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its-avalon-08 · 3 months

Note

I need some angst and hurt comfort right now. I was wondering if you could write something with Lando and his long term girlfriend and she’s pregnant and Lando has been very busy with racing and stuff that one day when she says she’s going to an appointment to get a scan for the baby Lando resizes that he hasn’t been to a scan ever. Only like to the first two. And he’s like guilty and stuff and more guilty when he relies that his girlfriend is use to it. Happy ending please.

I hope that makes sense. I just thought you would be good to write it as I love all your work. 💕

every scan, every kick (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, absent lando, tears, fluff

First Trimester

Y/N sat in the waiting room of the clinic, anxiously tapping her foot. She kept glancing at her phone, hoping for a text or call from Lando. It was their second scan, and she was excited to share this moment with him. She finally saw a text pop up.

Sorry, babe. The meeting ran over. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Love you.

Her heart sank, but she forced a smile. She knew he was busy, but it still hurt. She went in alone, the excitement dulled without him by her side.

Second Trimester

Y/N stood in the kitchen, trying to reach a jar on the top shelf. She had texted Lando earlier to help her when he got home. Hours passed, and she finally managed to get the jar down herself.

She heard the front door open and Lando's voice calling out, "Y/N, I'm home!"

She turned to see him, his face tired but smiling. "Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. The meeting with the sponsors ran longer than expected."

"It’s okay," she said softly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Another Missed Scan

Y/N sat on the exam table, her hand resting on her belly. The technician smiled at her kindly. "Is your partner joining us today?"

"He’s… he’s running late," Y/N said, her voice wavering slightly. "We can start."

The scan showed the baby moving, but Y/N’s eyes were filled with unshed tears. She took a picture home for Lando, but it wasn’t the same.

Nursery Preparations

Y/N was painting the nursery, struggling to reach the higher spots. She had hoped Lando would be there to help, but he was away at a race. Her phone buzzed with a text.

Won the race! Wish you were here. Love you.

She smiled, genuinely happy for him, but the loneliness crept in. She continued painting, the room coming together, but the joy was tinged with sadness.

Doctor’s Appointment

Y/N sat in the waiting room, rubbing her belly absentmindedly. She was here for a routine check-up. The receptionist called her name, and she went in alone, the familiar ache of Lando’s absence gnawing at her.

The Breakdown

Y/N sat at the kitchen table, her eyes red from crying. She had tried to hold it together, but the loneliness and the weight of going through her pregnancy mostly alone had finally broken her. Kelly, P and Max had come over for a visit, sensing she needed company.

Kelly sat beside her, rubbing her back soothingly. “Y/N, talk to us. What’s going on?”

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to compose herself. “It’s just… Lando. He’s always so busy with racing and everything. I understand his career is important, but… I feel so alone.”

Max leaned against the counter, his face filled with concern. “He’s missing a lot, isn’t he?”

Y/N nodded, tears streaming down her face. “He missed the last scan. And the baby’s first kick. I texted him, but he’s always so caught up in meetings or races. I try to be supportive, but… it’s so hard.”

Kelly pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay to feel this way, Y/N. You’re doing this alone, and it’s not fair. You deserve to have him by your side.”

Y/N sobbed into Kelly’s shoulder. “I don’t want to be a burden. I know how important his career is.”

Max stepped closer, his voice gentle. “You’re not a burden, Y/N. You’re his partner and the mother of his child. He should be there for you.”

Kelly continued to comfort her. “You need to talk to him, Y/N. He needs to understand how much this is affecting you.”

Y/N pulled back, wiping her tears. “I’ve tried, but he’s always so busy. I feel like I’m losing him.”

Max crouched down beside her, taking her hand. “Lando loves you, Y/N. He just needs a wake-up call. He needs to realize what he’s missing before it’s too late.”

Kelly nodded. “You’re doing an amazing job, Y/N. But you shouldn’t have to do it alone. We’re here for you, and we’ll help you talk to Lando.”

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling slightly better with their support. “Thank you. I just… I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Kelly smiled softly. “We’re family, Y/N. We’ll always be here for you.”

Max squeezed her hand reassuringly. “And we’ll make sure Lando understands what’s at stake. You deserve to be happy and supported.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope. With friends like Kelly and Max, she knew she had the strength to face the challenges ahead. They stayed with her, offering comfort and support, as she prepared herself to have the difficult conversation with Lando.

Y/N and Daniel Ricciardo sat at the dining table, laughing and chatting over a cup of tea. Daniel had stopped by to catch up, and the conversation had naturally drifted to the baby. Lando had just gotten home from a long day at the track, and he walked into the lively discussion. "Hey, guys," Lando said, dropping his bag by the door and joining them at the table.

"Hey, mate," Daniel greeted, smiling warmly. "We were just talking about the little one. How's the baby cooking, Y/N?"

Y/N smiled, her hand resting on her belly. "Pretty good. The baby’s been very active lately."

"Yeah, you mentioned that at the last scan," Daniel said. "Didn't you say the baby kicked like a future football star? And the doctor said everything is progressing perfectly, right?"

Lando’s smile faltered. "You went to the last scan?" he asked Daniel, trying to keep his tone casual. "No, I didn’t," Daniel replied, a bit puzzled. "Y/N was just telling me about it. I just thought you had been there. We just chat pretty often, you know?"

"Oh, right," Lando said, his voice tight. "Y/N told you."

Daniel, sensing the tension, tried to lighten the mood. "Yeah, mate. She even showed me the picture from the last scan. Your kid's got a strong heartbeat. Future racer, right?"

Lando forced a chuckle, but the guilt was bubbling inside him. "Yeah, definitely."

Y/N looked at Lando, noticing the strain in his expression. "Lando, it’s okay. I know you’ve been busy."

"No, it’s not okay," Lando said, his voice cracking. "Daniel knows more about our baby than I do. I haven’t been there, Y/N. I’ve missed so much."

Daniel sensed the need for privacy and stood up. “I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll see you both later.” He gave Lando a reassuring pat on the back before leaving.

As the door closed, Lando sank into the couch, his head in his hands. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’ve missed so much.”

She sat beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Lando, I know your career is demanding. I understand.”

“But it’s not enough,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ve missed scans, kicks... moments I can’t get back. And it took Daniel fucking knowing more about our baby than I do to make me realize how absent I’ve been.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes. “Lando, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

“No, Y/N, it’s not enough. I’ve been so focused on racing that I forgot what’s truly important. You and our baby are my priority. I’ve been selfish, and I’m so, so sorry.”

She hugged him tightly, tears streaming down her face. “We love you, Lando. We just need you here with us.”

He held her close, his own tears falling freely. “I promise, Y/N. I’ll be here. I’ll make it right. I love you both more than anything.”

They sat there, holding each other, the weight of their emotions filling the room. Lando knew he had a long way to go, but he was determined to make up for the lost time. For Y/N and their baby, he would be present, supportive, and the partner they deserved.

Lando and Y/N sat on the couch, the glow of the TV casting a soft light in the room. They had just finished dinner, and the weight of the day’s emotional conversations hung in the air. Lando had apologized, and Y/N had accepted, but the raw emotions still lingered.

They were watching a movie, but neither of them was really paying attention. Lando held Y/N close, her head resting on his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair, his heart heavy with guilt and love.

“Y/N,” Lando whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there for you. I missed so much, and I hate myself for it.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with understanding. “Lando, you’re here now. That’s what matters. We can’t change the past, but we can make sure you’re here for the future.”

Lando’s eyes filled with tears. “I love you so much, Y/N. More than anything. I don’t ever want you to feel alone again.”

She cupped his face, wiping away his tears with her thumb. “I know you do, Lando. And I love you too. We’ll get through this together.”

Lando’s tears began to flow more freely. “I just feel like I’ve let you down. You deserve so much better.”

Y/N shook her head, her own eyes welling up. “You’re an amazing partner, Lando. Yes, it’s been hard, but I believe in us. I believe in you.”

Lando pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair. “I’m going to be there for every moment from now on. Every kick, every scan, every little thing. I promise.”

Y/N held him tightly, her heart aching with both sadness and love. “I know you will. We’ll make it work.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the movie playing softly in the background. Lando’s tears eventually subsided, replaced by a deep sense of resolve. He kissed the top of Y/N’s head, his heart swelling with love and determination.

“Thank you for believing in me,” he whispered.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with love. “Thank you for coming back to us.”

Lando leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “I’ll never leave you again.”

They continued to cuddle, the warmth of their love and commitment wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. As the night wore on, they talked about their dreams for the future, the plans for their baby, and how they would face everything together. Lando knew he had a lot to make up for, but with Y/N by his side, he felt ready to take on anything.

As they drifted off to sleep, still entwined on the couch, Lando whispered one last promise. “I love you, Y/N. Always and forever.”

She smiled, her heart full. “I love you too, Lando. Always and forever.

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andypantsx3 · 5 months

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Hi hi hi, andy! I also have a question abt wimym. I loved reading it sm!! Shouto was so so so soft with the reader I melted everytime they interacted

I wanted to know how Touya reacted to when they became a couple. Did he ever think of the possibility of them being together?

And Rei, when she smiled at the immediate yes from Shouto for the run when the reader said she'd go for the run. Did Rei know?

Ahhhh thank you to everyone who sent one of these asks, I am so overwhelmed and so very grateful. I had so much fun writing it and I'm so happy you guys liked it.

And I hope it's okay I grouped you all because you had a similar question!! One that I intend to answer with a drabble: What does the main character of our wimym universe Touya (lol) think of Shouto x Reader? ✨✨

(Fair warning the dabihawks shipper in me is at it again in this one).

You arrived late, thanks to Shouto.

It had been a monumental effort to even get out the door, with the number of times you'd been dragged back underneath Shouto in bed, pressed into the wall and kissed breathless just as you'd escaped bed range, and then followed into the shower as you'd tried to get presentable for Shouto's family.

It was lucky you'd known the Todorokis your whole life, as this was not the first impression you wanted to make as Shouto's life mate.

"They will understand," Shouto intoned as you knocked on the front door.

His breath ghosted over a mark on the back of your neck he'd diligently sucked there not a half hour before, and you shivered with the accompanying memory of his long fingers dipping into the underwear you'd only just managed to pull on.

Before you could respond, however, the door pulled open and you suddenly found yourself with an armful of Fuyumi.

"Congratulations!" she said, and you could tell by the sound of her voice that she was beaming. The sound instantly put you at ease, and you could feel some of the tension leak out of you. She was a fellow beta, not that much younger than you, and always had a way of calming you.

You'd been concerned that his family wouldn't take it well, your being mated to Shouto. But Fuyumi carried on like nothing was the matter.

"We're all so happy. Mom said it was about time, and Natsuo has been inundated with winnings from all the bets he's taken," she said, laughing, punctuating her words with a squeeze.

You blinked. Bets. Had Shouto's regard for you really been that obvious to everyone else, too, all these years? Your ears heated.

Fuyumi released you only to drag Shouto down into a hug too, reaching up nearly a foot to ruffle his hair and murmuring her congratulations to him as well. Shouto's eyes met yours over her shoulder, and he blinked slow like a cat. You could tell how pleased he was.

"Mom's made lunch, I bet you two are famished after everything," Fuyumi said, once she released Shouto.

Your ears went even hotter with the implication, and almost nuclear when Shouto intoned, "We are."

"Shhh," you hissed at him, as Fuyumi gestured you inside. The foyer smelled like her, a cold spring morning, with the undercurrent of Rei's wildflowers.

"They do know what a life mate is," Shouto told you, even as he took your hand in his. "And they are aware that I've had you locked away for days."

Your stomach lurched even as it fluttered with the memory of what those days locked away had been like. "We were playing checkers," you said to Fuyumi.

A pert white eyebrow being raised was all the reply you got as she led you into the kitchen, and you frowned. Todorokis.

In the kitchen, you barely got a glance at the lunch spread before you were immediately engulfed in a hug from Natsuo. Rei smiled at you and petted your hair fondly the way your own mother did, cupping your cheek and looking at you like she'd always sort of known.

A yank from Shouto, however, pulled you out of the way just as a fabric napkin came whipping at your face. You jerked around to find Touya leaning over the table, glaring between you and Shouto like he didn't know which one of you to be more disgusted with.

"That is my baby brother," he hissed to you before rounding on Shouto. "That is my friend."

Shouto's grip on you tightened immediately, eyes narrowing. His mouth pursed. "Y/N is mine, Touya."

You suppressed an eye roll, even as Touya growled. "You wouldn't even know each other if it wasn't for me, you little pervert—"

Well there it was.

"Wow, lunch looks soooo good," you intoned over both of them, turning to Rei with a deliberate flourish. "You always take such good care of me, I am grateful."

Rei's smile was soft, in contrast to Touya's angry growl. You pretended like you were suddenly deaf to that corner of the room.

"Shouto has been in love for a long time. I am happy to know it is someone we all love dearly too," Rei said.

Your face heated, and Touya made another disgusted sound. "And you, what happened to not wanting some knothead idiot?" he demanded over his mother.

Shouto blinked and leaned back, apparently not as fussed with the accusation of being a knothead idiot as he was with the implication that he had to share you with anyone else.

You had to bite down a smile, knowing that would only enrage Touya further.

"I am hungry," Shouto said, ignoring his brother now entirely. "Next time I will make a larger portion for leftovers."

Your skin prickled guiltily. The two of you had worked up an appetite like you'd never had in your life over the past few days, decimating the leftovers and then all the snacks Shouto had packed away for you in his cabinets.

It was honestly only the promise of more homecooked food that had finally lured the two of you out this afternoon, after which you'd make a stop at your mother's and then grab Shouto's bodyweight in groceries before returning to—well, certain activities.

"Next time?" you prompted Shouto, eyebrows raising.

"My rut," he said, and bolt of heat went through you like lightning. You had not thought of that.

Touya made another noise like he was repulsed.

"I would love to not talk about that in front of your family," you said to Shouto, mortified.

"I would love to not be a part of this family," Touya said darkly from the table.

Fuyumi cast him a stricken glance, but before she could say anything, there was a knock at the door. You watched a strange expression overtake Natsuo's face, the same one that came over Shouto's when he was trying not to look too smug.

When Fuyumi returned, it was with a familiar blonde alpha in tow. Keigo grinned around her, leaning forward and giving you and then Shouto a fist bump.

"Had to be here for the celebration," he drawled, his tone airy, wiggling his eyebrows. He looked as at home in the kitchen as he had a lanky preteen, come out to play for an afternoon. "And Rumi's on her way too. Congrats, lovebirds."

You noted Touya's corner was suddenly a fraction more subdued, and your eyes darted to Natsuo again, a brow raising. He watched you back, tucking his cellphone into his pocket with deliberate focus.

You managed to steer Shouto towards Natsuo's side of the table while Keigo threw himself down eagerly next to Touya. Touya bristled like a cat over a bath, grumbling something, but it was drowned out by Keigo helping himself to Touya's personal space, an arm draping behind Touya's chair. Touya shoved him off, swearing.

But beneath the white mess of his hair, you thought the tip of his ear was a rather telling shade of pink.

"Called in reinforcements?" you asked Natsuo as you settled in next to him.

Shouto glanced over, frowning that your attention was elsewhere. You slipped your hand into his, almost melting with the way his thumb stroked over your skin, barely resisting the urge to pinch him for how cute he was.

For his part, Natsuo smiled, patting his pocket pointedly.

"That," he said, returning his gaze to his older brother as he squawked about Keigo's proximity, all dismay with you and Shouto forgotten. A smile pulled at Natsuo's mouth. "And I might have one more bet to win."

#ask andie

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bookwormjust · 11 days

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Fever (established relationship Eris, caring hounds)

The night is quiet, the autumn breeze gently rustling the leaves outside the grand windows of your shared bedroom. You’re lying under the thick blankets, your body weak and trembling with the creeping fever that’s settled in once again. Though you're fae, your body has always been prone to sickness, a vulnerability that still clings to you even in your immortal state.

Eris had been working late again, the weight of his new responsibilities as High Lord of Autumn keeping him away more often than either of you would like. Since the death of his father, Eris had inherited not only the title but the endless demands of ruling his court. He was trying to be everything his father wasn’t—just, fair, protective—but it meant you spent many nights alone in your bed.

Except for the hounds.

Eris had insisted that his pack of loyal, powerful hounds guard you while he worked. They never left your side, curled at the foot of the bed or lying just outside your door, always on alert. The largest of them, the pack's leader, had taken a special liking to you, his amber eyes always watchful, his presence a constant comfort in Eris's absence.

But tonight, something’s wrong. The fever that had started as a faint warmth earlier in the evening has now become a roaring fire under your skin. You’re shivering uncontrollably, your breaths coming in labored gasps. The room spins around you, and despite the layers of blankets, a deep chill settles into your bones.

Suddenly, through the haze of fever, you hear a low growl—then the sound of paws padding softly across the floor. You barely manage to open your eyes when you see the chief hound standing beside your bed, his gaze sharp and concerned. His muzzle nudges your hand gently, as if to check on you.

You attempt to reassure him, your voice weak and hoarse. “I’m okay,” you whisper, though the trembling in your body says otherwise.

The hound doesn't buy it. With a determined huff, he turns and trots out of the room, his footsteps echoing faintly in the hall. He knows exactly where to go.

---

Eris is in his study, pouring over stacks of parchment by the dim light of the fire. His head aches from hours of work, but he refuses to stop, not until everything is perfect, not until he’s sure his court is safe and thriving. But his thoughts keep drifting to you. He hadn't missed how pale you'd looked earlier, the slight flush of fever beginning to color your cheeks. He’d meant to check on you but got caught up in endless council matters.

The sound of paws rushing toward him breaks his focus. His head snaps up just as the leader of his hounds barrels into the room, his amber eyes wide and alert. Eris instantly knows something is wrong.

“What is it?” he demands, his voice tight with concern.

The hound whines, nudging at Eris’s leg before turning back toward the door, clearly wanting him to follow. Eris doesn’t waste a second.

He moves swiftly through the corridors, his heart pounding with worry. When he reaches your bedroom, the sight of you lying in bed, shivering and drenched in sweat, makes his blood run cold.

“Gods,” he whispers, rushing to your side. He kneels beside the bed, his hand instantly going to your forehead, feeling the scorching heat radiating from you. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

You blink up at him, your vision blurred from the fever. “Didn’t want to... bother you,” you mumble, your voice weak. “You have... so much to do…”

Eris’s jaw tightens, guilt flooding him. “You’re my mate,” he says softly, his voice filled with both frustration and affection. “Nothing is more important than you.”

Without hesitation, he calls for water, cool cloths, and medicine from his healers. His hands move with urgency but care, placing a cold compress on your burning skin, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face as he whispers soothing words.

The hounds gather around the bed, watching anxiously as Eris tends to you, their loyalty to you as fierce as his own. The leader nudges Eris gently, as if to say *I’ve brought her back to you—now take care of her.*

“I’ll never leave you like this again,” Eris promises quietly as he sits beside you, holding your hand tightly. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles, his fiery gaze softening as he watches you, concern etched in every line of his face. “You’re going to be alright. I’m here now.”

Even through the fever, his presence calms you, and despite the heat that consumes you, you find comfort in his touch. You drift into a restless sleep, knowing that with Eris and his loyal hounds by your side, you’re safe.

#acotar reader imagine #acotar x reader #acotar #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris x oc #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra x y/n #Spotify

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marigold-hills · 1 month

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@wolfstarmicrofic | August 25th: win | 1000 words

CW: attempted mugging, mentions of broken bones

Remus Lupin is well aware what he looks like: the wrong side of lanky, with a nasty scar across his face from falling off a bike at five, and a nastier one down his sternum from heart surgery at fifteen. Weak knees, weaker ankles. Breakable wrists. He surrounds himself in soft things, wears sweaters and cardigans even in the summer, when his varied blood deficiencies keep him cold in the heat.

He doesn’t usually go out in the dark. His library desk job keeps his work hours to a respectable 9-to-5, and he’s not one for bars, or clubs, or any other sort of entertainment that would require him to be out in the evening.

Today? Well, there was a book signing at the library. It run late, and he was having a nice chat with the writer, managing to keep his fan-boying to a minimum (it was the James Potter, after all). There was wine, which he doesn’t usually partake in. So: it’s well past his work hours, he’s pleasantly buzzed and on a high from a successful social interaction. Then he sees him.

It’s probably the most beautiful human specimen Remus’ has ever seen. He was stunning in the library, where he accompanied the James Potter for the signing, and he is just as lovely now, in the dim unflattering streetlamps. The hair, the bone structure, the shoulders. Everything about him made Remus decide not to say a single word to him, only gape half-open-mouthed and watch from across the room.

(Doing it now, as he as good as follows him down darkened South London streets, feels roughly stalkerish. Again, Remus knows what he looks like. He’s got too big ears and slightly too big front teeth and definitely too big a nose. He wouldn’t even try to talk to someone like this, not for all the embarrassment in the world.)

Remus is slower, especially with the crutch he has had to use since he broke his ankle a month earlier. His foot is still in the awkward boot-cuff. There should be no way of him catching up, so no chance of an interaction, successful or, more likely, otherwise.

Out of the shadows, appears a figure. Hooded, wide-shouldered, knife-wielding. The beautiful friend of James Potter doesn’t notice until the man is almost on him, knife pointed at the Nirvana logo on his T-shirt.

Remus can’t hear what’s said, but he doesn’t really need to. He’s lived in South London all his life, from Lambeth to Peckham - he’s seen his fair share of muggings.

Something comes over him. Maybe the late hour, maybe the wine. Maybe the impossible wrongness of a man so pretty being in such a situation. Whatever it is, before he even thinks about it, he’s somehow caught up.

Next thing he knows, he’s behind the mugger.

Next thing after that, the heavy, metal leg of his crutch makes heavy, violent contact with the side of the mugger’s head.

He falls to the ground in a heap of limbs and dark fabric and dropped knifes and for a terrible second Remus thinks:

“Fuck. I think I killed him.”

Through the wine-haze or adrenaline-haze, or maybe your-dodgy-heart-finally-gave-in-haze, he realises he said it out loud.

The pretty man leans down and checks the muggers head, then his pulse. “He’s fine. Well. He’s probably concussed. That was a mean hit,” he looks at Remus with something like appreciation in his eyes. “Thank you, Remus. Lucky you were here, or he’d have probably made off with my phone.”

“You know my name?” Remus asks rather dumbly. The answer is obvious and self evident because the man just said it.

“Of course I do. I’ve been watching you all night,” the cheekiest smile Remus has ever seen. The man prods the prone mugger with the tip of his shoe. “Who knew it’d take something like this to actually get you to talk to me.”

“Huh,” Remus says. (He has a degree in literature, he should really be able to string a sentence together with some intelligence, but apparently it has abandoned him.)

“Should probably call an ambulance.”

And that brings Remus out of his stupor. “You’re hurt?” He just stops himself from checking the man over, hands itching to reach out and feel for the damage.

“For this one. Can’t really leave him just lying on the side of the road.”

“Oh. Right, of course.”

“And they’ll probably arrest him, while they’re at it. Win-win.”

“Silver linings.”

The man – Remus doesn’t know his name – laughs at that. It’s oddly dog like and on another person it’d be too much, too loud, but on him? Perfection. Remus wants to ask to record it. Maybe playing it in the evenings will cure his insomnia.

Adrenaline wearing off, Remus realises that his broken ankle hurts way more than it should. More than it has for a while. The same amount as…

“I’ve re-broken my ankle,” he doesn’t mean to blurt out loud. There’s immediate concern in the man’s face. Remus half-sits half-slumps down to the pavement. “Yup. I’m pretty sure I’ve re-broken my ankle. Fantastic.”

That’s what he gets for chasing down would-be-muggers down the streets of London. It’s probably some cosmic price to pay for hearing that laugh. It must be delirium: Remus thinks it’s worth it.

There are gentle hands on the side of his face, guiding it upward, and gentle eyes full on sincerity. “Thank you for helping me,” the man says again, “let’s get you to the hospital, alright?”

Through the pain-haze or wine-buzz-haze or maybe you-just-assaulted-someone-haze, Remus becomes shameless. “Will you stay with me?”

“As long as you’ll have me,” the man says and the way he looks at Remus? Like he doesn’t have too-big ears and too-big a nose, or the scar, or the hair he can never get to behave.

Remus, more than shameless: “forever, then.”

The laugh he gets in return is somehow even better. There is nothing mocking about it. Instead, agreeable. “Alright. Forever.”

NOTES:

does this count as a meet-cute?

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders #dead gay wizards #fanfic #remus x sirius #marauders era #microfiction #wolfstar microfic

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badomensbaby · 7 months

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so into you. lrh

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader

summary: luke hemmings, a voice actor you've been working closely with for quite some time, ends up confessing just how into you he really is.

warnings: 18+ only. minors DNI. flirting/flustering, protected smut, degradation, praise kink, slight sir kink, dom/sub undertones, swearing, oral sex (female receiving), mask kink, explicit sexual content.

words: 4,680

a/n: iiiiii cannot express where i came up with this idea. i don't mention explicitly in this fic what video game luke's working on but in my head, it's COD MW3. (i may have a small obsession with ghost. whatever.) but alas, i left this fic alone for like a week and finished it on a whim. enjoy. x

feedback and constructive criticism welcome. requests are open!

Ah, Luke Hemmings, the bane of your existence.

It’s not that you hate him or anything, unless feeling so sick to your stomach because he’s too damn pretty to be working as a voice actor counts as hate, then maybe. But it’s really quite the opposite.

You’ve been working at the video game development studio for almost two years. Your title has changed far too many times, as well as your responsibilities, but you get to see ideas come to life from the loose concept to the console screen so you can’t complain too much.

Right now, you’re in the middle of a contract for a multiplayer war game. It’s a sequel, or a prequel- whatever, it doesn’t really matter. The franchise has been around for ages but they’re always coming up with new content and it’s part of your job to make sure every voice and cgi actor are dressed and ready to perform accordingly.

Even though your manager can be a little overkill, like how he demands any voice actor be in full dress while they’re in the recording booth. It really doesn’t do much for their performance but your manager refuses to listen.

You’re in the middle of skimming through your to-do list for the day. There’s three people who still need to get some lines of dialogue done for the storyline of the video game so it’s your responsibility to make sure they don’t fuck around in the booth all afternoon. First up, and is already late, is none other than Luke.

It doesn’t surprise you. Despite looking like a total diva with his sharp jaw and soft, fluffy blonde curls that seem to be immune to any humidity, always laying so perfectly, he was probably the sweetest guy in the industry you’d ever met. Always polite and charming. Sometimes you think he might be flirting with you but it’s likely he’s just that nice.

A paper cup of branded coffee suddenly invades your vision, blocking your view of the list you’ve been working on all morning. It’s warm and smells like cinnamon, your favorite. Looking up, way way up because he’s impossibly tall, is Luke, with a half-crooked smile and bright blue eyes.

“Mornin’ Miss Y/N,” he says, despite the cheeriness on his face his voice is slightly raspy. You try not to think about it too much. It’s only eight am and you’re stuck listening to Luke in the booth until noon. “Blonde roast with cinnamon. You still drink that, right?”

Skeptically, you take the cup from him. Luke doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest by your hesitance. “Thank you?” It’s meant to be a statement but it slips out as more of a question. “Is this why you’re late, Hemmings?”

A glint of mischief flickers in his eyes. “Why, were you worried about me?”

Your stomach seems to flutter rather easily at his words. Shut up, brain! Luke’s a coworker, stop it. “We’ve only got four hours in the booth and almost fifty lines of dialogue,” You roll your eyes, trying to remain professional. “We need every minute we can get.”

“Fair enough, I’ll go get dressed. Have you got my gear ready?” Luke sips at his own drink and you can smell it from where you stand only a foot away. Chai tea latte with hazelnut. Man has taste.

“Yeah,” You clear your throat, trying to keep your eyes away from the frothy milk of his latte dribbling down the side of his lip. Christ. “Yeah everything’s ready to go. Just get your gear on and meet me in the booth.”

“Aye aye, captain,” The blonde mock-salutes you with a wink, before heading off to his dressing room down the hall. Thankful for the ability to properly breathe again, you quickly shake your head and go inside of the small recording studio and begin to organize the dialogue Luke’s meant to be working on this morning.

It’s almost as if you forget how to operate when Luke steps into the small room. It’s only the two of you today, as the sound technician won’t be in until later but you have a decent grasp on which recorded lines will sound best in the final production.

Luke’s already absurdly tall, well over six feet but with his full gear on he’s pushing halfway to seven feet. With thick combat boots on his feet, and full camo gear covering every inch of his lengthy body. A thick, heavy armor carrier plate is fixed against his chest, and his mask is held loosely in his hand. You force yourself to swallow the thick lump stuck in your throat.

“Can you turn the air on?” Luke asks, oblivious to how you’re struggling to breathe when he looks like that. “M’gonna fuckin’ roast in there if you don’t.”

“Yeah- yeah, sure,” You stumble both verbally and physically, barely managing to catch yourself as you twist behind you to turn the air a little cooler in the small room. It won’t help the flush that’s spreading across every inch of your body. You can’t face him yet, so you pretend like changing the temperature is a little more time consuming than it really is. “You can go ahead whenever.”

The sound booth’s door shuts with a soft click. Your heart’s beating a little hard but at least there’s thick glass separating yourself and Luke now, and once you’re sitting with headphones on you’ll barely be able to see him. God, what a terrible time to remember that stupid masked man fantasy of yours.

Luke does well, as usual, hitting the perfect low pitch for his character that your manager hired him for. He plays the character well, you have to admit, hearing his voice rasped and grovely is almost too much. You lower the volume on the headphones just to spare yourself the embarrassment of getting worked up.

It’s eleven-thirty when he finishes up. Every line of dialogue is near perfect and you’re sure they’ll make production without a hitch, so you have no qualms about turning off the recording light that illuminates the hall outside of the small studio.

You’re in the process of organizing the recorded files for the sound technician to look over when Luke steps out of the booth.

Instead of peeling the mask from his head, he left it on, his gloved hands clasped on the doorframe a few inches above his head. Christ, he looks like he stepped out of a fairly inappropriate fantasy dream you could conjure up after a glass or two of wine. “Even got time to spare.”

You can tell Luke’s smirking beneath the black and white mask, if the glimmer in his baby blue eyes is anything to go by. You just blink, too dumb to come up with anything to say, pulling the headphones to rest around your neck. “Uh- you- you did great.”

“Thanks, Miss Y/N,” his head cocks, helmet almost knocking into the side of the door frame but Luke doesn’t notice. “I love when you compliment me. I know you mean it.”

Your cheeks feel hot. It’s too warm in here, that’s all. Maybe the air isn’t working or something. “I do mean it,” you say softly. “You’re a great voice actor. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.”

Luke drops his hands from the door frame, instead leaning against it, his eyes still fixed on you. “You okay over there? You look a bit flushed.”

“M’fine sir- Luke,” You quickly clear your throat, hoping Luke hadn’t caught your stupid slip up. How fucking embarrassing, do you not have a filter? Suddenly a man all dressed up in gear and a mask has you calling him sir? Get a grip!

“Sir?” Luke echoes, his voice syrupy sweet and laced with curiosity. “That’s a new one. Usually all I get from you is Hemmings. I like that, you should call me sir more often.”

You want to look away but it’s impossible. Like a damn car crash, your eyes are fixated on the tall man. It’s fucking sinful how good he looks like that. “It was- it was nothing, don’t read into it.” You deflect.

“Yeah, okay,” Luke says sarcastically, followed up by a slow, dramatic sigh. “It’s a shame, though. Figured you’d finally admit you’re into me so I can stop pining after you in silence.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

A low laugh erupts from Luke’s chest. “Don’t tell me you’re that oblivious, Y/N. I’ve been obsessed with you since day one. Why do you think we’re always working together?”

“My manager said I’m doing well-“

“That was after I gave him season passes to every game the Dodgers play, sweetheart. Told him I won’t work for him unless m’with you.”

Your brows knit in confusion. Has your growth within your position all been at Luke’s doing? You’ve been working with him nearly as long as you’ve been with the company. And suddenly it all makes sense.

Why your manager never seemed to care what you’ve been working so hard for, complimenting you regardless of any efforts shown to him. Why he doesn’t hang around the studio anymore to micromanage your every move.

You stand abruptly. “You asshole!” The words escape without a second thought. “You bribed my manager so you could work with me? That’s- that’s…”

“I thought you’d be flattered,” Luke says, almost somberly but you know he’s anything but. He’s a voice actor for crying out loud, he can make himself sound however he wants, regardless if it’s real. “What’s the big deal anyway? You have almost total freedom and you’re stuck with me all the time. It’s a win-win.”

Whatever attraction you have towards Luke is pushed to the back burner of your mind. Yeah, you have a stupid crush on him but how could he meddle with your job like that? The two of you aren’t even friends, he had no right.

“That wasn’t your decision to make. Who knows now if I’m doing well because of me or because of you? Terry could be spewing bullshit about my performance reviews to keep you happy!”

“You’re being dramatic,” Luke drones lazily. “Of course you’re doing well because of you. All I did was keep us working together, s’not like I fucking paid Terry off to give you a promotion.”

“I don’t know that!” You yell frustratedly, fists balling at your sides. “God- you- take that fucking mask off, would you?”

Luke remains still. “Now why would I do that?” he asks lowly, stepping toward you. Your shoulders draw inward, despite your attempt to keep confident. “Clearly it’s distracting you. Which I think is working in my favor.”

“It’s not.” You mutter weakly.

“Liars aren’t cute,” Luke tuts. “What, does my mask get you all hot and bothered, Miss Y/N? Huh? Because I’m bigger than you? Because I can do anything I want to you and you can’t stop me?”

“Luke-“

“Tell me I’m wrong, Y/N,” his voice impossibly lowers, until it’s a hushed rasp, his chest only a mere few inches from yours. Craning your neck to look up at him easily makes you weak in the knees. You know he’s right and you can’t find the words to tell him otherwise. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Your lip quivers nervously. The words are right there, the lie you could easily spew but it won’t make it off of your tongue. His eyes are too dark to resist, swirls of pretty blue swallowed by his pupils. Blown out and expectant. “You..”

“You can’t, can you? Because you know I’m right,” Luke continues, clearly feeding off of the nerves you’re trying to swallow down. It’s written all over your face, you’re sure of it. Like a book printed in size twenty bold font. “I’m not stupid, Y/N. I see the way you look at me. I watch you quiver every time I put my gear on,”

Nothing escapes you except a helpless, trembling whimper. One of Luke’s gloved hands slowly raises to push a strand of loose hair behind your ear. Your eyes are nearly brimming with tears of frustration, of how badly you’re ready to give in to him, of how stupid you feel, wet and desperate between your thighs. It’s the mask, you try to tell yourself, but it’s useless because you know damn well it’s a lie.

It isn’t the mask, rather the person behind it. Luke’s probably the most attractive person you’ve met in a long time, it was inevitable you’d end up crushing on him, but when he’s in full dress you can’t deny there’s something inside of you that seems to light a flame inside of you that’s impossible to put out.

“What is it you like so much, hm?” Luke’s head cocks curiously, his cloudy eyes slowly raking over your body. You can tell he’s smirking beneath the mask at how tightly your hands are balled into fists at your sides, holding yourself back from doing something you shouldn’t. “You know what I think? I think you like giving up control. Obeying. Submitting. And when I’m dressed like this you really have no choice but to listen to me.”

“Luke..” your lips weakly spew the man’s name out. He seems to hum in content, he knows you’re close to giving in. He wants to push you over that line. Cross it with no shame. “I..”

Luke’s gloved hand grasps your jaw, firmly but delicately, so much so that it makes your head feel dizzy. “Speak up,” he demands lowly. “Tell me what you want.”

“I..” You can hardly meet his eyes. It’s pathetic of you, trembling like this and stuttering over yourself. Luke knows it too. “I want.. you.”

“Me?” He echoes, but it sounds a little demeaning the way it falls from his mouth. “You’re not giving me much to work with here, Y/N. Better spit it out.”

“I.. want..” Your eyes threaten to fall shut. You’ve never really been confident when it comes to sex but there’s something about the way Luke’s speaking to you that makes you feel a bit bold. Maybe it’s a leap but fuck, you won’t know unless you try.

With a trembling, hesitant hand, you grasp Luke’s unoccupied wrist, slowly drawing his hand downwards until it’s caressing your clothed core. “You. Please.”

Luke actually whimpers. It could easily be mistaken for a breathy sigh but you’ve been listening to this man’s every vocality for years, you know nearly every noise he can make. “Christ, Y/N,” It’s as if he wasn’t expecting your bold move. “I swear to God I’ll fuck you right here. I will, if you’ll let me.”

“Yeah- yes,” You frantically nod, too dizzy to provide any other words of confirmation. It’s all Luke needs, really, before he’s pressing his hand harder against your damp underwear, warm and inviting, he swears he can almost feel your arousal through his glove. “Luke, please.”

“Yeah, m’gonna take care of you, promise,” Luke releases your jaw, working to strip his gloves from his hands. You almost whimper from the loss of contact but you know what’s coming next is far better than a measly touch outside of your pants. “Gonna be a good girl for me, Y/N?”

You whimper out something along the lines of “yes” that Luke seems to be satisfied with because he’s planting a firm hand on your shoulder and spinning you around, using his grip to shove your body forward until your palms collide with the sound booth’s desk. Careful to avoid pressing any buttons you shouldn’t, you adjust yourself slightly, breaths heavy as Luke shuffles behind you.

You can feel how hard he is through the thick, camo pants he’s wearing, cock strained against the fabric and digging into your backside. Your toes curl inside of your shoes. He feels big. You feel Luke’s fingers tease at the waistband of your jeans. “Can I?”

“Yes- fuck,” You mutter through gritted teeth. There isn’t anything for you to properly hold on to while Luke’s fingers work to unbutton and unzip your jeans, before shimmying them down your hips and the swell of your ass, leaving them pooled just above your knees.

“Don’t have a lot of time, Y/N, Mark’s up next isn’t he?” Luke slowly teases his fingers along the dampened material of your underwear, resulting in the soft arch of your back as your hips move closer to him. “Such a shame. The things I’d do for a taste of that pretty pussy..”

“Luke, can you just-“ You’re filled to the brim with frustration, desperately wet and on the edge of bratty at the amount of time Luke’s wasting. He seems to understand easily, because a hand comes down on your left cheek, leaving a pretty little pink handprint on your skin.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat,” Luke says around a scoff, sliding your underwear down to join your jeans a little rougher than necessary. “Just for that, m’gonna fuckin’ do it. Don’t care if Mark comes in here to see my tongue deep inside your needy cunt.”

Luke’s words are sent straight to your core, stupidly wet and braindead from how badly you’re soaking the skin between your thighs. You hear the sound of Luke’s knees hitting the carpeted floor, the sound of his mask shuffling and the feeling of his warm breath on your flushed skin.

Luke’s thumbs sink into your flesh easily, spreading you fully for him, your body falling further forward and ass in the air. You know you’re glistening pathetically, all for a hot blonde voice actor in some stupid war gear. “Y/N, you’re fuckin’ drenched. Holy shit,” Luke mumbles in disbelief. “You’re so goddamn pretty.”

You aren’t sure if Luke’s going to continue speaking but it doesn’t matter, his tongue’s busy trailing a fat, long stripe along your heat. Christ, his tongue is so goddamn warm, humming happily against you as he works, alternating between suckling your clit between his teeth and nuzzling his nose against you. Like he just can’t get enough.

Blindly, your hand slips and without either of you being aware, the recording light outside of the small room has been illuminated.

“You taste so fucking good, Y/N. So goddamn good,” He hums again before diving back in, practically fucking his tongue inside of you every which way, like he’s claiming you and drawing his name with every lick. You let out a soft, helpless cry when his teeth graze your clit again. “Could eat your pretty pussy for hours, baby. Wanna spread you out on my bed like a fuckin’ feast.”

“Luke-“ Your voice wobbles, a desperate breath following. You’re so fucking lightheaded it’s insane, all you crave is Luke inside of you. “Luke, please. Please fuck me.”

“Yeah baby, gonna fuck you,” Luke presses a quick, messy kiss against your clit before he pulls back, running his tongue along his lips to gather any excess. You don’t hear him slip the mask back on but you definitely hear his belt unbuckle, along with the fly of his camo pants. “Look at you, what a fuckin’ dream. Bent over and fuckin’ soaked, begging for my cock.”

The sound of Luke tearing a condom packet open with his teeth catches your attention. You hardly have enough strength to look over your shoulder but he’s already rolling the latex over his dick that’s just out of your view. “Where did you get-“ You don’t get to finish your sentence because the words die out in your throat, replaced with a strangled gasp as you feel the head of Luke’s cock slowly trail up your wetness. “Oh, fuck.”

Luke makes a smug, pleased sound before slowly pressing inside of you. And yeah, fuck, he’s definitely bigger than anyone you’ve slept with. Which, honestly, hasn’t been very many people. “Yeah, that’s it,” You hear Luke sigh behind you, hands attaching to your hips as he continues to feed his dick further inside. “Fuck, you’re swallowing my cock up. So desperate for it, aren’t you?”

It’s almost too much. Your eyes pinch shut, teeth sinking into your lower lip to keep the tears at bay. He’s stretching you out so good every inch he sinks inside, until he’s buried to the hilt and stills his hips. “Luke.. fuck, you’re- you’re big.”

You hear Luke chuckle behind you. His fingertips press harder into your hips. “What’s the point of being so cocky if I don’t have anything to show for it?” he says, amused but a little breathless. He’s just as affected by your tight warmth as you are by his sizable dick. “Don’t tell me it’s too much for you, Y/N. You’re a big girl, I know you can take it.”

“Just.. give me a minute?”

“We don’t have enough time, baby,” Luke says soothingly, almost somberly. “I promise you’ll get used to it.”

You intake a sharp, quick breath as Luke withdraws his hips. It’s definitely too big. There’s no way you’ll be able to fuck anyone ever again without remembering how full Luke made you feel.

Then Luke snaps his hips forward and the tears you were desperately trying to hold back fall freely down your cheeks. A borderline scream falls from your mouth and you tighten around his dick, only drawing a groan deep from Luke’s throat as he begins thrusting in a steady, needy rhythm.

So quick and forceful that the sound of his hips snapping against your backside echoes the sound room. So desperate that your body falls forward, chest splayed against the desk and Luke’s carrier plate wedged into your back, his masked breaths deep and warm on your neck. You cry out from the new angle, hitting that perfect spot inside of you. “Oh fuck- Luke- god- right there, fuck-“

“Yeah?” Luke asks in a low moan, digging his blunt fingernails into your waist as his thrusts grow more determined and quick, your body rucking upwards from his forceful movements. All you can do is wail and whine against the desk helplessly. “God, Y/N, you feel so good wrapped around my cock. Lettin’ me fuck you, such a good girl.”

Your position is definitely uncomfortable but you’re too cockdrunk to even care. You know you’ll cum soon, especially when Luke’s fucking you at such a brutal pace there’s a tingling that’s spreading from your toes all the way to your spine. You clench around Luke’s cock, only soaking your thighs further as more arousal coats his covered length.

“Baby, fuck,” Luke’s voice is strained, one hand detaching from your hip to grab at your hair, fisting the strands between his fingers, craning your neck upwards until his masked mouth settles near your ear. “You’re fuckin’ soakin’ my cock, Y/N. Wonder what Mark would think if he found me buried in this sweet little pussy, huh? Think he’d be jealous? Of how desperate you are for me?”

“Oh my god-“ You know it’s coming, your legs feel like static and your head is spinning. Your vision’s beginning to blur as the beginning of your orgasm starts to crash over you. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Luke-“

“Call me sir,” He’s fucking relentless, pounding into you like he’s got something to prove. It’s messy and slippery and wet, echoing the small room. “Call me sir and you can cum, Y/N.”

“Oh sir, oh my god sir-“

“Come on baby, that’s it, cum all over my cock,” Luke coaxes you, breathing warmly against the skin of your neck. Your nails scratch desperately on the desk as you finally let go, letting out a long string of pleading moans as you finish, clenching tightly around him. “Oh christ- Y/N- yeah, that’s my good girl.”

“Oh my god..” Luke doesn’t stop even after you’ve finished, snapping his hips more forcefully than before.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” Luke pants out. “Wanna cum all over your pretty face. Can I? Please baby, want it so bad.”

“Ye-yeah,” You half mumble, half moan.

Your body’s in Luke’s hands as he quickly slips out of you, discarding the condom and wrapping a hand around himself, helping you slink back until you’re on your knees. Confused, you’re unable to question why you’re facing the wrong way until Luke’s hand is on your jaw and tilting your head backwards.

And that’s a fucking view. It’s upside down, Luke’s masked face staring down at you as his hand works furiously over his leaking, hard cock, groaning and panting. “Fuck, open your mouth.”

You comply, happily letting your tongue fall flat over your lower lip, eyelashes fluttering until you hear a low, guttural groan from Luke’s throat, painting your cheeks and lips and eyelashes in pretty ropes of milky white.

“Ohhh fuck,” Luke’s strokes slow, milking himself until every last drop is coating some part of your face. “Fuck Y/N… you look so goddamn pretty covered in my cum.”

What doesn’t stay on your face ends up dribbling onto your t-shirt. You don’t really care at the moment, fucked dumb as you curiously swipe your tongue along anywhere you can reach to taste Luke’s release. You let out a soft, pleased and rasped, “Thank you, sir.”

Luke finds some tissues to clean you up, helping you slide your underwear and jeans back on. Once you’ve regained your breath, and began the short trip back to reality, you feel your cheeks grow stupidly hot. Luke slips his mask off.

“Where the hell is Mark?” he asks curiously.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” You ask in a soft voice. You really want to ask what this means, the two of you hooking up like this. Was he actually into you or using that as an excuse to get in your pants?

“He’s like thirty minutes late,” Luke shrugs, running a hand through his flattened curls. “Why? What’re you worried about?”

Your mouth clasps shut. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter,” You turn away, busying yourself with the paperwork you’d brought inside with you. “I have more recording sessions to do. And you probably have somewhere to be.”

“Y/N..” Luke frowns.

“What?” You snap unintentionally, turning to face Luke with narrowed eyes. “What, Luke?”

“This wasn’t like..” he trails off, looking a bit nervous. It almost makes you feel bad for snapping at him like that. “A one-time thing for me, Y/N. I.. I’m into you.”

“Really?” You ask softly. “You’re not just saying that because I let you.. fuck me?”

“No,” Luke slips out a short chuckle, stepping towards you. “No, I told you m’obsessed with you. This only makes it worse. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“We can talk about this after my recording sessions, alright Hemmings?” Your lips lift into a soft, almost shy smile. Luke does the same, his eyes hopeful.

“Maybe over dinner?” He asks.

“Pick me up at six.” You counter.

Luke dips to press a soft kiss against your cheek. “Text me your address. I’ll go figure out where Mark is and kick his ass for being late.”

You roll your eyes. “If he would’ve been on time that wouldn’t have ended well for both of us, Hemmings,” Luke’s halfway out the door, pausing and turning to you with a sly grin. “What? What is it?”

“Someone left the recording light on. No wonder Mark didn’t bother,” Luke chuckles, amused. “Hey.. I wonder what else we did by accident..” His eyes flicker towards the sound table’s knobs and buttons, your own widening in fear. Which switches were off before? You hadn’t paid attention to anything when your chest was pressed against it. Fuck, what if you-

You turn to reprimand Luke for putting that thought into your head but he’s gone. Before you text Mark, letting him know that you’re available to record, you double check the recording logs for anything out of the ordinary. With pink cheeks, you text Luke your address and a vague note.

you: [123 Main St]

you: also.. seems we might’ve had an accident.

you: file.mp3

#5sos fanfic #5sos imagine #5sos smut #5sos x reader #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings x y/n #luke hemmings x you

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jkslipppiercing · 1 year

Text

Bumblebee teaser | jjk

• summary: Jeon Jungkook was your high school bully. What are you gonna do when your parents are forcing you to marry him as the country's most well-known CEO?

• pairing: ceo!jk x reader, high school bully!jk (more to come in upcoming chapters cuz i dont wanna spoil anything.)

• genre: enemies to lovers, slowburn, high school bully to lover, arranged marriage, CEO/billionare romance, marriage of convenience.

• warnings: a little cursing, not much since it's a teaser, more to come in upcoming chapters.

• WC: 0.99k

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index.

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Mythical; his beauty one of pure magnificence. Who is he? Who does he work for? What’s his name? What does he do for a living? Well, considering where you were, it wasn’t that hard to guess.

Your father is the CEO of HG Enterprise. A company worth over 2 billion dollars- as he had mentioned before- which is pretty impressive for a lingerie business. After the mentioned company had passed a milestone just two days ago, your father wanted to plan an event in honor of celebrating 50 years of HG. He claims the company as his baby, and it’s only fair to go all out on a party, just like this one.

Over 10,000 people have come to this celebration, and you, as the CEO's daughter, are responsible for keeping the guests company. Surely, your parents’ task is harder because greeting 10,000 people isn’t as easy as it sounds. For goodness sake, it doesn’t even sound possible!

Your night would’ve been more interesting had the guests been more intriguing. They either go on about their mansions with great pride over their money, or they utter bad dad jokes all the time. Just as your mother calls your name for the third time, you’re jolted out of your trance by an arm elbowing you in the gut.

“Y/N! Mom has called your name 3 times by now!” Your younger brother hurriedly sputters.

“First of all, ow…”, You rub the side of your ribs where your brother just elbowed you and glare at him. He smiles sheepishly in return, and says, “Sorry about that. You weren’t answering me, and why was that anyway?” his brows scrunch in confusion.

“I…um…I was lost in thought.” Yeah right. More like salivating over that hotshot guy you’ve been staring at this whole time- your brother doesn’t need to know that though. He looks at you unconvinced, his brows raised in question. “Never mind. Where’s mom?”

You’re making your way to your mother when your phone chimes with a new notification. You reach for your purse to fish your phone out- slam!

You screw your eyes shut and get ready for the impact of your butt hitting the cold marble floor, but instead, you feel a hand snake around your waist. As he pulls you towards him, the position has you flush against his body as your breath gets caught in your throat at the sensation. You open your eyes to be met with…oh my god!

You scramble to push yourself away from the guy when you lose your footing, and almost kiss the floor, again. He grabs your waist more firmly this time, pulls you to him, and chuckles.

“We wouldn’t want a beauty like you on the floor tonight, would we?” his breath fans over your ear as he whispers.

Your face flushes with major embarrassment as you try to conceal it with your hands. His hand leaves your waist only to circle around your wrists and pull your hands down. He then brushes a stray strand away from your face and tucks it behind your ear as he places distance between the both of you.

He offers his hand in greeting, “I’m Jeon Jungkook, CEO of Jeon Modeling Agency. Pleasant to make your acquaintance.” Jeon Jungkook? THE Jeon Jungkook? You’re fucked. So, utterly, fucked.

Jeon Jungkook became a CEO at the young age of 27. Only a year older than you, but he was still capable of managing a modeling company on his own after his dad’s unfortunate passing. With his late father no longer around to direct him, he was on his own, yet his decisions concerning the evolution of the mentioned company put the agency at an impressive top 10 in the country. Not only was the man in front of you the CEO of one of the most remarkable agencies in the world, but he was also your high school bully. You couldn’t recognize him at all, and all the previous attraction you had towards him dissipated into thin air.

“Y/L/N Y/N. That ring a bell, bumblebee?” The nickname dripped poisonous venom as it rolled off your tongue.

Blood drained from Jungkook’s face as his smirk dropped. All evidence from his earlier flattery evaporated, leaving him glaring at you. If looks could kill, you’d be 6 feet under.

Bumblebee was a nickname he bullied you with in high school. From day 1, he saw you wearing bumblebee socks, and the nickname stuck with you all the way. In class, in the hallways, just everywhere, and in front of everyone, he always used it to address you. You hated it, but nevertheless, he would still use it to pick on you every single day throughout the whole school year. You used to plead with him to stop using it, but he wouldn’t budge. Nothing worked. He would never stop picking on you, and you’ve always hated him for it.

Just as you're indulging in the glare-off between you and jungkook, your mom interrupts; "Oh, Y/N! I suppose you've already met Jungkook?" She smiles as she gives jungkook a once-over and looks at you right after.

You come back to your senses as you nod at your mom. "I have, and i already wish i hadn't-" Jungkook cuts you off as he turns towards Mrs. Y/L/N and beams at her, "You look beautiful tonight, Mrs. Y/L/N. Y/N must take after you!"

Your mother swoons over Jungkook's words, completely ignoring your previous comment.

"Why, thank you, young man! I trust she'll be in good hands..." Your mother glances at you then hesitates, "I suppose you haven't mentioned the 'big surprise' to Y/N yet, have you?"

What "big surprise"?

"What are you talking about?" You take turns glancing at Jungkook and your mom. You scrunch your brows in confusion. Your mother never mentioned anything about a surprise, and what does Jungkook out of all people have to do with it?

What on earth?

"Y/N, you and Jungkook are getting married in 6 months."

What. The. Fuck?

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook ff #bts fanfiction #enemies to lovers #jungkook x reader #jjk

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

part one

———

“You did what.”

Keith coughs. “We, uh, we got married.”

“Accidentally,” Lance pipes up, because he can see the Stress Muscle in Shiro’s eyebrow start to twitch, and doesn’t want him to start freaking out which will make Keith get defensive and put his foot in his mouth — he’s as bad as Lance, really — and then the whole thing will be more difficult to handle than it already is. “It’s a whole big thing.”

Shiro stares at them for several minutes, then sighs, sitting heavily onto the kitchen floor with his bowl of goo. He shovels a bite in his mouth, then reaches blindly for the intercom switch on the wall, slapping around until he finally manages to hit it.“Team,” he says tiredly as it crackles to life, “please make your way to the kitchen. Keith and Lance made something stupid again.” He drops his hand back down, returning his full attention to his goo, committing to pretending Keith and Lance aren’t in the room.

Which.

Fair.

“I resent that ‘again’,” Keith mutters petulantly. “We’ve been remarkably well-behaved lately.”

“No,” Shiro says, without a second of hesitation. He doesn’t bother arguing.

It doesn’t take the rest of the team long to get here — Hunk and Allura have appeared to have sprinted, drama loving bastards — and they join Shiro on the floor, turning expectant eyes to the Red and Black Paladins. After a look of deliberation, Keith and Lance sit down, too.

“Tell them what you just told me,” Shiro says, voice garbled through his food goo.

Here’s the thing.

Lance knows he should feel nervous. Or worried, or scared, or embarrassed, even, about getting literally magically bound to his self-proclaimed rival (once a rival always a rival) because he got brained by the jacket that he left unattended. It is, objectively, a sitcom-level ridiculous situation. He knows that he is going to be shamed, and possibly gently bullied.

However.

Keith’s hand still grips him tightly. Lance doubts the Black Paladin has noticed, but every so often he runs his thumb over his knuckles, and every time he does his lips twitch up in the slightest smile. Lance couldn’t feel anything but ludicrously happy if he tried.

Plus. He and Keith just, like, made out in the hallway a bunch. If Lance is being honest, his brain is still kind of fuzzy. He’s half focused on everyone else and half focused on replaying the feeling of Keith’s hands pressed to his cheeks, cupping his face, kissing him like he was drowning and Lance’s lungs were the only place he could get oxygen. He’s still kind of lightheaded, and keeps having to fight off giggles.

“We got married,” Lance says, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face.

As much as the team is used to their shit, that visibly shocks them. Coran squints at them and types something rapidly into his tablet. Pidge cusses and hands Allura a handful of GAC, which she pockets with a cackle. Hunk is the only outlier, the only one with a reaction Lance can’t place: he straightens up, looking between them with narrowed eyes, mouth flattened into a line.

“Explain yourselves.”

“It was an accident,” Keith assures, much like Lance did earlier. But instead of expressing is understanding, Hunk’s eyebrows only climb higher. Lance gets the same distinct feeling he gets when he knows he pressed the Wrong dialogue option in a video game.

“I hope you didn’t marry my best friend on accident, Kogane.”

Lance puts his head in his hands. He can physically feel the panic leeching from his husband’s (!!) body. He considers all the ways he can murder his best friend and make it look like an accident. He honestly doesn’t think he’s ever been this mortified in his life.

“No no no, I didn’t mean accident, well I guess I did —”

“Hunk,” Lance says through grit teeth. Hunk gives him a ‘what did I do’ look, stubborn set to his shoulders. Lance vows to take a seam ripper to his shirts.

“— like it was technically not a planned sequence of events, per se, if you want to look at things technically —”

Hunk continues to stare at Keith with his eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. Lance digs around in his pockets for something to chuck at his face.

“— if it went according to how I’d planned it in my head there would be more flowers involved, probably, and we’d be on Earth at least, but it kind of just happened, you know? It was so fast I swear I couldn’t have done anything —”

Lance tears his gaze away from Hunk and stares at his rambling mess of a husband. Any annoyance practically evaporates from his system as the implications of Keith’s words set in.

“You thought about marrying me?”

Keith flushes redder than he already is. “I’m not answering that.”

Lance barely manages to shove down the giddy laughter that bubbles up his throat. Keith, his crush, his rival, his husband, spent time daydreaming about marrying Lance. And kissing him, probably, and holding him and building a future with him. Keith maybe even got just as flustered as Lance did when they got too close, back off when sparing got a little too close, breathing heavy. The knowledge is exhilarating. Lance leans over, pressing his beaming smile to Keith’s lips. He softens immediately.

“I thought about marrying you, too.” He smirks. “Among other things.”

Keith’s gloved hand finds it’s way back up to his cheek, for the second time today, and the blood rushing in his ears downs out the sound of Pidge gagging.

“Gross. Can we force them to divorce? This is worse than the pining.”

“Physically impossible for me to divorce him,” Lance murmurs, distracted. “Since he technically owns me, now. Kind of.”

Keith makes a face. “I hate that a little.” He presses one last chaste kiss to Lance’s mouth before pulling away. It’s casual, and small, but the novelty of it is not lost on Lance.

He was not kissing Keith this morning, that was for certain.

It’s not until Lance manages to blink away his ga-ga eyes that he realizes that the rest of the team is looking at him in shocked confusion, and it clicks that his sentence would, sans context, be kind of horrifying to hear.

“Oh,” he blurts, without thinking, “I’m a Selkie.”

“You’re bad at this whole revelation thing,” Keith notices. “I think my Galra thing was somehow handled better.”

“Shut up.”

To his credit, Keith’s observation isn’t too far off. If anything everyone’s shock has only worsened, and it’s clear that Lance’s messy, half-explanations aren’t going to do much. The Alteans could probably do with some actual historical context, but for now, Lance thinks a demonstration is the wisest choice. And since he doesn’t have an ocean available to him, he decides to do the next best thing.

He slips his jacket carefully over his shoulders, spreading it out over his legs and gently running his fingertips over the rough canvas. Just as in his room, the fabric begins to blur, warp, change. He understands the change that is happening — it is his coat, after all; his own flesh — but he cannot find the words to describe it. There may not be. The coat simply changes in a way that is not comprehensible by non-Selkie eyes, as evidenced in the various strangled noises of bewilderment around him. Even Keith looks at the pelt in awe, unused to Earthen magic.

“How long have you been a seal person?” Pidge asks, hands twitching like she’s itching to touch.

“Two decades,” Lance says drily.

It doesn’t take long for the shock to melt away. That’s due in part to everyone’s curiosity, and the rest is because, as Lance suspected, their lives are just so goddamn weird — this Selkie thing just doesn’t even make top ten.

“So was that what the whole dramatic running out of the common room was about earlier?” Hunk clarifies.

Lance nods. “Yeah. I didn’t…I got too comfortable. Left my pelt out, Keith tossed it at me, boom, it’s not longer mine. Luckily I was wrong about how dangerous that is, ‘cause I didn’t lose my free will or anything, but I am essentially married to Keith now. So.” He turns to his husband and grins. “I don’t think he minds.”

Ignoring Pidge’s mutter of “here we go again,” Keith smiles back, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I don’t.”

“I’m sorry you weren’t comfortable before.”

Lance looks up at Shiro, startled by the seriousness in his voice. His tired look from earlier is gone, replaced with something narrow-eyed, serious.

“Huh?”

“You said you got too comfortable.” He gestures to Lance’s lap. “With your pelt. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell us.”

“And I’m sorry for threatening you, Keith,” Hunk adds. “Well, it was barely a threat, but still.”

Keith reaches over to pat his shoulder. “All good, man. It was understandable. Lance probably warrants some threatening on his behalf.”

Lance narrows his eyes. He’s sure that’s an insult, somehow.

“Hunk, do not scare my husband away with your foolishness —”

“I know you’re just saying that to have an excuse to say ‘my husband’, you whipped simp —”

“Fuck off, no one asked you —”

“Pardon my interruption,” Coran says, holding up a hand. “But what is a Selkie?”

Allura raises her hand as well. “I would also like to know!”

“If I’ll be honest, I’m not that familiar with the legend either,” Pidge admits.

Lance pauses for a moment, considering. He knows that explaining everything would take a long time, and he knows he doesn’t have the energy for that. It’s something you learn over time, anyway, over years of stories at the right time. He can simplify some information, though. Get the point across.

“I’m not human,” he starts carefully. “I’m also not alien, not not-human. It’s complicated.” He runs his hand over the soft fur of his coat. “My pelt is like…a physical manifestation of my soul, I think. My quintessence? I’m not entirely sure. But when I wear it, I become another form of mine. Kind of like your shapeshifting, maybe? I turn into a seal, but I’m still very much me. And it’s not like I’m a seal with a human brain, or whatever. I’m a seal, I’m a human, I’m a Selkie. I’m never not those three things.”

Pidge cocks her head. “So you’re a seal right now?”

“Yeah. I’m a Selkie, I have to be. Unless my pelt were to be truly lost, I guess. If someone set it on fire I wouldn’t be a Selkie anymore. I’d lose my soul.”

“Jesus,” Pidge shudders.

Keith looks determinedly at him. “I won’t let that happen.”

“No shit,” Lance says, raising an amused eyebrow. “That’s your job now, Mullet. The pelt is yours to guard. You took it, it’s your responsibility.”

Keith’s determined expression does not change. Lance is just a little endeared but it. As unconventional as this has been, Keith genuinely seems to be excited to be with him. And if Lance trusts his word — which he does — then Keith has wanted to be with Lance for a while. With his space family’s approval, and the certainty that he will have the same from his Earth family when he makes it home, the weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying finally drops from his shoulders.

“God, I can’t wait to human marry you.”

Shiro sighs. This time, it sounds significantly more amused. He gets to his feet, dusting off his hands. “I guess that falls to me, huh,” he says, waving them over. “C’mere.”

Keith and Lance scramble up, running over to where Shiro stands, at the head of the table. He holds two twist-ties in his head that he has formed into rudimentary rings.

“I feel contractually obligated to remind you about Adam’s stance in elopement,” he says, looking pointedly at Keith. “And Lance, I don’t know your mother personally, but your sister and I were colleagues. You are also going to get into leagues or trouble when we get home.”

Lance grins brightly. “I am going to get in leagues of trouble anyway!”

Keith nods. “I left Earth against Adam’s specific instructions. I’m toast no matter what, so I might as well do the best thing I will ever do in my life before then.”

Lance’s ears burn. He glances down at his sneakers, embarrassed and pleased all at once.

He’s the best thing that Keith will ever do in his life. God.

“Well, that answers my first question, then.” Shiro turns to Lance. “Since Keith obviously does, do you, Lance, wish to take Keith as your lawfully wedded husband, so long as you shall live?”

Lance grins. “I would love nothing more.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the five dollar certificate I got online, I pronounce you wed. Congratulations. You may kiss the groom.”

Neither of them wait for Shiro to finish his sentence, surging forward immediately, colliding in the middle like magnets. Lance feels the weight of his pelt on his shoulders and Keith’s hands on his face in equal measures. It feels like swimming free.

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dira333 · 7 months

Text

The way to a (wo)man's heart - Fukunaga x Reader

A/N: Don't ask me how I came up with this. Tagging @fuzztacular for reasons

If you saw the first version - no you don't.

You anxiously look over your shoulder as you push the apartment door open.

It’s not that you’re not allowed to be here, but it feels anything but okay to enter the apartment of a practical stranger when they’re not home.

The key had been under the doormat, just like Yamamoto had said. But your jacket is not in the Genkan as he had promised.

You curse silently under your breath and slip out of your shoes, racking your brain where Fukunaga could have deposited it.

You’ve only been over once, on that godforsaken excuse of a date you went with Yamamoto over a month ago. Set up by a mutual friend you’d considered him cute and yourself lucky until his phone chimed in the middle of the two of you waiting for a table.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, the boyish grin on his face making him look even more attractive, “Fukunaga just invited us over for Dinner! Come on, let’s go!”

He’d ushered you out of the Restaurant before you could fully grasp what was going on. By the time your brain caught on it was too late to back out again, or at least it felt that way.

The kitchen is cluttered with dirty dishes, a laundry basket with dirty clothes deposited on the kitchen table. Your jacket is nowhere to be seen. You don’t want to intrude any more than you have to, but you’re awfully fond of the garment and who knows when you’ll get it back.

Yamamoto’s gone for the week and while there had never been a second date, he’s become something like a friend, albeit a rather unreliable one.

You’re checking the living room when you hear it. Someone’s coughing and it’s the deep, awful sound that comes with being sick.

You freeze, hand halfway under the little Couch.

“Hello?”

No response. You get up from the floor and tiptoe over to the only door you’ve never been through. It’s not fully closed and when you push it open, it gets stuck halfway, its path hindered by a jacket lying on the floor. You recognize the fabric immediately. It’s yours.

Another cough pulls your eyes back up. Fukunaga is curled up in bed, blanket on the floor, his face flushed from what you assume is a high fever, hair disheveled and slick with sweat.

His sight pulls at your heart more than it should.

He’s practically a stranger after all, an unfortunate soul you only met because he didn’t think Yamamoto would bring his date over at the mere offer of Dinner and some games.

“This is Fukunaga,” Yamamoto introduces you, slipping out of his shoes as he talks, passing the guy before you’re even halfway out of your jacket. “He invited us.”

Fukunaga blinks at you, clearly as confused as you.

You haven’t forgotten your manners, moving forward to offer your hand in greeting. But your left foot catches on something and you stumble. Fukunaga barely manages to catch you by the shoulders before you go crashing into him.

His eyes are huge and there’s something about his face that makes him look like a kitten.

“We can’t have you falling for me,” he jokes and you can’t help but snort. His humor sets you at ease.

And it’s a nice evening, even if it’s not a date.

Fukunaga’s Paella has your mouth watering, wishing for a stomach big enough to get a third helping. There’s Inuoka and Shibayama, Kenma and Kuroo, and no one seems to think it weird that you’re there too, sharing their food and demolishing them at Mario Kart. Although, to be fair, you’re only ever going second place. Kenma’s just too good.

“Fukunaga?” You call out softly, unable to help yourself. “Are you okay?”

He does not react. On his nightstand, you spot a thermometer and move to grab it. It won’t hurt to check on him. And you’re right. His fever is dangerously high.

With new determination, you return to the kitchen. The cough drops are almost empty but there’s still some ibuprofen. You fill a glass with water and return.

It’s frightening how little Fukunaga pushes against you when you pull him into a sitting position. He blinks a little but shows no other reaction when you force him to swallow the medicine. Next, you wet a towel and place it on his burning head, your own cheeks heating up when he leans into your touch.

You resolve to give the medicine half an hour to work its magic. If his fever doesn’t go down in that timeframe, you’ll have to get him to a doctor. You don’t have a car and you don’t want to think about having to drag him out of the apartment either, all approximately 70kg of him.

At first, you don’t dare to leave his side. He’s ghostly pale now and shivering even though you’ve tucked him back in. But sitting there with nothing else to do but letting your eyes wander does nothing good for your heart. It’s when you notice that his mouth is kinda cute, lips curled in like a kitten, that you force yourself to get up.

After all, the kitchen does not clean itself.

“Am I in heaven?” Fukunaga asks when you step back into his room half an hour later. His voice is raspy and he can barely keep his eyes open, but at least he’s awake now.

“Are you calling me an angel?” You ask, still a little surprised by his words.

He blinks, eyes widening. “You’re not a dream?” He asks, confusion lacing his words. “Am I dead?”

You laugh, can’t help it.

“No, idiot. But you’ve got a high fever. Let me check your temperature.”

Fukunaga moves, presses his temple against your hand as you move to reach for the thermometer. He’s still warm, though not burning hot. The touch, however, sends a shiver down your own back and you’re still fighting for words when he flops back down.

“What’s the verdict doctor?” He asks. He even tries to wiggle his eyebrows around, though they won’t do what he intends them to do.

“Well, my hands are a little rusty at measuring temperature. Let me check with technology instead.” You clear your throat awkwardly.

“Boo,” he makes and you can’t help but snort, immediately more at ease. He seems to have that effect on you.

“Your temperature went down but it’s still pretty high. And your medicine is almost empty. I’ll go out for a bit and bring back some things for you. Anything else that you need?”

“What’s your favorite food?” Fukunaga asks, eyes focused on the ceiling. You wonder if he’s seeing things like you did when you had high fevers as a child.

“Butter chicken, but that’s not really something you should eat right now.”

He still smacks his lips as if he’s tasting it right now. “Good choice.” And just like that, he closes his eyes and drifts off, not responding to any other question.

Fukunaga’s still sleeping when you get back.

You change the wet towel before unloading your haul.

Maybe it’s the crinkling of plastic that wakes him or the smell of food, but he blinks sluggishly and his lips stretch into a smile that has your heart racing in a way it shouldn’t.

“I smell Butter Chicken!” He teases and you look away, too flustered to be able to speak for a second.

You help him sit up in bed, two pillows for support.

The chicken soup you got him is pushed aside when he spots the dish you got for yourself.

Five minutes later you’re sharing the bowl, chopsticks fighting over the pieces of chicken. More than once you have mercy on him only for him to hold his chopsticks to your lips, telling you to “open wide” with a silly little grin.

He falls back into the pillows as soon as the dish is devoured, closing his eyes with a childish pout when you put the soup back into his lap.

“Okay then,” you say with a sigh, “I’ll heat it up later.”

His eyes open again, dark pools of questions.

“You’re staying?” He asks and there’s something hiding in his words that you can’t explain.

“Sure,” you say, looking away in an effort to play it cool, “I don’t have anything to do anyway this weekend.”

Fukunaga sleeps through the day. You wake him up every hour or so to get him to drink some water or eat a few spoonfuls of soup, but otherwise it’s just you and the silence in his apartment.

It would be easier if he was awake. If he was begging you to stay or giving you good reasons why you can’t leave.

But his fever is going down and his cough has turned less deep, less violent. Still, you leave your apartment after fifteen minutes with a fresh set of clothes and a toothbrush, unable to sit still when you feel like he needs you.

And he does, doesn’t he?

It’s in the way he leans into your touch when you help him up or how he smiles when you count out the drops of medicine for him.

But when he’s fallen asleep again and there’s nothing but the Silence around you as you wipe the kitchen counter clean, you can’t help but recognise that you might be you who needs him.

It’s in the way your fingers itch to move through his hair or how your eyes always get caught on his mouth. How your heartbeat stumbles when he smiles lazily or how your cheeks burn when he drops another silly joke.

You don’t sleep well on his pull-out Couch. Every few hours you wake up and listen for his breathing or get up to change the wet towel cooling down his still persistent, though low fever. It’s only around five that exhaustion pulls you under.

“So it’s really you,” Fukunaga’s voice is raspy but loud enough to pull you out of sleep.

You blink up at him, leaning against the doorway to the living room.

“How are you feeling?” You ask, sitting up quickly. His skin has gotten a bit more color over night but you wonder if he’s hunched over from lack of strength or something else.

“Why did you come over?” Fukunaga asks, ignoring your question. “I thought- Aren’t you dating Yamamoto?”

There’s something in his voice you can’t really place. You slip out of your makeshift bed and rush over, ready to catch him should he fall. The thought wakes a dormant memory.

“Can’t have you falling for me,” you joke and step under his left arm, pushing him up.

Fukunaga makes a sound halfway between a cough and a sob. He averts his eyes but you’re too close already and his body responds just like it has the day before, leaning into you like it’s meant to be.

“I’m not dating Yamamoto,” you tell him, your heart hammering in your throat, “There’s just something about ditching a date to hang out with friends that turned me off.”

“Even if said friends make an amazing Paella?” Fukunaga asks as you help him move to the Couch to sit down. Your heart thunders on, makes you open your mouth and answer before you can take the words back, swallow them down, and bury them.

“If anything, said Paella would convince me to date said friends instead.”

His head shoots up, almost knocking into your chin.

“Really?” He asks, something vulnerable visible in his eyes.

“Really,” you admit before you can back out again.

Fukunaga’s lips turn into that smile you’ll probably never get tired of.

“Well, they say that the way to a woman’s heart is through the stomach,” he points out and you snort.

“I’m pretty sure the saying is about a man’s heart.”

“Hmm, maybe, but I could never say no to Butter Chicken anyway.”

You grin down at him. Even though nothing’s been said, everything’s been made clear.

Fukunaga’s stomach grumbles loudly and you snort again.

“Way to ruin a moment,” you tease and watch him blush. “Breakfast?” You ask and he nods, slinging his arms around your neck as if to pull himself up.

Instead, he pulls you down and presses his lips to yours.

It’s only a quick peck, just the softest brush of his lips before he hides his face against the crook of your neck.

“Sorry,” he stammers, “I… I should take you out first, shouldn’t I?”

You can barely hear him over the hammering of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears.

You clear your throat, try your best to focus on what you want to say instead of the weight of his arms around.

“How about you get a quick shower and we go out for coffee? I hear your kitchen makes some decent snacks.��

When your eyes meet his, there’s a twinkle in them that lights a fire in you.

You could be wrong, but you’re pretty sure you won’t get out of this house soon. Not that you mind...

- - -

“Something to drink?” You ask Lev as you put the diet coke in front of Kenma.

He reluctantly pulls away from his phone to give you an answer. You can’t fault him for that, though. You know how it is to be madly in love.

“Is Yamamoto not coming?” Kuroo asks from the Genkan, putting his shoes away. As usual he’s the last one to arrive, work keeping him busy.

“No, he’s on a date,” you answer first, dipping down to press a kiss onto Shōheis lips as you move past him to get more drinks. Your boyfriend’s focused on the Paella as usual but he breaks his focus just long enough to give you another kiss when you move past him again.

“And he’s not bringing her over? Shocker,” Kuroo jokes, winking at you when move back into the kitchen just so you can lean against Shōhei.

Yamamoto had been the most annoyed when you started dating, predicting that your “awful touchiness” would end soon because all newly formed couples fall out of their honeymoon phase eventually.

So far it’s been two years without his prediction coming true.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

#my writing #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #Fukunaga x Reader #fukunaga shouhei #Haikyuu Fukunaga #Fukunaga fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x you #haikyuu drabbles #hq x reader

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hurricane-heatt · 4 months

Note

47 and 69 please for the mash-up game :) ship is up to you!!

questioning orders

flirting under fire + not a date - landoscar

apologies for this taking so long! hope u like it:)

“Would you consider this a date?”

A glass smashes somewhere in the house, and Oscar tucks behind the pillar. He slides against it as far as he can allow, without taking a step. Head down, aerodynamic.

“No.” He calls out, then skids on his knees to the opposite pillar, tucks behind it, clutches the pistol that’s half tucked in his boot. A flurry of steps, and Norris is in the same room he is, always a good listener.

“Nothing about this is romantic.”

Norris stands up straight from where he’s peering at the other pillar, and if he were a dog his ears would be right up, listening, waiting.

“No? I find it very romantic. The chase, not the killing part.”

Of course he would, because he’s a fucking weirdo. That wasn’t on the character profile, but you can sense a vibe. You’re not meant to sense a vibe, Mark tells him, you’re meant to just carry out what’s being asked of you.

“Although I could be convinced on the latter.”

Yeah. It’s only human to sense a vibe.

Norris taps his foot as if he’s late for something, like Oscar’s avoidance of dying is holding him up.

“This isn’t fair. Let’s do this cowboy style.” Oscar takes a run for it as Norris is distracted with his dramatics, flinging himself down the hallway and into the adjacent room. He thinks he hears a mumbled ‘fuck,’ but he couldn’t be too sure.

In here, there’s nowhere to duck under that doesn’t seem like a child’s game of hide and seek. He swings the AR-15 from where it’s strapped on his back, ready to aim. Norris doesn’t come in.

Oscar, at present, has his finger on the trigger while desperately trying to think of a comeback to ‘cowboy style.’ Most of the ones he comes up with fall flat. That’s what they say, about Lando Norris. He’s quick with his words and far too skilled with a blade.

Don’t bring a knife to a gun fight and yet, it still feels like Norris has the upper hand.

He shouldn’t let himself be intimated by words, all Norris’ barking and no biting. But ‘cowboy style’ has truly stumped him. He suppresses a smile with the phrase repeating in his head, adjusts his position, and moves slowly towards the doorframe.

He settles for, “Let’s make this quick.”

Oscar means it. They’ve been running around the ‘safe’ house for what seems like hours. In reality, it’s probably only twenty minutes, but the moments of held breath under coffee tables and behind curtains really slows things down.

His marks aren’t usually like this - evasive, witty. A pain in the arse. But then, they aren’t often trying to kill Oscar too.

There’s a sound of clattering and another mumble from over on the right side. He turns his attention to that side, but then something hits between his shoulder blades, and now he’s on the floor with a thump that’s going to bruise his forearms.

“Hah.”

God, he’s annoying. Oscar’s kicking and fighting but Norris has an elbow down on his back, and is keeping Oscar’s legs apart by putting the pressure of his own knees on the crease between his ass and thigh. It’s slightly painful, even through the body armour.

He’s aggressively aware of the rifle against his chest, but knows not trigger it with a bump or anything stupid like that. He rolls his shoulder, must hit Norris in the face where he’s trying to keep him still, and so he manages to roll over while Lando winces for just a moment, before pinning him back, face upward.

“Ow, you prick.”

Oscar could laugh. His rifle is knocked to the side now but Norris doesn’t carry a gun, famously so. It’s the knives he’s got that are stressing him out, now. Don’t bring a fist to a knife fight, maybe?

Lando strips a blade from its sheath at his side, tips it under Oscar’s chin. The steel is clean and cold. “Shame, really. We worked well together.”

Miami. It’s all hushed up, all secrets that are redacted on official files in thick black boxes. Whenever Oscar tries to recall it, he only finds his head swimming with memories of blood, all over the getaway car’s creamy leather seats.

For a while, so many at the firm thought Lando was dead. Oscar wasn’t one of them.

Alas, alive, Lando’s got his knees around Oscar’s waist, and would be straddling him if he lowered his hips. There’s no way Oscar can move without the tip of the knife going straight through his chin and into his mouth. Blood on his tongue.

Read file. Norris is a fireball, a quick-eyed agent, a terrible enemy.

Terrible in the way that he’s clever, always knows what to say and do. The firm has been trying to pin him down for years, mostly for the secrets that they know he knows. Lando Norris, primary agent, most trusted.

Now, they don’t give anyone that title.

“Do you miss it?” Oscar asks, because he can, breathing shallowly as Lando leers over him.

Lando’s curls are tipped forwards on his head, looking down at Oscar. His tanned face has lashes of scars at the edge of his face, tinted pink where the skin hasn’t crawled back over properly. He looks older and younger all at once, blinking in the low light.

He just shrugs in response, knife staying perfectly still. “You were a good partner, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m not.”

“You should.”

Lando’s eyes are wide, hazel with flecks of green and blue, like twinkling stars in blackened nights. Oscar breathes slowly.

There was always something about him, about them together. Something unspoken in the dead of night, as they stayed on lookout in the darker parts of cities. Fingertips almost touching one another, the shiver of the other’s hand when one pulls away to flick the CCTV angles.

But here, Lando’s got a knife resting next to his jaw, and scars covering his face, and a trickle of blood from where he’s nicked himself on the side of a table, probably. It’s a world away from what they knew.

Oscar works solo now, has done since that night in Miami. He swallows thickly.

“Do you miss me?”

A beat. Before Oscar can read his expression, Lando dips his head and meets Oscar’s mouth with his own, lips as gentle as the first time.

This could be the moment Oscar utilises. He can practically hear Mark shouting, do it, reach for it, kill him. Finish him off, finally. He should do it, go for the kill, get this over with so he can go home and be at peace.

Bu, Oscar can’t find it in himself , as he pushes his head upwards to deepen the kiss, to let Lando’s tongue lick into his mouth, hot and slick and desperate. It’s urgent, the fervour with which Lando’s pressing into him, like one taste isn’t enough. Like they’ve both been waiting centuries for it.

His hands find Lando’s arms and he jolts back, suddenly, clutching for the knife that he’d flung to the floor. He’s pinned again, Lando’s vice-like grip and sharp knees.

“No, no, I’m not- it’s fine,” Oscar pants breathlessly. Lando looks so beautiful above him, something devilishly holy, his lips wet and red. There’s fear laced in every inch of his tanned skin.

“I’m not going to do that.”

Lando blinks again, this time with concern. “Why not? I’m your target.”

Oscar snorts, remembers the rusted inscription he read in his Miami hotel room, as he sat covered in blood with a pounding headache, alone for the first time in years. The knife was resting on his side of the room, his twin bed, where the other was desolately empty. A skeleton of a life between them.

Oscar, famously, never carried a knife. They were always two halves, the gunman and the blade.

When he’d picked it up, it was cold and silver and ergonomic to a hand that wasn’t his.

“Everything’s changed,” he repeats, the words he’s managed to keep for himself despite the interrogation. The mantra.

Lando’s eyes widen with recognition. On his upper arm, Lando’s hand grips tight, then releases, knowing.

The flood of regret never comes. They’ll figure it out, the firm. He has a feeling Mark knew all along, indulged in his game of pretending it was for the honour, for the agency.

It’s only ever been for Lando Norris.

“Should we get an Uber, then?” he says with a grin, and Oscar could kiss him all over again.

#landoscar #scribbles #f1 rpf #spy au? sure #answered asks #after months LMAO!!!!

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eddywoww · 1 year

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Eddie Munson is the defacto leader of a coed theater fraternity at his Uni. They’re a close knit bunch who have each others back at all times, even if the rest of their school might see them as a joke.

The only problem is that their meetings are historically usurped by the Alpha Phi frat house who happen to be placed right next to the classroom that they are forced to squeeze their meetings into. Do they get a frat house? No, of course not. It doesn’t help that Eddie has actual beef with the frats vice president, some floppy haired idiot he refuses to learn the name of (Steve Harrington) because he’s stolen Eddie’s parking space like five times since the semester began and he keeps stopping by their class, seemingly looking for Eddie (who definitely doesn’t dip out to hide every time, he’s not about to fight some sports scholarship kid)

It doesn’t help that the animosity between the two groups isn’t new. It doesn’t help that they’ve been fucking with each other years before Eddie even arrived at the Uni. It’s kind of a time honored tradition to try and get under each others skin.

So when Benny the Octopus goes missing one day, naturally, Eddie freaks the fuck out. That’s their octopus made of welded together scrap metal, thank you very much and he’s been in the theater for over a decade. They protect Benny, they love Benny. How did the frat even get their hands on him? And if you, like Robin, are bothering to ask “Why would you assume it was them, Eddie?” Then you can actually just shut the fuck up because it was definitely 100% them.

This entire ordeal leads to Eddie taking one for the team, obviously. Which further leads to Eddie sacrificing himself in the name of Benny to climb the short distance up the back of Alpha Sigmas stupid little frat house and into their second floor bathroom because it’s the only point of entry that Eddie can truly find that won’t get him automatically tackled to the ground. Could he go to a higher up and solve this problem without breaking and entering? Maybe. But that’s boring.

So he goes on his espionage recovery mission, realizing too late that maybe he isn’t the sneakiest person imaginable as he grapples with vines and barely manages to get solid footing on the ledged roof below him. And then he’s in the bathroom, pulling himself through the window and- right. It doesn’t matter that it’s 2 am. This is a frat house, Eddie. These are frat guys, why would they be asleep?

It’s with a big whopping holy fuck oh no what have I done, that Eddie falls through the window and onto the floor of a steamy, recently used bathroom. Because someone had been showering. Because said someone is standing there with a towel held firmly over his crotch, a deer in headlights expression marking his face as brunette hair drips onto his chest.

And Eddie has no clue what to do because being faced with a naked, let alone wet Steve Harrington is doing things to his brain (and his dick) that he can’t really handle.

And then Steve opens his mouth to blurt out “Whyareyouinmybathroom pleasedonthurtme!” And okay, that’s maybe a little dramatic. Which Eddie tells him, before realizing that he is in fact wearing a ski mask. So like, fair. But then it clicks on Steve’s face and he relaxes fast into a bitchy frown. “You’re that fucking theater kid, aren’t you?”

Which, okay. Eddie wasn’t aware Steve even knew him.

He makes his way off the floor and “I’d offer to shake your hand but uh-“ Steve turns bright red and winds the towel around his waist as quickly as possible. Right. Down to business. “I want Benny back.” Which, as it turns out, Steve feigns like he has no clue who Benny even is. Rude. “Big, metal, kind of looks like shit.”

Steve could not get any redder as Eddie tries to explain himself in a roundabout way, not at all going into a tangent about his distaste for the frat while Steve drips onto the floor. And then-

“I have no clue what you’re talking about and it sounds like you have weird one sided beef because I have never intentionally done anything to upset you.”

And that’s just- that is not true. That’s not true. At all.

“You steal my parking space!”

“They’re not assigned!”

“It’s a respect thing and you keep coming to my meetings, looking for me by name! Which is weird by the way!”

“I wanted your number!”

As soon as Steve blurts it out, he clams right up and Eddie just- he just- “You wanted my number?” Because that’s inconceivable. That doesn’t make sense. “Why didn’t you just ask for it?”

“Because you hide every time I try to find you!” Steve blurted out again, eyes squeezed shut like he was genuinely embarrassed and right. He was naked and maybe had a crush on Eddie? Which was- yeah, Eddie wanted to touch him now. But he wanted to be cautious too. So he made his way closer slowly, trying to give Steve an out. He really was so pretty close up, a fact that Eddie had been trying desperately to deny for so long now.

Eddie reached up and pulled his stupid mask off, staring at Steve as his eyes opened back up, tentative and stressed.

“You could ask me for it now,” Eddie said with a small grin, lips upturned as Steve chewed on his bottom lip. “I might say yes.”

Steve rolled his eyes, reaching up to smack Eddie across the back of his head. Eddie caught his hand and pulled him into an unmasked kiss.

#my fic #blurbs

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percheduphere · 11 months

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Okay. First post trying to use gifs properly. I've switched out improper gifs for these type for my last 3-4 posts. Gonna work on some more corrections tomorrow when I have time. Please let me know if I'm misstepping anywhere. Thanks for your patience! That said...

LET'S TALK ABOUT SYLVIE💕, INTERSECTIONAL FEMINISM (SYLVIE & LOKI)✊🏽, AND QUEER REPRESENTATION (LOKIUS)🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️!

SYLVIE

I'm rooting for Lokius, AND I also love how much Sylvie has forged a life for herself in S2. A lot of her development is implied, so I think it's worth looking at her growth outside the context of Loki himself: She found a job, locals know her by name, she has friends and acquaintances, she has hobbies!

People call her by name in her timeline on 4 occasions:

1. When the McDonald's shift manager (John) checks in on her after work. See the kid with the tie in the image below. I couldn't find any gifs of him visiting Sylvie at her truck. She asked him if his mom was gonna pick him up to make sure he was gonna be okay late at night. 🥹

2. When a customer picks up their McDonald's order and thanks her (cheerfully). Also note how many employee stars she had on her badge! Queen.

3. Lyle at the record store. They seem like really good friends, and I got the "beginnings of an attraction" vibe between the two of them. Unfortunately, the gifs below are the only ones I could find of him and I'm still searching for the source. His interaction with Sylvie before spaghetti-trauma was so sincere. He could tell she was down and offered her Velvet Underground. Come on, that's a solid move.

4. Eric at the bar, who comments 2 shots of bourbon is a good choice. Let me tell you, finding a gif of Eric was like finding a needle in a haystack, but here he is leaning close to Sylvie. Thank you, @zehiiro!

I tried to find more gifs of all the people Sylvie has in her life but couldn't find any, which is a darn shame because there are so many subtle cues she's built a support system on her own and she's thriving.

She's a regular at many places in her timeline, and when people greet her, they do so with a smile. She loves music, a hard drink, and punk fashion.

When she engages with Loki, she may come across as cold, but I honestly think she's being firm with her boundaries and true to her beliefs. The TVA threatened her life for centuries. I don't doubt setting foot in the building is traumatic for her, which may explain why she was more harsh than usually in S2E4. Her psychological defenses were all on overdrive. Yet when Sylvie's in her own timeline, far away from the TVA, she can be her real self. Turns out, her real self is pretty well-liked! (I'll talk about how this is mirrored in Loki soon).

INTERSECTIONAL FEMINISM

Sylvie's an unapologetically "selfish" woman who knows what she wants, wants it on her own, is doing it on her own, and isn't afraid to put her foot down when it comes to her personal boundaries. We should be applauding all of that!

This is exactly the kind of female representation we need, but the show did Sylvie a disservice in S1 by coming at her character as a love interest first (look at all the media promos classifying her as such) instead of more thoughtfully showing how badly she has been affected by the TVA and planting what her desires are throughout. If they had done this with more intention and finesse, her position in S2 wouldn't come off as completely irresponsible.

As a result of this apparent marketing and pre-production development decision, her perception as a character (by both lokius and sylki shippers) is muddled by the question of her relationship status with Loki. This truly isn't fair, most especially to Sophia Di Martino.

Of course, Sylvie isn't perfect. No well-written character should be. I just think she's cooler than she gets credit for precisely because her character arc doesn't require the fulfillment of a romance. She will be fine whether or not she ends up with Loki. It's very feminist!

Loki, in turn, found safety, belonging, and love at the TVA. All the things that are the complete opposite of Sylvie's lived experience. I often see fans complaining about how Loki is ooc in his own series.

The thing is, and Loki admits this himself: it's all part of an illusion.

This illusion started far before the first Thor movie. He comes from a hyper-masculine (dare I say toxic-masculine) warrior society. His true nature doesn't conform with this, so he has to overcompensate with some (genuinely awesome) bad assery.

BUT he doesn't like it.

As a comparison to a far lesser but more relatable degree: imagine putting on a customer service persona 24/7. UGH. It's just not sustainable without becoming increasingly angry and bitter, which is what Sacred Timeline Loki becomes. Mobius gets ahead of this.

In the series, Loki can finally TURN OFF that persona, and TURN IT ON again when it's needed (and fun!).

He also now has the freedom to be silly, expressive, and magical (unapologetically queer!) without anyone making fun of him for it.

The end result is a much calmer, happier, likable person (like Sylvie in her timeline, his defenses are no longer on overdrive!). Who shows him this is possible?

Here's the receipt:

QUEER REPRESENTATION

Sociopoliticaly, Loki and Mobius come from a different angle. A lot of men (cis, fluid, trans, or otherwise) struggle with the social expectation of burying feelings and never ever showing vulnerability, especially to another men. Now, some might argue that shipping men together perpetuates this construct. There's some truth to this, but only through the lens that it is shameful to be gay. In order to get to a point in society where there's no shame in being mistaken as gay (or queer, generally) when being affectionate with another man, there must be continuous positive representation of homosexual relationships in which the characters are not stereotypes. Loki and Mobius are exactly this, especially Mobius.

Whereas Loki, on Asgard, represents the openly queer oppressed (i.e. magic and cunning, qualities historically tied to witches or "immoral women" instead of brute strength), Mobius can represent the closeted repressed.

In S1, Mobius was much more uptight, rule-abiding, and just shy of holier-than-thou. The power structure in which he existed perpetuated this, until Loki reveals to him it was all a lie (an illusion).

In S2, he becomes more flexible, more fun-loving, and more expressive in his affection. In S1, most of his support of Loki manifested as words of affirmation. In S2, his support extended to physical touch and bonding. Mobius, if seen through the lens of a closeted man allegory, finds the courage (and partner) to slowly come out.

#loki #sylvie #mobius #lokius #sylki #loki meta #loki season 2 #loki spoilers #sylkie #my meta #loki series

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averagewriter-inthedark · 2 years

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I Want My MTV 🎤 | Jake Seresin Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Jake Seresin x popstar!reader (romantic), dagger squad x reader (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, implied suggestive content if you squint | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 8.6k

Premise: glitter and writing love songs are her favorite things in the world…..and also music that gets people dancing and wishing they were a fictional character in a fan edit. When she meets Lt. Jake Seresin, he becomes not only the light of her life but also the source of her inspiration because every love song has to have a muse. And for international popstar Y/n L/n, the man they call Hangman is the muse that keeps her going.

Requested 📨 yes/no (by the lovely @avaleineandafryingpan w/ some suggestions from @gizmodear on this post)

Note: I’m so sorry this took a bit (forgive me, school has been crazy) but I really really enjoyed writing this and i hope its everything you imagined @avaleineandafryingpan 🥹♥️ I made sure to add all the little hc’s you sent in & added some things of my own I thought would be great so I hope you don’t mind! Please let me know what you think!

Songs headcanoned by popstar!reader: ‘34+35’, ‘Love Me Harder,’ ‘Break Free,’ & ‘Imagine,’ by Ariana Grande + ‘Rain On Me’ w/ Lady Gaga. ‘Summertime Sadness,’ ‘ Young & Beautiful,’ ‘Norman Fucking Rockwell,’ ‘Video Games,’ & ‘Love Song,’ by Lana Del Rey. ‘Last Friday Night,’ ‘Teenage Dream,’ & ‘Firework,’ by Katy Perry. ‘Power,’ ‘Secret Love Song,’ ‘ Between Us,’ & ‘Salute’ by Little Mix

———————————————

August 2026

“Deep breathes, darlin’,” his hands were smooth against her shoulders, instantly calming her nerves. Y/n took a deep inhale, nodding as she slowly let the air leave her lips. Jake beamed at her, “This ain’t the first time you’ve been on stage. You got this.”

“I know, but performing on live television for millions of people is different than a few thousand in a venue,” she reminded him, feeling the anxiety return causing her to close her eyes. “It’s been six years since my last VMA performance, Jake. Also,” she nervously laughs, “This is the Vanguard award they’re giving me—I’m, quite literally, shitting my pants. I want this to be amazing.” To be fair the reason for her not being invited back to the VMAs was a mini break from music she went on after they got married in 2021. The birth of their children was another factor so it wasn’t until late 2025 that Y/n had released the music she’d been working on.

The break was much needed, but she was missing the stage, the touring, the fans. It was what kept her going and made her career worth it. Music was her life, but so was her family which is why she took so long to release an album. Now here she was years later about to step foot on the VMA stage for the first time in six years. Another thing that made it worthwhile was she was being honored with the MTV Video Vanguard Award. Leading up news outlets were covering her return and on the red carpet reporters were eager to know what Y/n was cooking up.

“And it will be,” he told her, cupping her face in his hands, careful not to mess up the gemstones and glitter around her eyes. She could feel the cool metal of his wedding band against her skin. “You are one of the best vocalists of our generation—the High Note Princess. One of the best stage performers of all time—it’s gonna be an amazing show. You’ve been working so hard for months,” he gives a comforting squeeze to her shoulders. “So just breathe with me and then you’ll go out there and sing your pretty little heart out. And it’s gonna be the best performance of the night.”

As she mentally prepared while waiting for the stage manager, Y/n leaned more into Jake’s arms and let her mind wander. Memories started to appear, reeling back to when her career kicked off all the way to when she met her husband and finally to the present day.

February 2008

Like any aspiring star, Y/n L/n made the rash decision to quit college and move to Los Angeles in hopes of achieving her goal of becoming a singer. Hollywood was calling her name, so she spent months applying to jobs in the area before finding a small studio apartment and packed up her little Honda and set sail for the city where dreams are made. Time would be the make or break factor if she stayed or retreated back home with her tail between her legs.

One year.

That was her deadline. One year to get a job at a label, get discovered, or possibly find something worth renewing her lease. Working as a singer at a jazz bar could possibly have one of the options come true. Again, it would take time before something happened.

Y/n wasn’t the only singer at the club. Another girl was on stage Monday’s, Wednesday’s, and Saturday’s whereas Y/n was booked Tuesday’s, Thursday’s, and Friday’s. The club was closed Sunday’s and the nights Y/n didn’t sing she was a server or bartender. The pay was good for the most part with her tips racking in more income than the biweekly check for singing and serving. Sometimes she’d get compliments from patrons, especially the older crowd saying, “You have such a unique voice—the way you have control and range makes me think you should be on the radio and not some little jazz club like this. Your talent shouldn’t be wasted, dear.”

The words and support always boosted Y/n’s confidence. Truly did it make her feel she could make it big. Actually break through into the industry. But that takes time and sometimes the opportunity arises when one least expects it.

Maybe she could audition for American Idol. Maybe she could upload videos on that new website YouTube. Maybe she could be bold and send some demos to labels, praying it would land on someone’s desk.

Or, someone important from said label would wander into the club.

That idea seemed like a far stretch. But just three months shy of Y/n’s deadlines she was approached by a gentleman after she finished her number one Friday night. A business card in his hand, he said, “Give me a call Monday morning, I’d like to set up a meeting to talk with you about your potential. Bring some demos if you have any.”

A notebook of songs in her hand and a CD of demos she spent the whole weekend working on, Y/n left Capitol Records that morning with a copy of her contract in hand and the promise of bringing forth the best music of her life. There were tears shed as she relayed the exciting news to her family back home. Her coworkers whom she adored threw her a party at the club in celebration that night. She wouldn’t leave the club just yet. Just because she had signed didn’t mean she would make it big in the long run. No, she decided to stay at the club until she at least was at the level where she could financially afford to.

The first time Y/n heard herself on the radio she broke into tears. It happened unexpectedly too. After packing up her car with two weeks worth of groceries that cost her entire paycheck Y/n switched the the radio to the pop station and was singing along to the tunes when she heard the beginning chords to her song, ‘Teenage Dream.’ Cars honked around after she slammed the brakes and abruptly pulled to the side of the road, eyes wide with her hands covering her mouth.

“You think I’m pretty without any makeup on. You think I’m funny when I tell the punchline wrong. I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, down.”

Y/n literally changed the channel just to change it back to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. That it was actually her song playing.

“Before you met, I was alright, but things were kinda heavy. You brought me to life, now every February, you’ll be Valentine. Valentine.”

“Let’s go all the way tonight. No regrets, just love. We can dance, until we die. You and I, will be young forever.”

“Oh my God!!!” She got out of her car just to scream while jumping up & down. People on the sidewalk were looking at her crazy but she didn’t care. Not when her own song was blasting from her car on the radio.

“You make me, feel like I’m living a Teenage Dream. The way you turn me on, I can’t sleep. Let's run away and don’t ever look back. Don’t ever look back.”

Y/n’s entire life took a 180 after that very day. Her talent agent and manager from Capital Records were calling her saying she was on the Billboard Hot 100. They were planning on releasing her second single earlier than planned in order to push up the release of her album. Every radio station was playing ‘Teenage Dream,’. There were days Y/n would be in a store and would hear in playing, causing her to break out in a grin.

Before long Y/n was getting calls left in right with her manager and publicist securing television appearances and interviews. Her second single ‘Firework’ was an instant hit, becoming a gold certified record in just a few weeks. People auditioning for X-Factor and American Idol were covering it. Videos being posted to YouTube. Then Y/n released ‘Last Friday Night,’, becoming a popular song for teenagers and young adults. The full album shot her off into stardom.

“SNL?” She dropped her muffin, staring wide eyed at her manager. “SNL wants me to perform?”

“I got Lorne Micheals on the phone—I literally have him on hold—and he’s awaiting your answer.”

“Tell him my answer is ‘fuck yeah!’”

“I’ll tell him…you said yes.”

The appearance on SNL only increased Y/n’s popularity. Following it was invitations to the Kids & Teen Choice Awards, the Billboard Music Awards and the MTV VMAS, in which she won Best New Artist at all shows and Song of The Summer at the TCA’s. The first time she won she was a stuttering mess, thanking the fans and people who voted for her and her family, managers, execs at Capitol Records all while trying not to cry on live television.

Then the 2009 Grammys happened. And she won Best Pop Album and Record of The Year for ‘Last Friday Night’. Her hands shook as she accepted the award from none other than Usher, trying not to fangirl as she approached the microphone. She was never gonna get used to meeting the people she admired.

“O-oh wow,” she stuttered over the screams, feeling the cool surface of the award in her hand. A Grammy. She was a Grammy Award winning recording artist. “This is the greatest honor I’ve ever received—bigger than when I graduated with high school honors,” she laughed nervously, causing people in the crowd to smile at her. “Huge thank you to the Recording Academy for this award. It’s an honor to be part of a group with so many artists I admire—some of whom I’ve listened to for years a-and I can’t believe I have the privilege of being in your presence. I-I wanna take a moment to thank everyone at Capitol Records, my managers Raven and Paul. To everyone who helped me on this album who put their heart and soul into it—this award is not just mine it’s yours. To my family watching at home, I know you’re all losing your minds in front of the tv,” she grinned at the laughs around her, “I love you all so so much and thank you for your support—helping me get to where I am. I’m sorry if I forgot anyone else—t-there telling me to wrap up—b-but thank you—thank you so much for this, I’m so blessed and honored—I can’t even put it into words. Thank you!”

All of 2009-2010 was dedicated to her second album. Y/n was in the studio, writing songs on napkins when she was out with friends, mentally hearing the tunes in her head. She presented and performed at award shows and she went on tour. The goal was to have the songs ready and written by the time the tour ended. Luckily she achieved that goal with at least twenty potential for an album. Anytime Y/n found inspiration she made sure to write it down as quickly as possible.

Now with two Grammys under her name, one of which was for her debut album, the pressure was on.

“This is totally different from what you’ve been doing,” her producer said to her after reading the songs.

“I know, that’s the whole point,” she gave a pointed look, “I don’t want everything to be or sound the same. This is gonna have a different sound than what we did last year. Trust me it’s gonna be big.”

Might as well call her psychic cause that’s exactly what she was.

“It’s been a great week for popstar Y/n L/n, her recent single ‘Summertime Sadness,’ has shot to the top spot of this week’s Billboard Hot 100. A new sound that’s more mellow than her previous work, it’s been well received by fans and critics. L/n is finishing up the American leg of her world tour and is set to release her second studio album in the fall. Just two years ago L/n became an international star after winning two Grammys for her debut album and appearing on television such as Saturday Night Live, Ellen Degeneres, and The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. With her unique voice and style she’s been viewed as the next pop diva, joining that of Madonna, Britney Spears, and Lady Gaga.”

‘Video Games’ was released when the tour concluded and it became her best single to date. The music video was played on MTV early in the mornings and predicted to be nominated for every award one could think of. It was that single combined with the critical acclaim from her album in 2011 that had Baz Luhrmann calling Y/n to write a song for his upcoming 2013 movie ‘The Great Gatsby.’

“And the Oscar goes to….” Y/n’s hand clutched her manager’s, keeping a calm face since the camera was panned on her and the other nominees. In Halle Berry’s hand was the envelope with the winner of the 2014 Oscar for ‘Best Original Song.’ Heart pumping out of her chest, she barely registered her song and name leaving the actress's lips. “Young & Beautiful,’ by Y/n L/n.”

Baz jumped from his seat, as did her manager and producer, the latter of whom she was sharing the Oscar with. A hand flew to her mouth, feeling her arm tugged as they lifted her from her seat while the theater erupted in applause. It felt like she was floating when she approached the stairs, taking the arm of her producer when he offered her help.

“Congratulations,” Halle said, opening her arms for a congratulatory hug before handing the gold statue to the singer. Y/n let out a mix of a sob and laugh as she replied, “T-thank you.”

Another statue was presented to her producer, Y/n waiting for the applause to end until giving her speech.

“O-oh my God, I just met Halle Berry,” there were some chuckles, the singer pausing to hold a hand to her thumping heart while the other clutched the Oscar. “I-I don’t know how to start. First, thank you to the Academy foremost—it’s an honor to be receiving this recognition. Shout out to the other nominees and their incredible work—you all are amazing and we’re so lucky to be almost you all. We all have one major thing in common, and that’s music. Music and movies bring people together—it’s a universal language that we get to be a part of and I am so grateful everyday for being a part of it. Thank you to Baz for allowing us this opportunity—it was so fun working on this song for you and your spectacular film. This Oscar is for you, Baz,” she saw the director blow a kiss from his seat. “Thank you to my producer, Tim—who’s standing right next to me. The magic behind Young & Beautiful, Tim you are a genius and I love you so much. Lastly, to my family back home—ah!” She waved the trophy like a little kid, “Look! I love you all so so much—thank you and I can’t wait to celebrate with you when I come home. Thank you everyone!”

Each year came with more success. The rest of 2014 going all the way to 2016 was nonstop energy. She was working day and night, touring, performing on talk shows, collaborating with other artists—like Taylor Swift, Nicki Minaj, The Weekend, & Justin Bieber—and dabbling in acting jobs. Y/n secured roles in films like The Greatest Showman, The Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials & Death Cure, & The Shape of Water. Some television roles included MTV’s Teen Wolf, American Horror Story and guest appearances on Criminal Minds, Greys Anatomy, and Doctor Who. Her role on AHS garnered her an Emmy for Best Supporting Actress in a Drama Series. After the award show her manager told her with a wink, “All you need is a Tony and you’re part of the EGOT club.”

EGOT. The ‘grand slam’ in show business. Where only more than a dozen people have achieved the status in which they have won an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony. The biggest awards in television, music, film, and theater.

After she heard that….well you could say Y/n was on a mission.

She continued to release music while pursuing acting. She leased her third and fourth studio albums in the span of eight months—a rare sighting for an artist. Both broke records in their own right. ‘Break Free,’ was playing in every club and ‘Imagine’ was used in Riverdale. She won the Grammy for best Pop album once again and performed ‘Imagine’ at the show. The second it was revealed she got the role of Christine in Broadway’s Phantom of the Opera, the buzz was already on if she would achieve EGOT status if she was nominated for the Tony.

The show opened in early 2017, selling out at a rapid rate with people coming from all over the country solely to watch Y/n perform. She already showed the world she was a brilliant singer and actress, now it was time to combine the two.

Never did she think she’d meet the love of her life at a show.

Jake Seresin wasn’t much of a musical man, but his sister and nieces were so he sucked it up and attended with them. Now Jake wasn’t living under a rock, he damn well knew who Y/n L/n was and frankly the man was a fan. A lot of his exes were fans of the popstar so he was quite familiar with her music and even enjoyed her acting. So of course he was more keen to the idea of going to a Broadway show if it meant he got to see her perform live.

What he didn’t expect was to—literally—run into her on his way back to the hotel. After telling his sister he’d pick food up since her daughters were too tired to go to a restaurant, Jake took a shortcut which happened to be the alley between the show venue. The bag in his hand dropped, the pilot falling to his ass when the door suddenly opened and hit smack in the face.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” A voice shouted followed by a gasp. “Are you okay, sir? ‘Please don’t have blood-please don’t have blood.’

“I’m fine,” he moaned, shaking his head a bit and feeling for any sign of a wound. Thankfully he found none. “It’s alright, ma’am.”

“Here let me,” she helped him up, Jake stumbling a bit and apologizing when he bumped into her. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance in case you have a concussion?”

“No, no,” he insisted, finally looking up which only resulted in him freezing. The woman he watched on stage not even an hour ago was standing in front of him. “Oh wow.”

Y/n was frozen too, for he was the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on. The glow from the street light shined down on him, illuminating his green eyes and blonde hair. His bone structure was what most Hollywood heartthrobs would die for. Come to think of it he could literally pass as a young James Dean.

“H-hi,” she smiled, feeling a bit flustered all of a sudden. It didn’t help that he was still holding onto her shoulders, and she was clutching his forearms.

“Hi.” Gosh even his voice was attractive. A southern accent could be made out with the simple word.

“I’m so sorry for not looking before pushing the door out like that. I—,” Y/n cut herself off when she spotted the discarded bag of what appeared to be food. Some of it spilled out causing guilt to fill her, “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry about your food.” Stepping away she reached into her bag to pull out her wallet. “How much was—.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake says, but the singer shakes her head.

“No I insist,” she takes out a random amount of bills which was likely triple what he had actually paid but she didn’t care. She extended her hand out with the cash, “I rammed a door into you and made you drop your food. Please let me make it up—otherwise I’m gonna have to drag you to the place you got it from and replace it myself.”

Jake couldn’t help but smile, taking the cash and examining it before only keeping the amount he had originally paid. “No need to give me more than what it was worth. Here,” he hands back the extra, making her frown but she takes it regardless. Her eyebrows then raise when he goes, “But you could make it up to me in another way?”

Tilting her head, she can’t help but say, “How so?”

“By having a drink with me. If you’re available.”

So that’s how Y/n L/n met her soulmate. By hitting him face first with a door. He literally fell for her if one thought about it—pun intended.

What made it even better was Broadway not only gifted her future husband, but her status as an EGOT winner.

“Last night was a record breaking night for popstar Y/n L/n. The 30-year-old singer and actress has become one of just over a dozen to join the prestigious EGOT Club after winning the Tony for her Leading Actress in a Musical for her role of Christine in Broadway’s Phantom Of The Opera. L/n won the Grammy for Best Pop Album and Record of The Year in 2009 followed by the Oscar for Best Original Song in 2014 for The Great Gatsby. She then went on to appear in several television series including the popular horror series American Horror Story in which she won the Emmy for Best Supporting Actress in a Drama Series. It was rumored L/n would venture into Broadway to possibly add a Tony to her collection of numerous awards, confirming this in mid-2016 when the cast for the 2017 run of Andrew Webber’s Phantom Of The Opera was released. Classically trained as a child, the popstar showed she can belt a lyric and hold a tune. It was a spectacular night for Y/n L/n, receiving a standing ovation when her name was called for the award and dedicating the Tony to her family, friends, cast members, and managers who’ve been with her since her debut in the music industry almost a decade ago. She is one of the youngest stars to ever achieve EGOT status and the fastest ever in a career.”

Many many songs were inspired by her relationship with Jake. Her entire album released a year after they got together was basically a love letter to him. ‘Love Song’ was regarded as her most beautiful record to date, a source for many fan-made videos for their favorite fictional characters and features in movie soundtracks. ‘Love Me Harder,’ & ‘34+35’ had fans go crazy with how frisky they were. Though their relationship was a secret it was obvious the popstar was in love. It only made fans want to know who was the special man to take her heart.

Jake learned pretty early on the price that came with dating a critically acclaimed songwriter: that if messed up there would be a song about it.

Immediately speculations arose that Y/n and her secret partner were broken up with the release of songs like ‘Woman Like Me,’ & ‘Power.’ She had to get on instagram one day to settle the rumors with a picture of their interlaced hands saying, “You drive me wild sometimes, but my love for you overpowers all.”

Their relationship was eventually exposed when Jake appeared in her music video for ‘Secret Love Song,’ released just shortly before he was set to return to Top Gun. People could easily tell the chemistry between Y/n and her ‘love interest’.

Maybe a little too much chemistry.

Dedicated fans were able to find out who Jake was in less than a week. Matching up his social media post locations and dates with hers, they didn’t even need them to confirm their suspicion to know they were together.

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Jake chuckled, showing Y/n his phone screen with a picture that was just sent to TMZ of the two in San Francisco.

Y/n simply shrugged, “I’m fine with it if you are. I’m happy we got to keep it to ourselves for this long. And considering people are now asking about this—,” she held up her left hand, flashing the diamond engagement ring Jake spent his entire year’s paychecks on. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Was Jake still the arrogant, egotistical pilot amongst his peers? Yes. But was he the type to boast about how he was engaged to one of the best musical artists of the century? Surprisingly no.

He actually enjoyed keeping that little detail a secret. To Jake his personal life was for him and him only. And he didn’t want people going around saying he was a gold-digger or wanting to be that guy who got to say he hooked up with a celebrity. Nah, he was in love with Y/n with his entire being. She was the gravity that kept him down to Earth. Sure they bickered like any couple but never once did either of them cross a line.

The only time they ever had a big argument was when he did get jealous over one of her former co-stars trying to have a shot at her. Y/n tried brushing it off saying it was nothing, but Jake could tell the signs and it upset him Y/n was not taking him seriously. “I just don’t see why you’re being so childish about a dinner party that’s gonna have multiple people.”

“Have you even asked who else is coming? Or wondered why he’s started texting you more when you guys finished filming ages ago? I’m not trying to be insecure or jealous, Y/n, but I know when a guy is trying to flirt. He didn’t even acknowledge me as your date when we were at the premier party. In fact I don’t think he said hello to me when he approached. All his eyes were was on you—which I don’t blame because you’re the most beautiful woman on the planet—but trust me, I know that look because I have it every second I’m with you.”

Needless to say you didn’t go to that dinner party and instead were doing what ‘Love Song’ was about the entire weekend.

When Jake goes to Top Gun for the special detachment, he’s still the arrogant asshole the others thought him to be. But if they were being honest they could see a difference in him. Maybe it was because he wasn’t flirting with anything with legs. Maybe it was the fact he rejected the drink from a pretty blonde. Maybe it was because they caught him smiling at his phone whenever he got a text. Whatever it was, they wanted to find out.

The only person in the detachment who knew of Y/n was Javy considering he was Jake’s best friend. She met him roughly eight months after she and Jake got together after much discussion. Their relationship was still a secret by then so they were hesitant to let anyone besides her team know, but Javy was an important person to Jake. He wanted his best friend to know the woman he loved.

Natasha being the amateur sleuth she was pretty much discovered Jake’s secret in a few days, “No fucking way.”

The evidence was presented to Jake during their lunch break the day after she found out, Nat holding the phone up for him to see. She literally watched the gears turn in his head, a sly smirk forming on his lips. “What about that, Trace?” The question caught the attention of their colleagues, who were trying not to show they were eavesdropping.

“Is that not you?” Nat looked at the screen to make sure it was on the zoomed in image of him and Y/n L/n. The entire music video Jake’s face was pretty much hidden from view, but briefly his face could be made out at certain angles.

“It is,” he shrugged, going back to his sandwich. A cluttered sound indicated Nat had dropped the phone on the table, scrambling to pick it up.

“So you just casually ended up in Y/n L/n’s music video for her iconic song?” By now heads turned, expressions of absolute shock. Well all except Coyote. He just raised his brows at Jake while holding back a laugh, wanting to see what he would say.

“No, I ended up in my fiancé’s music video for her iconic song.”

“You’re what?!”

“Babe, I got a favor to ask you,” Jake’s voice was tainted with exhaustion when he FaceTimed Y/n that night. She was at their Fresno home since he was stationed at NAS Lemoore and was planning to meet him in San Diego that weekend. Raising a brow at him through the screen she could tell he looked apologetic.

“What is it?”

“You think you could come down earlier than planned?” At her reaction he explained, “My detachment found out about us and well……they’re accusing me of photoshopping the photos of you and I—even though they literally saw us make out in your music video. And I want to prove to them I’m telling the truth.”

A moment passed and then Y/n burst into laughter to the point of tears. What got her was the photoshopping accusation.

“Stop laughing,” he pouted, “I’m fighting for me life out here—I could use some backup.”

“My goodness, Jake Seresin,” she calmed down, shaking her head at his butt hurt expression. “You’re something else you know?”

“So does that mean you’re coming?”

“I’ll book my flight for the morning as soon as we get off.”

One could envision the confusion on the pilots/WSOs when Jake prevented them from leaving the airstrip at the end of the work day. It was pushing five in the afternoon, they were tired and hungry, and honestly could care less about what Jake had to show them.

That was until the black SUV with tinted windows pulled up to the parking lot where they were standing. When the door opened jaws dropped to the floor with eyes bulging out at the person emerging from the vehicle. Who happened to jump into Jake’s awaiting arms. Fanboy had to rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing clearly. That it was Y/n L/n sharing a kiss with the resident asshole.

“Oh my God he wasn’t kidding,” Rooster said with a mix of awe and disbelief. Javy patted him on the chest, moving first to greet the popstar who shocked the pilots again with her warm welcome to them. None knew how to react when the couple approached hand in hand.

It’s not everyday someone meets a fucking EGOT winner.

“Hello,” Y/n smiled a dazzling grin, drifting her eyes over each of them and committing their callsign to memory. She could tell what they were likely thinking, ‘How the hell did Hangman manage to pull a fucking popstar?’ And ‘He must be brainwashing her, blink twice if you need help,’ kind of stuff.

Introductions were in store as well as explanations for how the couple came to be. In all the years they knew the pilot, none could’ve predicted that kind of secret. They quickly learned Y/n was not the typical celebrity—some of them were even ashamed to think she’d be stuck up, arrogant, snobbish. They were almost convinced the personality she had in interviews and fan interactions were fake, but Y/n was a truly genuine person. Not only did she come from humble beginnings, but she was a hard, driven worker who truly earned everything she’s gained.

And she was perfect for Jake. They were like two peas in a pod, with Y/n being the only one who could bring him back down to earth. Truly was an amazing thing to witness and the daggers were having trouble comprehending it at times. Hearing the story of how the two met brought tears to Rooster and Fanboy’s eyes by how funny it was, while Phoenix was covering her mouth to hide her smirk at how embarrassed her colleague was.

“In my defense,” he puts his hands on his chest when Bob asks why he thought to pass the side door, “I didn’t expect anyone to still be inside and potentially use that door.”

“He just hates when I tease him about how he literally fell for me,” Y/n winks, making them all smirk.

Later on in the night after going to the Hard Deck for drinks and pool, Rooster says, “You know I feel I won’t be able to use my karaoke song if we ever go cause I’ll be too flustered to sing a song in front of the person it’s written by.” Y/n couldn’t help but blush, giggling lightly.

“What is it?”

“Last Friday Night. Such a banger—really gets the crows going.”

Even after the Uranium mission happened, the daggers continued to remain in contact. Many were offered jobs of instructors but the real surprise came a couple months later from the Pentagon asking if they could remain a permanent team. Selling their San Francisco home, Jake and Y/n moved to San Diego, which was better since it was closer to L.A. The team hung out often with Friday nights reserved for the Hard Deck.

Y/n even found musical inspiration with them.

“So I have a proposal,” she hums to Nat and Callie one day while the guys are playing football on the beach. “Not a marriage one Jake claimed that one already,” she pauses when they all laugh at the joke, “but a ‘if you want to be a part of it I would love it if you did but I understand if you can't be’ kind of one.”

Nat tilts her head curiously, Callie mirroring her, “What is it?”

“I wrote a song….that you two helped inspire,” Y/n smiles at their expressions, “and I’d love for you both to be in the music video after I release it.”

Nat loses it, “OH MY GOD YOU WHAT?!!”

“Can we hear it!?” Callie blushes, “I’m so honored—oh my God I literally don’t know how to react to that.”

“Girl you cannot just drop that on us,” Nat playfully points with narrowed eyes, “If you weren’t Jake’s soon to be wife I would marry you right now.” Y/n just laughs, rummaging through her bag to find her notebook to show them the song.

“If he messes up you’ll be the first to know and we can head to the courthouse.”

“Don’t play with me now, Y/n,” Nat shakes her head. “No man has ever done something like that. Write a song inspired by me?” She gives a dramatic sigh. “Feels like I’m living in a romance novel.”

Both read the song, both fell in love with it and pretty much cried. It was empowering, motivational, a love letter to women, everything they wished they heard growing up in a field where men dominated and looked down upon them. Y/n made sure to keep them updated when she was in the studio, allowing them to hear it first before it was released.

2020 was a year no one could’ve expected.

It started off great with the singer releasing ‘Salute,’ shortly after the New Year and filing the music video in February. The song was well received from fans and critics, with people already calling it the ‘anthem of the year.’ Jake loved it and would send clips of him in the car to Y/n belting the lyrics. The guys all loved it too and loved that their colleagues were the source of inspiration.

Halo and Phoenix were part of the MV as well as women who in real life were doctors, nurses, lawyers, teachers, athletes, students, astronauts, & scientists from all ages, races/ethnicities, genders, etc. Not all of them were in the armed forces, but a couple were along with Nat and Callie. Special permission from the Navy & Top Gun was needed to put cameras in the F-18’s on the exterior and interior to capture footage of the two flying. Halo was Nat’s backseater for that day and the guys came out just to watch and support.

Released just before March, the music video hit 100 million views in less than 12 hours. It only grew from there with people praising Y/n and the women included in the project. There was talk of ‘Salute’ being nominated for the upcoming awards, Team USA asked permission to use the song for promotion for their women athletes for the upcoming Games. Y/n was over the moon, really looking forward for what the year held. Especially with her wedding around the corner.

Then the world shut down. Literally.

A global pandemic altered everything and everyone. Anything that required a group of people ranging from small to stadium level was banned. States were on curfew and not letting people cross borders, international traveling was restricted. Lockdown was mandated for pretty much everywhere to the point Jake was working from home for a couple months.

In that time Y/n threw herself into writing songs to release her next album. Her reason: she was in need of a break. Not a ‘I’m retiring from music,’ but a ‘I’m drained and in dire need of taking time for myself and start the family I’ve always wanted.’ It was always her plan for after she and Jake got married, just to have a few years for themselves and see where life takes them.

Thankfully when the pandemic hit Y/n was already done with her collaboration with Lady Gaga. The fellow popstar had been her friend since she joined the industry and it was a long time coming for the two to work together. Not to mention they were on American Horror Story together. The Mother Monster approached the High Note Princess in late 2019, both sharing ideas and writing the song together before recording to release in 2020. Filming the music video, they combed both of their aesthetics and styles to create a pop masterpiece.

Fans went crazy. They loved the return to classic pop when both singers had gone off to pursue acting careers and change their sound a bit. Many felt deprived of being able to dance to ‘Rain On Me’ in a club since going out was restricted. And you can best believe the Daggers felt the same—especially Rooster who loved to dance his ass off, “I would be tearing it up right now if Rona wasn’t such a bitch.”

Surprisingly the 2020 VMAs still happened. It was roughly six months after the outbreak and very strict regulations were in place for the show to go on. With ‘Rain On Me,’ being so popular and popstars releasing albums, Y/n and Lady Gaga were invited to perform. After prepping for weeks and self-quarantining, the daggers all gathered around at the couple’s home to watch the live show. Lady Gaga was the first to perform solely when it was their turn, then Y/n joined causing the select few in the crowd to cheer—with her friends and loved ones going crazy in their living room. All were in awe when she hit a high note, killing it with the choreography and honestly being the best performers of the night. Finally Lady Gaga left the stage with her dancers allowing Y/n’s to appear in time for the popstar to sing ‘Salute.’ At the house, Halo and Nat were dancing along and belting the lyrics with the guys while recording the performance on their phones.

“Sisters, we are everywhere! Warriors, your country needs you! If you’re ready, ladies, better keep steady, ready, aim, shoot! Don’t need ammunition, on a mission—now we hit you with the truth! Divas, queen, we don’t need no man, SALUTE!!”

2021 came with hope and breaths of fresh air. A vaccination was developed, restrictions were lifted in most locations meaning Y/n and Jake could finally plan for their wedding. It took a few months to plan, desiring an intimate private wedding at their home with their close friends and family. The daggers were all there, including Maverick, Cyclone, Warlock, and Hondo. Their families were all there as well as Y/n’s managers & agents, some cast members from the shows/films she grew close to, as well as artists like Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, Alicia Keys, David Guetta, and The Black Eyed Peas, the Jonas Brothers, & Miley Cyrus.

A sweet ceremony, Y/n squealed when Jake tipped her back to the cheers of their loved ones as he kissed her passionately. “I love you so much, Y/n. Or should I say, Mrs. Seresin.”

“I love you too, Mr. Seresin,” she kissed him again, “Now let’s show them we’re the life of the party.”

Rings on their fingers, grins plastered their faces when they ran through the Arch of Swords the guys of the Dagger Squad set up on the aisle. Then came time for the reception. Jake presented Y/n with a sword, per military tradition, to cut the cake and Y/n poured the champagne over the tower of glasses. They had their first dance, which Javy made sure to do his best man duties and record everything.

Which came in handy when it was time for Y/n’s surprise for Jake.

Seating him in a chair at the front of the dance floor, Y/n smirked at his confused expression as she took the mic from the DJ, calling everyone's attention. “All of you know I’m one for surprises. And tonight is no exception,” biting her lip she signaled for her maid of honor, who started rounding up the bridesmaids. “I thought it would be great to give Jake a little treat tonight—do not take that the wrong way, I can already see your minds going somewhere,” she pointed at the daggers who were hollering, giggling as she continued, “Stop it. Anyways, we’ve been cooking up this little number for the past month and now it’s time to let it shine. Baby, this is for you.”

Jake slapped a hand to his mouth containing his expression of glee when the opening chords to Y/n’s ‘Power’ echoed through the speakers. Her bridesmaids got into place, the singer discarding her veil and moving to the center. Everyone was on their feet hooting and hollering, capturing the performance on their phones for memory. Javy even put the phone right up in Jake’s face, Payback slapping the pilot on the back as the others whistled and danced. Just the expression of his mother and family sent Jake into tears of laughter.

She was flabbergasted. Unlike his sister and brother who were having the time of their lives witnessing the masterpiece that was Y/n practically seducing her husband live and singer her own song.

“I don’t think she’s heard this song until now!” He shouted over the music to the phone, blushing when Y/n winked at him. To be fair, the bridge of ‘Power’ was a little on the frisky side and Y/n was edging closer to Jake until she was basically in his lap.

“Don’t be fooled, I got you wrapped up. In the arms of an animal—get you thinking that I’m all innocent. But wait ‘til I get you home. If you don’t, baby, you should know. I’m the one who’s in control.”

Hell yeah she was in control when she got home that night….well at least for a few rounds she was.

Sadness came with the announcement of her break from music. The hot topic for media outlets, Y/n had released a statement on Twitter and Instagram confirming the suspicions many had after her wedding. Fans were understandably upset that their favorite artist wouldn’t be releasing new material until further notice, but they’d rather have Y/n at her best and not give half ass energy in her work. She was burnt out. It was time for a break after 13 years with six albums, each with their own tour. Don’t get her wrong, the popstar loved to be on the road, but after a while she was ready to just stay home for some time without planning for what was next.

In the meantime she sold songs for other people, collaborated on writing with artists, and acted when filming was either in L.A or San Diego. She and Jake were happily married, little to no financial stress or personal issues, and were ready to expand their family. By mid 2025 they had/adopted two kids, two dogs, and a cat. They were a full house with no dull days whatsoever.

“Are you going to get back in the studio like you mentioned the other week?” Jake asked at dinner, helping cut his son's food into smaller pieces.

Y/n nibbled on her floor while also assisting their daughter, “Yeah I think this weekend I’m gonna call Jack up and see what his schedule is like. I got some lyrics I’d like him to read.” Sipping on her drink briefly she then asks, “How long do you think this next mission is going to be?”

“Probably a week or two. Mav is working out the details and hopes to tell us Monday. I just pray I’ll make it in time for your birthday.”

Y/n feels her heart skip, giving a soft smile, “You know I understand if you can’t, honey. If the Pentagon is tasking you then you know it’s important. We’ll celebrate either before or after you get back,” she assured, reaching over to hold his hand when he frowned.

“I just hate the idea of missing it, you know? It’s your birthday and I missed our anniversary last year,” he pauses to sigh, “I just hate leaving you guys for so long. And I never wanna make you feel like you’re always alone.”

“I knew what I was getting into when we fell in love. Don’t feel like you’re missing out or I’m going to suddenly start giving ultimatums because you know I’m not that person. If it was our anniversary or another memorable date I would still feel the same. You have a job, Jake, you’re the best there is to do it. There will be plenty more birthdays for us to be together for.”

Being back in the studio felt like a whole new world. It had been nearly five years since her last single was in late 2020. When Jake was working the kids would come with her and be the stars of the crew, playing in the mini play area they had set up while Y/n was recording. Besides the people she worked with, only Jake knew she was releasing new music. Quite literally Y/n did not announce anything until the night before with a single Tweet and Instagram post with the art cover and the caption, “Tomorrow at midnight, Between Us.”

She broke the internet to put it lightly.

@ Y/ns_microphone: WE’RE GETTING NEW MUSIC OMFG PLEASE TELL ME IT’S A WHOLE ALBUM!!

@ livinginharryshouse: y’all the High Note Princess is back I’m gonna lose it.

@ a_teenage_dream: 2025 ending on a great note 🥹 five years and the wait is over!!!!

@ dylanobrien ✔️: crying, shitting, throwing up. Thank you @ Y/n

August 2026

18 years in the music industry and the rush before a live performance had Y/n pacing backstage during the commercial break of the VMAs. Their children were being occupied by her manager while Jake helped her mentally prepare. He was going to be the one to present her the award at the end of her set, so they were just waiting for the green light from the stage manager. The performance was going to be nearly ten minutes, the longest she’s ever done live on an award show since it was going to be a medley of some of her classic hits while also including ‘Between Us’. Lady Gaga, Y/n’s close friend and who collaborated with her again on her most recent album, was going to introduce her.

“Deep breaths with me, baby,” Jake held her in his arms, kissing her forehead. “I can feel you shaking. But once you get on stage it’s gonna be like you never left.” Taking a strong inhale, Y/n let it out slowly before repeating.

“I know it probably won’t happen,” she starts to laugh, “but I can’t help but dread the idea of me falling on my ass or forgetting my lyrics.” Jake laughs with her, shaking his head while pulling away to look at her.

“Knowing you, you’d fall gracefully and make it look like it was intentional. Also you mumble those lyrics in your sleep…you won’t forget them.”

She leans more into him just as the stage manager yells, “You’re on in five, Y/n!” The commercial break must have ended. Lady Gaga was already being pulled on stage after wishing the popstar good luck with a hug and friendly kiss to the cheek. “We need you over here please.”

“That’s your cue,” Jake grins, cupping his wife’s face before bringing her in for a passionate kiss. Y/n smiles into it, nuzzling their noses together causing him to chuckle. When they pull away he says, “Go out there and have fun. Bottom line, baby, have fun out there and sing your heart out. I’m so lucky and honored to be your husband and share this life with you. Don’t start crying,” he playfully scolds when her eyes tear up, “you’ll ruin your nice makeup your team worked so hard on.” That makes her laugh. Jake kisses her again, “I love you, baby. I’ll see you at the end.”

“I love you, Jake,” she hugs him tightly, feeling comfort in the smell of his cologne. “Thank you for being by my side everyday. You’re the light of my life—,” she nods to the stage manager who was waving frantically. “Fuck okay, I wanted to be more romantic but I got to go before they drag me.”

“Go, go,” he kisses her cheek, Y/n moving quickly to kiss her children and hug her managers before waving goodbye. “We love you!!”

Running to the nearly annoyed stage manager, she throws off her robe to reveal her stage outfit and takes the microphone. Heart pounding, she adjusts her earpiece as they escort her to the spot she was needed just as Lady Gaga finished her introduction speech, “Los Angeles and to everyone watching at home, it is my honor to present to you your recipient of this year’s MTV Video Vanguard Award. Get on your feet and make some noise for the one and only, Y/n L/n!!”

It was still dark on stage where Y/n was hidden from the audience as all attention went to the giant screens all around showing the pre-recorded video montage with her face in black and white and eyes closed. The crowd was already going crazy as the camera zoomed in toward Y/n’s face while audio played of her talking about her love for music and the thrill of performing. The camera continued to pan in, the popstar on stage thinking about everything that had led her to that moment. From starting out her days singing in a jazz club, to becoming one of only 19 EGOT winners, and now the recipient of the Video Vanguard award.

The microphone went to her mouth, Y/n putting on the show of the year when the video ended with her eyes opening and voice echoing the music channel’s iconic phrase in the stadium, “I want my MTV!!”

…………

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001, @cutelittlepotatofry, @luckyladycreator2, @americaarse, @elenavampire21, @back-tooo-black

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aurevell · 11 months

Text

Returning the Favor Sterek | 5k | T

Stiles pays a nighttime visit to his boyfriend in secret, or so he thinks. Unfortunately, the Hale family has keener ears than he realizes.

It’s late when Derek hears the noise at the side of the house. A creak of siding that cuts through the backdrop of cricket song. Just one lone sound, but there’s something cautious about it. Probing.

He lowers the book he’s reading, but no other sounds follow. Derek has been lying sprawled across his bed, drowsy and warm and comfortable, sweatpant-clad legs resting against the wall—but now that he’s conscious of the sound, his focus sharpening, he thinks he’s been hearing quiet noises grow nearer for some time without quite comprehending them. A wild animal outside, maybe, creeping slowly around the foundation of the house. Something large enough that the mulch in the flower bed crunches beneath its weight.

It’s not often that a solitary animal grows bold enough to venture this close to a werewolf pack—the scent always scares them off first. They don’t even get raccoons out here, especially not with the cold this time of year. It could always be their cousin Warren, who’s always thought it funny to startle his relatives with unexpected visits in the dead of night. Or any one of the nasty things in Uncle Peter’s wild stories, supernatural things that creep into the house come dark.

Derek glances at the window, book still resting on his chest, but the house is still.

Maybe it’s gone. That’s just as well: he’s too comfortable to drag himself over to the window to look.

And then another sound comes, an unmistakable creak. Heavy weight settling into place.

Downstairs, his mother sighs. “What was that?” she demands, her voice faint with distance. She and his dad are likely out on the porch swing at this time of evening, even though it’s nearly winter, lunatics that they are. “If Laura and Cora are at it again—”

“I’m sure they aren’t, Tal,” Derek’s father replies, sounding amused. “You put the fear of god in them.”

Mom scoffs. “If we have to repair another door, it’s coming out of their pockets.”

“Not everything is my fault, Mom,” Cora mutters pointedly from down the hall. There’s heavy metal coming from the vicinity of Laura’s bedroom, just low enough to be blasting from her headphones, and she doesn’t pipe up to defend herself.

The thing hasn’t gone away. Metal squeaks a moment later, and then the scrabbling returns, punctuated by a thump and a muffled grunt.

Annoyed, Derek tosses the book aside and clambers to his feet, crossing over to the window. When he hoists up the sash, letting the night chill waft in, he peers down into the dark and finds that the source is worse than anything he could have imagined.

It’s his boyfriend, scaling the side of the house like some deranged cat burglar.

Stiles is hanging onto the drainpipe, having managed to hoist himself several feet off the ground. He’s leaning against the metal awning over the kitchen window, one foot atop the shutter and the other scrabbling for purchase against the siding. At the clatter of Derek’s opening window, he looks up, startled, and nearly loses his balance.

“What are you doing here?” Derek hisses.

“Just returning the favor.” With a moment to catch himself against the awning, Stiles gets his bearing and grins. “What? Don’t make that face. C’mon, you can show up at all hours of the night, but turnabout isn’t fair play?”

With that, he sticks his tongue between his teeth, which he sometimes does unconsciously when something demands his full attention. And the perilous task of climbing should get his full attention, given how often he stumbles when both of his feet are on the ground. God, Derek is about to witness his idiot boyfriend fall to his death or something.

Stiles heaves himself mostly onto the awning, clawing for purchase with a grunt. When he reaches for the window, he loses his grip, nearly sliding backward onto the grass; in a flash of panic, Derek grabs him by his shirt and yanks him forward.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he demands, aware of their volume and even more aware of their audience.

The awning rattles as Stiles draws up his long legs to slip inside the window feet first, ducking under the sash. He’s panting a little as he pulls himself upright, though he bats his eyes sweetly in the face of Derek’s scowl. “Oh, please. I knew you’d catch me. ‘My hero,’ and all that.”

“Should have let you fall and die,” Derek retorts, shutting the window.

“Probably. Oh man, that was so athletic. Sometimes, I amaze myself.”

Derek doesn’t have anything smart to say to that. He’s only half paying attention, too busy bracing for the discussion sure to follow.

He and Stiles may as well have stomped up and down the stairs blowing air horns as far as the rest of the house goes. Everyone will have heard. Derek is absolutely sure because you can hear a pin drop, like no one’s even moving, like everyone’s waiting with bated breath—either gleeful or judgmental or both—to hear what comes next. Even Laura’s deafening headphones have gone silent. Fuck.

Worst of all…Stiles doesn’t know any of this. He doesn’t yet know about the secret the Hale family hides, or how keenly they can hear, or that every word he says will be seized up and cheerfully dissected and gossiped about in real time.

Read the rest on AO3

#sterek #sterek fic #mine #vaguely inspired by a tumblr post i have been unable to find after multiple searches in the month+ it took me to write this #i think it was a pic of two cats falling off a roof??#and whoever posted it was basically like 'haha this is stiles-coded after he tries to climb derek's window and pulls derek down with him'#i'm pretty sure i even reblogged it and yet where is it??#if you know what i'm talking about let me know lmao #anyway #this is only a little bit about stiles struggling through the window #mostly it's about how i think werewolf hearing would upgrade the sibling-on-sibling crime possibilities in any given household #and the fact that you could not get away with ANYTHING noisy without every other person in the house knowing about it #so having blabbermouth stiles stilinski pop into said household while being totally ignorant of the existence of werewolves...#let's just say 'poor derek' and leave it at that lmao

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colderdrafts · 7 months

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wait, wait!!

the creature is acting and talking in such annoying way that they get in reader's nervous, so the reader starts saying snarky things back and talking about how morgan is the best partner they could over have (and I don't know what else im just giving out ideas im terrible at writing dialogue lol)

(Continuation of another ask! When you finally get Morgan a night out and someone gives you a hard time about it) Love this idea. A little piece for this scenario below. R takes defensive positions :)

The idle conversations have started up around you again. Finally.

It’s always too eerily quiet when you and Morgan first arrive somewhere. At least until people realize that you’re not going to attack anyone. Now, you just need to relax, too.

The inside of the tavern is fairly standard of the common-folk world. Craftsmanship of the facilities are wooden and rustic, having several spots for comfortable seating. There’s a single bar managed by a large hare-woman, a scent of inebriated people and food in the air. The interior is bustling with common-folk utilizing the area for their late night rest, and a well-deserved drink after a long day’s work. From gruff-looking wolves to a sleek falcon, common-folk intend to get their fair share of winding down. And tonight, you and Morgan have joined them.

Well, 'joined', is perhaps generous. You’ve found a secluded corner to sit in, and most others make sure to stay a good distance away from you. You try to pay it no mind; Morgan is not exactly welcome in these spaces, after all. And, as their companion, neither are you. But, you’ve managed to convince the hare at the bar to provide an actual roof over your heads for the night, and food is on the way. That’s something. It might even smell like progress.

It took a lot of convincing on your part for Morgan to even consider spending a night in a place like this. Too many people, too little space to move around. Too exposed. But you’ve paid a hefty sum for a room, having an actual bed to look forward to, and a good meal that’s actually been stewing, and came from a pot. You're not about to give that up.

And so far, your efforts have paid off. Everything's been going surprisingly well, mostly. Even if Morgan's been switching between speaking with you, and keeping an eye on anything and everything moving inside the tavern. It’s an odd mixture. Their confidence might allow them to not be completely on guard, but their constant monitoring of vibrations in the air might make it difficult to stop.

To be fair, most patrons inside of the tavern seems hellbent on keeping an eye on Morgan, too. Perhaps it’s sensible they’d return the favor. Your arachnid companion has their usual unseemly aura in place, like just daring anyone to try and oppose their being here. It might fool a common-folk, but you can see what they're doing. It's a defense mechanism; you can't be hurt if you can't be approached. You really wish they didn’t think this was necessary.

But this is supposed to be a fun night out. You intend to make it so, in any case.

“Could you please calm down your feelers?” you ask Morgan, when they’ve been aloof for a little longer than usually. They’re staring dead ahead at a point behind you. You tap at their front leg with your foot to snap them out of it. “I think we’re fine.”

“Oh, I am completely calm,” Morgan purrs and smiles widely, still not looking at you. They don’t even blink. “That pale lizard over there, however, is clearly not.”

You glance over your shoulder at said lizard. Sure enough, the white scales of his head seems like they should be an angry red, judging by the way he’s glaring your direction.

“Well, obviously he’s not if you keep staring at him like that,” you argue, switching tactics and gently pulling at their hand instead. “Come on, can we just have a calm night? No fights, no threats, no blood, just – I want you to have a good time, for once.”

“Me?” Morgan grins, finally severing eye contact with their opponent to focus on you. Their hand promptly curls around yours. “Since when have you become so nice to me? Not that I’m complaining.”

Ugh. You knew you should never go there with Morgan, but perhaps that’s what’s needed. Give an inch, and all that. You’ll just have to hope they won’t take more than their usual mile.

"I've always been nice," you assert. "You just haven't earned experiencing it."

Morgan laughs, nodding at your hand in theirs. "So, what did I do to earn this?"

“Our dinner’s ready,” you deflect, noting two stewing, deep plates that’s just been delivered at the bar. Excellent timing. The barkeep’s eyeing you a bit excessively, perhaps reluctant to call you up. Simultaneously, she probably does not want Morgan to come collect the food.

Morgan’s eye darts to the bar. “I’ll go-”

“Sit,” you bark at them before they’ve even stretched a leg. The less risk of them bumping into someone, or, gods forbid, someone bumping into them, the better. “I’ll get it.”

You walk away before they can protest, ignoring the feeling of Morgan’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.

The barkeep looks relieved when you approach, and hands you your food. She holds onto the bowls momentarily as you grab them, preventing you from leaving quickly.

“Could you please tell your custodian to stop staring at my patrons?” the hare hisses lowly, urgently, ears flat against her head. “It’s making people uneasy. I gave you a room, but I don’t want-”

“YEP!” you interrupt, flashing her a strained smile. “I’ll get right on that.”

The barkeep narrows her eyes at your rudeness, continuing. “And when you sleep here, I don’t want any noise or unnecessary nightly wandering-”

“I know!” you interrupt her again, pulling at the food to get her to let go. You don’t have the time, nor patience, for the usual complaints. You need to get back before-

The barkeep's long ears suddenly stand up straight. She sucks in a startled breath, fixating on a spot behind you. Right. That.

You groan, and turn around, leaving your precious food in the barkeep's hands.

Morgan is unfortunately standing up. And, in front of them, is the very lizard they’ve spent the night staring at.

Said lizard is up in Morgan’s face, spewing words you can only imagine are not words of fondness. Either he's very brave, very good at fighting, or very drunk. Possibly all three.

By contrast, Morgan looks unpleasantly nonplussed, like they're casually wondering where best to grab on and start tearing.

“No,” you seethe. Absolutely not. Not tonight.

You march across the tavern in long strides toward the pair, prepared to put an end to this fight before it even starts.

“-don’t care where, but you’re not staying here!” the lizard’s voice reaches you through the idle noises of the crowd.

Morgan looks up at your approach, still not looking particularly affected, albeit slightly amused when they spot the look on your face.

You force yourself into the small space between the pair, your back against Morgan’s front. You suppress a shudder when you feel their hands softly coming to rest on your shoulders.

The lizard steps back once you do so, narrowing his eyes at you. He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off by leaning into his space.

“I spend one night, trying to have a good time, that’s not inside a cave, high up in a tree, or sleeping on dirt, and then you-!” you scold the lizard-like person. “- just had to escalate things!”

The lizard takes the verbal hit silently and stares at you, baffled. Perhaps he’d not expected you would take up this fight. He frowns, regaining composure. “Listen here-”

“No, you listen!” you spit. Morgan's face enters your peripheral vision, a genuine surprised expression minutely replaced by a shit-eating grin full of teeth. You ignore them. “We want to stay in taverns sometimes! Why can’t you let us have that?”

“YOU are alright!” the lizard states with a hiss. He points a clawed finger at the large arachnid behind you. “That monster you’re hanging out with is not!”

“Monster?” Morgan scoffs and pouts, feigning hurt. “Why, you've barely seen anything. That’s a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“Not when it comes to you,” the lizard snarls back at them. “You nasty red-eyes especially."

"I think my eyes are pretty," Morgan says.

"Can’t believe you didn’t get snatched," the lizard continues, not listening. "Should’ve nailed you when they had the darn chance. Better off dead than adult.”

A miniscule pause is what changes this entire interaction. It’s not often Morgan reacts to the usual slander people throw their way. And if it wasn’t because of your bond, you probably wouldn’t have noticed it would be any different this time.

But there’s just the slightest little twist of their energy shifting, like being splashed with cold water. The comment hit something. Morgan's face doesn’t falter a bit, expertly holding up the nonchalant, unaffected facade. But their claws are scraping across the wooden floor, their grip on your shoulders tightening ever so slightly. You can feel their energy reaching for you to calm down, almost on instinct. For once, Morgan seems slightly, genuinely, upset.

You step into the lizard’s space again without warning, shoving him backwards and out of your corner. Interrupting your fun night out is one thing. Suggesting your companion should’ve been killed as a hatchling is quite another. You’ve just about had it.

“That monster has treated me better than any of you ever did,” you fume, walking the offender back to his own spot. “You lot have done nothing but cause problems. What gives you the fucking right to be judging life and death?”

Morgan doesn’t intervene, but their presence behind you is heavy and reassuring. Their energy is fluttering around you, leaning into your anger. Letting you know you’re not fighting alone.

“You’re completely brainwashed,” the lizard laughs coolly, waving you off. “As always. It’s filthy, the shit they do to your minds. I don’t know what I expected. I almost feel bad for you.”

Brainwashed?

Perhaps it’s the heated moment. Perhaps it’s just because you want this incredibly hostile person to leave you alone. Perhaps it’s because you just want to have the final word, and prove a point.

But your hands almost acts on their own when you spin around, grab Morgan’s arms, and pull them down towards you. They follow your instruct without complaint.

Without warning, you cup their face, and plant a firm kiss smack on their lips. Morgan’s eyes widen in surprise. Then excitement. You hear them purr deeply as they relax into your grip, reveling in the softness you've suddenly bestowed upon them.

When you let them go their hands are on your waist. They don’t stop chittering as you turn away from them again to face the threat.

“I don’t care what you think I am,” you say to the lizard. “But whatever it is, you still have no reason to treat us like this. Leave us alone.”

The lizard looks flabbergasted at the display. Then it turns to horror. Then disgust. “Unbelievable. Are you really-”

“Go. Away.”

If it’s you or Morgan that says it, you suddenly aren’t sure. Your voice came out like a harsh, guttural whisper, not unlike the way Morgan’s does when they’re angry. Perhaps you both just spoke at once. But the lizard averts his eyes, finally, acknowledging this is not the space to start this fight. He skulks off, leaving you and Morgan in full view of the entire tavern.

You glance around, only now noting the wary eyes of the common-folk. Their stares carry a mixture of fear, repulsion and, worst of all, pity. And it strikes you what has just transpired. That display might have caused more harm than good with this particular crowd.

Crap. You’ll need to leave again, won’t you?

You regretfully look up at Morgan, who's simply looking to you. Pleasantly calm, and dutifully awaiting your next move.

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, and wave the entire tavern off. “We’re going. Have a good evening. Sorry for the disturbance,” you spit the last part, grabbing Morgan’s wrist to drag them outside.

“A kiss?”

Morgan startles you out of your skin with the words, their voice suddenly appearing from the dark. Seems they’ve returned from collecting firewood.

Took them long enough.

The small make-shift camp under the stars offers only a bitter respite from what tonight could have been. Morgan had offered to go collect some fuel, as they can see better out here now that it’s dark. You hadn’t planned to stay the night in the woods again, after all.

“What about it?” you reply, not bothering to hide your sulking.

You’re seated close to the humble fire to keep the night chill at bay. Morgan enters the light shortly after, eyes reflecting it. They set down the branches, casually throwing in a few extra sticks to feed the flame, and seat themself next to you.

Morgan playfully pokes at your shoulder. “Sentry, if I’d known starting fights would get you-”

“Please, don’t even finish that sentence,” you complain. “I didn’t want to fight that guy. I just didn’t like what he said.”

Morgan hums. “You wanted him to not think I’ve control of your mind?”

“Something like that,” you grimace.

“Well,” they lean on you heavily, teasing. They speak into your face with a drawling whisper. “What’s there to suggest that I don’t?”

You snort, and shrug them off. “Bond thing, sure. I can’t go anywhere without you. But I’m pretty sure my head’s still mine.”

“Well, yes. And no. And not quite,” Morgan smiles. “It’s mine.”

“It wasn’t just that,” you continue quickly, before that train of thought develops. “The whole snatcher thing he said. It’s just -”

“Judging life and death?” Morgan echoes you, staring into the open flame. “Sentry, at this point it shouldn’t surprise you. That’s how it works. Their judgment will always favor my death.”

They speak casually, like telling you it’s going to rain. Nothing but a minor nuisance. It brings a bad taste to your mouth just how used to this they seem.

“I know,” you give after a beat, shifting uncomfortably. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it. And I really, really don’t.”

Morgan eyes you with a wry smile. “Don’t worry, they’ll be sure to remember that. Well, also after your amazing outburst. Have I ever mentioned I adore your theatrics?”

You frown, ignoring the last statement. “What do you mean, also?”

Morgan leans on their arms, calmly moving leaf litter out of the way of the fire before it catches. “I figured you defending my honor - while efficient, and I am eternally grateful - wouldn’t get the point across fully,” they say offhandedly.

You quickly turn to stare at the side of their face. They want you to ask, and you almost don't want to know. “Morgan. What did you do?”

Morgan turns slowly, and smiles at you, clicking their fangs together. “Well, their ale supply might make the patrons feel bad for a while. Maybe a little cramping? Maybe a little .. un-moving? Is that a word?”

Blood drains from your face.

“If I'm being honest, I have no clue what consuming my venom does to a person,” they ponder. “Actually, we should stick around. I want to see-”

“You went back to-!” You throw your arms out in frustration. “This is why we can never go anywhere!”

“On the contrary,” Morgan laughs. They lean over and curl their fingers around your wrists affectionately. They gently press their forehead against yours. “This is why we can go anywhere.”

#colderwriting #about Morgan #monster x reader #monster lover #uv #drider #exophilia #drider x reader #x reader #x gn reader #Actually looked up what eating venom does to your body #Results are mixed #But going towards bad but might not kill you. But it will not make you feel good

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