to that!”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you then, a quiet joy wrapped in one moment; the sun ending its quest, the warm breeze in your hair, the waves whispering of a journey you were about to take off to. And all that with a wordless comforting presence of your family, ready to offer you a shelter if a storm rocked your boat and the wind caused you to lose course.

As your mind wandered, you had to laugh at yourself – it was almost as if you were raised by pirates and not circus performers. Perhaps it was the little bit of free cheeky spirit these life journeys had in common what brought the metaphor to your mind. It was a bit like working with the Avengers too, always on a road, adrenaline in your veins even as you mostly stayed on the jet, ready to assist them… yet here you were pondering that maybe, you were yearning for settling down a bit more.

“Cap wouldn’t punch you anyway, right?” Clint remarked, breaking the silence and you blinked yourself back into reality, taking a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

Oh. Right. Steve punching you if you changed yourself significantly for his benefit.

You smiled softly, heart swelling in affection when the answer to that question appeared obvious.

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Good. He’d try once and I’d put an arrow straight between his eyes,” Clint promised darkly, almost causing you to choke at the sudden violent note. He quickly fixed it with a ramble, lightening the atmosphere yet again. “Minus training of course. He’s allowed to try in order to improve your hand-to-hand. Not that he would ever land a hand on you anyway. Always so soft on you…” he grinned, seemingly alright with that attitude if not slightly calling the big strong supersoldier out.

Oh you could be cheeky too alright if that was what your brother wanted.

“That you know of.”

A confused huh was the only reaction you got – that and a puzzled look.

“He’s always soft on me,” you repeated Clint’s words, turning to him, lips slowly spreading in a wicked smirk. “That you know of.”

Clint’s brows furrowed for a short moment and then his features twisted in a disgusted grimace, face growing a tint crimson.

“Gross!” he complained, more blood rushing to his cheeks. “You know what, I changed my mind. We’re leaving. You’re not marrying him. I’m kidnapping the bride and never returning her, locking her somewhere far far away-“

You snorted at his indignation, your grin undoubtedly battling the one of the Cheshire cat.

“No will do, Bobo. I’m marrying Steve and you can’t stop me.”

This time, Clint didn’t even protest, eyes misted over, nose still scrunched at the mental image, lamenting as the night slowly settled over the paradise-like island.

“Oh god, please help, I can’t unsee it, can’t unhear it--- ew-”

Your laughter was carried away by the breeze as Clint seemed to be unable to look at you.

You swung your beer around, thinking that yes – nothing quite ever felt so right as being here in this moment. Relaxing with your brother, teasing him relentlessly and counting down hours to when you’d say ‘I do’ to the only man who in your eyes ever battled the mantle of the best man in the universe.

In one unending moment You fall within my reach I'm close enough to whisper Hold on to me Hold on to me

You weren’t sure what time it was when you snuck into the beach house, one of few, which had been wisely chosen to be occupied by you and Steve only. You attempted to be quiet and liked to think you succeeded, in your even barely tipsy state, but your effort turned out to be in vain as you found Steve perched against headboard of your bed; reading a book, thin white t-shirt and sleep shorts on display as the soft sheet had been kicked away, scrunched up by his feet.

He was gorgeous – he was gorgeous and yours, a momentary picture perfect of peace, appearing to feel just as light as you did and somehow the dullness of the moment, just him relaxing in bed with a good read as you came home… it was more alluring than one would think.

Steve looked up from the book when you wavered in the doorway, soft lopsided smile spreading on his face.

God, that smile. It might be over two years since you saw it for the first time, but it could still make you weak in your knees.

And somehow, it was now even more charming now than the day you met, more tender than just before you kissed for the first time, sweeter than when he proposed.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted you, appreciative gaze roaming your figure and the little too much skin on display – something you regretted when the warm sunrays had bid you goodbye, raising goosebumps. And Steve, the attentive man he was, noticed, his smile earning a teasing edge. “You look a bit cold in there.”

You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out.

“And you look pretty cosy in there. Thought you’d be either asleep or with Bucky.”

Steve shrugged, not letting go of his unfinished chapter just yet, knowing you had a routine to go through before joining him.

“Maybe I missed you. Maybe Bucky is an old man and needs his sleep.”

You chuckled, not rising to the bait – you knew what would follow if you dared to say Steve was just as old. Not that you would complain about Steve trying to convince you about the opposite. You could never.

“Well, I bet he still made you a promise of breaking a bone of mine or two if I ever hurt you. He’ll find energy for that, centenarian or not,” you hummed nonchalantly as you bounced off the doorframe, heading to the bathroom and leaving Steve puzzled by your remark.

“How did you know?” he called out after you, endearingly confused.

“That’s what big brothers do, love!”

Short silence was your answer as you reached for your toothbrush and begun your nighty ritual.

Steve must have figure out what did it mean for him, considering you had a protective brother of your own, because a moment later, his half-amused “noted!” reached your ears.

You chuckled and shook your head, smile spread on your face which you didn’t think could be erased as long as you were in this paradise – free of worry, full of joy. And why wouldn’t you be? You were about to marry one of the smartest, kindest, sassiest and most beautiful men that ever walked the Earth. What was not to love?

You couldn’t but let your mind wander again; if you had only known the day you met, right from that moment, that you’d end up here…. well. It felt a little surreal, knowing that by this time tomorrow, you’d be Steve’s wife; then again, Steve’s life story was surreal enough on its own.

Who would have thought that the stubborn handsome man in the ridiculous suit and you, equally stubborn about you at least checking on the wound upon half-dragging him to a quiet corner in a middle of a battlefield, would grow so close?

It hadn’t been simple. Steve wasn’t the most open guy and while friendly enough, he wasn’t exactly offering his heart on his sleeve, not to strangers. But it hadn’t been too hard, once you were meeting on regular basis. Piece by piece he revealed his true colours and soon after he did… you started falling; hard and fast.

Not necessarily swooning, not on the outside at least; you were a professional, after all. The safety and the well-being of the team was your priority.

It was just too bad – or the best thing, you supposed – that Steve had the same goal as you with one significant difference; as far as he was concerned, the responsibility to look after his team sometimes excluded him.

Oh, was he wrong about that.

And boy, did you let him know you thought so. You still kept proving him wrong to this day and was planning on nurturing his own acknowledgement of his self-worth till your last breath…

“Get your ass in here, Steve!” you called out after him, slowly losing patience as you had tried asking politely the previous two times with no result but being dismissed.

The change of tone and language made his head snap to you from where he was talking to Sam, an offended scowl on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Captain. Don’t be a stubborn jerk and get your ass in here so I can clean your cuts.”

A few months ago, you wouldn’t have been able to talk to him like that; to the great legend, Captain America. At least you certainly wouldn’t have called him his first name and maybe, just maybe, you’d be a little less crass. But now? He might be Captain America still, a hero who deserved all the good things for the sacrifices he made for the world’s safety, but first and foremost, he was just Steve to you.

A colleague, a teammate, a friend. You might not be a part of the team per se, not the way Clint, Natasha or Steve were, but you still belonged. And you were all friends.

Friends irritated each other sometimes and frankly, Steve was often battling with Tony for the mantle of the most infuriating one.

Friends also needed to call each other out on their bullshit by any means necessary when the time was right and now the time was as good as any.

Usually, Steve slipped through your fingers, because he was a supersoldier and the others weren’t, so their injuries took precedence; today, it was only Natasha, Sam and Steve, and the captain was the only one whom you hadn’t checked yet. And you knew there were things to check, the trickle of blood from his eyebrow probably the least of your concerns.

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Steve. She can be pretty stubborn. Clint wouldn’t stop complaining about it,” Natasha supported you from the pilot seat and you fought yourself so you wouldn’t grin at her in victory – it would only irritated Steve further. “She’s almost as bull-headed as you are.”

At that, your smile would have slipped. But honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t I know it,” Steve grunted, sparing Sam another glance and when the Falcon himself beckoned to you as well, wordlessly asking Steve to get himself checked up.

The captain sighed irately, but made his way back to the separate and well-lit space of your examination room.

He didn’t try to hide his annoyance – in fact, he squared his shoulders and his steps sounded a bit loud for anyone to believe it was a coincidence. Also, the scowl of exasperation never left his otherwise handsome face.

“This is completely unnecessary. A stupid waste of time,” he hissed as he walked past you and you took a deep calming breath, exchanging an eyeroll with Sam before you disappeared from sight.

“Captain. I respect you and your position, but you say one more time that my job here is unnecessary and stupid, you’ll be looking for a new medic,” you retorted as he stripped the upper part of his uniform angrily, revealing his white-tank-top-clad torso.

Well, at least the fabric used to be white – now a blood stain the size of both of your palms was seeping into the material at Steve’s right side, gushing from what definitely appeared to be a knife wound.

You were gonna murder him one of those days... unless he got killed himself first.

“Seriously?!”

“It’s just a graze-” he started to argue but you cut him off when you tore the fabric away. He winced as some of the dried blood had acted as a glue, having stuck the cloth into the wound, and now was violently ripped off.

“Tr to insinuate again that I’m incompetent at recognizing what’s just a graze, Steve. I dare you. This is a cut wide and deep enough for stitches! Haven’t you had the serum, you could have been bleeding out to death on this table!”

“But I do have it-“

“Or for fuck’s SAKE, stop being a baby and let me treat the bloody gash in your right mesogastric area! The serum accelerates your healing, but it doesn’t make you invincible OR immortal as far as I know--- Jesus fucking Christ-!”

He bristled, taking a deep breath to fight back, but he never got the chance, because you started working and the words died in his throat. Surprisingly, inspecting the damage, poking around a knife wound that might have already begin to seal itself thanks to Erskine’s formula but had not been just a graze hurt and coincidentally, it pulled the rug from under his feet.

To his credit, Steve barely even hissed at the pain.

“Just so you know, I’ll be using the disinfection that stings worse,” you noted, voice dripping venom, because you were genuinely done with Steve’s bullshit.

You lied through your teeth though. You wouldn’t. No matter how infuriating Steve was and how difficult he made your life – causing you to fall for his stupid martyr ass and pine after him among other things – you would never purposely hurt him.

And he must have sensed that, because your remark didn’t earn you a murderous glare or a retort – much to your surprise.

In fact, Steve fell entirely quiet, watching you work without protest, not even objecting when you applied enough local anaesthetic to knock out an elephant and sewed the tissue together so it healed easier. He let you inspect the rest of his torso and bandage his ribs, vigorously shaking his head when you asked him if he was injured anywhere below the waist.

He observed you as you kept an eye on his face for any minute sign of pain he’d be hiding, but all you could see were his irises, startlingly bright blue, pools of honesty and something you had trouble decoding. He seemed… humbled almost. It silenced the anger inside you, the flames of rage – and fear for his well-being, if you were being honest with yourself – turning into a barely smouldering pile of ash.

When you moved on to his head, gently pushing away the strands which obscured the gash on his eyebrow, his eyelids slid shut. You knew how unpleasant facial injuries were, especially around one’s eyes and so you took care to be extra careful as you cleaned the wound and the area surrounding it, most definitely not using the stingy disinfectant.

Not that Steve could get an infection as far as you knew. It was more force of a habit than anything else… and it made you feel better. He had this idiotic mask of an invincible hero he put up sometimes and it drove you insane, because you knew he was only human, a beautiful kind soul, but god, could he be an ass.

“Almost done,” you whispered soothingly when you noticed his jaw tightening as you had to apply a bit more pressure to get a tiny piece of gravel from the cut. You certainly didn’t want that to stay under the newly healing skin.

The moment you retreated with the bloody gauze, Steve’s eyes were back on you, wide and regretful.

“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly, a genuine apology that sounded almost absurd after you two were hissing at each other like damn hellcats. “I didn’t mean to--- I’m sorry for being rude and ungrateful. Thank you for taking care of my injuries.”

One glance into those deep irises and benign hesitant smile and you were done for. How could you stay mad at him? Well, you were still mad at him for the absolute disregard of his own health, but… well. You also understood he felt like he needed to stay strong for the team and put them first and how he actually was in pain.

Pretty much everyone was a pain in the ass when in pain.

You sighed as you searched for few band-aid strips to cover the cut.

“It’s alright, Steve. I’m used to old men being grumpy and not meaning things they say when they are,” you offered lightly and he hung his head with a chuckle, clearly not taking the old man remark personally – and understanding you were referring to your brother.

His smile was wider when he looked up again. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

You shrugged, carefully slipping two fingers under his chin to angle his face so you could stick the strips over the wound.

“Well, I deserve it sometimes. I don’t mean to… to be overbearing and make you feel like you’re incompetent or something,” you added hesitantly, worrying your teeth over your lower lip as the tone you’d been handling him with caught up with you. Perhaps you could have been nicer.

You smoothened the stripes of band-aid, gulping as you felt Steve’s gaze boring into your face while you continued.

“I know you’re not incompetent. You’re very capable, you’re the best. It’s just… I still--- worry- for all of you. For the full-time Earth’s mightiest heroes. Silly, huh?” you muttered self-depreciatingly and when your eyes met, you were startled by the intensity he watched you with as you laid your fears bare in front of him, leaving you vulnerable. You swiftly looked away and dropped your hands. “Here, almost as good as new.”

A lump grew in your throat as you stripped your gloves, tossing them into the bin. Did you reveal too much? Didn’t it sound silly indeed as you said it out loud? Yes, you were all friendly with each other, but you were supposed to be a professional, focused on your task, not getting distracted by-

-by Steve gently grasping your wrist, causing your heart to skip a startled beat. Definitely not getting weak in the knees when you shot him a surprised glance and he just… brought your hand to his face, lips briefly skimming over your knuckles.

Jesus Christ, Lord have mercy with me.

“Don’t you ever apologize for caring. Don’t stop caring. Silly is the last thing I’d call it.”

Your cheeks felt like set on fire, stomach fluttering as well as your heart. You could feel the ghost of Steve’s lips on your skin, sending your heartrate sky-high, causing your head to spin a bit, your body hot all over.

Did he really—did he just-? And did it mean that… did it mean anything at all?

He let go of your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles, but held your gaze adamantly as he gave you a sad smile and rose to his feet, clearly ready to leave.

You, on the hand, stood there frozen, mind racing.

Why had he done that? Was he really just trying to express gratitude and say sorry for his previous behaviour? Because that was not the way it was supposed to be done, because such tenderness left you entirely bewildered. Was he trying to tell you he was somehow interested in something more than friendship? Was he just high from the anaesthetic, mind you, local one that was not supposed to mess with his brain? Was there any sign of a head injury you missed?

“Thank you, again,” he whispered softly, moving to sidestep you and your hand instinctively shot out, latching onto his forearm… gently.

You gulped, heart stuttering when he glanced at you, puzzled.

One part of you wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment at your unwitting reaction. Another part of you observed him so closely that you would swear that there was another emotion in his eyes and it was neither apology nor gratitude. You wistfully hoped for longing, the same longing you felt when you were near him, sometimes distant and barely there, other times so acute it hurt.

With your stomach somersaulting in doubt, you willed yourself to raise your free hand slowly, purposely giving him a chance – Lord, please, don’t let him take it – to stop you before your palm settled on his cheek.

You were certain you experienced a small cardiac arrest when Steve not only didn’t avoid the touch, but actually leaned into it, gaze fixed on your face, eyes brighter and softer than you ever remembered seeing. Your gaze flickered to his mouth deliberately, throat turning dry. Too daring? He kissed you knuckles, surely you could reciprocate some affection?

Swallowing against your dry throat, you leaned in before you could change your mind and dropped the briefest peck to his lips, causing his eyelids to flutter shut.

Oh no. Oh no no no no, you totally crossed a line-

You went to retreat your hands from him, but the second you moved, his eyes were snapping open, hand covering yours on his face to keep it there, the other cradling your face and then there was a warm and soft sensation on your own lips as he seized them with his.

Your mind went completely blank save two single thoughts: Steve is kissing me. I really like that.

A small sound escaped you, a blend of surprise and contentment, breaking you from your trance and turning you into an actual participant of the pleasant and entirely unexpected activity.

You drew in a small breath, head spinning from the scent of Steve’s shampoo, disinfectant, sweat and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on and not caring.

He tasted faintly of blood, but otherwise was nothing but sweet as his lips caressed yours, gently tugging at your lower lip and then the upper, the lightest graze of teeth and tease of tongue, finger pressing into your jaw to pull you closer, thumb stroking your cheek.

You whimpered involuntarily when his lips parted from yours, soothing as they returned for a short peck, to drop a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, to brush your cheek.

Your name was a breathy whisper between the two of you, barely audible as all you could hear was your heartbeat pulsing frantically in your ears, growing aware of your fingers clutching at Steve’s still unzipped armour and nearly sinking in his hair, his hot breath tickling your skin.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes – what if you dreamed it up? What if you looked at him and saw regret – it didn’t feel like he would be regretting it, but… still. Insecurity tugged at your mind as it slowly cleared from the literally breath-taking kiss.

Steve repeated your name with urgency that was unheard of, the single word sounding almost as a plea.

“Please say something.”

Oh.

You blinked your eyes open, surprised to be met with his searching gaze, a minute furrow of his brows. It seemed you weren’t the only one whose mind was being the worst of one’s enemies.

Perhaps your brain was being stupid. Perhaps you both wanted this. Perhaps you felt exactly the same.

As you forced yourself to move, fingers actually slipping into his hair to caress his nape, Steve inhaled shakily, shoulders slumping. The tinniest of smiles tugged at his mouth, tempting red and minutely swollen from the kiss; you had to resist the urge to just taste it again.

Instead, you licked your lips only, savouring the previous sensations, smiling unwittingly.

“That’s… uhm, that’s a really creative new way of driving me crazy.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose along with one corner of his mouth, relief written all over his face.

“Oh? There are other ways in which I’m driving you crazy? Because I couldn’t tell...”

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t think he bought you unconvincing act of being irritated with him at such remark.

“Don’t push it, Captain,” you warned him, but your treacherous mouth kept curling up in a smile, your body still buzzing with aftershocks of the kiss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh… s-sure,” you stuttered briefly as his thumb caressed your cheek, bright smiling eyes watching only inches from your face – and yet it felt like he was too far.

“You’re driving me crazy too, you know,” he noted in a breathy voice, causing you to gulp as his gaze flickered to your mouth, clearly implying how you do so… among other ways… like your stubbornness practically matching his.

“Oh really? I do? I couldn’t tell…”

He chuckled, his hand slipping to your nape, soft tickle of his fingers making you squirm.

“I’m gonna kiss you again now if that’s okay,” he whispered, not waiting for your permission and erasing the distance between your lips again.

Still, you whispered your approval to his mouth.

“So okay…”

Long moments later when Sam called out to warn you that you’d be landing soon, you said yes to the grumpy old man’s request to let him treat you dinner.

Oh if you only knew by then how far you’d come…

Lost in thought, goofy smile on your face, you exited the bathroom, ready to snuggle your future husband… and to fully take the opportunity to make love, last night before you officially became his and he became yours.

You had a brief second to register that the bed was empty, your heart skipping a started and disappointed beat. The second you stepped out though, you were literally swept off your feet.

A yelp erupted from your throat as you found yourself with no ground under your feet and high in the air, one of Steve’s arms under your knees, the other under your back. Your hands frantically gripped at the nearest firm point, Steve’s shoulder and arm as you finally realized what the hell happened and was met with a cheeky grin and sparkling blue of his eyes.

That traitor was waiting just by the door to ambush you! Why?

You slapped his very much bare shoulder playfully, hissing a curse, not unaware of the heat radiating of him and seeping into your skin.

“You jerk! You almost gave me a heart attack!” you complained, but he didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

Steve grinned wider, shrugging and pulling you closer to his torso, nuzzling your temple and dropping a placatory kiss there.

“Still looking a little cold.”

“No, I look like this because you scared me,” you emphasized, vainly trying to resist the seduction; a mixture of playfulness, sweetness and blatant display of strength as he still held you with ease. It was hard not to be temped. “And you look like you’re awfully warm, parading here without a shirt.”

“Well, I’d call us even since you’re parading around in these absolutely sinful shorts. Makes me hot. I can warm you up,” he mumbled to your skin, lips moving to your ear, causing you to shudder.

How was it so easy for him to make you all hot and bothered? You guessed that at least, as he said, it made you even... it wasn’t difficult to get him riled up either.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Driving you crazy?” Steve offered, sounding awfully delighted at the idea and you only melted into him further at the reminiscence of your first kiss and what followed.

“Always,” you confirmed, deadly serious, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips or the mewl that escaped you when his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

“But you love it.”

“Uh-huh…”

“I can live with that with that then,” he said, stalking to the bed determinately. “Now let me drive you so crazy you can barely speak and the only sound you’re making is whimpering my name.”

He all but tossed you on the bed, a yelp of his name in fact erupting from your throat, followed by a fit of giggles that only died when his mouth seized yours, his lips only leaving when heading south to indeed drive you crazy.

And yes; you loved it.

And you loved him too.

In one unending moment I fall within your reach My song a sweet surrender Hold on to me Hold on to me

Before the girls could steal you from him, Steve decided – with your enthusiastic agreement – that you should once again try how it felt to make some morning lovin’ outside marriage. With the ceremony planned for the late afternoon, you had plenty of time; and needless to say, it was bliss. Then again, you believed that marital sex with Steve would be just as delightfully pleasant, thank you very much.

Then, it was a whirlwind – make up, hair, dress, a tear or two spilled when you saw the result in the mirror.

More tears spilled when you glanced out of the window and saw the tastefully and modestly decorated arch, the path created by few scattered rose petals, the male part of your almost family sans Clint in the suits, effectively hiding Steve from you; and you from his just in case, because no one wanted any bad luck.

Your staring was interrupted when your brother went to pick you up to lead you down the aisle.

Upon entering the room and setting his gaze on you, he promptly looked away with a sniffle. It both warmed your heart and made you laugh as did his remark.

“Nope, not giving you to him. In fact, I’m never giving you to anyone. No one will ever be worthy, so I’m keeping you.”

“Hush, Clinton, you’ll still have me,” Natasha winked at him as he took a deep calming breath before carefully eyeing you again.

Clearly, it hadn’t done the job, because few tears still found their way down his cheeks.

“You’re a knock-out, sis,” he sputtered hastily, but no less honestly – clearly moved to tears.

And yet… you snorted at his choice of words and he rolled his eyes, quick to compliment your beauty instead.

You wouldn’t have it any other way though, even appreciating his first remark more for it came from the bottom of his heart rather than from what convention required.

Embracing you carefully in fear he would mess up the work of art his wife and other girls created, he held you in his arms for a moment, as you retuned the hug, clutching at his suit with a little too force. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the bridesmaids clearing the room.

“It’s not like I’m leaving you, Bobo,” you hummed with a smile, throwing his own words from last night at him.

And you weren’t leaving him; your heart swelled with love for your brother, your father figure, your long-life friend.

With sniffle, he let go of you and looked you up and down, proud smile spreading on his lips.

“It’s okay. If you are, I have the best spy in the world for a wife, we’ll drag your ass back home.”

You just slapped his chest playfully and took a deep breath – it was time. Clint grasped your hand firmly then, elbows interlocking, and went to step out just a moment after the bridesmaids left to join the groomsmen.

Well-aware everyone was going to stare and that Steve awaited you at the end of the aisle to marry you, your legs were shaking minutely as the magnitude of the event finally dawned to you.

“Getting second thoughts now?” Clint teased you, eliciting a chuckle from you and shake of your head.

What a question.

“No. Just… please don’t let me fall,” you muttered to him, entirely serious and grateful for your choice of footwear – simple flats hidden by the long flowing skirt of your dress. Better chance of not spraining your ankle on your wedding day.

“Never.”

Clint squeezed your hand under his warm palm and you took a deep breath, stepping into the doorway. Soft melody welcomed you, your very own wedding march Bruce was playing on a mouth organ – something you had previously had no idea he was capable of.

Looking up from your skirt, you feasted your eyes on the company and the beautiful scenery for only a regretfully short moment, grateful for Sam’s Redwing programmed to record and take photos.

Your gaze instinctively searched the small crowd instead, until it fell under the arch where three men stood.

One of them was Sam himself, having obtained a licence so he could be your wedding registrar; he looked positively dashing. So did Bucky, who patted his best friend dressed in his old-fashioned green captain uniform on the shoulder, his smirk visible even from tens feet away as he stepped back.

Naturally, your gaze lingered on Steve, your feet acting of their own accord and following your brother’s lead.

Gosh, your future husband was the most handsome and absolutely hottest specimen to ever walk the Earth. Hair combed neatly to one side and in his old army uniform, he truly looked like the gentleman from another era he was and yet, he undeniably belonged exactly where he was. His eyes were bright and blue just like the sky, lips slightly parting before curling up into a brilliant smile which somehow still carried the tenderness he treated you with when he felt particularly affectionate.

He must have uttered something under his breath, because Bucky pressed his lips together as if he was holding back laugh. The absolutely best best man, ladies and gentleman.

Your found yourself smiling just as widely, a stray tear tickling the corner of your eye and you had to fight the sudden urge to ditch Clint in order to gather your skirts and run the rest of the way just to jump into Steve’s arms.

But in reality, there was no rush – here, on the damn island Tony rented, there was so much time that one short walk meant nothing in comparison.

“Alright, maybe I’ll give you to him,” Clint whispered, making you bite the inside of your cheek so you would cackle.

Leave it to your brother he would find Steve Rogers so fine he’d be willing to give you out just to have him become a part of your family.

One corner of Steve’s lips twitched in amusement – supersoldier hearing didn’t miss the remark then. Good. Then Bucky heard it too and you had a witness just in case Clint would change his mind. Again.

Finally, with your heart almost in your throat, you reached the end of the aisle, Clint gently putting your hand into Steve’s… without letting go.

“You be nice to her, Cap. And I mean really nice, you hear? Or else-“

“Hush,” you hissed good-naturedly in your brother’s direction, winking at him before you returned your gaze to Steve. “Hey there, handsome.”

Steve chuckled under his breath when Clint stepped back. He returned the greeting with soft ‘hey there, beautiful’ and then proceeded to lift your joined hands, brushing your knuckles with his lips – just like the day you shared your first kiss.

Well now you truly found yourself on the verge of crying. And Lord, you wanted to kiss him so much-

Sam cleared his throat loudly, casting you both a meaningful look as if he could read your mind and wanted to remind you that there were a few things to go through before that could happen.

Ugh. Formalities. Just let me kiss him…

Steve licked his lips – the audacity! – and turned, lightly tugging at your hand so you both faced your friend who held a little leather book open, beckoning towards the guests: Bucky and Natasha, the best man and the best woman, Clint, Bruce, Tony, Vision, Wanda, Sharon, Pepper. Just your closest friends and family.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Alright. We all know why we gathered here today. To get these two amazing people married, so they could officially become a special team within our team.”

You grinned, peripherally noticing Steve eyeing you as well. Team indeed.

“This is the part where I would ask all of you, bride and groom included, to speak up now if you’re aware of anything standing in the way of this wedlock or to remain silent forever. But frankly, if you have something to say, right now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself. Just let these lovebirds get married…”

Muffled laughter and giggles erupted from your group. Honestly, you wouldn’t say it better. You noticed Clint shifting and Natasha forcefully holding his hand down; you bit down on your lip so you wouldn’t laugh and sent her a grateful smile instead. The best maid of honour ever.

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear, folks. We have the rings, correct? Great. Just so you know, these two saps asked me to read one vow which they are making to each other, because they didn’t trust themselves to say theirs individually without bursting into tears. So now it’s left to me to cry instead. Thanks for that.”

Your cheeks were honestly starting to hurt from smiling so wide, but tears prickled in your eyes acutely just at the thought of the vow you agreed on. You spent countless hours thinking about what you wanted to say and realized that your vow would be too long and that you would in fact start crying and that you could never name all the things you loved Steve for. It had been a relief to find out that Steve shared the sentiment and the deal was made.

Natasha and Bucky dutifully laid the rings on the pillow Wanda’s powers held levitating by your and Steve’s side – not without Bucky finding a split second to compliment your appearance and earning a brief smirk from Steve.

“I know,” Steve uttered and you wondered if there was a dare going around as to who would make you burst out laughing first.

This was your wedding dammit. You could be at least a bit a lady and remain collected.

Hardly.

“With this ring,” Sam started, breathing in and out and you knew you already lost, first tear rolling down your cheek as you gazed into Steve’s inviting eyes, “I give myself to you without giving up myself. With this ring, I surrender to you for I have faith you understand the value of wielding such power and for I deem you worthy of it. With this ring, I promise to love you, to respect you and to support you to be your best self as I trust you to do the same for me, for us.”

You blinked away the waterfalls, reaching almost blindly for Steve’s ring and with fingers trembling – with giddiness, not nerves – you somehow succeeded at slipping it on his left ring finger.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice cracking even in such simple sentence and the watery smile Steve graced you with made your ribcage feel too small for your swelling heart.

Fingers equally clumsy, he slipped a ring on you as well, shoulders squaring as if in pride.

“I do,” he said firmly, the damp path down his left cheek only adding severity to his vow.

“You may-- uhm, okay, you may kiss the bride, your wife--- I mean, Mrs. Rogers. You may kiss the groom, your husband…” Sam mumbled under his breath until he didn’t, because Steve pulled you in for a kiss the same moment Sam said the first ‘may’ and incidentally, the same moment you practically threw yourself at Steve.

Laughter and whistles erupted from the group of your friends as Steve bend you back dramatically, the determined press of his lips to yours not at all disrupted by the change of angle, claiming your mouth in ways that made you shudder and stirred flames in your belly.

Years and years later, you’d recall that kiss and realized an amazing thing; how it felt just like your first kiss, your last one, and every single one in between.

With you still practically horizontal, Steve’s crinkling eyes met yours, delighted smile on his kiss-swollen lips.

“I love you, Mrs. Rogers,” he hummed, adding a cheeky grin. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“The horror,” you muttered back teasingly, pulling at his nape, demanding another kiss, your own declaration whispered to his mouth. “I love you too, Mr. Rogers.”

And you did. Gosh, you did.

S.R. masterlist

(divider by firefly-graphics)

Well. This turned out SO DIFFERENTLY than I anticipated and SO MUCH LONGER. If you feel like leaving feedback, I’ll be grateful. If not, well. *shurgs*

Excuse me while I go and continue dreaming of ONE fictional man. Ugh. Anyway.

Thank you for reading!

And once again, thanks to WIYBUPT for hosting and for just being awesome in general :)

#catfa 10th anniversary challenge #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #barton reader #barton reader fic #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fafiction #steve rogers fanfic #my timid hello my clumsy goodbye #anika ann

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achliegh · 4 years ago

Text

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 5:

Redneck Woman

Red Solo Cup

Eloise smiles as Leo continues to ramble on about these boys who have clearly stolen his heart. She sips her black coffee and sets it down on the counter she is leaning against. Walking over to her offspring, that is a total of two inches taller than her, she kisses his cheek causing him to stop mid sentence.

“Was I rambling too much?” The red appearing on his cheeks made her smile, ruffling his hair that is in need of his yearly head shave. He swats her hand away. “I know it's long but because someone told me how to keep my hair healthy.” Looks pointedly at her as she snorts. “I only cut my hair once a year and it's a full shave.” He sticks out his tongue.

“Who even raised you to be so disrespectful?” She dramatically puts her hand on her chest, then tightens the ties on her robe. Giving him a motherly smile she thanks him as he puts some toad in a hole on a plate for her. “I don’t have my hearing friend in to help me listen to you,” She makes a gesture like she is swooning with her hand on her forehead and her hand fanning herself. “ GuSh, about your hockey boys. But, it is very sweet.”

“I really like them Mama… I think you and Daddy would too.” He focuses on his toast as he takes a bite and brushes the crumbs onto the floor, much to Eloise’s annoyance. She knows this is a sign of him wanting to trust his emotions but doesn’t want to jinx himself.

“Come here, let's get all the motherly squishing done before Clay and… what was his name? Rex?” She pulls him into a tight hug and crushes him in her arms with her old lady strength. He relaxes completely into her and hugs back just as tight but making sure not to hurt her. He makes sure to have his head on her right shoulder so she can hear him.

“Reg, his name is Regulus but we call him Reg. I think you should try and adopt him like you did with Clay. Pseudo Mother is just your personality now that you are so old.” He squeaks and gets out of her death grip hug as she pokes his ribs. “RUDE!”

She is still cackling as Clayton bursts through the door announcing his entrance, running into the kitchen.

“I smell food!” He hops on the counter and begins earring Leo’s breakfast. She pats his knee with a happy yet defeated look on her face. She has told him so many times not to climb on the counters that cost more than some people's entire house. “Mm! Ma, meet Reg.” He gestures to a boy who looks like he feels entirely out of place, she was going to tell Clay off for talking with his mouth full but she has a new mission now.

Protect this kid.

After making a mess and eating, Clay and Leo go out to load the trailer and Horses up for the drive to Texas where the rest of their team already is. Eloise has started on the dishes and looks over to Reg and nods him over.

“You know how to rinse dishes?”

“No Ma’am.” She smiles at him and pushes the faucet to face the sink in front of him.

“No need to call me Ma’am, call me Eloise. Now, you just run the dish under the hot warmer and get all the suds off. Make sure I don't miss any food or spots because I am just a helpless old lady at the end of the day.” She gets a small smile to form at his lips as she shows him exactly how to rinse. An easy task, but one that he was never taught. That triggers something in her head that makes her think he was told he only has one purpose in life. No one only has a single purpose in life. “Who are your parents Reg?” She notices him tense at the question and immediately regrets asking.

“Orion and Walburga Black.” Simple and straightforward answer. He doesn’t want to talk about them. She nods and hums in acknowledgement. Passing the last few dishes in silence, she drains the sink and turns to look at him.

“So, what did Marigold and Bluebell tell you to convince you to come with them this summer?” She smiles at him as his whole demeanor changes. He smiles that same small smile but he visibly relaxes.

“First off, Marigold… Bluebell? What the fuck kinda names are those.” Eloise laughs in surprise. “Second, we watched tiktoks half drunk together for two hours while the rest of the team socialized.” She nods her head, that does sound like what those two would do. “And Third, I have been needing to get away from my brother and his boyfriend so they can boink in peace and not have to worry about me hearing.” He looks at her and his smile drops off his face. “Sorry, Leo told me you were laid back and I thought it would be alright to share this type of stuff with-”

“Reg I think you are a wonderful man who is going to keep those two pea-brains in line while on the road. Maybe loosen up a little yourself.” She smiles. “Is it alright if I give you physical affection? I tend to be a touchy person and not realize it.” He pauses for a moment and then nods, she pats his cheek and smiles as the other two walk back into the kitchen.

Reg is still a little stunned when Clay throws his arm around his shoulder and jostles him around.

After kisses and hugs goodbye Leo hops into the driver's seat, Clay in the passenger and Reg in the middle seat of the back. Reg has barely seen a truck in his life but this vehicle was fucking huge. Giant. Thicc some might say. The first few hours of driving was a podcast that Clay was in the middle of listening to when he picked up Reg. Once that ended Reg descended into music hell.

He has come to the conclusion that most country songs are about the three G’s.

Guns, God, Goodies (meaning like titties)

He was absolutely taken aback by how Leo was screaming, we can’t call it singing its terrible, these songs that are the complete opposite of him. Clayton at least liked goodies. There was one song that will probably stick with Reg his entire life. Redneck Woman by Gretchen Wilson.

Holy shit. When that song came on it was like Leo and Clay were having a contest of who could sing it the loudest. So, Reg decided that for his first check in with the team. Which Sirius was making him do because he is paranoid. Reg decided he would turn around in his seat and film a video of him painfully smiling and giving a thumbs up to the camera as Leo and Clay scream at each other.

“I’M A REDNECK WOMAN AIN’T NO HIGH PRICE GAL!”

Clay sees Reg recording and flips off the camera still singing. An hour later they pull up to this massive ranch style AirBnB with stables and all. It must have cost a fortune. Reg hops out of the truck and feels out of place, Yeehaws everywhere. Okay, there were like three of them and this giant man with long hair and a braided beard, covered in tattoos just reading a book on the front porch.

“That's our tattoo artist, he travels with us because he is the only person Leo and I trust to tattoo us. You’d like him, his name is Hagrid. But, no time to chit chat! We need to teach you some of the basics, we’ve got a rodeo in two nights. I am competing on Leroy and Peanut is just here for fun. How about we teach you how to care for them a bit?” Clay smiles at him and Reg remembers he is with people who want to be friends with him… for him. Not because of hockey or his family, not because his brother made them. Just for him. Reg went willingly with Clay to watch Leo as he led the horses one by one out into a pen for them to roam around in for a bit.

Clay went into more detail about how they care for them and what he thinks Reg can do. It was night already so they decided to go inside, Leo asked around to see what people were hungry for and made almost anything after someone had got groceries.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Reg was sitting across the island from Leo as he finished up the food, having watched him make the entire meal.

“Mama taught me how to cook when I was younger, it was the one thing I did that wouldn’t get me in trouble with the law.” He rolls his eyes at the thought of the sheriff and Reg decides not to press. “What do you want to do tomorrow while Clay practices?”

They got wasted. Mostly on jello shots, Leo taught Reg the trick: rim job, blow job, swallow. Leo had promised the boys he would call them, he didn’t want to do it drunk but he misses them like crazy. Drunk or not he was going to call them. So, there he is sitting on the balcony out of his bedroom waiting for them to answer. Finn picks up first, shirtless and sweating.

“Okay Finn, I love this” Gesturing in a circle at Finn who just smiles out of breath and wipes his face with a towel. “But I need you to calm down, because I’m a little tipsy and that means I’m very horny.” He smiles when Finn laughs.

“Well I’m glad to know that even on truth serum you find me attractive.” Finn sets his phone down but props it up on some books as he finishes his warm down stretches from his run he just came back from.

Then Logan picks up, in Leo’s T shirt he left for him last time. It was baggy on him and his hair was messed up from sleeping. The side of his face is a little red and there are lines from his pillow squished into his face. He sleepily smiles at the camera.

“Hi Leo.” Leo groans in response and leans his head back.

“You two are gonna be the death of me. Fucking Christ.” He signs and looks at Logan who is suddenly bright red but smiling back. “You’re beautiful Sweet Pea.”

“Really?” Logan looks at him with such big unbelieving eyes that it breaks Leo’s heart.

“Mhm you and Finn make my little heart do a pitter-patter every time I think of y’all.” Being drunk Leo’s accent is incredibly thick.

“You sound like a true southern man there, Le. How is Texas?” Finn is sitting on the ground criss cross with his hands resting on his knees. Logan has laid back down and snuggled up with his blanket on his side. “You’ve been there a day right?”

“Yes sir! I have been here for a full 27 hours now and I can say, it ain’t no Louisiana but it’ll do.” He shows off his chipped tooth and hears a trilling sound on his railing and looks over to see a mama opossum with her babies hanging on her back. He smiles and flips the camera. “Look at This Little Mama!” He reaches his hand out and she looks at it suspicious. Logan told Leo to stop and Finn said no, but he knows what he’s doing.

To their surprise, the mama just lets Leo pet her under her chin and Finn takes so many pictures. The opossum lets Leo pet her babies with his finger and he pats her head on last time before he goes inside to flop on his bed.

“So, We’ve been thinking” Leo lifts his phone to be above his face as he slowly starts dozing off. “We want to come out.” Leo’s eyes snap open and he drops the phone on his face, rolling over to his stomach he wiggles his nose as he processes what Finn just said.

“Wait, like all three of us or just your two?”

“Well, we thought we would leave that up to you…”

“I think to start, it would be safest for all of us, if you two came out together first. We can talk about me coming out when I’m done traveling this summer, okay?” They all smile at each other nervously and Finn notices a couple of watery sniffles from Logan, they were going to talk to Dumo and Sirius tomorrow. Maybe then they can talk more.

“Leo, do you want to move in… in the fall? Winter? I mean you don’t have too but I would like it and I bet Logan would too. We miss you.” Finn has his fingers crossed where the others can’t see.

Silence.

“I would love to, let me give you my Mama’s number. She will be so glad to get me out of the house the rest of the year.” He laughs a little, they fall into a comfortable silence and Leo drifts off, fully dressed in his boots and everything. Clutching his phone like he never has.

Finn knocks on the Dumias door the next day. Nervous about this talk they are going to have with the other French speaking people. Finn can’t speak French so he hopes they don’t start speaking it because he will just up and leave. Logan opens the door and Finn can’t help the soppy smile that crosses his face when he sees Logan in his sweatshirt. He wondered where it went. Logan and Him walk into the dinning room where Sirius and Dumo are talking about new plays they want to practice. They look up when they enter the room and stand across from them.

“Dumo, Sirius I need you to mind your fucking business.”

“What he means to say is why did you tell Leo that he hurt Logan?” Finn translated.

“I was the one that hurt Leo! Leo did nothing and you guys fucking made him doubt us even more!” Logan crossed his arms and Finn rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“What? That's why you were so sad? Because of something you did… Logan, I know we sound like broken records at this point but please start talking to us.” Dumo looks at him with a slightly frustrated look in his eyes but also worry. It makes Logan’s skin crawl.

“I think you meant well with the shovel talk, but Logan was the one who broke things off with Leo before it even started. He told Leo we didn’t want him and all this other shit that was Logan being… scared.” Finn feels Logan take his hand and interlock their fingers. He looks at the smaller man and squeezes his hand as a way to say, I’m here.

Dumo and Sirius didn’t get another word in before Logan was dragging Finn out the door. Staying at his apartment for a few days. Lo already has some clothes there and… they had to film something special.

Rodeo the next day went well. The after party was even better.

They were in a large steel building with everyone, concrete floors covered in dirt with people swinging dancing their hearts out. Leo was drinking and Clay was drinking, they somehow managed to lose clay about twenty minutes ago. Reg was getting a facetime from Sirius and answered it so Sirius doesn’t worry, the music is so loud that he can barely hear him until a less background heavy song comes on and Leo is humming it while drinking out of his red solo cup.

“Reg where are you!?” Sirius was yelling because it was so loud and Remus was in the background trying not to laugh.

“I’m at an after party! Are you with the team?” Sirius nods and flips the camera to show everyone and Leo’s eye catches his boys.

“FINN! LOGAN!” He yells super loud so everyone turns to face sirius’ phone. “IF YOU WERE HERE RIGHT NOW I WOULD TOTALLY SUCK YOUR DICKS IN THE BATHROOM! AT THE SAM- CLAY!” Leo sees Clay in the ocean of people and scurries off before finishing his sentence. Reg looks back at his phone and shrugs. Finn and Logan are bright red and getting chirped to hell for sure but the music is so loud that he can’t hear them.

“I’ll call you when I get back to the BnB!” Sirius nods and hangs up. Wrestling two drunk idiots into an uber is fine but getting them out was like untangling headphones that you left in your pocket for three years.

Just legs everywhere.

Hands? Don’t know how to use them.

Braincell? Reg has it.

At some point Clayton started crying because a guy he thinks he has a crush on has a girlfriend and he isn’t Leo so he can’t convince two people to love him. Very dramatic. Leo thinks he lost his phone, even though he gave it to Reg at the beginning of the night, and he is worried someone will find it and steal his nudes for their own. Reg doesn’t even know how to respond to that.

Waking up the next morning. Leo has a mild headache, but nothing that will stop him from driving. It was going to be a good day. Especially when Leo got his phone back and saw a tiktok notification from Finn and Logan.

They came out last night.

Time to wreak havoc.

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

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dfdph · 4 years ago

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Spotlight - Prologue

Author D.

Pairing Jungkook x Reader (female)

Warnings Mentions of cyber bullying

Word count 3.5k

Summary “Her stylist had chosen a wonderful black Elie Saab Haute Couture for the occasion. The gown was long, sleek and structured, with overlaying tulle and tafta, the top was semi-transparent, with long sleeves and padded shoulders, and the whole dress was adorned with an intricate golden embroidery that highlighted her figure craftily. Her hair had been pinned neatly in a bun on top of her head, with some twists and braids that she had no way of replicating on her own. The make up artist had played with golden eyeshadow and had drawn a strong and thick black line with the eyeliner, making her gaze sharper and sexier. Y/N looked like a chic princess warrior, ready for battle. And, somehow, she really felt like it. She wasn’t anxious only about the ceremony, she had read the lineup, she had read his name. She knew there was no avoiding him this time: her first love, Jeon Jungkook.”

Award season was the period of the year Y/N hated the most. Despite being in the entertainment industry since she was a teenager - and now being in her late 20s -, she still couldn’t get used to the stress it put her through. She actually looked forward to dressing up and posing in front of dozens and dozens of photographers at the beginning of her career, but now that she had made a name for herself, now that everyone knew who she was, Y/N would gladly stay in her king sized bed watching some movie instead. Unfortunately, even if she wanted to, there was no way she could avoid attending this season’s ceremonies.

The past year had been Y/N’s most rewarding yet. She had been in fact casted by a renowned and award-winning director as the main character of his new historical movie, which turned out highly successful at the box office - earning more than $110,000,000 on its opening weekend - and highly acclaimed by the critics who had praised, not only the cinematography and the intricacy of the plot, but especially Y/N’s performance - described as raw, heartbreaking and graceful. To no one’s surprise, she was soon nominated as Best Actress in most of the award events, winning all of them despite the high competition and enriching the collection of trophies she had displayed in her home office.

When she debuted ten years ago with a minor role in an episode of a television series she only dared dreaming of reaching such a peak in her career. She could have never imagined that she would become one of the highest paid actresses in the industry, that she would afford buying her dream car and her dream house in Los Angeles, and that she would have millions of fans supporting her all over the world. Yet, there she was, getting ready for ‘the dream come true’, the award of the awards: the Oscars. And she, Y/N Y/L/N, had been chosen as the strongest contender in her category: Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role. She had already been nominated twice before, but this time was different, this time she felt she could actually win. Hence why she couldn’t stop walking anxiously back and forth in the 5 star hotel room her staff had booked for the day.

Her stylist had chosen a wonderful black Elie Saab Haute Couture for the occasion. The gown was long, sleek and structured, with overlaying tulle and tafta; the top was semi-transparent, with long sleeves and padded shoulders, and the whole dress was adorned with an intricate golden embroidery that highlighted her figure craftily. Her hair had been pinned neatly in a bun on top of her head, with some twists and braids that she had no way of replicating on her own. The make up artist had played with golden eyeshadow and had drawn a strong and thick black line with the eyeliner, making her gaze sharper and sexier.

Y/N looked like a chic princess warrior, ready for battle. And, somehow, she really felt like it. She wasn’t anxious only about the ceremony, she had read the lineup, she had read his name. She knew there was no avoiding him this time: her first love, Jeon Jungkook.

Y/N was a completely different woman from who she was back in high school.

She had grown in a very poor family. Her mother had to raise her, alongside her older brother, all on her own, working long hours as a housekeeper for a rich and snob family who mistreated her and paid her just enough so that she couldn’t resign. She was a very sweet woman who had to struggle every day to give her two children the most normal life she could afford. Y/N’s father, on the other hand, was never present: an alcoholic who couldn’t keep a job for more than a month, he regularly failed to pay child support after the divorce and never once made a call to hear from them.

Y/N understood the importance of money early on, in elementary school, when her classmates started teasing her because of her hand-me-down clothes. She was used to wear her brother’s old t-shirts every now and then and never thought too much of it. She didn’t see any difference between the rock bands pictures or the flowery prints, she didn’t realize it mattered. And when she had told her mother that those girls had laughed at her, the woman almost cried, so Y/N decided not to mention it ever again.

Y/N grew up into a very introverted and shy teenager. She wasn’t good with socializing and generally preferred being on her own. Her desire for solitude was so evident that her classmates gave up on their attempts to befriend her and she soon became the lone wolf of their high school. By junior high, she became almost invisible.

Strangely enough, Y/N’s dream was that to become an actress, a profession that required a lot of things she lacked of. Confidence, to begin with, or charisma. The only thing she believed she could do was hide inside the unused storage room on the second floor and play with the old props left by the drama club.

She met Jungkook while doing just that.

The boy was just coming back from the first meeting of the Mathematics Discussion Club - of which he was the president - when he heard someone crying from a room he never noticed before. He opened the door quietly, peeking his head inside the dim lighted room, only to find the silhouette of a girl lying on the floor in a fetal position and seemingly crying her lungs out in pain. She had her hands clutching tightly her head and she was sobbing so hard that she was on the verge of hyperventilating. On instinct, Jungkook rushed to her side, his books, pencils and calculator clattering all over the floor.

“Are you ok?!” he screamed in worry, putting his hands over her shoulders.

Y/N jumped up, her wailing stopping so abruptly that it made Jungkook jump as well. As it turned out, Y/N was doing nothing more than acting the part of a terminally ill girl who was suffering intense head pains - a part she had invented all on her own to test her ability with dramatic scenes. it was something she did quite often. Just the day before she was performing Meryl Streep’s part in “Into the Woods” to an invisible audience.

“I-I’m ok.” she mumbled, drying the fake tears from her cheeks.

“What the hell?” Jungkook murmured, looking at her in astonishment. “What was that?”

“I was ... I was just pretending.” she replied, her voice horse from all the screaming.

“Pretending?” he repeated as he sat bewildered on the dirty floor. “You were pretending to be in pain? Why?!”

Y/N felt the heat rising to her face. This was the first time she had to explain her weird little secret to anyone. “Acting.”

“Acting.” Jungkook repeated once again. “And why are you doing it in here?” he asked looking around the creepy space, with its spider webs and abandoned miscellaneous objects. “What is this place anyways?”

“It was the old storage room of the drama club.” Y/N replied. “They don’t use it anymore. There’s no space left.”

“I can see that.” he said staring at the shelf just above their heads that looked about ready to collapse. “So, I guess you’re not in the drama club?”

“No.” Y/N answered looking down at her crossed legs. She wondered if he was going to snitch on her. She really didn’t want to get in trouble. Besides, it wasn’t like she was doing something that terrible.

“I could tell.” Jungkook replied. “I saw last year’s winter play and, let me tell you, you, crying on the floor 5 minutes ago, were ten times better than that.”

Y/N looked back at him with her mouth open in surprise. She had no idea who this boy sitting crossed legged on the floor with her was, with his white button down shirt and over washed jeans, but he singlehandedly gave her the best compliment she could wish for. “Right?!” she exclaimed sitting straighter. “I thought so too! But everybody else acted as if they saw the best performance of their lives! I knew I couldn’t be the only one who taught that their interpretation of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra was nothing but underwhelming.”

“Damn right.” the boy nodded in agreement. “I actually looked forward to it because I prefer it over Romeo and Juliet, but I was so disappointed. You should have played Cleopatra!” he added in an afterthought. “Why didn’t you?”

Y/N felt herself blush once again. “I never performed in front of anyone.” she confessed. “Apart from my mother an brother, that is.”

“That’s a shame.” Jungkook murmured pensively. “You have real talent, storage room girl. Believe me, I’m an expert.”

Being friends with Jungkook was easy, falling in love with him was even easier. It came so naturally that Y/N didn’t even have the chance to fully realize it before they were officially dating.

He was everything Y/N wasn’t and everything she wanted to be. Even at 16 years old he already was a very confident boy. He was incredibly smart, funny and a little bit nerdy. He didn’t belong to the upper class of their high school social pyramid, nor the middle, but he had no care in matching those standards because he loved himself for who he was - Stark Trek t-shirts, consumed tennis shoes and all.

In the short year the two of them were together, from junior to senior year, Jungkook became the reason behind Y/N’s happiness. She wasn’t aware of how lonely she really had been while asking to be left alone. Jungkook taught her to be open towards the world, to be curious and to believe in herself and her abilities. Thanks to him and his never ending support Y/N came to realize that she wasn’t meant to hide inside the abandoned storage room on the second floor, but she deserved the chance to follow her dreams.

Together they filed their applications for college: Jungkook always wanted to become an aerospace engineer and had set the personal - and ambitious - goal to work for NASA; Y/N, on the other hand, had worked hard during her last year in high school to win a scholarship for whichever Performing Arts College was willing to take her in - it didn’t matter which one because she knew she started her acting career late. All she wanted was to study to become an actress, to perform on stage and bring to life incredible stories, to be someone one day and someone else the other.

But it was such a big dream, something so fickle and risky, that Y/N couldn’t help but being overwhelmed by fear, not only for her future but that of Jungkook’s as well, because after all, despite all the changes she had gone through, a part of her was still hiding from the world. So she did something stupid, something very cliché, that nevertheless seemed the right thing to do at that time: she broke up with him.

It’s for his own good, she had thought. He is brilliant, I don’t want to hold him back.

Jungkook fought her and for her. He was afraid something like this would happen, he was sure it wasn’t what she really wanted, he knew she was just afraid. But Y/N was a very talented actress indeed and for a moment, as she looked straight into his dark eyes and told him she didn’t love him anymore, Jungkook felt his confidence waver.

“I’m really thankful for what you’ve done for me.” she had said. “I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for you.”

“Please don’t lie.” he had whispered, trying to stop the angry and disappointed tears from falling from his eyes. “Don’t pretend. Not with me.”

“I’m not.” Y/N replied, her voice firm. “I loved you, I really did. You’ll be my first love forever, Kook.”

And the very next day, just like in one of those cheesy television dramas her mother loved so much, she flew hundreds of miles away from him, trying to not looking back.

If she said she never regretted it over the following years, it would be a lie. As she started her new life, she never failed to think of him. She wondered how he was doing, if his dreams were coming true and if he ever thought of her as much as she did of him. As she grew up and matured, Y/N realized how stupid her choice had been and how important Jungkook’s role had been in shaping her personality and in breaking her shell. Y/N was sure of it: if he didn’t found her that day inside the storage room, she wouldn’t be who she was today.

Years after she broke up with him, Jungkook still popped up into her mind every now and then. She thought of him the first time she was casted for a walk on role in a movie; she thought of him the first time her name was credited in an episode of a TV show; she thought of him the first time she won an award.

She thought of him with regret and a little bit of melancholy. Y/N never forgot him. Not even when when became so famous she barely had the time and energy to think about herself.

The first time Y/N heard his name spoken by someone else’s mouth, three years ago, was a complete shock. She never talked of him to anyone, apart form her mother, her brother and Jimin, her best friend and manager, so he was supposed to be a nobody to everyone else but herself. As it turned out, with a very mysterious turn of events, Jungkook had left the path towards aerospace engineering and had decided to take his chance with acting. And from what Y/N gathered from the overheard conversation, he was starting to make a name for himself as well.

That night, back in her multimillion dollar villa, Y/N researched his name on the internet for the first time.

He was new to the industry and there wasn’t much about him, it was like he popped out of nowhere. But it was definitely Jungkook, Y/N recognized him from the pictures. He had grown into a beautiful man, so handsome that she did a double take and then had to stop herself from drooling. It wasn’t like he was ugly when they were together, but he was just a skinny teenager back then and this was a man, a real man who had lost all of his baby fat and now had a razor sharp jaw and a muscular body. Apparently, he was the protagonist of an ongoing TV series that was gathering a lot of success putting him in the center of the attention. ‘The new heartthrob’, that was how he was being called.

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what happened after they lost contact with each other that made him change his career so drastically. Whenever she thought about him she imagined him working on some challenging project for NASA, never on a movie set. She remembered he was passionate about theatre and cinema, but never once he had expressed the desire to become an actor like her. Y/N didn’t know what to think.

As the years passed, Y/N watched as his acting career grew, as he starred in a success after the other and as he earned the respect of even the most strict directors and critics.

Y/N watched, yes, but from afar, never daring to contact him and secretly avoiding the chances to meet him again.

She had been successful, until now.

The drive to the Dolby Theatre went far too quick for Y/N’s taste. She could barely remember how she got from the hotel room where she had been preparing to the black luxury van. Before she knew it her stylist was taking away her favorite slippers and was putting on her dress-matching Dolce&Gabbana heels.

Y/N didn’t have the time to think. Three years of running away and finally the moment had come. Jeon Jungkook - her first love, her ‘the one that got away’, probably her biggest regret - was probably in the car behind hers.

“Y/N, two minutes.” Jimin called out, warning her to get ready. “You know the deal. Deep breath and own that red carpet as you always do. And-”

“I know.” Y/N interrupted him. “The left side is my best side.”

The man, dressed up as well in a black tux, gave her a wink. “I’ll be right behind you. You got this.” he declared, looking at her intensely. “This is the one.”

“Thanks, Chim. But from all we know I could be the next Di Caprio.” she joked, the roaring noise from the red carpet now deafening.

“On my dead body.” he smirked. “Talk to you later, princess.”

“Later.” she hugged him briefly. “Oh, can you please make sure my mom and Seokjin got in fine? I totally forgot to call them.”

“Of course. My assistant is with them, anyways.” Jimin said, putting a hand on the door handle. “Ready?”

Y/N took a deep breath, put on her best charming expression and nodded. “Ready.”

As soon as he opened the door, Y/N was immediately hit by the boisterous and echoing call of the fans. She wasn’t sure if it was only her impression but it seemed like every single one of them was screaming her name. She was, indeed, one of the biggest names of the night, there was no use in denying it, but Y/N couldn’t help but wish they stopped making her presence so obvious.

A young usher, pretending not so well to be indifferent and trying to be professional, guided her towards the beginning of the red carpet, hundreds of cellphones following her movements like magnets.

“Please, come this way, miss Y/L/N.” the usher instructed in a slightly trembling voice. “There will be someone from the staff signaling you were to stop to pose for the photographers.”

Y/N knew this already. She had attended countless of events like this, after all. Yet she didn’t say anything to the shy boy, preferring to smile at him sincerely. “Thank you very much.” she said, watching as he blushed violently.

Y/N started her walk, Jimin and her stylist following a few steps behind to make sure that everything went smoothly. The photographers went wild as soon as they saw her, the flashes of their cameras blinding her almost angrily. She was used to it now, she had mastered the trick: squinting sexily and blinking strategically.

As she walked slowly towards the entrance of the theatre, posing with confidence and channeling her best princess warrior, Y/N almost forgot the worries she had about Jungkook, until a new wave of screams echoed to her ears. She stiffened, even if imperceptibly. It was him, the line up said he would be walking right after her.

The time had finally come. Ten years had passed and she was seeing Jeon Jungkook again for the first time.

She continued to walk nonchalantly, every step confident and her chin up and proud. But once she reached the end of the red carpet and the photographers moved their attention away from her, Y/N couldn’t help but stop for a second, ignoring a fellow actress and ‘friend’ waving at her a few feet further.

She could feel him, she could feel his presence behind her back. She could either turn around and catch a glimpse of him, or resume walking and pretend he wasn’t there. It took her a couple of moments of indecisiveness, in which Jimin looked at her questioningly, before taking the umpteenth deep breath of the evening.

She turned, the hem of her $30 000 black dress brushing almost magically over the carpet, and there he was. For a moment the memory of the nerdy boy from high school overlapped the image in front of her. She was well aware of the fact that he wasn’t that teenager anymore, she had seen his pictures, watched his movies and interviews. The boy she remembered was long gone: standing tall and proud, more than twenty feet from her, was now Jeon Jungkook ‘the actor’, dressed in a perfectly tailored night blue tux that highlighted his toned body, black patent leather shoes and impeccably styled hair.

And he was staring - with his dark and deep black eyes - right back at her.

#bts #bts fanfic #purplearmynet #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bts jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook romance #dfdph #spotlight

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sweetwritertanya · 4 years ago

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Nothing To Be Jealous About (Hoseok)

Summary: Hoseok is jealous after a guy flirts with you at work, something that you find quite entertaining. But your boyfriend has a plan on how to make sure you know how lucky you are for dating him.

Warnings: SMUT!! Maybe the last one of this series, but we’ll see. Meanwhile, be ready for: swearing, erotic body touching, exhibitionism, fingering, grinding, doggy style, mirror sex, unprotected sex (be smarter than this IRL guys!), squirting.

Word Count: 3570

One would think the tables would be reversed in this particular situation you found yourself in. That you would be the one frowning and sulking while puffing every other breath. It was honestly incredibly entertaining to watch this unfold, the usually bright and ball of positive energy that was your boyfriend throwing a childish tantrum due to jealousy.

He got inside the house first, taking off his leather coat and throwing it to the sofa, standing there with his white ripped t-shirt and black tight pants. You had barely closed the door before he started lecturing you.

“Yah, you should stop messing around! I mean, don’t you think that was a bit too much?” he asks, spinning in place to look at you, hands on his hips and usually smiling lips actually pulling down.

“Whatever do you mean?” you innocently ask, shrugging your shoulders as if you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Really? You wanna play like that, hum?” he fumes, crossing his arms and standing with his feet widely apart. “For once, I don’t feel like playing.”

“Then don’t.” You simply say, going past him in direction of the bathroom. “If you have something in your mind, just say so.”

He remains quiet as you go down the hall and enter the bathroom, first door on the left. While you wash your hands after doing your business, you kind of wonder if you pushed him too much. But then again, you thought it would be good to keep him on his toes every sometimes.

Hoseok was jealous because of the way a guy was talking and looking at you. You were a professional make-up artist and therefore met a lot of celebrities during the job. That was how you met Hoseok, by doing his make-up for quite a few months before he asked you out. Right now, you were hired by another company and your schedule circled mainly on this new boy group, one of the older guys from that group showing some particular interest in you.

Your plump frame and the way you dressed set you apart from the other artists you worked with, since you were not afraid of showing your figure with some more revealing clothes or wearing bright colors that caught the eye. Even right now, you were wearing a beautiful bright yellow romper with a pale blue and pink flower pattern. Malleable thighs uncovered by the short fabric and a deep v-neckline that showed a bit of cleavage due to your larger chest, you were not likely to go unnoticed. Nor did you want to. Nothing gave you more joy than showing off how fucking hot thick girls are.

And your boyfriend was incredibly supportive of that, always the first to compliment your outfits and whispering to you how sexy you looked while his hands couldn’t contain themselves and roamed your body. He was not, however, too happy when male attention turned into a full-fledge flirting with him right there in the room.

Of course, you would have ended any flirtation moves straight away if Hoseok hadn’t looked so incredibly cute while jealous, almond shadowed eyes showing just a bit too much white with how wide they got, straight eyebrows raised as he stepped closer to you and inserted himself in the conversation as he waited for you to be done. That tight fake smile that he kept the whole time, the tremendous effort to keep it in place as he nodded and gave big reactions to whatever was said. It was not a side of him you saw very much and you liked to see it once in a while, just so he won’t take you for granted.

As you dried your hands, loud music started playing and you knew Hoseok was off in the home-made dance studio he insisted on having in his house. You thought it was good for him to blow some steam off. If he was actually attentive, he would notice your playful leer and realize you were just teasing him a bit.

Making your way to the kitchen, you took out two water bottles from the fridge and went down the stairs to the basement where he was, intent on leaving him one of the bottles for him to drink after he was done. He had a habit of forgetting to restock the minifridge in the dance studio with refreshments unless you reminded him.

Hoseok seemed focused on his dancing, so you just started to walk away before he shouted something over the music you couldn’t quite hear.

“Would it kill you?” he shouted.

“What?” you yelled back, not understanding.

The exquisite dancer walked to the stereo and turned off the music so the house was silent once again. He was just a bit sweaty and didn’t seem that annoyed anymore.

“Would it kill you to just say I have nothing to be jealous about?” he repeats, almost sighing, walking slowly to the center of the room, puppy eyes and bottom lip sticking out.

You shrug your shoulders again as you walk forward, stopping in front of him with eyes looking up and head bobbing from side to side, lips pursed as if you were thinking about it. If not your playful stance, the mischievous smile that came to your lips would assure him that you were just teasing him for sure.

“Maybe you have.” You jest, looking sideways instead of at him.

“Oh, really?”

Suddenly, one strong arm pulls you by the waist flush against a sturdy defined chest, your hands raised in surprise landing on his muscular arms and his leg stepping in between your malleable ones. You giggle as you look up at Hoseok, he too wearing a genuine smile and raised eyebrows as he spoke.

“Are you saying someone else could make my sunshine blush so cutely like this, other than me?” he questions, one hand coming up to pinch your hot cheek while the other remained confidently at your lower back.

“Hum… Maybe if given the chance?” you wonder, avoiding his observant eyes.

“Too bad you don’t give them the time of day then, right?” he muses, hands starting a slow track up and down your back and bumpy sides, head falling to your shoulder and leaving small pecks at the exposed skin there. You smile and give in to the prickling sensations crawling up your spine at the feeling. “Because you know no one can make you feel like I do.”

His pecks raise up your tickling neck, making you crunch up in his arms as a response, and when you turn you head to look up at him, his lips catch your smiling ones for a sweet but demanding kiss. The way your lips mash together would make it undecipherable for anyone to tell where one ended and the other began, mouths moving avidly while attached together. He tasted of summer and warmth, tongue eventually curling around yours in a sensual breath-hitching dance.

Your body grows unbearably hot under his ministrations, melted lust running straight to your core. The hands you had on his arms were now crawling his neck and pulling at his hair in a brusquely manner, something that made Hoseok go crazy and growl loudly into your mouth. His fingers drop down to cup your abundant ass, squeezing and kneading at the fluffy flesh there.

“Let’s take this off, yeah?” he asks in an out of breath husky voice, searching for the zipper of your romper messily. “Show you the truth, hum?”

You frown in confusion for a second, some type of inquiring sound leaving your semi-open lips, but before you could formulate any more than that, he found the zipper and pulled the garment down harshly, leaving your body clothed in only a red set of lingerie.

“You’re so damn sexy. Too beautiful for your own good” he compliments almost in awe as he stares at you, something you relished in. No matter how many times he saw you naked, Hoseok never seemed to be any less impressed by you.

“Speak for yourself” you disagree, smirking.

“What the hell am I going to do with you, sunshine?” he asks as he moves around you, hands at your waist as he moves to your back and starts kissing the back of your neck. “I both want to show you off to the world and keep you hidden just for me.”

“I’m afraid it’s not really your choice, baby. I quite like making chins drop as I walk by, you know that” you conclude, trembling a bit when his index finger traces just in the most feather-like way the curve down your spine.

“I know. Which is why I should remind you how I am the only one who can make you feel this good.” He takes a pause to undo the hooks of your bra at your back, letting it drop at your feet. “Make it impossible for you to be with anyone else other than me.”

Biting and sucking hard on the skin beneath your shoulder, Hoseok’s rough hands come up from behind to catch your tits and skillful fingers play with your puckered nubs, making you squeal and bend down as you closed your legs together as a reaction to the electrifying jolts of pleasure that stroke your center. Your back arched and you could feel his hardening member against your ass cheeks, only contributing to your ever-growing need. You purposefully grinded your rump against him and he hissed, but only ended up teasing you mercilessly in return.

Thumbs stroking one, two, five times your erect nipples, only for his index finger to join the thumb and start pulling and tweaking them from side to side, as if a tuning button for a radio that only played your erotic moans and whimpers.

Your legs almost gave out at a particular harsh squeeze, pressing them together incredibly tightly in search of some relief for your burning womb. You felt like you might implode soon. His hands finally left your breasts then, falling to your round belly and fumbling with the meat there. Unable to take it anymore, you take your own hand in between your legs, aching for any relief. But Hoseok catches your wrist and impedes any further movement, lips ghosting over your left ear.

“Want me to touch you, sunshine?”

You bite your bottom lip and nod, just the thought making you moan.

Pushing your hand back to your sides, silently indicating you to keep them there, Hoseok slowly squats down, leaving a trail of hot kisses down your back before he hooks his fingers at the side of your panties, pulling them down your thick legs excruciatingly unhurried. You step out of them and he throws it somewhere, leaving open-mouthed kisses on the back of your thighs and your ass cheeks before coming back to his feet.

“If you want me to touch you, I need you to open your eyes” he demands from behind you, hands landing on your hips.

You didn’t even realize you had closed your eyes quite some time ago, focused on his touch and the feelings it brought. As you open them per his request, you are met with the image of your naked figure on the wall of mirrors in front of you, voluptuous curves and soft edges all on display, with a proud smiling Hoseok looking devilishly handsome behind you.

“I want you to see what I do to you” he explains.

Reconnecting his wide lips back to the skin of your neck and shoulders, his expert fingers trace the pattern of your stretch marks down the sides of your legs and make way in between them. You part your standing legs to give him space, watching with veiled eyes his digits disappear as he delves them in between your folds, your body shaking slightly at the so long-awaited touch. But he just brushes his fingers across the satin skin before withdrawing them cruelly, the result of your arousal evident on his hand.

“Ever get this wet for anyone else, sunshine?” he asks with a smirk evident on his voice.

“Just for you, baby” you reply, with a smirk of your own.

He giggles at your complacency, this time keeping one hand firmly on your waist and guiding his other one to your back, tracing the curve of your backside before settling his digits back at your center. Two long fingers continue rubbing the moist hot flesh, all the way from your sensible nerve cluster to your clenching entrance, making you moan out in a deep sigh, head falling back and landing on Hoseok’s shoulders as his fingers kept up the movement.

“Oh, fuc…! Hoseok, please, just!”

The touch was all too much and too little, your frustration so impending you couldn’t even manage to put it in a sentence. Finally, at last, his fingers slid in your starving cavern, fingertips moving fluidly in perfect strokes across your inner walls and providing the sweetest of reliefs, the tension that sprung your body getting more and more overthrown by the bliss of his touch.

He crooks his fingers as he moves them in and out at a growing pace, wrist twisting and setting such a speed that you knew for certain would end in your undoing, your pussy clenching on to his drenched fingers like a vice, the drag of his digits just in the right places making you about to lose your mind. The movement only seems to accelerate, squelching sounds making it abundantly clear how needy you were, and you are not even aware of the dirty echoes leaving your breathless mouth until he whispers in your ear and you are forced to quiet down in order to hear him above your drumming heart.

“Eyes open, my sunshine” he reminds you.

Again, you didn’t even realize you had them close. And when you open you understand what he wanted you to see so bad.

Your skin was beginning to glisten with sweat, your cheeks were flushed to a degree you had never seen before, your face scrunched up in absolute pleasure and your abundant flesh jiggling at every movement. But what he wanted you to see, what you only then realized, was that he was not the one moving his hand. Your hips were doing all the work, you were the one bouncing on his fingers like your life depended on it. You were the one fucking his fingers, not the other way around.

It took you over the edge. The image of him staying silently still while you fucked yourself on his digits was too much and your body stilled as ice while a volcano erupted from within you, the most high-pitched mixture of a moan and a whimper leaving your open lips as hot liquid pleasure ran down your legs and stained Hoseok’s hand and wrist.

“That’s it, that’s my girl” he praises proudly, actually moving his finger to help you ride out your orgasm as your body stilled. “Anybody ever made you feel so good like that? Hum?”

Even in the midst of catching your breath and regaining control over your body, you have enough sense to shake your head, even if he already knew the answer. No one had ever made you squirt like that except for Hoseok. It was like he was the only one who knew all the right buttons to push, knew your body even better than you yourself.

“I can’t get over how fucking sexy that is” he confesses, enveloping you in a tight hug from behind, arms encircling your fluffy middle. “Let’s see if we can make it happen again.”

You lick your lips as his arms leave you just as you hear the zipper of his trousers being pulled. Turning around to help with his growing problem, you are taken aback when instead he crashes into you for a deep overpowering kiss, small steps guiding you backwards as his mouth distracted you until your back hit the cold mirror of the wall. You gasp at the sudden contact and he takes advantage of that to turn you around again, this time pulling your back flush against his torso as he grabbed one of your tits, spilling out of his hand, the other pulling at your left leg just enough for him to slide his cock right in between your inner thighs.

“Remember, eyes open.”

From head to toe, you felt like your skin was caught on fire, the placement of his hands both cooling and scorching at the same time. Your semi-open eyes watch as he starts grinding his shaft against you, right in between your legs, rubbing at your tender slit. That familiar pull at your womb comes back full force as you see the red engorged tip of his cock appearing and disappearing as he grinds on you, glistening with what could both be your own juices or his own leakage.

“Ho-Hoseok!… Please!” you all but beg, closing your eyes as is all you can do to not fall apart.

The hand that was holding your waist comes up to tilt your chin back in order for him to deliver a messy kiss to your open lips. You kiss him back the best you can, your hands clawing over his, one at your breast and the other back at your hip. That’s when the tip teases at your entrance and you inhale a shuddering breath, arching your back towards him and hanging your head low as your teeth catch your bottom lip. In a swift thrust, Hoseok bottoms himself out in your welcoming pussy, hands squeezing at your flesh as tightly as your walls clenched around him.

The wet crown immediately lands at a sweet spot, his upward curve a perfect match for your cunt, never ceasing to make your body shudder on that first moment of absolute connection. Your bodies start sliding together with ease, his hips rocking back and forth at the same pace as yours, your hands ending up against the mirror in order to keep yourself steady.

“Are… Ahh… Are you watching, Y/N? See h-how I make you feel? H-how you make me feel?” he asks in struggling breaths; his own brain barely function in the midst of all this.

You try to, you really do. But it’s all so much, your slightly bend down naked body right in front of your eyes, bouncing and wiggling with each of his thrusts, legs standing apart as he plunges into you form behind, shirt still on and trousers and boxers pooling at his ankles. His ball sack keeps smacking your clit with each ramming and the tight knot inside your belly gets impossibly tighter and tighter. You have to close your eyes as you scream out, about to lose control of it all.

And then Hoseok grunts as he pulls your left leg up, hoisting the heavy limb with his strong left arm hooking under your knee the best it could, gyrating his hips against yours before continuing the pouncing with the different angle that hits precisely with particular depth the sweet spot he kept brushing before and you unequivocally come undone then.

You scream out and claw the mirror as the warm spread in your womb unfolds and the dam burst out, your slick heat spasming and tightening around Hoseok’s cock as cascading ripples of pleasure flooded you, your orgasm pouring out of your dripping pussy and bathing your inner legs and feet.

Hoseok curses and growls in a high pitch as he fucks you harder, the sounds with each thrust intensifying immensely after you squirted again and leading him to his own end, moves frenzied and shaft throbbing and twisting before releasing his own warm spurts of pleasure into your already flooded womb.

After a moment to breath, he steps out from behind you and you watch in the mirror with hooded eyes as a creamy mixture of your juices falls from you, joining the mess you made on the floor.

“Fuck, that was so hot” he exclaims as he pulls his trousers back on and pulls you in to a warm hug, kissing the top of your head, your forehead, your nose and cheeks.

“Sorry I messed up your floor” you apologize, still a bit out if it, cuddling further into his arms.

“You are more than welcome to mess up any part of my house with this type of mess” he claims, lips landing softly on yours.

You smile and sigh comfortably, one moment of welcomed relaxation passing by after the strenuous activity. But the hands circling your back start twitching slightly and you know exactly why.

“Time to get dressed and clean up?” you suggest, looking up at a very skittish Hoseok with his eyes set on the messy floor.

“Yes, please! Don’t worry, I’ll get the towels” he immediately agrees, leaving you behind as he gets the necessaries to clean up the floor of his dance studio. “Go ahead and start the shower, I’ll be right with you!”

You chuckle as you pick up your clothes, making your way to the bathroom without any effort to put them back on. The only drawback from Hoseok fucking you so good that you squirted was that he was unable to not clean the aftermath within twenty minutes or so. Not that you would ever complain.

#bts chubby!reader #bts chubby reader #bts x chubby reader #chubby reader #chubby!reader #bts hoseok #j hope #jeon hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #j hope smut #jhope x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts smut #plus size reader #kpop plus size #kpop chubby reader #kpop smut

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please-buckme · 4 years ago

Text

Wine. (Part 2) Hayden Christensen x reader

Warnings⚠️: slight mentions of sex, cussing

2133 words

Authors note: I might have gotten one slight detail wrong in regards to Hayden’s actually life but I’m not a fucking stalker so... don’t @ me.

———————————————

After you get back to your hotel room you wasted no time getting ready for tonight. You threw all the clothes out of your suitcase trying to find something to wear. He forgot to tell you the name of the restaurant, so you walked around a while before you found the one you were sure he was talking about. It was nice but not too nice. So if you showed up in a cute top and jeans you’d still fit in just fine. Thank god for that because you didn’t bring any dresses besides work, professional dresses. You didn’t want to come off stuck up so you just packed those right back up.

The only sad part about this date was that you were leaving tomorrow. Of course you found the cutest guy in LA the last day of your visit, however, you weren’t going to dwell on it. You’d rather go out and have a great time, then come back and have an even better time.. before you have to go.This all depended on if it went well, though. You were so nervous. How were you supposed to be sexy, sweet, cute and funny while also feeling like you’re going to throw up?

After you picked out your outfit you hopped in the shower. You stood under the water spoking it and the events of this morning in. Were you getting in over your head? You thought to yourself. This man was flat out gorgeous and way out of your league. Was someone standing behind you while he was talking to you?.. No, that just wouldn’t make sense. You laugh to yourself over how ridiculous you sounded right now. He seemed to like you for some reason. Maybe for sticking up for yourself or just not taking any of his shit. You didn’t know but whatever you did worked.

Before you got out of the shower you shaved.. everywhere and did a quick rinse and repeat for good measure. Once you got out you dried off, put on some PJ’s, since it was nowhere near time to leave, and tried taking a nap. All you could see was his face in your mind. He was older than you but still so beautiful. You wondered what he’d wear since this was a date to him. You pictured him in fitted dark jeans with a dark T and maybe a black ballcap. Just the image of that made you up your eyes, giving up on the whole napping idea. You decided to pack your suitcase back up and mess around on your phone for the rest of the time before getting dressed and ready to go meet him.

--------------------------------- That Night

The restaurant was just a few blocks from your hotel, so you walked instead of calling for a taxi. The night was warm but a steady warmness. Thank god the humidity wasn’t bad or your hair would’ve been a disaster, in that scenario you would’ve just gone back to the hotel and died.

You were nearing the corner when you saw him saying outside waiting for you. Pausing in your steps you took a deep breath, scanning your eyes over his body. You were right about the dark T, it was black. The jeans he wore were a darker blue but more baggy than you’d expected. You focused on his hands now, in them were a hat, as expected, and a single red rose.This made you blush. Should you have brought him something, you think to yourself, like a six pack or something? No, that’s ridiculous. Taking in one more deep breath you made your way to him.

You cleared your throat as you approached him from behind, “Um, hi.” You greeted him shyly. He gave you that beautiful smile you’d been dying to see for what felt like your whole laugh. He now took this opportunity to trail his eyes up and down your body.

“Wow, you look incredible.” He says before continuing, “Oh this is for you!” he handed you the rose he’d been holding. That gesture was something you’d only ever seen in movies and you honestly can’t believe you’re the girl on the receiving end this time.

“This- this is so thoughtful.” You say looking at him and back down at the rose. “I should’ve brought you something.” You state.

“Like what a 6 pack.” You looked at him surprisingly before laughing, he laughed too. “I guess you know for next.” Next time? You aren’t even close to being through with the first date and he’s already planning a second one? You just nod your head. Hayden reaches for your hand to walk you into the restaurant.

Once you got in and seated the short lived awkward silence appeared. You decided to help the conversation along, “So, you never answered my question from before.” You say playfully.

He laughs, “I’m sorry, what was the question again?”

“Have you lived here long?”

“Um, yeah kinda. I spend time here when I work and when I’m working I go back home to my farm.” This intrigued you.

“You.. have a farm?” he laughed at your reaction and nodded. “Where is this farm?” you ask.

“In a town just outside of Toronto.” You look up from your menu to now look at his face.

“So you’re from Canada?” you ask.

“Yeah! Where are you from?” he asks in return.

“That’s really cool.” You say before adding where you’re from and telling him all about your childhood. A little bit of time guys by while you both get caught up in conversation. When they waiter comes over to get your drink order he orders a beer, you a wine.

“So you’re a wine drinker?” He asks.

“Yes but I can throw a few beers back if I need to. Wine in public just makes me look more classy.” You say, he laughs.

You both have an amazing time talking and laughing. It felt so natural with him, like you’d known each other your whole lives. He told you about his family and you told him of yours. He asked what your job was and he actually seemed intrigued by it all. When you told him an embarrassing story from your childhood he was so engaged, hanging on to every word that fell from your lips.

You’d both finished your meals well over an hour ago and it still felt like the date had just started. “So what do you do?” You ask him.

“As a profession?” He reiterated.

“...Yes.” You said laughing.

“Oh you know, little of this, little of that.” You furrowed your eyebrows at his response.

“So you’re a.. con artist.” He shook his head at you with a grin on his face.

He laughed for quite some time before actually being able to answer. “I’m- I’m an actor.” You sighed in relief. At this point you had no idea what he was going to say.

“Oh that’s really cool. Would have seen anything you’re in?” You ask while finishing off your fourth glass of wine. You were beginning to feel the effects of the wine but you weren’t showing it. You didn’t want him to see you at your worst on the first date.

“Honestly if you don’t recognize me right here and now, then no.” He shrugged.

“What’s that supposed to mean.” You ask defensively.

“I mean if you’d seen my more popular movies you would’ve recognized me right away. That’s sort of why I got so defensive which I’m still really sorry about.” You shrugged in response. He then continued, “Like see that couple over there?” He asked tilting his head for you to look behind your back. “They’ve been staring at us all night and while I’d say it’s from your beauty, I know it’s because they know me.” You blush slightly while nodding your head in understanding.

“Does that upset you?” You ask.

“Only some times, not right now though. I want people to see me with the most beautiful girl in the world.” He grabs your hand from the table, “I’ve had a really great time with you tonight, I just wanted you to know that. It’s been a long time since I've met someone so exciting and real.” He kisses at your knuckles. He then places it back on the table covering it with both his hands now. “Can I just ask you one thing?” You nod. “What the hell is your name?” You both laugh at that.

“I was never given a name.” You joke. He gives you a puzzled look, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He sighs almost in relief before you tell him your actual name.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He says with a smirk across his face.

“I could’ve told you any name and you would’ve said that.” You smirk in response to his.

“Yup.” He laughs. You release your hand from under his to playfully slap his arm. “But your name is beautiful nonetheless.“ You blush once again before telling him thank you. You two carry on this way until they told you the restaurant would be closing soon. You insisted on buying one of his drinks from the evening. He finally caved after you told him you’d pay for the whole thing if he didn’t let you do it.

Once he paid for the meal and you one drink, you headed outside. “Where do you live,” He asked. “I could walk you home.” You stop walking for a second.

“You.. can walk me back to my hotel.” You say scrunching your face up at him. He stood there staring at you with his mouth hung open.

“You don’t leave here?” He asked with a tinge of anger in his voice.

“It’s my last night actually..” He huffed in disbelief.

“You couldn’t have told me that at the beginning of the date?” He walked in slow circles trying to calm himself down.

“I didn’t think it would affect you this bad.”

He huffed again, “How could it not? I know you feel the same way I do right now.” You felt tears brim at your eyelashes. He was right. You’d both had such an amazing time together, better than you ever had with anyone else. His thought processes right now must be that you were just using him to get through the last night of your stay. That couldn't be further from the truth.

“Of course I do,” You finally say, “I’ve never had a better time with anyone else but just for tonight can we just focus on tonight? If you still like me in the morning then we’ll go from there.” He’s looking at you now, “I want to say we’ll work this out but I’d need to know that you’d be mine as much as I’d be yours.” You look down at the ground. You won’t will yourself to cry, not in front of him and not in this moment. You watch his shoes as they make their way to step right in front of you.

You’re still staring at the ground while he links his pointer finger under your chin, lifting it up gently. “I’m yours if you want me to be, I’m whatever you want me to be. There's just no way I’m letting you go.” He brings his other hand up to your cheek rubbing to it gently with his thumb. You put your hand atop of his and smile a big, goofy smile back at him. He sighed brushing back your hair. He leaned into slowly hovering over your lips before asking, “Can I kiss you?”

You giggled before responding, “Of course you can.” You felt him smirk against your lips before locking his lips to your in an eternity awaited kiss. His lips were plump and soft against yours. In some way he felt familiar, like home, like you’d always been destined to kiss his lips in this life or another. You could also taste a hint of sweetness among the alcohol that still lingered on his lips.

He started to deepen the kiss which was totally okay with you but you did have other plans in mind. He swept his tongue along your lips asking for permission again. You pulled away to look at him instead. He opened his eyes to meet yours. “Is everything alright.” He asked, you smiled.

“Everything’s perfect, that’s why I want you to walk me back to my hotel.”

“Oh o-“

“Room,” you said, cutting him off. “My hotel room.” You reiterated.

“Oh!” He exclaimed. He removed his hands to your face and brought them back down to grab each of your hands, “let's go then.” You nodded in excitement before heading back to your hotel room. You were definitely in love with this man.

Part 1 (Coffee)

xMasterlist.x

#anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker x reader #hayden christensen reader insert #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen gif #fanfic #star wars #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen imagines

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duskowithapen · 4 years ago

Text

Day One: Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU

Writers Month 2020: Day One

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Luka x Marinette

Of Flowers and Tattoo Needles

Miraculous AU where Marinette is the tattoo artist with some very impressive ink and Luka is pining from across the way where he works at his sister’s flower shop. Day One of Writer’s Month 2020 – Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction

“You’re drooling.”

Luka straightened quickly, wiping a hand over his chin. “No I’m not.” He turned around to see his sister walking in from the back room, a sprig of lavender tucked behind her ear.

“You might as well have been,” she says, walking closer to lean beside him at the counter. “Not that I’d blame you – Marinette’s cute.”

The Marinette in question was the owner of the tattoo parlour across the way. On quiet days like today, she could be seen sitting outside her shop with a sketchbook. Luka swallowed dryly. The sun was shining off her impressive tattoo – a full sleeve that wound around her wrist and up over her shoulder in a tangle of flowers and vines that he couldn’t see clearly.

“Well?” Juleka’s dry voice snaps his attention back.

“Well what?”

She waved a hand towards the door. “Are you going to get a tattoo?”

Luka splutters. “W-What? Why would I – what makes you think –” How’d she known I’d considered it?!

He’s saved by the bell – literally – as Rose walks in. “Jule’s, what are you doing to your poor brother this time?” She asks, joining them at the counter which was suddenly feeling a little cramped.

Pecking her partner on the cheek, Juleka smiles innocently. “Trying to convince him to get a tattoo.”

“Oh, you totally should!” Rose claps her hands. “You have to go to Marinette – between her and Nathaniel, you’ll get the coolest tattoo! Marinette was the one who designed ours!”

“Really?” Luka glance at Juleka’s uncovered wrist. It was ringed by a flower wreath – red and purple roses (passionate love and love at first site), hot pink dahlias (commitment) and bright red gladiolus’ (strength and integrity). Rose had one exactly the same. It was a beautiful representation of their relationship – one Luka was waiting for them to consummate with a marrige. It was also a nod to their shared brainchild.

The Secret Garden might have only been a few years old, but it had blossomed into one of the most successful flower shops in Paris, often completely selling out around any holiday, and with a reputation for incredible flower arrangements, which Luka was proud to say he had a hand in.

Luka smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a tattoo,” he said after a moment, “Maybe something for you and mum – like her raven tattoos.”

Juleka’s smile was small, but no less terrifying for it. “Then go talk to Marinette now. Doesn’t look like she has any clients.” She was still sitting outside her shop.

As Luka was pushed out the door, Rose shoved a small posy of cherry blossoms into his hand. “Give Marinette these – they’re her favourite!”

How does she know her favourite flowers? Luka thought wildly as the door locked behind him. Slowly crossing the narrow avenue, he could feel their gaze burning into the back of his neck, and his hands became sweaty. They were making him nervous. He didn’t normally get nervous. He normally wasn’t going to ask a very cute girl to give him a tattoo.

Marinette looked up as he approached, and he couldn’t help but notice how adorable the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks were. Luka dug his fingers into his leg. You’re here for a tattoo, he reminded himself, not to check out the artist! But he couldn’t stop himself from taking in the blue sheen to her pigtailed hair, the welcoming smile stretched across her face, the impressive artwork which looked even better close up. Spiralling around her arm on pale green stalks and vines were cherry blossoms, pink orchids, blue morning glories, larkspur, hyacinths and bright yellow daffodils. Renewal, fertility and abundance, affection, cheer and goodwill, sincerity, luck and good fortune… he thought absently. After so long working with flowers – and even longer hearing about them from Rose – the symbolism came to mind automatically.

“Uh… hello?”

Luka blinked. Her eyes are really blue. Then he remembered himself and smiled. “Sorry. Are you Marinette?”

Her grin became wider. “Yup! Are you Juleka’s brother?”

“Yeah. She and Rose said that these were your favourite flowers?” He held out the blossoms. “They asked me if I could give them to you.” Well, technically they did. Even if it was meant to be more from me than them.

“Awww, thank you!” Marinette buried her nose in the pale pink petals and breathed deep. “They’re beautiful!”

“You’re welcome,” Luka said numbly. Her smile was almost blinding. “Uh, there was something else.”

Marinette’s head tilt made her pigtails bounce. It should be illegal for someone to look this adorable. “How can I help?”

“I was wondering about getting a tattoo.”

“Oh, of course!” Marinette leapt to her feet. “What else do you come to a tattoo parlour for? I’m so sorry, come in and we can get started right away!” She babbled. “Or should I say, welcome to Charmed Ink! Do you have any ideas for what you want? I’m partial to flowers as you can see, but I’m good at more tribal stuff too, and lettering, but Nathanial’s the best for portraits and a lot of the animal stuff..”

She continued to talk even as Luka took in Charmed Ink. The art on the inside of the tattoo parlour made it look larger than the comparatively small storefront suggested. The back wall was painted with an incredible mural of cherry blossom trees in full bloom, framing a red bridge arching over a river. The side walls were white and in scattered groups were photos of tattoo art – in one clump was a variety of dragon tattoos, in another was various words in all different fonts. The two tattoo stations were set in the back corners, with a small waiting area directly before the entrance. This was where Marinette led him, stopping quickly at a desk partially hidden by a folding screen.

She noticed his awed look at the back mural and smiled, a little calmer now. “That was a collaboration between Alix and Nathanial – he’s my other tattooist. They were all in my class in collége and lycée – same with Juleka and Rose, actually.”

“They did a great job,” Luka murmured. “And I’ve seen your work before – the tattoo you did for my sister was incredible. I was kinda looking for something similar.”

“Were you wanting a tattoo on your wrist too?” Marinette sat on one of the plush couches, and Luka sat across from her.

“No, I was thinking of something on my shoulder – my left shoulder,” He gestured, “Maybe going down my arm a little? I don’t want to go for a full sleeve now, but looking at your tattoo, I’d definitely consider it for the future.”

Marinette’s blush travelled across her cheeks and up her ears. “That – that’s a good plan. I can definitely work with that.” She made a note before looking at him under he lashes. “Were you wanting flowers?”

At Luka’s confused look, she continued, “You said you wanted something similar to your sisters, but you didn’t want it on your wrist…?”

“Ah, that’s right.” Luka tapped at his knee a little, quick staccato beat. “Yeah, I was thinking blue iris, gladilous and maybe daffodils.”

“Is there a meaning behind those flowers, or…?” Marinette made another note.

Luka nodded. “Yeah. Gladiolus’ are mum and Juleka’s birth flowers, not to mention their symbolism – strength and integrity. Blue Iris’ are my birth flower, meaning faith and hope, and daffodils are good luck and good fortune, but I also like the yellow.”

Marinette hummed. “I take it your favourite colour is blue?” She asked, waving her pencil at his blue hoody and matching Jagged Stone t-shirt. With a wince, he realised he was still wearing the Secret Garden apron over his faded jeans. Whoops.

“How did you guess.” Luka deadpanned, and he grinned at Marinette’s chuckle. “But seriously, yeah, I like blue and yellow. And, if we’re going for something like the start of a sleeve… think you could incorporate a snake or something in there?”

“Snakes are transformation and renewal, aren’t they?” Marinette murmured as she wrote. “There was this one symbol I remember, with a snake biting its tail…”

“The ouroboros,” Luka nodded, “It’s an eternity symbol.”

“Hmmmm…” Marinette started sketching in earnest. “So we’re going for something that can be added to later, definitely going for a circling snake – probably around your arm – but should the head be going up or down – put the flowers in colour clusters, or mix them up… maybe have them growing out of the snake? But if the snake is blue… you’ve got the more teal tips to your hair, so I could go for something more on the green side of the spectrum to help tie it in, but the snake should also stand out…”

All Luka could do was watch as Marinette seemed to get lost in a creative haze. Her pencil moved rapidly over the page as she sketched, occasionally going back over a line with her eraser, muttering about her hand not listening to her brain. Once or twice she looked something up on her phone before continuing – at one point, she leapt out of her seat to go and stare at one of the photos on the wall.

This process went on for about twenty minutes, Luka browsing through social media in between watching Marinette with what Juleka would probably class as a ‘disgustingly lovestruck’ look on his face. He couldn’t help it! She was just so vibrant, pouring all this passion into her work. Not to mention the cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she seemed to struggle with something at the bottom of the page.

Marinette slammed her sketchbook down with a bang that made him jump. “So! I have a tentative outline – tell me what you like and don’t like, and we can work from there.”

The sketch – and Luka didn’t know how Marinette could class this as an outline given the level of detail – featured all the aspects he wanted. On the front and back sketch of his arm and shoulder was a winding snake, the head sitting just under his collarbone and the rest of its body circling his arm before ending just above his elbow. But it didn’t just circle his arm. It also twisted around the gnarled and knotted stems that supported intricate bursts of flowers. An iris sat directly below the snakes head before more flowers dotted the stem around his shoulder to a larger, more detailed flower on his shoulder blade. Gladiolus’s tangled with the main body of the snake, interspersed with tiny iris’ and leaves, merging with daffodils close to his elbow. Each flower differed in size, though the iris on his back was the largest, probably about the size of his palm if he got the proportions right. Notes on both sides of the sketch were arms with arrows and a frankly scary amount of question marks. Luka looked away when he saw the words ‘dark coffee brown’ and ‘burgundy vs wine’.

“This… this is incredible Marinette.” He looked up at where she was wringing her hands. When she bit her lip, he had to refrain from reaching up and biting it for her. Concentrate Couffaine!

Marinette giggled, the sound high with nerves. “Thanks Luka. It’s a bit rough, and I’d want to go over the colours with you before we start anything, but I’m glad you like it. Anything you’d want to change?”

“Not really,” He hummed. “How would you continue this, if you were going for a full sleeve?”

When Marinette took a seat at his side, leaning into his shoulder a little, Luka stiffened. He hadn’t noticed before, but she’d split the posy of cherry blossom flowers into two and attached them to her pigtails – their scent wafted over him, and he tried not to breathe too deeply. “Well, if I was going to do a full sleeve with the snake, I’d make the snake the body of the tattoo,” she said, pointing at various parts of the sketch, “Probably make the circuits wider and accentuate the gaps a little more with the flowers. The head would have to be a little bigger, to make it proportionate, but otherwise not much would change.”

Luka nodded slowly. “So, say, if you maybe did that – the thing with the head and the – the circuits? And then have the snake ‘end’ in a clump of flowers above my elbow.” It was his turn to point, dragging a finger along the clump of daffodils and trying very hard to ignore the way Marinette pressed just a little closer to see. “Maybe if you added some of the gladiolus and iris here as well, and then if I add more to the tattoo later, you can have the rest of the body kind of emerge from there.”

“That would work really well actually,” Marinette said as she took the sketchbook back. Luka tried not to pout as her warmth moved away. “I can make a wreath just above your elbow – kinda like what I did for Juleka and Rose – and have the snake’s body ‘disappear’ into that. It would be easy work to make it ‘reappear’ beneath it later.”

Marinette scribbled these notes in as she spoke, before turning back to him. “So, about price… for a piece like this – half sleeve, colour and design… you’re looking at about one and a half grand.”

His eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. “That low?” While he hadn’t seriously thought about getting a tattoo before today, he’d spent time with a lot of people who had. A full sleeve tattoo could cost as much as four grand – a half sleeve would be at least two.

“You’re getting the friends and family discount.” Marinette shrugged. “And I’ve been in a bit of a designing rut lately – all people seem to want are dragons or family names. This is a bit of a godsend, actually.”

Luka smirked. “Friends and family discount, huh?”

With her nose in the air, Marinette sassed, “Of course. Juleka’s my friend, and you’re her family.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Luka leaned in a little. “That’s why, huh? I’m hurt Marinette.”

“Hopefully you aren’t so sensitive when it comes time for me to break out the needles, Luka. I don’t want to listen to you crying for the six hours this is going to take.” The smirk she shot him sent a thrill through his chest. She’s got some fire.

“Oh believe me, Marinette.” Luka steadied himself on the couch back behind her shoulders and gave Marinette his best stage-ready, sweet-talking, come-hither bedroom eyes before growling out, “I don’t think six hours with you will be any hardship.”

#WritersMonth2020 #tattoo artist/florist au #miraculous ladybug #lukanette #tattoo artist marinette #ao3 #fanfiction #I'm a day late #sorry

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606writings · 4 years ago

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Hii, I was wondering if you could make a Todoroki request. Basically his gf/bf loves Billie Eilish( both of them are in the class 1-A) and one day, they have to keep the event in a secure state, but they would never imagine to see y/n singing “ all the good girls go to hell” with Billie. How would be their reaction and what todoroki would do after the song and after the presentation( it would be the American Music awards 2019), sorry if it’s too detailed and thank u 4 your attention 😊👋🏻👋🏻😊

SC: All the good girls go to Hell... [Todoroki Shoto]

Genre: Fluff.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1,482

A/N: Okay this turned out a lot longer than I expected lmao. I tried my best with this since it was hard to find an excuse for Billie to invite Y/N to sing with her, but this definitely was so fun to write! I hope you enjoy it!

“I can’t believe we get to attend Billie’s concert!” You said making little jumps excited.

“We’re not attending her concert. We were ones of the many Pro Heroes summoned to be part of the security. Remember we’re not here to have fun, we’re working.”

You looked up to the Hero beside you and nodded intensely.

You were at the Tokyo Metropolitan Theater alongside the Pro Hero you were doing your Hero Agency Internships with, to ensure the safety of none other than Billie Eilish, the famous alternative pop singer. Her staff requested the assistance of a lot of Pro Heroes, since there were rumors on the internet that a group of haters would be attending the concert to create commotion and ruin the concert.

You weren’t the only one, some of your 1°A classmates were summoned too, accompanied by sidekicks of the Agencies they were working with, including your boyfriend, Todoroki.

You two haven’t seen each other since the whole Internship thing started because you were both busy, so you wanted to have some time off to chat with him. But that wasn’t what kept you fidgeting, you were more excited about the fact that you’ll be at one of your favorite singer’s shows, and maybe you’d get to see her in person.

“We have to escort the artist in and out of the building and confirm the identity of every person present in the room to ensure everyone’s safety. Understood?” Said the Hero.

“Yes, sir!”

When it was time to finally escort Billie into the building you positioned yourself where you were told, and from your place you could spot Todoroki’s peculiar hair. You tried getting his attention and he finally noticed you, he smiled at you and waved.

“The artist is entering the building. Confirm your positions.” You heard one of the bodyguards talk through his radio.

The staff continued to confirm everyone’s positions as they all started walking. You had to follow them and stay at a certain distance from them. But it was close enough for you to see her clearly.

‘It’s really her! I can´t believe it!’ You thought biting your lips to hold back the smile that kept looming out in your mouth.

Everyone was rushing through the hall to get to the dressing room as quick as possible. While all the heroes present continued studying the place in search of signs of any disturbance.

When you were almost at the dressing room’s door, you had to walk in front of her and enter the room first along with Todoroki and the sidekick hero accompanying him. And just when you opened the door, three masked people hurriedly came out and directed their attacks to Billie, a couple meters behind you.

Without waiting a second, Todoroki and the pro hero beside him reacted and took two of them down without even using their quirks. But the one remaining used his quirk to slip through them and ran directly to Billie.

You took a step back and blocked his way, he took out what seemed to be a paintball gun and shot aiming to Billie’s chest. You reacted quickly and used your quirk to stop the paint balls before they even hit her.

As you were just a hero in training, you weren’t allowed to use your quirks to attack someone, so your only option was to use a self-defense technique and with all your might, pin the person down keeping his arms behind him, pulling the gun away from him.

The rest of the pro heroes standing behind the staff came in hurriedly and took care of the situation. They apprehended the three of them and called the police, so they’d get arrested.

“Ahhh, well done, kids!” The two pro heroes in charge of Todoroki and you congratulated you. “You managed the situation well, now I know this was a good opportunity for you.”

“Are you two Pro Heroes?”

A sudden soft female voice called from behind you. You froze for a second recognizing her.

Watching how you petrified, Todoroki replied for the two of you:

“No, we’re still students. We’re doing internships.”

You turned around and found your favorite singer approaching you slowly with an incredulous look on her face.

“Well thank you, guys, that was amazing.”

“I-I…” You stuttered trying to get the words out of your mouth.

She looked at you, laughing lightly and looked back at Todoroki.

“What happened to her?” She asked your boyfriend.

“Uhh… I think she’s just nervous because she’s a big fan of yours.” He answered, placing a hand on your shoulder trying to calm you down.

“Oh, well…” Billie gazed at you, and while smiling she took a step forward. “You sing?”

“E-Excuse me?” You asked confused.

“Yes, she sings your songs all the time and she actually sounds great.” Todoroki answered for you once again, seeing how you still couldn’t believe the situation.

“Want to join me on stage?”

“WHAT?!” The question made you unfroze and step back surprised.

“I think the audience wouldn’t mind you singing a song with me, after all you’re a fan of mine and you protected me.”

“Umm… I don’t know…”

You felt a pair of hands pushing you slightly from behind and your boyfriend’s voice whispered in your ear:

“Come on, Y/N, I know you can do it. You shouldn’t miss this chance.”

Taking a deep breath and trusting Todoroki’s words, you nodded towards Billie and accepted her offering.

After that, Todoroki walked behind you all the way to the stage, trying to hide his smile. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was so happy to see you get the opportunity to collab at least for a moment with one of your favorite singers.

He knew how much you admired her and how you were looking forward to this night even if you could only see her from afar.

Billie finally came out to the stage and announced:

“Before starting the show, I would like to introduce someone who did a great job tonight. Back at the dressing room she protected me along with other heroes, but I wanted to thank her specially since she’s a fan of mine.”

Billie invited you to her side and the crowd started cheering.

Todoroki was waiting just a few steps aside where the staff watched through the show. He could spot some of his classmates working down the stage. They were obviously surprised and confused, but at the same time excited to see one of their friends perform with an international celebrity.

At that moment the lights went off and the piano started to play.

All the good girls go to Hell…

Billie’s smooth voice filled the theater and the crowd calmed down for a bit allowing her to raise her voice slowly.

‘Cause even God himself has enemies…

Todoroki remembered the lyrics since you were always singing at class or while going on a date. You had an amazing voice and could match up perfectly Billie’s.

He couldn’t deny that Billie Eilish was an incredible singer, but he was more excited to hear you sing.

The stage lighted up showing the singer standing up from a chair next to the piano, at the center. You walked to her side and continued singing.

Standing there, killing time.

While everyone admired your vocal skills, almost at the same level as hers, Todoroki observed you proudly.

Even though you looked like a shy girl at first, you were confident and strong. He wasn’t surprised when you took down that one guy before, because he always saw how much you trained and strived to be a good hero.

The song came to an end and you were panting, your face completely red from dancing and following Billie’s movements through the stage.

After parting from her, you approached your boyfriend.

“That was amazing, Shoto!”

He laughed and took your hand to guide you somewhere far from the staff, and finally arriving at the dressing room.

“You should rest for a bit, babe.” He suggested putting a kiss on your forehead.

“So, what do you think? Maybe I should quit this hero dream and become a singer.” You winked at him jokingly.

“But then we wouldn’t study and train together.” He pouted caressing your cheek.

“Mmm, you’re right, this is more fun.”

He glared at you for a few seconds before embracing you gently.

“I love to see you enjoy yourself like this, Y/N…” He murmured close to your ear, making you shiver.

“W-Why?”

“Because I can appreciate how bold and beautiful you are while doing the things you like… You look so happy, and that makes me ten times happier…” He sighed and placed another kiss on your flushed cheek.

You buried your face on his chest trying to hide your big smile.

And you knew perfectly what he meant because that’s exactly how you felt about him too.

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aurorawest · 4 years ago

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⭐️⭐️

I decided to go with this section from chapter 5 of Will you be my festar-man? Love and courtship in the New Asgardian court (or, How Loki Stopped Worrying and Proposed to Stephen Strange)!

Chapter 5 is the hårkullornas, a word I...kind of made up. But the thing itself is based on a real concept. This is the chapter where Loki weaves the thing out of his hair and Stephen’s hair. In this bit, Loki has just arrived at the Sanctum:

With a snort, Loki said “We will not be checking on her. That very much sounds like a job for the Sorcerer Supreme.” Glancing at the door that the creature had been trying to come through, which was now innocuously open to a sun-dappled, grassy hillside, Loki said, “That wasn’t the thing you were after the other night, was it?”

“No,” Stephen said. “That thing was a lot uglier.”

Callback to earlier in the chapter, when Stephen comes over to New Asgard to bone, then leaves to go fight some sort of creature.

I find that there’s a ton of comedic potential in Stephen’s enemies. I love to make reference to all these kinds of ridiculous things and play them off as funny. Tonally, think Beetlejuice, Ghostbusters, that kind of thing—where yeah, this stuff would be at home in a horror story, but I play it for laughs. The modern Doctor Strange comics do this a lot too.

“Mm hm.” Loki motioned to his own hair and said, “You have something on your head.”

Stephen reached up and felt the glop in his hair. “Probably calls for a shower.”

Smiling slightly, Loki asked, “Am I invited?”

“Well,” Stephen said, “it’s in your hair too, so yeah.”

When Loki made a face, Stephen chuckled. He opened a portal in the floor, draining the amniotic fluid to—somewhere. Sometimes Loki wondered if Stephen sent things like this to the same pocket dimension that he’d once sent Loki to. It was sort of an insulting thought. He’d get annoyed, but Stephen had apologized long ago for that.

We actually see this moment in my fic but it hasn’t been posted yet.

Once the fluid drained away, Stephen teleported them straight to the bathroom, where both of them stripped off their clothes. The Sanctum’s shower was really too small for the two of them to be in there at the same time, but it had never stopped them. Loki had to reach around Stephen for the soap and shampoo, which gave him the opportunity to lean against Stephen’s back and kiss his shoulder. Stephen grabbed Loki’s arm and wrapped it around his stomach, and Loki pulled him back against his own chest, leaving his lips pressed against Stephen’s skin.

Their positioning was very purposeful. One of my biggest pet peeves in the Loki fandom is like...really rigid gender norms, wherein Loki is feminized to an absurd degree. The kind of gender norms where Loki can’t top. Loki can’t be the big spoon. Loki can’t stand behind Stephen and hug him. Having Loki be even mildly more ‘dominant’ here (in that he pulls Stephen back against him) was a...counterpoint to that.

Loki’s clothes weren’t in much of a state to put back on, so he changed into some of Stephen’s. This was, personally, never his favorite thing to do, though he had to admit that the old sweatshirt and sweatpants were comfortable.

There’s a head canon that floats around out there that Loki would love to lounge in Stephen’s comfy clothes. I don’t agree with that at all, but I do love the image of Loki in Stephen’s clothes.

Unstylish, but comfortable.

I hc that Stephen is incredibly poorly dressed, and Loki is forever exasperated by it.

His own clothes got balled up, stuck in a garbage bag, and vanished to his pocket dimension to deal with later.

Aka, never, probably.

“In the interest of full disclosure,” Stephen said, “Music in the Park is happening again tonight.”

I had to add this because I realized it was Friday again, and I had established in chapter 3 that Music in the Park happens on Fridays in Washington Square Park.

“Not Haydn, I take it?”

“Mahler.”

“Ah. You must like Mahler.”

Stephen was still dressed only in his underwear, possibly because he was waiting to hear if they were going out, possibly because he just liked the way Loki was looking at him. With a shrug, he said, “What can I say; I like the Romantics.”

The amount of time I spent looking at various classical artists to determine which ones Stephen hates and which ones Stephen loves is honestly a little sad. I always say there’s like, a little Stephen Strange in my head, and he tells me what music he likes and what he doesn’t like (I realize that makes me sound like a crazy person). I have a Stephen’s Favorite Songs playlist, and there are songs on there that personally, I don’t really care for. But Stephen does! I just know it. I knew that Stephen would like the Romantic composers, but I had to find just the right one. And Mahler it was.

Rubbing at his damp hair, Loki looked at Stephen’s bed. There was a stack of books on the bedside table. Considering his current sartorial choices, sitting in bed and reading seemed like a better option than going out.

Plus…the hårkullornas. Perhaps it was better to give it to Stephen sooner rather than later.

Which could be said for other things, once the hårkullornas was out of the way.

Some innuendo.

Stephen was looking at him, waiting for an answer. There was a t-shirt in his hands, open and ready to be donned. Loki smiled at him. “If we stay in, does that mean you won’t get dressed?”

With a laugh, Stephen said, “Let me put a shirt on at least, Odinson. We have to leave something to the imagination once in awhile.”

Personally, Loki was hoping it was one of the shirts that was tight enough that it didn’t leave all that much to the imagination.

Loki is so horny for Stephen.

[...] Loki held a hand out. The box with the hårkullornas appeared in his palm and he turned to face Stephen, thrusting the box at him. “Here. I made this for you.”

“Made what?” Stephen asked, pulling his shirt over his head. There was the barest flicker of trepidation on his face when he emerged. “It’s not more food, is it?” When Loki gave him a nonplussed look, Stephen said, “So…no?”

“I learned my lesson with the cake,” Loki said. Not really; the rest of the courtship just didn’t require any baking.

I love to make Loki tell really minor lies, and this is a really good example. Oh no, I wouldn’t bake anything else, Stephen! No he totally would have if he needed to, but he sees absolutely no harm in telling this white lie.

And it was a good thing, too, because he didn’t think he’d be able to get Stephen to eat another baked good that he’d made.

“You’re a good cook,” Stephen said. “Just…maybe stick to Kringla Bakery for the other stuff.”

Kringla Bakery is the name of the bakery in the Norway Pavilion in Epcot at Walt Disney World. They have eplekake on the menu, which I did not realize until last time I was there a few weeks ago. Eplekake is the recipe Loki uses as a base for the cake he makes Stephen in chapter 3. We really came full circle on this one.

Rolling his eyes, Loki said, “Noted. Are you going to open that? I promise it isn’t food. Or the vague approximation of food.”

Kringla Bakery, honestly. New Asgard’s sole bakery catered to tourists and tourists only. Loki wouldn’t be caught dead in there.

New Asgard as a tourist destination is endlessly entertaining to me. It’s really versatile, too. Sometimes I play it for laughs, sometimes I turn it into this really kind of wistful, sad thing. This is supposed to be funny, hopefully obviously.

Thank you so much for asking!!

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

#froststrange #strangefrost #loki #stephen strange #wybmfm #Anonymous

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harryandmolly · 5 years ago

Text

Change of Pace - 20 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 6k

----------

Maya wakes up humming “Walking on Sunshine” like she’s a protagonist in a Nancy Meyers movie. She doesn’t hate it.

By the time she heads back in from her very early morning surf and outdoor shower, she’s full on singing it, scooting barefoot around the kitchen to make coffee, wrapped in a towel, thinking about the night before.

As badly as she wanted the night to continue, she woke up feeling refreshed by their choice to keep their pace slow and easy. She feels virtuous and clear headed and eager to see him again.

She plugs her phone in to the impressive house-wide stereo system she installed and puts Katrina and the Waves on repeat, just like they deserve.

She wonders if Shawn’s awake. Her fingers are itchy for some artistic output. She wants to draw him. She wants to draw him now.

Maya: hi :) are you up yet?

Shawn: Hey

Shawn: I am now, sugar

Maya: well are you hungry?

Shawn: Oh fuck yes

Maya: good. Come bring me food!

Shawn: uhhh

Shawn: Maybe if you learn to say please :)

Maya: how about pretty please

Maya: with sugar on top

Shawn: Wow baby

Shawn: above and beyond like always

Shawn: what do u want though?

Maya: anything from that perfect, sensational, wonderful diner of yours

Shawn: liver and onions it is

Maya: gross boy. I was thinking more like a biscuit egg sandwich? I have the good coffee here :)

Shawn: and extra, extra crispy bacon

Shawn: coming right up madame

Maya bites her lip and scampers up the stairs to get ready. Since she’s Maya and he’s Shawn, she forgoes makeup or even blow drying her hair. She pulls on her favorite jean shorts and a bralette with an old t-shirt that swallows her. She thumbs through her pencils, deciding how she wants to draw him when he gets here.

If he wants to be drawn. Maybe they’ll just eat breakfast. Maybe that’ll be fine.

She wants to draw him, though.

Maya bounces around the kitchen preparing the good coffee -- fancy pour over with the good beans that she ground herself. She fights her nerves again, waiting to hear his car pull up.

Shawn knocks on Maya’s door 30 minutes later, big brown paper bag, heavy with their favorite hot breakfasts, tucked in his arm.

His heart is beating a little too fast. He’s nervous. When she said she wanted to hang out today, he hadn’t thought she meant immediately.

Not that he’s complaining. He can’t believe his fucking luck, actually.

He hums as he waits for her to answer the door, keeping his free hand shoved in his pocket so he doesn’t use the key under the mat to stroll right in, like he used to.

Maya is lifting and lowering on her toes, staring at her sketchbook and the charcoal she picked. It’s sitting on the counter to greet him when he walks in. She’s working on being direct, anyway.

She hears him at the door and grins. On her bare tiptoes, she hustles to the door and stops, closing her eyes and taking a breath before opening it.

There he is, curls and smile intact, with her breakfast. She doesn’t think she can stop herself from kissing his cheek. She doesn’t want to. She lays her hand against his arm and pecks him with a slightly wet smack.

“My hero,” she coos, opening the door wider to let him in.

Shawn flushes when she kisses him. His arm tightens around the bag of food to keep from grabbing her and pressing her into the wall so he can explore her mouth at his leisure.

He has to behave.

So instead, he grins and steps through the door, holding up the bag of breakfast in one hand.

“That’s me, saving the day one breakfast at a time,” he chirps, setting the bag down on the counter. He doesn’t let himself dwell on the fact that it was a terribly cheesy thing to say.

Maya’s lips quirk up at the corner. She’s used to him saying sweet things like that and used to the way he blushes for her but somehow none of it ever gets old.

Shawn thinks, maybe, that Maya likes it when he’s cheesy. Or maybe he just likes to tell himself that.

Either way, he’s distracted from the thought when he noticed her sketch book resting on the counter. He turns, tipping his head.

“What’ve you been drawing, Lemon?” He asks with a jerk of his thumb back at the book.

She starts to unpack the bag of food beside the cups of coffee she poured them when he falls into her innocent little trap. She looks up and glances over to where he’s pointing.

It’s her turn to blush a little. She looks back with a gentle smile. “Well… nothing yet. I was hoping you’d let me draw you.”

She holds out his cup of coffee as an offering in return.

Shawn graciously takes the coffee, smirking a little as he perches on one of her barstools.

“You really wanna?” he asks with a tilt of his head, watching as Maya flits around the kitchen, getting their breakfasts ready. He sips the luxurious coffee, humming softly at the warm, robust flavor.

Maya busies herself by pulling out a couple smooth porcelain plates from the cupboard. When she turns to face him, she stops. He’s propped up at her island, blinking at her from over the top of his mug, bathed in morning light. His eyes look amber in here at this angle.

She sighs, smiling. “Yeah. I really want to.”

“Then I really want you to,” Shawn replies, eyes crinkling as he watches her from over the top of his coffee cup. She puts their breakfasts on plates like proper adults, instead of eating right out of the bag like he and Geoff are wont to do.

“I mean, you totally can. Yeah,” he smiles, wetting his lips. “Am I your first subject of choice?”

Not that he really cares, but. It would be kind of flattering.

As she stows the trash from their breakfast, she nods in the direction of the sketchbook.

“You’d be my first human in a while,” she admits, “I’ve been playing with the dappled sunlight through the palm trees in the back. And then last night after you left I tried to draw you again. It didn’t come out the way I wanted.”

She sits across from him, clinking her mug against his before she sips from it.

Shawn grins, big and wide, before dragging his breakfast in front of him. He picks up one of the thick, extra fancy paper napkins Maya buys and shakes it open to drape it across his lap.

“Can I see it?” he asks as he picks up his croissant breakfast sandwich. He smirks around a bite of cheese and egg and turns to look at her. He swallows, lifting his napkin to his lips.

“I don’t care if you don’t like it. I bet it’s awesome.”

Maya tries not to feel too hopeful about how at home he looks sitting at her kitchen island. He doesn’t eat delicately, doesn’t look nervous like he did last night when he picked her up. He looks safe and settled. It settles her too.

On the other side of the bar at the end of her island, she flicks some hair out of her face while chomping into her bacon, egg and cheese on a bagel. The bacon crunches loud. He always makes sure they make it extra crispy for her. She smiles and swallows, standing to reach for the sketchbook after wiping her hands.

He crunches on a piece of bacon, licking the grease and crumbs from his fingers. “Y’know, obviously I’ll let you stare at me for two hours. That just means I can stare at you for two hours.”

Maya looks up and crosses her legs. Her foot skims his calf under the bar. She flushes, shaking her head at the thought of him staring at her for so long.

She flips the book open and drops it in front of him. It’s simple, a not-too-detailed light sketch of his head, neck and shoulders. She shrugs. “I mean, it’s fine, it just… it doesn’t feel like you. All my drawings of you used to feel like you. And I want you back.”

The gentle brush of her foot nearly burns him, makes him twitch in all of the places he shouldn’t be twitching. He forces himself to focus on her sketch. Shawn thinks it looks like him. It’s just a silhouette, really, but it’s a very Shawn Mendes-esque silhouette if he’s ever seen one.

He looks up, smirking. “Oh, I want you back, too,” he says with a quirk of his brow, then busies himself with his sandwich again, croissant in one hand, coffee in the other.

Maya retracts her leg. They’ve been doing so well. Even if she’s a little antsy, she refuses to blow it now. She licks some crumbs off her lips and refocuses on her food.

Shawn tries not to frown when she pulls away. He gets it, though. Touching like that can’t— it won’t lead to anything productive. It would lead to something fucking incredible, for sure, but it’s something they’re waiting to let themselves have.

“D’ya like your bagel?”

She nods, “It’s delicious. Thank you for bringing it to me. Especially since I dragged you here under false pretenses.”

She smiles mischievously, looking back at her sketchbook.

He grins, swallowing another bite of croissant.

“That’s okay. I don’t mind being tricked into a modeling job,” Shawn winks, reaches for his coffee and finishes it off with a hum of satisfaction. The caffeine goes down easy this early in the morning.

He wiggles his cup carefully. “Is there more coffee, Lu?”

Maya bobs her head, taking his mug and turning for the extra beans she ground. “Always more coffee in my house.”

Turned away from him, she feels her cheeks cool slightly. She shakes her hair off her shoulders, rises and lowers on her tiptoes like she always does when she’s bored or a little anxious. She watches the coffee seep as she pours water through the filter.

He watches her shift with nervous energy. He wonders what she’s nervous about. Drawing him? Or maybe just him? He shouldn’t flatter himself. They’re adults, and it’s not like they barely know each other.

He figures he’s the only hopeless romantic in this situation, who still gets nervous butterflies around someone that once broke his heart, someone who he’s been sleeping with all summer, whose touch is more familiar than the back of his own hand.

But he still gets nervous.

Maybe he’ll write a song about it.

“Hey, how often do you get to surf out here?”

He looks up from his bacon at her question. He gapes for a moment. Then, “Oh. I, uh, I dunno. I don’t. I haven’t since I’ve been here. Well, maybe I went once or twice before I met Leah. But then, I dunno, I wasn’t good enough to really want to keep going and Leah didn’t surf at all, so.”

He doesn’t mean to ramble. But he doesn’t know how to say I only ever liked surfing with you without sounding like him from June and not the New, Better Him of Late August. So, rambling.

Maya raises her eyebrows. He gets a bit cagey talking about surfing. Maybe he’s dancing around talking to her about Leah. She doesn’t want that. He should be able to talk about her. She was his wife. It’s still super weird to think that he had a wife, but Maya won’t go around ignoring her.

She tucks some hair behind her ear and hands Shawn his mug back with a reassuring smile. “Well, I’m out front here almost every morning, as you know, if you ever want to paddle out with me.”

She’d like the company. She doesn’t mind surfing alone. In fact, she loves it. But she liked having him out in the sea with her, too. It felt very… complete.

He doesn’t mean to get weird about surfing. He’s just trying not to be that guy. Always romanticizing everything. But it was romantic to him. He only really ever did it because it was something fun to do with the girl he loved. Because she loved it so much, and pretty much anything was fun if he got to do it with her.

He doesn’t want to fall back into old habits when they’re trying for something new and healthier and better.

But if she’s inviting him, then. It should be okay.

“If you protect me from sharks, I’ll come,” he says with a smile. “I only ever really liked it because of you, anyway.”

If she’s gonna encourage him into the swells, she might as well know exactly why he’s out there.

Maya’s gaze turns down to the tile floor and her bare, nude-polished toes as she puts their dishes in the sink. She always knew he didn’t love surfing the way she did. She had sort of hoped he still surfed in her absence, maybe because she has this weird hippy-dippy notion that surfing is the cure for all that ails, mind or body, and if she had it her way, the whole world would surf.

But it’s kind of sweet that he associates it with her so deeply that it doesn’t feel right without her.

Maya finishes the last bite of her sandwich and glances around. “The light is probably good up in my studio. You can bring your coffee if you want.”

Shawn stands, picking up his mug. “I definitely want my coffee. And I’ll drink the rest of yours, too, if you’re finished.”

She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, swinging her sketchbook under her arm and grabbing her cup of coffee so he can drink it upstairs.

She guides him past her bedroom and blinks, trying not to think that the last time he was in there, he was leaving her in tears. Instead, she pulls him into the bright whiteness of her studio, all windows and driftwood floors and soft shades. It’s perfect.

She places her mug just out of his reach and motions for him to sit in the wicker chair with his back facing the windows. She pads to her stool and sits with a smirk.

“You can have that if you’re very still.”

Shawn sits, good for her as ever, and leans back with his mug cradled in both hands. He crosses his legs, smirking at her a bit.

“You sound like my mum,” he rasps, swirling what’s left of his pour-over in the bottom of the mug before finishing it off.

He sets his cup on the windowsill.

“So, what pose should I strike?” he asks as he tucks his hands behind his head, foot rolling in slow circles.

As soon as he plops himself down in the sun, her mind starts turning. She circles around him, looking at angles, tilting her head this way and that. She plants her hands on her hips and squints, studying him. She hums and bites the inside of her lip.

“I think I’m just going to do your head, actually,” she murmurs more to herself than to him.

She moves in a little closer, leaning in to focus. She feels her heart rate pick up slightly just from getting this close to his stupidly perfect face.

She loses herself a little and reaches up to adjust some curls on his forehead. She inhales and pulls her hand back, blinking quickly.

His eyes fall shut when she plays with his curls. He tilts his head up, but then she’s gone, pulling away quickly like she’s brushed fire.

“Sorry, I--” She cuts herself off with a chuckle, “Can I fix your hair a little?”

Shawn blinks up at her. “Please do, sugar,” he purrs, wetting his lower lip slowly.

He likes flirting with her when she’s like this. Intense. Focused. Not that he wants to distract her but— well, he just can’t help it. He’s missed this more than he knew.

“You don’t have to ask, you know,” he murmurs, letting his hands fall to the arms of the chair.

Shawn’s wide amber eyes open and blink at her smoothly. Her gaze falls to his lips when he speaks and she has to think hard not to accidentally swallow her tongue. She exhales slowly through her nose and drags her eyes back up to his.

Her brows quirk. “You’re trouble, baby.”

“I’m the kinda trouble you like getting into, though, eh?” he teases.

He knows what he’s doing and he’s good at it. Making her crazy is one of Shawn’s favorite pastimes. She looks back up to his curls and starts running her fingers through them, more thoroughly than she really needs to because he gets all sweet and breathy when she massages his scalp. She wants to show him two can play at his game.

Maya tilts his head back into her hands and holds him, circling her thumbs against his temples while her fingers fluff up his curls.

Maya doesn’t disappoint. He closes his eyes once more, presses his head into her fingertips. He hums, sure she doesn’t need to fix his hair this much, but he’s not complaining.

Shawn presses down against the bumpy wicker weave beneath his palms, the ridges making shallow imprints in his skin. He can’t touch her like he wants, can’t pull her down into his lap.

He behaves. It’s important to both of them, so he won’t try to ruin it.

He looks up at her from beneath his lashes, smiling. “Feels nice, Lu.”

Maya convinces herself to pull her hands back out of his soft curls. She boops her finger against his nose and wrinkles her own. She does strategically place his hair around his forehead and stands up straight again.

She twists her back to a satisfying crack and groans gently. Surfing’s been kicking her ass but she hasn’t let it slow her down. She refuses to get old.

She drags her stool closer to him until their knees are almost touching. She lifts her book into her lap and smiles.

“You don’t have to smile and you don’t have to be silent. I just want to see you being you. You can ask me questions if you want.”

She flips open her book and starts roughly sketching the outline of his head with her charcoal.

Shawn hums, sliding his hands across his thighs and settling a little more comfortably into the chair. He tips his head, but just slightly.

“So can I make funny faces at you? Would that fuel your creative spirit?”

He raises his eyebrows, then laughs heartily, trying not to jostle the curls she so carefully placed in the process.

He’s so goddamn beautiful when he laughs. She laughs with him because she can’t help it. She wishes she could freeze this moment and copy it perfectly on her sketchbook down to the freckle.

“Your face is perfect just as it is,” she murmurs and it’s maybe too earnest for the moment but she means it.

She’s quiet as she focuses, honing in on the way his curls swirl around his ears and on the angle of his jaw. She smiles as she draws. He makes her smile.

“Huh,” he says, lifting his chin slightly, turning to gaze out through the screened wall. A gentle breeze rustles the palm trees. Gulls call, probably bothering tourists who were naive enough to bring snacks to the beach at this time of day.

Maya follows his movements closely as he glances out the window. Over the screeching gulls, she hears the scratch of charcoal on her paper. It’s a familiar, satisfying sound. She pokes her tongue out of the corner of her mouth and rubs her finger along an edge. She tilts her head and looks at it before continuing.

“You really think so? That my face is perfect?” he asks as he looks at her again, corner of his lips pulling up as he watches her, perched on her stool. He wishes he could draw for a moment, only so he could draw her. He thinks her face is the perfect one.

“Because I was thinking about getting a nose job,” he quips, uncrossing his legs and spreading his thighs as he brings his hands behind his head once more.

She looks up suddenly, snickering, “Don’t you dare touch that nose. I’m crazy about that nose.”

Her glance falls to his legs as he settles in to get comfortable. She blinks and swallows, returning to her page. She continues sketching.

Shawn laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. He was joking about the nose thing, and he’s sure she knows that, but the ferocity with which she defends it makes him want to preen a bit.

“So that’s why you like riding my face so much, huh?”

He says it before he can stop himself. It’s a joke he would’ve made in college. One he would’ve made just a few weeks ago. He’s not sure if it’s okay now.

Maya almost drops the charcoal. She fumbles it between her fingers and feels her chest tighten in panic when her heart skips a beat. She makes an odd choked chuckling sound.

“Sorry,” he blurts, sitting up a little straighter. He can feel the warm flush creep up the back of his neck and curl around the tips of his ears.

“We just— you know, before. And you do like it— fuck—“ he laughs, hanging his head and pushing his hands into his hair, Maya’s careful placement forgotten.

“I don’t know how to pretend like we don’t have a history,” he says finally, blinking up at her, eyes wide with sincerity.

“No it’s ok. I mean, I do. And…” Maya shrugs, looking back down at her charcoal and the angle of Shawn’s nose she’s just started to shape. She trails off and sighs.

“I guess I don’t think we should pretend we don’t have a history any more than we should’ve been pretending all summer that we could step right back in again. We know there’s something between us. That’s why we’re here.”

She lifts a darkened fingertip to her cheek unthinkingly and scratches, leaving a smudge behind. “We just have to not let the history control who we are together now.”

Shawn smiles, relaxing back into the wicker chair, elbows resting on the arms as he links his fingers over his stomach. He tips his head.

“You’re smarter than ever, Lu. Don’t know how you do it,” he says affectionately, his lips twitching with a ghost of a smile as he glances at the smudge of charcoal on her cheek.

He’s missed that, the evidence of her art splattered across her body. She used to come back to her apartment shaded in gray, nearly from head to toe. He thinks it’s a great look on her.

Maya shrugs, looking back down at her sketch. It’s just starting to come together -- the shape of his lips, the angle of his jaw, the slant of his nose. She looks down at it admiringly and keeps sketching, charcoal turning in her nimble fingers.

“I think,” she begins, looking up again, shoulders slouching as she stares past him out the window in thought, “I think when I first left my job I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to feel something again. That’s part of what ended us up in that situation in the first place. So now I’m trying to use my brain and my heart at the same time,” she chuckles, like it’s a novel idea.

“Just so you know, I’m also here for your money.”

She narrows her eyes at him playfully and kicks at his knee with her bare foot. “Dork.”

He catches her ankle with cat like reflexes he didn’t know he had. He smiles, pulling her foot into his lap and pressing his thumbs into her calf, carefully kneading the tight muscle.

“Wasn’t just you,” he continues. “I just— I couldn’t believe my damn luck, y’know?” He glances down at her leg, wets his lips.

“I still can’t,” he rasps, shaking his head. “I can’t fucking believe I get to even be in the same room with you again, let alone, like, date you.”

He presses his lips together, cheeks heating. He’s gotta shut up. So instead, he focuses on the impromptu massage she definitely deserves.

Maya releases a low, throaty grumble that if she opened her mouth would probably be a moan but she keeps it shut. His hands feel good. She’s missed them.

She smiles bashfully down at her sketch. She wants to answer him. She wants to tell him she feels the same way, that a little part of her, made small by sheer force of will over years of practice, has always wondered if she’d get to see him again, if they could be friends. Honestly, she never even dreamt they could be this again. It felt so out of reach.

All of it sounds trite. She just grins at him instead and watches him rub her sore, tired leg. She’s never been as good with the verbal affection as he.

She ducks her head and keeps drawing. “You’re so cute.”

It’s all she can think to say. It feels small. She hopes he knows it means more.

Shawn’s heart flips. He feels like he’s in high school again, and he’s blushing and preening because the prettiest girl in the grade thinks he’s cute. He chews on his lip, then, “Not as cute as you.”

He knows Maya’s not big on words. That’s not her love language, or whatever. He’s not sure what it is, but he knows it’s more in her actions than anything she says. He’s used to it.

He likes it, even, that they express affection differently. He talks enough for both of them, anyway,

Maya basks, cheeks turning scarlet as she swipes her charcoal, scrubbing her fingers through certain spots before she realizes she’s drawing without even thinking. It’s good -- it’s unusual for her. She usually thinks too hard.

“How’m I looking on there?” Shawn asks after a moment, fingers pressing into her calf just beneath her knee before gliding his hands back down to her ankle.

She quirks a brow, looking down at her drawing critically. She turns it and holds it up for him to see.

It’s simple, as her charcoal sketches usually are. Maya paints for absolute realism but her sketches are different. She lets them live on their own a little without the heft of detail. She caught the image of him looking out her window in her mind’s eye, so that’s what she drew -- his head at an angle, swirl of curls falling over his forehead slightly, jaw strong and stable.

“Feels like you, I think,” she murmurs.

He thinks it looks just like him. It’s not hyper-realistic or anything, but Shawn likes it better that way. It’s clearly him though, from the slope of the nose to the cut of the jaw and the swooping curl of his hair.

He smiles.

Sitting forward, he leans one hand on his thigh and plucks the book from Maya’s fingers with the other. He holds it up, turning so the sketch is bathed in sunlight.

Maya sits forward and inspects it with him like she’s looking at it with new eyes. She glances aside at him and decides it really does look like him.

“It’s fucking awesome. Can I keep it?”

Maya nods. She doesn’t have the same policy against ripping pages out of sketchbooks that she knows other artists do. She tears it along the perforation carefully and hands it to him with a wink.

“This one’s on the house, Mendes.”

God, she’s cute.

Shawn takes the picture with a wolfish grin and looks down at it. It feels like more than just a quick sketch. Each stroke seems careful, yet natural and easy. It feels like maybe she loves him.

He shouldn’t get ahead of himself.

Go fucking slow, idiot.

She wiggles her leg off his lap and shoves her hands in her back pockets, rocking back and forth on her heels. A thought strikes her.

“Hey, do you want to see that painting?”

He looks up at her suggestion, not having noticed she wiggled away to stand. He nods eagerly, popping out of the chair.

“Fuck yeah, definitely. I didn’t think it was ready yet.”

He’s very enthusiastic about the painting and she’s very excited to show it to him. She’s somewhat surprised by this, because she hasn’t wanted to show him any of the art she’s produced this summer, so she thinks this is a good sign.

She has a dropcloth covering the large canvas on her easel to protect it from the sun. She uncovers it carefully, chewing on her lower lip.

Shawn sees the covered canvas and suddenly feels like he’s being let in on a secret. His cheek twitches, mouth lifting at the corner because he feels special for the second time that day, and he kind of can’t believe his luck. (Also for the second time that day.)

It really is beautiful. It’s exactly the way she has that snapshot of memory in her mind. Their legs tangled on the daybed looking out over the sunset, two stupid kids who think they have the world on lock. It makes her smile, it doesn’t make her sad like she hoped it wouldn’t.

“It’s not totally done yet,” she admits, “You know me, I’m always tweaking something. I’m not happy with the detailing around the palm trees.” She indicates it with a careful brush of her finger.

When it’s uncovered, he sees that it’s stunning. It’s a day he feels like they lived a thousand times, even though they were only in Avila for a few weeks back then.

“Lu,” Shawn murmurs, smiling wide as she touches the painting like she wishes she had a brush. He shakes his head, stepping forward to take her hand in his.

“Can’t even see what you’re talking about. I think it’s beautiful. It’s like— it’s just how I remember it.”

Maya squeezes Shawn’s hand. She’s glad to have his approval and praise. She sandwiches his bear paw of a hand between hers and leans her head on his shoulder as she admires it alongside him.

“I was hoping it was. I can see it so clearly in my head. I just want it to be perfect.”

She rolls her eyes at herself and turns her face so her nose brushes his upper arm.

“I’m trying not to do that. Torture myself for perfection I can’t admit that I can’t achieve. It’s hard with something I love so much.”

She thinks maybe that’s why she takes so much solace in surfing. No matter what, she could never be a perfect surfer. The sea is out of her control the way her art feels like it isn’t. Art and surfing are her perfect push and pull.

“So,” Shawn starts, glancing at her with a smile, “still having the same problem that you had in college, then.”

He looks back to the painting, resisting the urge to brush his fingers across the varying textures built up across the canvas.

“I’m the same way. Can’t let an instrument go until it’s perfect. And there really isn’t any such thing as perfect. Except for this painting.”

“I think maybe it’ll live downstairs above the fireplace when it’s really done. What do you think?”

She’s asking like it’s his house too. It’s silly, but she cares.

Shawn presses his lips together, biting back at a proud smile, like his opinion is important to her, even though this is her house, and what he thinks doesn’t really matter.

“I think that would look incredible. And very impressive when you get to tell someone you painted it.”

She sighs and nods in agreement. She’d love to think she’s moved past the struggles she had in college. She’s a grown woman. But he’s right. She’s still hyperfocused on perfection. But so is he.

Maya smiles, gazing at the painting lovingly. She tilts her head, considering. The last four times she’s picked up the palette over the last couple days she has not added anything to the painting. She hasn’t touched it.

Maybe it’s time to listen to Shawn.

She swallows anxiously and turns to him. “Will you help me hang it?”

With a quirk of a smile, she glances at the frame she picked out in the corner of the studio.

Shawn’s brows raise. He looks from Maya, to the painting, then back to Maya.

“You don’t want to fix the details around the palm trees?”

He’s smiling when he asks. There’s nothing to fix, but he wants to make sure Maya’s ready to take this step.

The little shit is grinning triumphantly through his question. Maya laughs and shakes her head, squeezing his hand once before she lets go and lifts the painting off the easel, walking it over to her work table where she has the frame ready.

“I’m ready for the next step,” she tells him gently, carefully dropping the canvas into the frame and beginning to secure it.

She steps back and turns it over. It looks exactly right, not perfect.

He tries not to think about symbolism or a thematic meaning behind what Maya says. His romantic heart beats a little faster, anyway.

With a nod, he takes the painting carefully by the frame. “Okay. You direct, I’ll hang.”

Maya chuckles and leads him down the stairs, carefully instructing him around corners. The painting is large and an awkward shape for one person to hold but he manages to get it down the stairs without scraping any walls.

She leads him around her coffee table to the nails she’s already strategically placed in the wall above the fireplace, a reminder she’s had way too much time on her hands since they stopped spending every waking moment together (and lots of non-waking moments, too).

She watches the muscles in his back flex and relax as he lifts it into place.

“A little to the left,” she murmurs, chewing on the inside of her lip, admiring him.

Shawn carefully places painting over the nail, sliding it slowly to the left before nudging it up at the corner so it’s straight. He prods it slowly until the bottom of the painting looks parallel to the top of the fireplace. He slowly lifts his fingers away so as not to jostle it, hands still in the air as he glances over his shoulder.

“How’s that?” he breathes, taking a few steps back to get a better look at the newly decorated wall.

Maya doesn’t look away from the painting when he steps back to inspect it. She crosses her arms and tilts her head in a few different directions. She squints and nods.

“Yeah,” she says, a smile peeking through, “Yeah, that’s what I wanted.”

And it is. She wanted this piece of them memorialized. She thinks maybe getting this image, this feeling down in paint will help them step out of it and not try to walk in their 15-year-old shoes anymore. Because they don’t fit.

She shrugs an arm around his waist and tilts her head on his shoulder.

“I feel good right now.”

“Hey,” Shawn murmurs. His arm falls around her shoulders. “Me, too.”

He drops a kiss to the top of her head, then gives her arm a squeeze as he turns to look up at the painting once more.

---------

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tsthrace · 5 years ago

Text

White Knuckles

Awhile back, I asked y’all to send me a song so I could take its energy, lyrics, and/or feeling and write you a 1,000-word Clexa fic.

This one shot meandered way beyond 1,000 words. It’s based on White Knuckles by Tegan and Sara, as requested by @damiana-atx.

Angsty academia AU. No content warnings except for some swearing.

You can also find it on ao3.

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

“Fuck, this is good,” Clarke said aloud to no one as she tossed the journal on the table. She leaned back in her chair. Godlessness Centered: Negotiating Queerness in The Left Hand of Darkness by Alexandria J. Woods, PhD. When Clarke had first picked up the journal, she scoffed. The Left Hand of Darkness? Really? And queerness? How overdone.

But it was brilliant. A discourse on Le Guin’s own spirituality and how it defied casual dualities.

I should have thought of that.

She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes.

---

Lexa smoothed the lapels on her blazer, though they were already perfectly flat. She gazed at herself in the hotel mirror, staring at the buttons on her shirt. She had a choice to make—the choice of the one awkward button. Button it, and she would seem, well, buttoned-up, uptight. But unbuttoned, it was a bit...revealing. There was no middle ground.

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and took a breath. Then buttoned the button.

---

They met in Bloomington, Indiana. All the sci fi literature conferences seemed to be in random small cities in the Midwest. They were strange events. Mostly men in khaki and tweed carrying beat-up leather satchels, experts on Vonnegut and Wells (H.G., that is). But there was also the overt geek element. Undergrad boys carrying frayed copies of Asimov and Gaiman, their laptops covered in Star Trek and My Little Pony stickers, and the occasional girl wearing a Strong Female Character t-shirt.

Then there was Lexa, sharp in a plain black cashmere sweater and grey herringbone slacks, her glasses suggesting both intelligence and the ability to break you. The geeks followed her but kept an admiring distance.

Clarke, for some reason, seemed more approachable. As she sipped her gin and tonic at the hotel bar, the kids (as she called college students) would creep up to her, their eyes down.

“Dr. Griffin?” they’d ask.

“Call me Clarke,” she’d say, smiling.

“I just had some questions on your takedown of the Darkover series.”

Clarke would always give them about twenty minutes then politely end the conversation, turning back to her drink.

She had had three such conversations when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Clarke didn’t mind the attention, but she was getting tired. She spun around, ready to dismiss herself.

“Dr. Griffin.” Lexa stood above her.

“Dr. Woods,” Clarke replied, nodding politely. She had read all of Lexa’s work. She had to. They were two of the only feminist sci fi lit scholars who were regularly publishing. But they’d never actually met.

“I don’t really prefer the term ‘doctor.’” Lexa said, looking just past Clarke. “It’s a little....” She didn’t finish her thought. After a moment she tilted her head. “Do you really think we should stop reading Bradley because of her scandal?”

Clarke put her drink down. “Scandal is kind of an understatement. And I didn’t say we should stop. I just said it’s hard.”

Without invitation, Lexa sat down at Clarke’s table. “If we bring every artist’s personal life into how we engage with their work, we probably won’t be able to enjoy anything.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “I never took you for a modernist.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That sometimes shitty people create amazing art.” Lexa’s eyes lit up with her smile, like she was issuing a friendly challenge.

“Are you flirting with me?” Clarke returned her version of the same smile.

Lexa sat back and shrugged. She took a sip of her martini.

---

A few hours later, Clarke was sprawled across Lexa’s bed looking up, her hair in tangles across the pillow, a corner of the sheet pulled over her midsection. Lexa was curled up next to her, sweaty and wondering what just happened. She took a few breaths, looking for words. She squinted to herself, couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt Clarke shuffle a bit and prepared for the awkward banter that would come when they’d get up to look for their clothes.

“Do you believe in God?” Clarke asked instead. She didn’t get up.

“Pardon?”

“Do you believe in God?” Her tone was so casual.

“I...I don’t know.” Lexa looked up at the ceiling. She suddenly felt cold and reached down for a blanket. “Why do you ask?”

“I think I do,” Clarke said, not answering the question.

“Why?”

“I just look around this world, and it seems pretty incredible to me. Like it wasn’t an accident. Someone had to have created all this. Created us. Then made us creators.” Clarke shook her head and looked past Lexa. “It all seems like such a miracle.”

“Are you a Christian?” Lexa felt her face crumple.

Clarke laughed. “I don’t know. I do like the idea of the trinity.”

“When I grew up, my parents took me to one of those born again churches.” Lexa looked down. “It was mostly Jesus. I mean, I know what the trinity is, but…” Why was she telling her this?

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Clarke shook her head. “Not like God as some guy who makes you love him or else you burn in hell. That’s bullshit.”

Lexa squinted.

“The trinity. It’s like a dance between these three ways God reveals herself.” Clarke smiled. “It’s beautiful actually.” She looked at Lexa. “Did you ever read A Wrinkle in Time?”

Lexa side-eyed her. “Clarke, I’m a sci fi scholar.”

“Okay, so there’s Mrs. Who, Mrs. Whatsit, and Mrs. Which…”

They stayed up the rest of the night, moving from L’Engle to Shelley to Jemisin and the spiritual worlds of their stories. Evil and suffering, goodness and hope. Retribution, sacrifice, and justice. Beauty and joy. Mouth to neck, hands to curves, skin to skin.

By dawn, Lexa had found God.

---

Lexa went back to UC Irvine and Clarke returned to her adjunct job at Georgetown, but they emailed constantly. Long, meandering messages about particular chapters of The Stone Sky and Spinning Silver. Clarke sent her Marilynne Robinson essays, and Lexa responded with questions. Together, they laid theologies over imagined worlds, mapped them out and connected them to other imagined worlds. They took down Ender’s Game, built up The Hainish Cycle, and even let themselves dabble in Stardust, which they both had to admit they secretly admired. Back and forth, tens of thousands of words over the course of months. They only talked on the phone a few times, but the emails were constant.

Not long into their messages, Clarke had mentioned how her father had died when she was young. Lexa hinted at being on her own at age 16. These details were wrapped in blankets of analysis and metaphor, the theological undercurrents of the imagined worlds they studied, the anthropology of beings who only existed on pages and in minds.

They made plans to meet in Cleveland to present together at a lit crit conference. A week before, Lexa bailed. “Sorry,” the text said. “An emergency came up.”

“Everything okay?” Clarke responded.

Nothing.

The conference was rough. Clarke knew it would be, but she thought she’d have Lexa’s powerful presence demanding attention. The lit crit crowd all secretly loved what they called “genre” fiction—sci fi and fantasy—but they publicly derided it as “unserious” or “not literary.” She held her own, but it wasn’t fun.

She texted Lexa when she got back to her hotel room. “Wish you had been here. Same straight white male bullshit as usual.”

Silence.

“Did I say something wrong?” Clarke texted a few days later. At that point, though, she knew Lexa was gone.

A heaviness set in on her. Clarke reread their messages looking for hints, but Lexa’s words seemed wide open, even joyful. What happened?

She immersed herself in a chapter she was writing for a textbook on book fandoms and lecturing on feminism and postmodernism in Harry Potter—not her favorite topic, but it was a popular course. She had almost let herself forget about Lexa when, six months later, she was flipping through Foundation: The Journal of Science Fiction and saw her byline in the table of contents. Justice & Joy: The God Revealed in the Feminist Imagination. By Alexandria J. Woods, PhD.

Clarke turned to page 137 and ran her eyes down the columns. She bit her lip. The essay was essentially a catalog of their emails, one idea bridged skillfully to another by Lexa’s pointed and lucid prose. But they weren’t just Lexa’s ideas. They weren’t just Clarke’s, either, but a stream of their thoughts flowing together like a river. It was beautifully done.

Clarke didn’t notice that her hands were balled into fists until she felt her nails cutting into the skin. She opened her laptop and pulled up the messages. Lexa had been careful to rephrase Clarke’s words, but it was all there, even with citations of Marilynne Robinson. The Death of Adam.

Clarke pounded out an email. How dare you...couldn’t even ask for me to be a coauthor...you hadn’t even thought about these things until you met me. She knew Lexa wouldn’t see it. She probably had blocked her address. She didn’t bother hitting send.

Her face fell into her hands. She remembered that night in San Diego. Lexa’s smile—that curiosity despite herself. The way her hands traced the skin over Clarke’s side.

That woman wouldn’t have done this. But there it was. Twenty-six pages of shared conversation now claimed for Lexa only.

---

Clarke’s department was buzzing about it the next day. The religious studies chair was also a huge geek who kept up with Foundation, and he had been blown away by how seamlessly interdisciplinary the article was. “I hadn’t thought to connect the Christian trinity and A Wrinkle in Time, but it’s really so obvious when you think about it.”

Clarke seethed. She thought about printing up the emails, sending them to Foundation and the UC Irvine Disciplinary Committee, but something stopped her. Allegations of plagiarism would ruin Lexa’s career as a scholar. And was it really plagiarism? Clarke wanted to be sure, but she wasn’t.

So she wrote instead. A deep and cutting rebuttal highlighting where Alexandria J. Woods’ religious arguments were rudimentary at best, illustrating how shallow her connections were, and then plunging further, mining Catherine Keller and other theologians for an even deeper exploration of the worlds of Butler and Clarke (Arthur C., that is). Foundation published her essay the next quarter. Lexa answered, bringing in Buddhism and Humanism. A spotlight grew around their debate, so they continued writing—back and forth between literary, cultural, and religious journals. WIRED magazine picked up the story: Feuding Feminists Shifting the Sci Fi Landscape.

That’s when the invites started rolling in. A conference on spirituality and pop culture invited them to speak on a panel together, but Clarke refused. She couldn’t bear to see Lexa in person. Instead, she accepted an invitation to lecture at NYU while Lexa spoke at Cal.

Clarke’s classes filled with long waitlists every semester, her success intertwined with Lexa’s and their endless intellectual feud. They both thrived. Lexa’s ideas sharpened Clarke’s, and Clarke’s sharpened Lexa’s. She couldn’t admit it, but she needed Lexa as much as she despised her.

---

Lexa was in her office when the call came.

“Dr. Woods?” A male voice.

“It’s Professor Woods.”

“Excuse me, Professor Woods,” he corrected himself. “This is Dr. William Porter at Georgetown. The chair of the Department of English.”

Lexa felt something jump in her chest. “Good morning.”

“I’m calling because a very generous donor has recently endowed a tenure-track professorship here specifically for women in science fiction studies.”

“You’re kidding me.” it felt like a prank, and a mean one at that. Lexa had never heard of such a thing.

“Uh, no.” Dr. Porter seemed thrown off. “We’re inviting only a few people to apply, and you’re on our short list. Is this something you’d be interested in?”

They hung up with lingering plans to arrange flights and meetings.

Lexa sat for a few minutes, her fingers tapping idly on her closed laptop. Clarke would be one of the other candidates—and maybe the only other candidate—she was sure. She looked down and shook her head, thinking back to that day when she made the worst decision of her life.

She had printed out some of the emails she had sent Clarke to reference them against some short stories when the dean knocked on her door. He noticed a copy of L’Engle’s Walking on Water open on her desk.

“What’s that about?” he asked.

“Uh, just a side project I’m working on.” Her face burned with the exposure of her new interest in religious studies.

“Mind if I look?” he asked, picking up one of the print-outs before she could answer.

She bit her lip as he read, his forehead creasing.

After a few minutes, he looked up. “Professor Woods, this is good stuff.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank you. I’ve been working with Professor Griffin at Georgetown—”

“But these are your words, right?”

“Yeah, what you’re holding. That’s mine.”

“You need to publish this. It could be really good for you and the department.”

“Yeah, Professor Griffin and I—”

“Lexa,” he said in that kind but firm I’m-A-Man-In-Charge voice, “there’s a distinction to be made between attribution and inspiration. I’m inspired every day by the ocean, by James Joyce.” Lexa hid her contempt. Scholars who pretended to understand Joyce were pretentious liars. “But I’m not citing them.”

“Dr. Titus.” Her voice was firm. “I couldn’t have written that without Professor Griffin.”

“Professor Woods.” He looked her straight in the eye. “This department doesn’t need a co-authored paper with someone from Georgetown. We need a win.” He tapped the paper. “These are your words. Are they the product of a broader conversation? Sure, but what isn’t?” He looked out the window at the budding trees. “We took a chance on your genre work. And I’m seeing some good stuff. But I need to see more if we’re going to keep you on.”

Lexa looked past Dr. Titus and took in a silent breath. Jobs in her specialty was rare. UC Irvine had invested more than most schools to create a department where someone like her could thrive. She nodded.

“Get me an abstract and outline next week,” the dean said. “The managing editor at Foundation is a former student.”

When he left, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She would need to cancel her panel with Clarke in Cleveland. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to look at her again.

---

Clarke let out a deep breath as she stepped into the crisp fall air. It had been a long day of interviews. She stopped on the stairs. She knew Lexa was close by. She had to be. They were the two people in the country most qualified for the job. She’d been on these interview panels before. Two, sometimes three, a day, candidates rotating between deans and panels. Clarke was surprised she hadn’t seen her yet.

She shook her head. Maybe she should have said something about that first paper. The job would be hers if she had. But would she even be considered without that paper? It had launched her career. Her public debate with Alexandria J. Woods, PhD, got her lectures around the country, a longform article in The Atlantic, and the keynote spot at conferences that two years ago would have never taken her seriously. Their refusal to appear together added to their mystique. Geeks and academics alike lined up on reddit and twitter to take sides.

Her success was bound to Lexa’s, two sides of the same double helix.

She bundled a scarf around her neck. It didn’t matter where Lexa was. Clarke loved the work she did, and she had rocked the interviews. But she was tired. It was time for a drink. She pulled out her phone to call a Lyft. Something about the fading purple sky changed her mind, though, and she decided to walk.

The cobblestones on O Street felt somehow comforting under her feet. Solid. Old. Not going anywhere. She thought about calling Dr. Reyes from the engineering department to join her—Raven was always good for either a loud night of much alcohol or a quiet night of raw, stinging truth—the latter of which was why Clarke had never told her all that had happened with Lexa. She shook her head. Maybe she just needed some gin and silence.

She sat at the bar at L’Annexe and ordered a Tom Collins. Bartenders always smiled curiously at her when she ordered one. Funny, you don’t look like a 75 year-old man to me. She’d smile back impatiently. Just make my damn drink. When the drink arrived, she took a sip and let out a deep breath as the gin started to glow through her. No one can fuck up a Tom Collins. It was simple and always felt good and sharp and bright going down.

She was halfway through her drink when a man sat next to her and ordered a scotch. Clarke glanced at his plaid scarf, wool sweater, and worn leather shoulder bag. Definitely a TA. He noticed her looking at him and smiled.

“I’ve seen you,” he said. “You teach that Harry Potter course.”

Clarke’s stifled a sigh. “That’s me.” She tilted her head back and drank the rest of her Tom Collins in one swig.

“Can I get you another?”

“No,” she said, picking up her bag. She made eye contact with the bartender. “I need to pay.”

“Whoa,” the man in the scarf said, raising his hands. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“And I was just trying to be alone.” Clarke nodded towards the guy sitting on the other side of him. “Maybe you can be nice to him.” She dropped some cash on the check that had arrived and made her way to the door.

It was darker outside than when she’d arrived. And colder. She buttoned her wool coat and started making her way down Pennsylvania Ave. towards the bus stop.

---

Lexa was sipping a Syrah at a window table when she saw Clarke walk by outside. She took in a breath, remembering how Clarke’s eyes got soft when she asked, “Do you believe in God?” She shook her head. She could just let her keep going, and they could go on avoiding each other forever. Unless Lexa got the job.

Shit.

She grabbed her coat, leaving a $20 under her mostly full glass. By the time Lexa got out the door, Clarke was halfway down the block, almost lost in a crowd of loud students. Lexa didn’t button her coat, and it billowed out as she jogged down the street.

“Clarke!” she shouted as she got closer. She saw Clarke stop, her back straighten and stiffen. She didn’t turn around.

---

Clarke wanted to be angry. When she heard that voice, she wanted to spin on her heel and unleash a cascade of expletives that would make the passersby uncomfortable. She not only wanted Lexa to hear the words traitor, cheat, betrayed, she wanted her to feel the force of them rip through her body like a landmine.

But she froze. When she heard that voice, she felt tears sting at the corner of her eyes. She felt a slow storm in her chest, all rain and no lighting. She closed her eyes. She wanted to be angry, but all she felt was heaviness. She held her breath and waited.

When she opened her eyes, Lexa was in front of her, her eyes uncertain and her arms folded in front of her. “Hey…” she said after a few moments.

Clarke bit into her lip, hoping not to draw blood. She looked up, her blue eyes blazing, about to spark. She could tell Lexa was waiting for her to say something, so she stayed silent.

Lexa nodded. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.” She didn’t know what else to say.

Clarke’s eyes locked on Lexa’s, but she refused to respond.

“I don’t expect you to understand...” Lexa trailed off. “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.” She looked past Clarke to a stoplight turning from yellow to red.

Lexa’s open coat revealed a gray plaid suit, smart and uncompromising, the top button studiously and chastely buttoned. So she had interviewed today. In this moment, though, it all felt wrong. Lexa seemed so small to Clarke. She wasn’t the woman she met at the hotel that night, but she also wasn’t the woman who submitted that article. This woman was drawn in on herself, her hair falling around her face like a curtain. Clarke remained silent.

Lexa sucked in her lips. “I know you probably hate me, and I get it.” She looked down. “I hate me, too.”

“No.” Clarke’s voice was deep and quiet. “You don’t get to do that.” She felt confused when she saw a shadow of relief cross Lexa’s face.

“You’re right,” Lexa said. “That’s not fair.” She took a long, deep breath and let it out. “I’m going to tell them.” She looked Clarke in the eye. “I’m going to tell Georgetown, and I’m going to tell Foundation. I’ll—”

“Don’t.” Clarke cut her off. “It’s done.”

“But—”

“Fuck you, Lexa.” She barely looked at her as pushed past, a slow fire burning through her as she walked briskly towards Dupont Square.

---

Lexa was freezing by the time she got back to her hotel room. She had stood on the sidewalk for a long time, watching Clarke get smaller and smaller. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Forgiveness? Punishment? Clarke had given her neither, which is what she knew she deserved.

She had never written a paper more carefully, never thought about the ideas so closely, never danced so delicately around sentence structure and tense. In a twisted way, she was proud of it. It was sophisticated but accessible, and completely defensible. Even if Clarke had tried to accuse her, she was sure she would have won.

She shook her head sharply. That’s not who I am. But it was. She was intelligent and ambitious and ready for a breakthrough. She knew Titus had been threatening her, but she also knew that what she had been writing with Clarke was good. Really good. She had never felt so alive in her work as when she was in conversation with Clarke. No one had ever challenged or inspired her like that. Even after that first paper, her debates with Clarke from essay to essay were electric, almost feverish. Clarke tapped something in her that was insatiable.

She picked up her laptop and opened some of the first emails she and Clarke had exchanged after Bloomington. She couldn’t help but smile. There had been a giddiness to them, this breathless excitement to constantly share new discoveries, interesting connections. They had sent seven, sometimes eight, messages a day. Thousands of words.

And that night in Bloomington.

She closed the laptop. Was it worth it? For months, Lexa had tried to convince herself that it had just been one night, that she didn’t even really know Clarke. When she saw Clarke on that sidewalk tonight, though, she knew that was all bullshit.

They had been falling for each other the best way they knew how. Lexa had betrayed all of it.

—-

Lexa was sitting on the floor outside Clarke’s office when she arrived the next morning.

Clarke sighed. “Seriously?” She didn’t look at her as she slid her key in the lock. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a meeting to cancel.” Lexa shrugged, not getting up.

Clarke pushed her door open. “I don’t have anything else to say to you, Dr. Woods.”

“I withdrew my name.”

Clarke froze. “Why?” Clarke noticed jeans and a sweater under Lexa’s coat. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She was serious.

“You know why.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” Lexa said steadily as she stood up. The smallness from the night before was gone. She stood tall, her shoulders thrown back. “I don’t know who else they’re interviewing, but I’m not your competition anymore.” She swallowed and looked into Clarke’s eyes. “I don’t want to be your competition anymore.”

Clarke let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She wanted to say, Good luck, Dr. Woods, and close the door behind her, but instead she felt herself pushing the door open, heard herself saying, “Come in.”

Lexa bit her lip. “You sure?”

Clarke nodded and ushered her in. The door clicked as it closed behind them. Clarke set her bag down and sat at her desk. She shook her head, frustrated. “I just want to hate you. That’s all. I want to tell you to fuck off, and I want to go on with my life.”

Lexa sat in the reading chair in the corner of Clarke’s office. She nodded, looking down at her hands. “Then why don’t you?”

Clarke huffed, a cynical laugh. “I can’t get away. You’re everywhere.” She threw up her hands. “I saw you on the fucking New Yorker site this morning. How did you land that?” A rhetorical question. “I assign your essays for my classes. I have to. I hate how good you are.”

“You’re good, too, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. She looked up. “Very good. I keep researching and writing because you keep responding.”

Clarke closed her eyes. She knew it was the same for her, but she didn’t want to say it. Finally she looked up. “Why did you do it?”

Lexa looked past her at Clarke’s diplomas on the wall. Undergrad at Cornell. She shook her head, almost said I don’t know, but she didn’t want to lie. “I wanted to do something big.” She gathered the courage to look at Clarke’s face. “I wanted to do it with you, but my dean pressured me to take solo authorship.” She closed her eyes, ashamed. “And I was a coward.”

“Yeah.” Clarke leaned back in her chair. “You were.”

Everything that came into Lexa’s head to say felt like an excuse, so she kept her mouth shut. They both did, the loud ticking of the cheap clock on the wall cutting through the silence.

Finally Clarke shook her head. A corner of her mouth curved up. “It was really beautifully done.”

Lexa looked up, her head tilted.

“I was so fucking angry, Lexa.” Clarke breathed out like she was letting something go. “I should have been a coauthor, but, fuck, it was well written. Like it was on a whole other level.”

Lexa’s green eyes were bright as they locked in on Clarke’s. “You inspire me, Dr. Griffin.” She sat back. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She paused and sucked in her lips. “I think we should write a book together.”

As soon as Clarke heard the words, she knew it was a good idea. Maybe the best idea. But all that would come out was, “Fuck you, Lexa.” It was almost a laugh.

Lexa’s face was stone, but her eyes were alive. “An editor already approached me. If I brought you on…”

“You can’t buy your way out of the shitty thing you did, Lexa.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Lexa ran her hand over her hair then looked up, her face suddenly soft. “I meant it, Clarke. I’m better with you.” She shrugged. “And I think you’re better with me, too.”

Clarke bit her lip. She took in a heavy breath, and let it out in a long sigh. She stood up. “Come here.”

Lexa squinted her eyes.

“Just come here, please. You owe me that.”

Lexa stood up in front of Clarke. Clarke lifted her hand to her face and leaned in, her lips barely touching Lexa’s. Lexa didn’t move, but Clarke felt her shiver. She leaned in and kissed her softly. Then she pulled back.

“I just…” Clarke didn’t know where the end of that sentence was supposed to go, and she didn’t tried to find it. Instead, she lifted her eyes and looked at Lexa as her chest rose and fell, rose and fell.

Lexa held her breath.

Finally Clarke smiled, almost laughing at herself. “That’s not a yes, Dr. Woods. But it’s not a no.”

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clarke x lexa #CLEXA AU

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forkanna · 5 years ago

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WARNING: Very mild sexual content.

NOTE: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, please toss a little appreciation my way. Helps keep me from becoming that "starving artist" thing everyone keeps talking about! By the way, be on the lookout for a PERSONA 4 fanfic coming to this space soon! See you all!

Jessex

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"None of your business!"

Despite her protestation, Makoto couldn't seem to keep the grin off her face as she loitered around outside the haunted house ride. No matter how many times she had been badgered to enter, she had resisted; scary movies and things like that always stuck with her long after the initial "thrill", and she therefore stubbornly refused to be forced inside. The wait time had seemed best spent catching up with a friend.

"Girl, you keep ducking my questions," Eiko's voice tittered on the other end of the call. "You killed my relationship with Tsukasa, so the least you can do is let me feed off gossip!"

Smirking as she nibbled at the Jack Frost-shaped melon bread, she told her, "He was a host. You didn't have a real relationship; he was just using you for your money. Where's my 'thank you' for setting you straight?"

"I did thank you! But like, you also didn't find me a new boyfriend, either!" They both giggled for a few seconds. "So…"

"So?"

"Who are you on a date with? Still that Ren guy?"

"N-no," she said, grinning like a fool as she turned away - as if anyone were listening. They weren't. "And I never said I was on a 'date'. Stop living vicariously through me, it's not healthy."

Eiko's voice got higher and whinier. "You can't make meeee!"

"Maybe not, but there's nothing to live vicariously through. Besides, you're pretty and sweet, and funny. It won't take you that long to find someone. And in the meantime-"

"Yeah, yeah," she cut her off. "I know. I should be figuring out the rest of my life instead of just working in a maid cafe. But it is good money…"

Rolling her eyes, she hissed, "They don't have to be mutually exclusive! Just… figure it out while you work. And don't be afraid to love again."

"God… I mean, my judgment is obviously wack. You sure I shouldn't die an old maid? Pun intended."

"YES." Just then, Makoto spotted a wobbling figure and hurriedly said, "Oh, I gotta go. But I'll call you later, okay?"

"Who are you there with?! MAKO-CHAAAAN!" But she didn't answer her. Just thumbed the 'end call' button and turned back toward the incoming patient.

Sadayo Kawakami looked distinctly ill for having bragged so staunchly that she was going to be "just fine on her own" on the ride. She hung onto the railing near where Makoto had been waiting, taking a few deep breaths. "Oh… oh, I really regret that…"

"Hashtag yolo?" she asked bemusedly.

"Hash-what? Yo-low? You know I don't keep up with you kids and your silly internet lingo."

Makoto grinned wide and offered her bread to her girlfriend. After only a moment's hesitation, she took a big bite. "It's okay, doesn't really matter. Did you not enjoy yourself?"

"Well… it was fun and it wasn't, but there was a part at the end that really got me. So scary how their heads come off like that, floating all over the place!" She shivered and rubbed her arms, and they shared a little laugh. "But um… your choice of vacation spots was…"

"Was what?"

"Destinyland?! I already feel like a creep, taking a girl so much younger than me on a vacation, and you literally had me take you to a children's amusement park."

Holding up her index finger, she corrected, "It's a family theme park. Not just for kids. And I didn't make you do anything; I only suggested it because I had so much fun with my friends. Besides, you were the one who was so excited to finally take me somewhere now that I graduated."

"Yeah, yeah," she handwaved - literally waving her hand around and making Makoto giggle. "Then why didn't you invite the prosecutor if this is supposed to be for family? Hmmmm?"

"W-well, um… I think I've forced my poor sister to have to deal with my sexuality enough for one lifetime. Maybe it would be cruel to persist." Flashbacks of that ill-conceived lapdance haunted her, even now. Though she knew it was fairly harmless and she had only done it to prove a point, it was still distinctly un-familial and poor Sae had seemed a little more awkward around her ever since.

"Sure, sure. Still… I'm surprised you didn't ask your friends along. Didn't one of them get you these tickets?"

"Yes, my friend Haru. As for why they aren't with us… well, I wanted to spend a special day with my special friend. Aren't I allowed?"

Sadayo couldn't keep the huge grin from spreading. "Okay. Don't get me wrong, I'm more than glad to have my little Master all to myself. Just wondered why you chose this spot."

Instantly, Makoto's ears were turning red, and she started hiding her face behind her melon bread. "Stop that! You know it embarrasses me when you call me 'Master' - and besides, you quit that job!"

"I did," she giggled, locking arms with her. "But it's fun watching you get all ruffled about it."

"I'm not 'ruffled', I'm mortified. I do not want to be in charge of my girlfriend!"

The elder woman bit her lip and began to pet up and down Makoto's upper arm as they started strolling through the gathered crowds. Luckily, they had picked a day Destinyland was not incredibly busy, but neither was it a ghost town; too many people would have sucked all the fun out of the trip, but too few would have made their date that much more conspicuous. No matter how much they wanted to be out and proud, just enough of Japanese society still looked down upon lesbian relationships as 'immature' to make them uncomfortable; they simply didn't want a bunch of snide looks and whispering behind their backs. Maybe one day, things would be different.

"Maybe I want you to be in charge of me."

"What?! Stop saying things like that - you sound like you've been to Shinjuku."

"Nothing wrong with Shinjuku, you know; those are our people. I guess." Despite her words, now Sadayo looked a little worried.

"Oh… I know. And I've been there, and you're right; they're just people living different lives than we're used to knowing anything about. But I like figuring it out on our own."

Now Sadayo looked surprised. "You went to Shinjuku? Why?!"

Before she could answer, the conversation was suddenly shattered with an outcry of "HEY! MAKOOOTOOOO!"

At first, she felt a spike of fear that it was was Eiko, tracking her down like a bloodhound. Instead, she saw a pair of fluffy blonde pigtails bouncing over most of the heads in the crowd as they weaved toward their location.

"Ann?!"

"Hey!" the blue-eyed font of youthful excitement exclaimed as she came to a stop in front of them. "Wow, what are you guys doing here?! Are you on a date - is this a legit date?!"

"Shhh!" Miss Kawakami shushed her, cheeks rouging. "So this is the one you spilled the beans to…"

"I didn't! Well… I only told Ann so she could help me setup that nice evening we had together. Remember, your outfit? Plus she's one of my best friends, and she's also-"

"She's one of the former Thieves," she said in a much quieter voice. Makoto could see shock flicker across Ann's features but she didn't say anything right away. "Of course you trust them. I just wish you had filled me in as much as you filled her in."

Now Makoto looked just as embarrassed as she did regretful. "I… forgot?"

"A lot happened," Ann put in with a shrug, scratching the back of her neck. "So no duh you'd forget to mention it. You saw the whole thing, right, Kawakami-sensei? In Shibuya? We were fighting a literal god!"

"No, no, you misunderstand." Their teacher reached out to rest a hand on Ann's shoulder, smiling softly. "I'm not mad! Especially not about you saving us from that madman and the evil spirits pulling his strings." It seemed Kawakami had decided it was easier to think of them as 'evil spirits' being controlled by a megalomaniac than to fully absorb that the god in question had been doing its best to keep the entire population enslaved within their own complacency. Even Makoto herself wasn't sure how to feel about that, and she had a front-row seat to the near disaster. The Phantom Thieves had changed the heart of all of Japan and it barely made a difference, but at least they had hope for the future now.

Sadayo continued, pulling her from her self-reflection. "Anyway, I'll get over it. More like, I wish I knew so we could have been talking about it before now, and I could keep track of who we're 'out' to. That's all, I promise."

That made her flash one of her patented Takamaki megawatt smiles. "Really? I mean, I'm just some dumb girl in your class, you don't have to talk to me about anything."

"Ah, ah!" She held up an admonishing index finger, and both girls ducked their heads instinctively. "You're a very important person in my girlfriend's life. That trumps your grades - which really aren't that bad, all things considered. Not compared to Sakamoto-kun's."

As they shared a laugh at Ryuji's expense, another figure pushed through the crowd to their sides. "There you are! I finally got our tapioca drinks and I turned around, and you were gone! Where… did you… oh."

We were all still staring openly at the dark-haired girl as Ann smiled and took her drink, seemingly not noticing that the girl fell silent when she noticed they weren't alone. "Thanks. And I'm sorry I ran off - I didn't go that far! Just to say 'hi' to these guys."

"Suzui-san," Sadayo breathed in mild surprise. "It's… been a while. How are you?"

That higher-than-usual level of concern made sense. The last time Kawakami had seen Shiho Suzui, she had just jumped off the roof and was being escorted to the hospital in an ambulance. Now she almost looked back to her usual self, even if she seemed as sickly as she had before Coach Kamoshida's unwanted advances drove her to the suicide attempt.

"F-fine, Sensei," she answered haltingly, bowing politely. "I'm… sorry to interrupt."

"You're fine," Makoto told her warmly, keeping her smile small and polite. Trying to set her at ease.

"Yes, of course!" Sadayo joined in. "So you're here with Takamaki-san? That's good; I'm glad to see you're out and about. Really, I mean that; after that bastard… well, nevermind. Forget him."

Even while Shiho stared at the ground, starting to sink into her private pool of anxiety, Ann grabbed her by the arm and shook her just enough to jostle her out of it. "Yep! We're all about moving forward, remembering the good times and aiming for the future! Ain't that right?"

"Ann!" she whispered shyly, but at least she was starting to smile again. She had always been a bit mousy and meek around anyone who wasn't Ann; at least, Makoto had thought so.

"What? You ashamed of hanging around with the weird gaijin?"

"Don't say that, you know I'm not. I… always want to hang out with you." Then she bit her lip, looking away shyly.

And it clicked. Makoto prided herself on being able to analyse a situation, and this one was telling her something extremely specific.

"Oh." Glancing up at Ann's face, then back to Shiho's, then back to Ann's, Makoto asked, "You two are here for the same reason we are. Aren't you?" Ann bit her lip even harder and nodded - but in her case, the lip-biting was to prevent her grin from being huge enough to be visible from the International Space Station. "Wow…"

"What?" Sadayo blinked at Makoto a few times, then glanced between the other two girls. "Oh, really? Wait - that can't be true. That would be crazy!"

As Shiho started to edge behind Ann, as if she could legitimately hide there, Ann turned to whisper to her, "Wait, Shiho, you don't have to do that. These two are cool."

"Wh-what do you mean? 'Cool'? I… how do they… do they know we're…?"

"It's okay," Makoto hurried to explain, picking up Sadayo's hand and raising it as they laced their fingers together. "You don't have to hide who you are around us."

Then it finally clicked for the former volleyball star. "Oh. You two… you're lesbians?"

"I'm bisexual, I'm pretty sure," Sadayo chuckled nervously. Though the nervousness didn't make her drop Makoto's hand. "Since I used to date men and I didn't hate it that much. But those jerks had their chance; my Mako-chan takes way better care of me."

"Stop!" she hissed back at her girlfriend, and both she and Ann giggled. "But you're right, I try to."

"And you succeed." Then she turned back to Shiho. "So how long have you and Ann been… seeing each other?"

Completely red-faced, Shiho whispered, "N-not long. A few weeks."

"Ren and I took her to the roof of the school again," Ann explained as she managed to get Shiho to stand next to her again, then slid an arm around her waist. "Before he moved back home. So she could, y'know, make peace with what happened. And while we were up there, like… all the feelings came out. Things we wanted to say to each other before but couldn't, and then I wanted to while she was going through physical therapy but thought it would be too weird to do it then, and… I dunno. The time was right."

"Yeah," Shiho whispered, finally looking somewhat at peace as she wrapped both arms around Ann and leaned into her side. Makoto felt her heart skipping a beat; they were so adorable together! "Maybe I wasn't very um, perceptive, but… all those weeks of her visiting me, cheering me on even when I felt like I'd never walk again… how could I not love her? Just took me a while to see it."

"I can relate," Makoto hummed. Sadayo turned and kissed her cheek.

"Same here, Master."

Shiho's eyebrows furrowed, and while Makoto was trying to recover she said, "But is it alright? Her being your student - won't you get in trouble with the faculty?"

"Well… not anymore," Ann giggled. "She was a third year, remember?"

"Oh? Ohhhh, that's right; she's off to university now. So Kawakami-sensei is no longer her teacher." Reserved as it was, her smile started to grow. "You're really dating? It's not just us?"

"Not just you," Sadayo reassured her gently. "But you have to give the Queen the credit for being the initial pioneer."

"Huh?"

"She's the one who flipped me, dressing all butch and putting on that mustache. The rest of us were hopeless after that."

Makoto's face was almost as red as Shiho's now. "Hey! Cut that out, I am not a pioneer!"

"You totally are!" Ann cackled as Shiho was polite enough to do her giggling behind her hand. "I mean, if not for you crushing on Kawakami, I'd never have even thought about dating a girl. So y'know, my feelings for the best girl in the world would have been stuck behind that wall of, of… straight-ness. That makes you a lesbian leader! Hero to us all!"

"You're so cool with this," Makoto half-accused. "Why? I thought you were still looking to date boys - how did you change your mind so easily?"

That got the blonde shrugging. "What can I say? Shiho's amazing - and when I thought about my life without her in it, that sucked so much that I slowly realised I never wanted to be away from her again. That's about it; love won."

"Very true," Shiho whispered with bunched cheeks of joy. "She's my Ann. Forever."

"So simple," Sadayo giggled as she approached to hug them. Shiho did jump in surprise, but still allowed herself to be squeezed by the older woman. "I'm happy for you two, though. After all the both of you have been through… you deserve this."

It only took Makoto a few seconds to join in the group hug. "Agreed. I'm so happy and proud to call you my friends!"

Ann's laughter could have filled a stadium. "Right back atcha, Queen!"

~ o ~

The four of them found a ride to go on together, and had a lot of laughs before parting ways. Ann and Shiho only had day passes, and they wanted to feel out their new romantic connection - which was best done one-on-one. But Makoto and her former teacher had booked a room in the hotel.

"You're sure you want it to be here? Even though it's a 'children's park'?"

Sadayo smiled over her shoulder as she tossed her blouse onto the dresser carelessly. "The hotel isn't a children's hotel. I mean, I didn't see any 'no sex' signs in the lobby, so we should be alright."

Getting up from the bed, where she had been lounging, Makoto slid her hands up Sadayo's back to begin toying with her bra clasp. There was a brief instant where the woman froze, unsure of how to react… and then it passed. But it was enough to merit a response.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

"No," she groaned, head dropping back so she could gaze up at the ceiling as if praying for a deity to ease her suffering. "I mean, yes, I'm ready to do this. But I'm not. God, I sound like a little kid."

"I'm the kid, remember?" When that only prompted a louder groan, Makoto laughed and hugged her around the middle from behind, nestling her face against her former teacher's neck. "It's alright. I'm nervous, too. We can wait if you need more time."

"I don't need to wait. Well… I mean, we'll see," she amended with a soft laugh, and Makoto smiled even wider against her skin. "Either way, it's nice to- oh!"

The gasp was accompanying her bra coming off. Makoto's hands slid up the plane of her stomach to begin tripping very lightly over the sides of her breasts, avoiding her peaks for the time being. Clearly, Sadayo appreciated that, because she breathed a sigh of relief.

"You sure you don't want to slow down a little?"

"No. I want to see… how we work together. In bed. Since I've only been with men, and you haven't been with anyone. If…" She swallowed hard, voice growing soft and apologetic. "If I can't handle doing the deed with a girl, I'd like to find out before you end up trapped in a relationship with some woman who isn't, um… sexually compatible? If that's a real thing?"

Makoto's brow creased as she pet down Sadayo's sides to rest her hands on her hips. "Oh. Um… I hadn't considered that. I guess I just… like you so much and am getting so comfortable with you that I kind of… assumed it would be fine? But now, that seems pretty stupid."

"It's not," she breathed as she turned to face her. The girl's cheeks were clearly rosy at getting the full view of her, and Sadayo smiled softly. "I'm actually jealous it's that easy for you. Maybe I'm overthinking this whole thing, huh?"

"You think this is easy?! No way! I'm still scared! Just…" She shrugged and kissed the corner of her former teacher's mouth. "It's you."

That kiss led to a dozen more. Which led to further clothes being shed, hands wandering. Makoto was surprised at how much she liked the feeling of nails raking down her back, teeth nipping at her earlobe. How wet it made her, how much more she craved. It was as if she had been aching for this for years, not a few scant months.

"How does this even work?" Sadayo whispered once they were very nude beneath a very thin bedsheet. "You don't have anything I'm used to working with! Well… I mean, on myself, but even then I use a vibrating egg most of the time, so it's not the same…"

The former student's smile was as playful as it was bashful. "Don't worry, I'll show you."

"You'll show me? Wait - how will you show me?!"

"So… I may have looked up a few things…" When Sadayo looked alarmed, she dipped her head in chagrin. "Shhh, I know, it's shameful. But I was curious, because everything I learned in sex education barely even covered how this works for um… penetrative sex with male and female organs. It certainly never covered this."

Her girlfriend cringed, looking squeamish. "Don't say it all clinical like that, it makes me feel creepy."

"Sorry," she whispered.

"No, no, it's okay. I just… you're almost more grown up about this than I am. Doesn't that seem… backwards? At all?"

"It seems fair, actually. You get to be the adult about some things, and I get to about others. That's how relationships work, right?"

Rolling her eyes, she muttered, "Yes, Master," before kissing her again.

"Good, Becky. And as your master, I order you to stop calling me that and just… be here with me." She bit her lip for a second before whispering, "Sadayo."

"Ughhh, you know it gets me weak when you say my name like that!"

Not that it caused her to slow down at all. Makoto was more than happy to begin using every trick she had gleaned from the reluctantly-clicked links for the sole purpose of making her girlfriend sound as beautiful and unfettered as she had ever heard her. The fingers worked better than her mouth - which earned a startled outcry and a lot of shoving away, both of them laughing afterward. She had never had so much fun in all her life.

Afterward, they lay in bed staring at the ceiling and humming when they weren't panting for breath. Too afraid of what they might say to manage saying it. Then Sadayo finally broke the silence.

"I can't believe we just did that."

"I can't believe it took us that long. Well… I can, but only for specific reasons."

Rolling slightly to face Makoto, a lock of hair falling into her eyes, she whispered, "Still doesn't seem real, y'know? You and me… even if I did know I was a lesbian before, even if I was going to date a student - which I wasn't, ever!"

"I was the last one on your list?" she guessed with a smirk.

"Yeah. Just… I didn't think you could ever… you were the student council president. Right?"

"No, no, I know what you mean; I'm not offended. Trust me. But…" Sliding a little closer, she pet up and down the soft skin over her ribs, watching Miss Kawakami suck in a breath of gentle surprise when one finger moved down to dip into the well of her navel. "I'm happy."

"Mmm… couldn't be happier you took my heart. Even if this is crazy, I'm glad we didn't screw it up somehow."

Giggling, she leaned in to peck her chin. "Came pretty close, pretty often. But at least we're here now. Together. And… we can be together in Okinawa, too."

"Really? You still wanna go, even after Destinyland?"

"Of course. We don't have anywhere to be; not for a million years."

"We sure don't, my Queen."

They lost themselves in passions again, lips and hips colliding and arms tightening around sweating backs. And Makoto Niijima vowed anew that she would never let Sadayo Kawakami out of her sight again.

THE END

#Queen Of Temperance #persona 5 fanfiction #persona 5 #p5 fanfic #p5 #sadayo kawakami #makoto niijima #makoto x sadayo #teacher-student relationship #forkanna writes #jess the writer #completed fic

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jade4813 · 6 years ago

Text

A Lie, Told Often Enough, Chapter 16

Author Notes: Inspired by @fallinginloveinaflash‘s AU prompt. All credit for the idea goes entirely to her.

Title: A Lie, Told Often Enough

Rating: NC-17

Synopsis: Iris just landed her dream job at a PR firm and her first assignment is reforming the bad boy image of celebrity artist Barry Allen. He’s overly cocky and well-known for being a playboy, but Iris has never met a challenge she couldn’t handle.

Chapters: 16/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

In the fuzzy, warm glow of that state between sleep and awake, Iris sighed and reached out for Barry, wanting to draw close to his warmth. Her brow furrowed with dismay when the back of her hand brushed found nothing but cold cotton where his body should be. The incongruous absence was enough to pull her out of her hazy dream, and she frowned slightly as she blinked into the morning light. She glanced at Barry’s side of the bed and sighed at the smooth, untouched blankets. Now that she was awake, she remembered that he was away on tour. He hadn’t slept next to her for over a month. It would be at least another month before he did so again.

Knowing there was no chance she would get back to sleep now, Iris arose and threw on a tattered old robe she’d found in Barry’s closet. It did little to ward off the morning chill, but she imagined it smelled like him, so wearing it made her feel better. She still wasn’t used to these long days spent without him, and she wondered if she would ever grow used to them again. Ignoring the tiny voice that reminded her she would have to do so once this charade was over, Iris headed into the kitchen for some coffee before grabbing her laptop and preparing to start the day.

As she had every day for the past month, Iris immediately searched for updates on Barry’s tour. Not long ago, she would have done so to see how her PR strategy was working. Now she did so because she missed him. She would never tell him that this online perusal felt like her only tether to his present life. Although they exchanged texts during the day when he had the free time to do so and he called her before taking the stage every night, she was careful to keep her tone upbeat, her questions general, letting him drive the conversation. She tried not to let him know how much she missed him, telling herself that she didn’t want to make him feel bad for being gone so long. But, of course, she was also scared that she would say too much and betray her feelings for him.

BARRY ALLEN DISHES ON MUSIC, LOVE, AND HIS BAD BOY IMAGE AFTER SOLD-OUT CONCERT IN CHICAGO

The headline was the first to pop up when Iris searched for Barry’s name, so she clicked on the link and started to scan the text. It wasn’t long before she saw her name.

“The star, notoriously reluctant to talk about his personal life, opened up about his recent engagement to fashion icon and burgeoning philanthropist, Iris West. When asked about the criticisms regarding the speed of his engagement, he admitted, “I suppose some people might think it was fast, but if you ever met Iris, you would understand. She’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I didn’t expect to fall in love with her, you know, when we first met, and now I realize I never thought I could love someone as much as I love her. I know it probably sounds cheesy, but she makes me want to be the best person I can be. She grounds me. Like a lightning rod. And from the day we met, I’ve carried her with me. She’s in every song I write and – okay, I’m embarrassing myself now, aren’t I? You can tell me if I am. I just miss her, you know?”

When asked what it’s like to be on the road for so long, he explained, “It’s exhausting, of course, but there’s no better way to get out and meet my fans. I always meet such incredible people on the road. This time, though, every stop on the tour is one step closer to getting home to [Iris].”

Iris smiled, lingering on the word “home.” She wanted to believe his words were true and not just pretense, all part of the charade. She wanted him there with her. With a sigh, she tore her attention from the article to look at her schedule for the day. She was supposed to attend an event for charity that evening, which would not only allow her to network for Mason but would help her bring attention to a worthy cause. But when she checked on the details, she saw in e-mail in her inbox informing her that, due to an extensive kitchen fire at the venue the evening before, the event was being postponed.

As soon as she read the words, she flipped back to her calendar again, her breath catching in her throat. When she saw her schedule was free until the following evening, she grinned and almost bounced up and down in her chair as she searched for airline flights. For a moment, she considered texting Barry to let him know she was coming but decided in the end that it would be more fun to surprise him.

Her flight booked, Iris raced to the bathroom to shower and pack for her upcoming trip. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Barry’s face – or to fall asleep in his arms once more.

The roar of the crowd washed over him, and Barry bounced his weight onto his toes, throwing open his arms as he threw a grin towards his sea of fans. There was so much about touring that he hated. But these moments on stage – when the cheers and roaring excitement seeped into his skin, making his heart pound and his blood race – made the bad food; antiseptic, impersonal hotel rooms; and the endless, grueling hours on the road almost made it all worth it. If only he didn’t miss Iris so much that his longing was a physical ache.

“How is everyone tonight?” he yelled into the microphone as he strummed the first note to kick off that evening’s set. The crowd roared again, and he bowed his head and began to play. The song ended, and he started to joke with the audience until his bass player caught his attention and nodded offstage with a smile. Confused, Barry followed his gaze, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Iris.

She was dressed in torn jeans and a t-shirt from one of his old shows, pilfered from his bottom drawer. When he caught her eye, she threw him a cheeky smile and a wave. Barry stopped his story mid-word, tempted to race to her side. Instead, he turned to the audience and said conspiratorially, “You’ll have to excuse me, but it looks like my fiancée has decided to surprise me.” The crowd cheered, and he threw them a smile and then looked back at her and tossed his head, silently inviting her to join him onstage. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

“I think she’s shy,” he murmured into the microphone, eliciting laughter from the crowd. “Maybe she needs a little encouragement?” The crowd roared, but Iris didn’t move. “If I play a song for her, do you think I can convince her to come out here to give me a kiss?” He glanced at Iris again and she laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. “But what should I play?” he asked, his eyes locked on hers.

Iris lifted her eyebrows and threw him a teasing grin, and he lifted one arm, encouraging the crowd to shout suggestions. But they only suggested his songs, and he was afraid that would somehow reveal too much, that she would realize how much of her was in his songs if he sang them to her. The audience quieted when he grabbed the stool nearby and perched on the edge. Throwing his band a slight shake of his head to let them know not to play along, he began to strum his guitar and turned so that he could watch Iris as he sang softly into the microphone.

“When the rain is blowing in your face, and the whole world is on your case, I could offer you a warm embrace. To make you feel my love.” He threw Iris sheepish look, hoping she liked the song, and saw that she was biting her lip, shifting her weight back and forth. He continued, “When the evening shadows and the stars appear, and there is no one there to dry your tears, I could hold you for a million years. To make you feel my love.”

Iris didn’t tear her eyes from his as she stepped forward. A slight murmur arose from the crowd when she appeared onstage, but it was muted quickly as though they were afraid of ruining the moment.

“I know you haven’t made your mind up yet, but I would never do you wrong. I’ve known it from the moment that we met. No doubt in my mind where we belong.”

Iris stopped a few feet away, and Barry stood. His band started to play softly as he lifted the guitar over his head and placed it aside. Then he stepped closer to her, his mind only on her as he continued to sing.

“I’d go hungry, I’d go black and blue. I’d go crawling down the avenue. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do. To make you feel my love.” He lifted a hand and brushed her hair back, stroking the soft skin of her cheek as he continued, “The storms are raging on a rollin’ sea and on the highway of regret. The winds of change are blowin’ wild and free. You ain’t seen nothin’ like me yet.” He drew her into his arms, pulling her tight against him, and she curled her arms around his neck and melted into him as he finished his song, his voice barely above a whisper.

He could have been singing to her alone, and it was only the presence of the microphone that spoiled the image and made his voice carry across the crowd. “I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do. Go to the ends of the earth for you. To make you feel my love.”

As the song ended, he bent, bracing her with his arms as he lowered her into a deep dip. His mouth crushed against hers, and the roar of the crowd pressed against them like a physical weight. The roar grew louder the longer they kissed, but Barry barely noticed. His heart lighter just having her in his arms, he finally put her back on her feet. Pressing his forehead against hers, he shrugged out of his trademark coat and slung it over her shoulders, whispering, “Baby, I missed you so much.”

Later, after returning home, to her loneliness and her responsibilities, Iris would close her eyes and relive the feeling of Barry’s arms around her. His lips against her skin. His song as it washed over her. She would remember how he sang the words like he meant them, and how he looked when he came to her after the show, his hair damp with sweat.

She was waiting for him in his dressing room backstage. In a moment of impulse, she’d stripped out of her clothes, dressing herself in nothing but one of the towels he so hated as she waited for him. It was barely enough to cover her chest, tantalizing glimpses of skin peeking through the folds. As the door slammed behind him and he reached behind his back to lock it, his gaze swept over her. Then, in two long slides, he was across the room, lifting her into his arms. He stepped forward and pressed her against the wall, sliding a thigh between her legs to hold her in place as she tore his shirt over his head.

“You’re right,” he growled, yanking the towel open until it fell on the floor at their feet. “I love these towels.” And then his mouth was on hers, his hands caressing her skin, his head bowing as he licked the soft swell of her breasts.

They made love there, against the wall, their hands and mouths desperate as they held each other. She moaned when he moved inside her, willfully losing herself in his touch. She tightened her legs around him, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts. Gasping his name into his ear in lieu of the words she didn’t dare say.

When she first returned home, she would think of those moments when she was alone in his bed, trailing her hands over her body and pretending that they were his. Later, she would try not to think of them, cursing her memory and her imagination, that she could no longer separate fantasy from recollection.

She would also try and fail not to think about the next morning. Their sleepy embrace when she awoke in his arms, never wanting the moment to end. Greedy for each other, they made love all morning, only reluctantly stopping when she realized she would miss her plane.

When she grabbed her bag and headed for the door, he stepped behind her and wrapped her in his arms, ducking to press a kiss against the side of her neck. As she lifted her hand to run her fingers through his hair, he murmured against her skin, “Listen. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think...when I get back, we should talk. About our future. There’s something I-I need to tell you.”

Alone in the dark, she would dwell on those words, mulling over the weight of them. Whispering them in the night to feel how they tasted in her mouth. She wondered at his tone, imagining pauses and emphasis where there had been none.

“I think we should talk,” she whispered into her pillow. Had he stressed that word, a dramatic portend of what was to come? Had she been so blind, so giddy to be in his arms that she’d missed it? Or was her mind playing tricks on her now that she realized what he had meant? “About our future? About our future?”

She groaned, pressing the pillow against her mouth the muffle the sound. She had mulled over those words, weighing them over and over in her mind, until she could no longer remember just how they had been spoken. But did it really matter?

It didn’t. Because the next time she saw him, he broke her heart.

#a lie told often enough #fanfiction #my fanfiction #westallen #barry allen #iris west #rock star au

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