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im-in-vin-ci-ble · 4 years ago

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Hello~ Can I request a Mark x fem reader who’s a lot like starfire and is very Powerful close to omni man and is also an alien princess but she lives on earth and they go to the same school and she’s also a solo hero who one day sees invincible fighting off a tough villain with the teenteam but is losing so she steps in to help and he recognizes her and starts getting all nervous since he has a crush on her and then after that they introduce themselves get to know each other and eventually work they’re way up to mark confessing and she says yes :3

(If possible can it be a slow burn im a sucker for slow burn tropes and stuff 😤)

A/N: I gotchu, this bout to be a lil long 😮‍💨 making the fem!reader a little more human, figured since she’s in an actual school for humans she’d need to adapt to the humor/culture so she doesn’t get suspicious

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Rating: M, some swearing and gross monster guts

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Mark is finally joined in battle by an alien princess who has caught his attention. Turns out she goes to the same high school, and if he can throw around 150-pound monsters across the street, surely he can confess his true feelings to a girl... right?

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" Rex Splode yelled as he wobbled up off the ground. "We've been on this thing for hours and it only has one damn cut!"

"Calm down Rex," Atom Eve said from behind, "You're gonna get even more tired from yelling."

The two watched as Dupli-Kate attempted to distract the scaly kaiju, replicating herself second after second to give space for Invincible to hit the monster by surprise. The kaiju's screech echoed throughout the city and shook the foundations of the surrounding buildings, forcing Rex, Atom Eve and Robot to move aside and save however many civilians they could.

"Invincible," Dupli-Kate shouted, "I can't keep up much longer!"

A sonic boom overcame the surrounding noise and Invincible appeared from the clouds. Dropping in at maximum speed, the young superhero balled his hand into a fist and took a deep breath. A loud battle cry escaped his mouth but it was cut short as the kaiju's heavy arm slapped him away just in time, throwing him through destroyed buildings until he landed on the pavement.

Out of breath, dizzy, and in a serious amount of pain, Invincible laid on the broken road for a second to regain his strength. The wind softly blew down on him as he focused his sight on a contrail leading towards him, and he watched as a girl in purple land right next to him.

She bent down and held him upright, "Invincible, are you okay?"

"Mmhmm," Invincible croaked with a defeated smile, "Totally fine."

His sight reverted back to normal and the first face he saw shocked him alive. It was her. They never talked in school and he was almost sure she didn't know his real name, but here she was, basically cradling him in her arms and calling him Invincible.

So she knows who I am. At least with the suit.

"Come on, that kaiju is about to be destroy the entire city," she said, helping him get back on his feet and flying away to the seemingly unbeatable figure.

He huffed, "Stay cool, Mark. She's here to help," and he followed suit.

This marked the first time he really interacted with the new superhero; he'd only ever see her on TV or read about how she saved people on the newspaper. He'd be lying if he said he didn't find her attractive — as do most guys his age — but watching her blast the kaiju with the green bursts of energy from her hands made her only even more appealing.

Invincible regrouped with the rest of the Teen Team. "I don't know what else we can do to this thing," Atom Eve admitted.

"I do," the girl spoke up. "Distract it as best as you can but stay far away from the stomach. When I tell you to take cover, make a run for it."

Robot replied, "That seems highly dangerous."

"Let's do it," Invincible quickly replied in a high-pitched voice.

Everyone looked over at him, surprised at the sudden change in his voice and just how fast he reacted in agreement.

"Uh, it's a good plan," he nodded, causing the girl to shoot a warm smile his way. "I definitely think we should do it... if all of you... uh, think, we should."

Exhausted and out of options, the rest of the group followed her orders and took different corners of the monster. Dupli-Kate handled one leg, Rex Splode handled the other, Robot and Atom Eve took the arms, and Invincible went back to the head. The kaiju struggled to keep its focus on just one of the heroes, and while it remained preoccupied, the girl absorbed all the energy she could muster and flew straight for the stomach.

"Take cover, now!"

Invincible and the Teen Team moved away and they watched as the flying hero's eyes opened in a bright shade of neon green, both her arms extended out as a large ball of green formed around her hands. The rays exploded right through the kaiju and it shrieked in pain as she briefly disappeared into the stomach. The kaiju lost balance and slowly fell forward as the girl, her eyes still green, appeared on the other side and harshly fell down on the ground.

The kaiju landed on the street with a loud boom and the group ran towards the girl who was now covered in parts of the kaiju's digestive system.

"Okay, that's kinda gross," Rex Splode commented, to which Dupli-Kate quickly responded, "Shut up."

Invincible dropped down on his knees and wiped the blood and guts off her face. Subtly admiring her facial features up close, he couldn't believe (and almost felt stupid) that he never recognized her despite the fact that he almost saw her everyday.

The girl groaned in agony softly shook her head, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of Invincible's dark hair, goggles and yellow mask.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, "Are you alright?"

She sat up and hissed at her injuries, holding her head with her bloody hand. "Mmhmm," she gently nodded with a half smile, her eye one still shut. "Totally fine."

---

Mark had a hard time focusing on school. His body ached from yesterday's injuries and he suffered a few bruises from literally tearing through buildings. He made his way to his locker and rested his head on the metal door, dreading the fact that he still has an entire afternoon of classes to go. Closing his eyes in hopes to quickly recharge, his moment of peace was disrupted when a shoulder rammed into his chest and several books landed right on his toe.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," a voice exclaimed.

Mark's head snapped up at the sound of the voice. It's her. He momentarily froze and watched the girl bend down to pick up her things, and when he finally regained movement a split second later, he also bent down to help her out. He kept quiet as he tried to think of the coolest possible response to make her think that he was actually the coolest guy in school, but all he could think of was how heavenly and badass she looked yesterday.

"Thanks," she said as he handed her the book. "I hope your foot doesn't bruise."

They both stood up and he shot her a nervous smile. "T-totally fine," he replied, clearing his throat afterwards.

She crossed her brows at his response and nodded, and a look of suspicion replaced her worried demeanor.

"I'm Mark, by the way," he cleared his throat again and reached out his hand, "Grayson."

"Mark... Grayson, huh?" she responded, scanning his face as her suspicion grew. Her eyes finally landed on the hand that was waiting, and she took one last look into his eyes before deciding to shake it. "I'm Y/N," she introduced herself with a skeptical smile, feeling his sweaty palm wrapped around hers. "I'll see you around, Mark Grayson."

She walked away and Mark's eyes followed her trail as far as he could see. He quickly pulled out his phone to send a text to Eve, who was actually watching their interaction a few classrooms down.

"Mark," Eve called out as she moved towards him. “So I’m assuming...”

"You knew?” he asked her in disbelief. “Why didn't you tell me Y/N was a superhero? I just introduced myself to her as Mark Grayson and I'm almost positive she knows I'm Invincible."

"First off, it's not my secret tell," she answered with a shrug. "Second, you guys didn’t trade secrets or whatever?”

Mark shook his head in a panic, "No, but I'm guessing she also knows that I know her secret the same way I know she knows my secret." He rested his forehead on the locker door once again and groaned, "Ugh, I'm so into her, it isn't even funny. And this whole superhero thing just made it even more awkward."

Eve laughed, "Look, I'm not going to force her to tell you if she isn't up for it, but if you want, I can ask her to hang out with us later. Maybe — emphasis on maybe — my presence will make her comfortable enough to admit who she is."

"Okay, okay," he sighed, turning around to rest the back of his head. "My insides are dying."

"After the kaiju yesterday, be thankful you don't mean that in a literal sense."

---

Where in the hell is Eve?

Mark pulled out his phone for the third time in 10 minutes. Still no call or response from Eve to his text. He was getting evidently nervous; his palms were sweaty again and it felt like someone turned up the heat in Burger Mart. His left leg jerked up and down in anxiety as he stared at his phone, looking at the seconds on the clock icon tick by. If he were left alone with Y/N, he'd have no idea what to say. What does she like? Should I bring up the kaiju yesterday and praise Invincible? No, she'll just think I'm full of myself.

"Hey Mark."

He jolted and saw Y/N standing by the corner of the booth. "Hi!" he replied in that irritatingly high-pitched voice. Mark's heart began to race and the thoughts in his head ran wild. "Um... Have a seat. Sorry Eve isn't here yet, she actually hasn't answered my calls or my messages. Teenage girls, huh? What can you do?"

She crossed her brows again and chuckled, "That's fine, we can wait for Eve. But I think I'm more concerned about you."

"What do you mean?"

Y/N chuckled again, "You seem... nervous.”

He faked an obnoxiously loud laugh, “Me? Nervous?”

She watched him from across the table in silence, waiting for him to regain his composure.

When Mark couldn’t hear Y/N laughing with him, he finally shut up and shook his head. “Yeah, I am nervous, sorry,” he admitted, shutting his eyes tight.

She giggled, “Totally fine.”

Hearing her say those two words calmed his racing heartbeat. A smile crept on his face and she reciprocated, their eyes locking for a few seconds before both their phones buzzed.

“Oh, I just got a text from Eve,” Mark said.

“Me too.” She opened the message and began to read it out loud, “Sorry, can’t make it tonight. Something came up.”

“Have fun, you two,” he followed, his voice faltering. He placed his phone, screen down this time, back on the table and sighed, “Sorry, guess you’re stuck with me. That is, if you do want to stay and... hang out, and stuff.”

"Why wouldn’t I?” she replied, her warm smile easing Mark back into a relaxed state. “It’s nice to have a friend who...” she trailed off, “understands.”

“Understands what?” he asked.

“This thing people like us call life,” she answered. “You know, it took me a long time to acclimate here. I didn’t think I ever would, then I met friends who made this place feel like home. And home is a feeling I hadn’t felt in a really long time.”

Mark rested his elbows on the table and leaned in closer, “Well, I’m always here. You know, a-as a friend... or an acquaintance, even. I don’t, I don’t want to push it.”

Y/N giggled again, “You’re a funny man, Mark Grayson. This planet is lucky to have someone like you.” She reached out and held his hand, “And I’m even luckier to have you as a friend, or an acquaintance.”

He felt the heat rush to his face and he could swear his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. The afternoon flew by in a hurry as they engaged in lengthy conversations, fatty fast food, and childhood stories. While Mark was open to sharing every tiny detail — down to the color of the bleachers at the park where he played little league — Y/N kept hers pretty vague, leaving out descriptions of family members and even the places where these stories happened.

Mark’s phone buzzed again, but the vibrating pattern indicated it was a phone call. He turned the screen over and saw the unknown number; it was time to suit up.

“Shit, I’m sorry Y/N, but I need to go,” he said in a rush. “I have a... uh, an emergency.”

You couldn’t have thought of anything more specific?

“It’s cool. Um, don’t worry about it,” she said, shaking her head with her eyes glued to the vibrating phone.

Mark’s one leg was already out the booth before he decided to finally just go for it. Sitting back down with his now quiet phone in his hands, he took a deep breath.

“Y/N, I think you’re really cool. Can I maybe, like, call you sometime, or something?”

Her lips formed into smile that extended to her eyes, and it was enough for Mark to melt a little. “Of course. Yeah, sure,” she replied in excitement and typed down her number on his phone. She handed it back, “Now you know how to reach me if you’re getting your ass whooped again.”

His mouth fell open as his shaky hands grabbed his phone. “Wait—”

She smoothly slid out of the booth, “See you later, Invincible,” she winked, “Don’t get killed today.”

---

Luckily for Mark, no one got killed today. Maybe a few wounds here and there, but nothing painful enough that will land him in the GDA hospital. After spending an hour in the shower, he finally managed to lie down on his bed and rest his body. He sank into the mattress and closed his eyes, taking in the seconds of undisturbed peace that have become rare moments since he got his powers.

As he replayed the events of today’s fights in his head, his mind drifted off to the hours he spent with Y/N. He pulled out his phone and mustered the courage to press the dial button, and the repeating sound of the ringing was making his pulse race.

“Hello?”

“Oh good, you didn’t die today.”

Mark chuckled and sandwiched his hand between his head and the pillow. “It wasn’t that bad today, just took a few hits,” he explained. “So listen, Y/N, I was wondering, uh—”

She cut him off, “What are you doing right now?”

“What?”

“What are you doing right now?” she repeated.

“Um, nothing, just getting some rest” he sat up and looked around. “Why?”

“If you’re not too tired, do you maybe...”

Mark smiled, “Maybe...?”

“I don’t know, sneak out? My roof is pretty comfortable.”

Silently fist pumping, he fully stood up and nodded, “Text me the address.”

Just as quietly as he exited his room via the window, he softly landed on Y/N’s roof. Swiftly flying up and greeting him, she took the place next to him and crossed her legs.

“You’re right, your roof is pretty comfortable,” Mark said.

She chuckled at his remark then noticed a gash by his right temple. Her brows furrowed in worry, “You have a wound,” she said, making sure not to touch it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, softly holding her hand and placing it back down with his. “Totally fine.”

Those words brought her some sense of comfort as her eyes softened, causing her to unconsciously squeeze his hand. Mark’s eyes widened and he looked down at their tangled fingers, frozen for a moment.

“Is this... okay with you?” he asked.

She nodded. “Wanna lie down? Since my roof is so comfortable?” she asked with a smirk.

“Sure,” Mark chuckled, removing his hand from her’s and stretching his arm out as they lied down. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, keeping her eyes up at the stars.

“Hey Mark?”

“Yeah?”

A moment of silence.

“Thank you for coming.”

He looked down at her as she met his eyes, “You’re welcome.”

The two shared a smile, and Mark took a deep breath as he prepared himself for the words that were about to come out of his mouth.

It’s now or never, Mark. Now or never.

“Watching you kick ass yesterday was... really a sight to see,” he began. “You’re powerful and strong, but more importantly, brave. And you’re so fucking beautiful and kind and smart and...” Mark trailed off, sighing, “I never thought I would be in this position — with you next to me in a very comfortable rooftop under the stars.”

“Mark...”

“And I really like you. Like, really, really like you.”

“Mark.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, but I just wanted to let you know. It’s important that you know—”

“Mark,” she cut him off. “I like you too. A lot.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and covered his eyes with his free hand. “Oh thank god. Thank god!” he exclaimed.

Y/N shushed him, “You’re gonna wake up the neighborhood, Invincible.”

“Sorry,” he giggled quietly, “I got excited.”

She laughed and faced her body towards him. They locked eyes again, and Mark didn’t know if it was gravity or just the adrenaline that pushed him, but he finally leaned down and met her lips. Static ran through his body as he deepened the kiss, and he felt an excitement that was even more exhilarating than the first time he flew.

She pulled away and Mark ran his hand through her hair, resting his hand on her cheek. “How was that?” he asked.

She smiled gently and placed her hand over his, “Totally fine.”

#sorry this turned out way longer than expected #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson #invincible fanfiction

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dizzydennis · 4 years ago

Photo

Sonic x Metal Sonic Cover Story!

Translator note: I am not totally fluent in Japanese so please understand that my translations are not perfect, but I hope you can enjoy this fun story. Any constructive criticism is appreciated.

Deep within Dr. Eggman’s abandoned, secret lab... a robot connected to a database booted up made note of the current situation. The evaluation was as followed:

[[Current status... "unfavorable"]]

While this robot was in rest for maintenance, Dr. Eggman was once again defeated by Sonic. Yet again, “he” was unable to rush to protect his master from crisis.

The same amount of bitterness stirred inside him... or perhaps even more.

It longed for the opportunity to defeat Sonic.

This mechanical piece of intelligence was known as “Metal Sonic” and it was created for the sole purpose of destroying Sonic. It continued to analyze the situation:

[[Current status is "unfavorable"]]

☆ ★ ☆

"Speed Highway" is a super-three-dimensional highway that runs through a plethora of high-rise buildings.

It has many acceleration lanes such as the “360-degree rotating loop” that rises to the sky and a corkscrew that stretches into a large spiral. It attracts the souls of speed enthusiasts everywhere!

Sonic was running around in good spirits as he hummed to himself.

CRASH!!

Suddenly, something attacked Sonic head-on! He barely avoided it as the road just ahead turned into a pile of rubble from such a shattering impact. Sonic let out a gleeful grin.

“I’m worried. You didn’t damage yourself with that stunt, did ya, Metal?”

It was, in fact, Metal Sonic that stood up from the rubble.

Metal gave a piercing, sharp gaze towards Sonic. Within a second, he quickly closed the gap between the two of them while pointing his left hand to Sonic.

“Hey! Isn’t that--!?”

It was the flickering of a Chaos Emerald. Metal’s other hand pointed to the innermost parts of Speed Highway. It was unwavering.

Sonic instantly understood what Metal Sonic meant.

“You’re gonna bet that in a competition against me? That doesn’t seem very fair now, does it?”

Sonic then took out his all of the Chaos Emeralds he had on him.

“Alright, Metal! This is for real then. All or nothing!”

In an instant, two blue shadows dashed out onto the street, illuminated by the lights of the skyscrapers at dusk. The race that moved faster than the speed of sound had begun!

☆ ★ ☆

As the sound barrier was broken, the rush of wind echoed through the elevated roads that were cast as a valley between the buildings.

A corkscrew twisted down from a 360-degree loop as it curved to the right and then to the left. It then went into a spiral that took them up and down and all around.

Sonic lightly traced across the road’s surface as he felt enthralled by the difficult course of the Speed Highway. Metal Sonic was able to glide across the road with the use of a jet engine.

The race continued with the two hedgehogs barely gaining a step on each other, but a big change occurred in the middle of the course. A super long and sharp curve came out after a speedy decent. Metal Sonic decided to engage in some close combat before this area.

He boosted forward as his body entered this shocking, electromagnetic state. It was a sudden attack, but Sonic was able to avoid it. He must have read his moves. Metal Sonic’s energy output temporarily dropped at the end of the boost as he slowed down; just as planned. He could clear the curve with just the right amount of speed. Sonic had to slow down here too and Metal Sonic had nothing to lose!

Everything was going fine, but at that moment, Sonic was speeding up and approaching fast. Metal Sonic’s thoughts became fragmented if only for a moment.

[[......!?]]

Sonic, as he started to tumble off the side of the course due to his great speed, had put his hand out and grabbed Metal Sonic’s head, curved inward, and accelerated towards the inner-section of the course. He pushed Metal downwards and perfectly made the curve.

“My bad!”

Metal Sonic, who managed to regain his posture, raised his face, he saw Sonic running far ahead.

Metal Sonic tried to analyze the situation

[[Current status... "unfavorable"]]

☆ ★ ☆

Metal Sonic continued to analyze everything while giving chase. He had never won again Sonic ever since their first battle. He was built for the best performance and had a tireless, steel body. There were many factors of his creation that should have meant he was unbeatable.

But I can never win.

Why? Why... it’s just a hedgehog that runs fast...

Right at that moment,

A buzz of electricity rippled through the robot’s AI and it’s train of thought.

Is it because it’s not just “fast.”

[[............!]]

Why was this robot made to resemble Sonic?

Perhaps, the creator, Dr. Eggman, created this body simply to not waste time creating it, but to also be a replacement to Sonic.

It was created for that specific purpose. There’s something that had to be done.

Metal cut all non-essential parts such as “fire control” and the “electromagnetic spark capacitors.” All systems were set on full power to “Speed.” Metal sharpened and gutted himself on the inside.

A moment later, a creature of blue steel, which had become the pure concept of a new “Metal Sonic” began to chase after Sonic the Hedgehog.

☆ ★ ☆

Meanwhile, Sonic had already taken notice that something had changed with Metal Sonic. The distance between them was gradually getting shorter.

Metal Sonic was purely a machine. There’s no way to know what it could even be thinking about. However, Sonic could sometimes tell. He could sense Metal Sonic’s joy, willpower, and unhealthy obsession towards victory.

“Looks like things are heating up!”

Sonic sped up even more, with a serious expression, muttered words of amazement while suppressing a grin that was continuously rising to his mouth.

“Heh, you don’t feel like you’re getting burned out?”

It was a straight line from the left-twisting, half-corkscrew to the goal. Below, you could see the surface of the city piercing upwards. The two blue streaks sped up the outside of a vertical skyscraper.

The goal was just around the corner. Sonic was in the lead.

Metal Sonic’s AI became fully aware at this point. It would not win at this rate.

How can it win!? Perhaps it could increase the output from the jet propulsion unit a little more, but where there even enough resources to do so...!?

☆ ★ ☆

"...?"

Just a few hundred meters from the goal.

Right then, Sonic couldn’t understand what happened.

Metal Sonic pulled out to Sonic at an impossibly fast speed! A dazzling seven-colored light erupted from Metal’s chest as a bright red flame with black smoke gushed out of the jet exhaust hole on his back. Parts and debris flew off of him in a violent roar.

“Metal...!?”

That’s right. Metal Sonic absorbed and utilized Chaos Energy! However, the power of the Chaos Emeralds was not stable and was very uncontrollable.

While speeding ahead, Metal lost his balance and collapsed.

Upon seeing this, Sonic tried to call out...

In a single moment, Metal was swallowed the the seven bright lights as they were then engulfed by smoke. Metal Sonic turned into a glowing red bulb.

The explosion sent an impact out that knocked Sonic back. As he looked up to the sky...

Against the backdrop of the night sky, Metal Sonic’s scattered body parts, which drew a trail of red flames alongside shimmering shards of window glass seemed to fly by in slow motion.

For a single moment, Sonic thought it was strangely beautiful.

Immediately after, Sonic got to his feet while being shocked at the explosion sounds that came soon after. When suddenly...

Metal Sonic’s upper body, which only had the torso, head, and right arm attached had crashed to the floor. As it made attempts to crawl towards the goal. The efforts proved too exhausting as he soon stopped dead in his tracks... just 10 meters away.

Shortly after, Sonic begrudgingly crossed the finish line; putting this little game to an end.

A Chaos Emerald flew towards Sonic. As he caught it, he looked back with a unique and serious expression. Metal Sonic had tossed the emerald with the last of his power.

[[......!!]]

Metal Sonic jumped to restrain Sonic as he approached with his fiery eyes.

Sonic felt as if Metal Sonic was saying that it’s impossible for two people to have crossed the finish line.

The damage that Metal Sonic had taken wasn’t as bad as Sonic had expected.

Sonic spoke in his usual tone, feeling uncomfortable with how relieved the situation felt.

“It was a good race.”

As Sonic let out his remarks, he never turned back and said,

“I’ll be waiting for a rematch.”

☆ ★ ☆

The defeated Metal Sonic was analyzing the current situation.

This time, it was an utter defeat.

Metal tried to re-calibrate all of his resources, but still couldn’t win.

Metal Sonic tried to sharpen his strengths, but it was all too late. In the end, he lacked a way to channel his resources and self-destructed.

....However,

it should be noted that an unprecedented performance was achieved this time.

Even with the final Chaos Emerald, considering that the race would have been lost regardless, it wasn’t necessarily a bad move... but a more detailed analysis is to be postponed.

A rescue signal was already issued. Aid was available and recovery could be achieved at Eggman’s base. If Metal connected to the base’s main computer and analyzed today’s data, he can definitely win next time. There is room to not only improve speed, but also inhibitory behaviors and attack patterns.

I can still reach a tier of being and there will others who can surpass or fall victim to that tier!

At the moment, Metal Sonic was forced into a deep sleep mode due to a drop in his voltage energy. His ability to think dropped rapidly and Metal Sonic obtained an analysis result that was unbiased and unemotional.

[[Status is... “favorable."]]

#Sonic the Hedgehog #Metal Sonic #Sonic CD #Sonic Adventure #Sonic Heroes

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intheticklecloset · 4 years ago

Text

You're the Coolest (Haikyuu!!)

Primary Universe

@happyandticklish We're going back in time again! Consider this a bit of backstory for the events of "Burn Some Calories." I personally really love this one; there's not enough ticklish Noya in the world and he's so dang cute! Thanks so much for the fun prompt! Enjoy! ^^

This little first-year was at once making him look really bad and pushing him to do even better.

From the moment he’d introduced himself, Yuu Nishinoya had taken the court by storm. The kid was a natural libero, able to receive and defend better than anyone Asahi had ever known before. His bright smile and outgoing personality lit up the gym, making practice both more fun and more intense as everyone strove to do better, inspired by his energy.

Asahi admired him greatly for that. He, too, promised to work harder and improve in all areas so he could be worthy of sharing the court with Noya. As time went on, though, he found that it didn’t seem to matter how hard he worked; the first-year was always several steps ahead of him. While Daichi, Suga, and the others began to serve better, block better, and spike better, he himself – the ace of the team – remained steadfast in doing just as well as he always had. Sure, every practice was helping him improve, but only marginally compared to his teammates. Noya was always smiling and encouraging, but Asahi felt more and more like he was being left behind, and the weight was crushing him.

All of that changed one night after practice.

“All right, guys,” the captain announced, “time to call it a day. First-years, clean up. Second-years, put the gear away.”

Everyone shouted their affirmation and scattered to do as they were told.

Noya came bounding up to him, grinning. “You were great today, Asahi! You’ve been working on your serves, right? I can tell.”

Asahi gave him a tired smile. “You don’t have to do that, Noya.”

“Huh? Do what?”

“Act like I’m making such great progress.” Asahi gripped the ball he was holding before tossing it into the bin nearby. “I’m obviously not.”

“Sure you are.” Noya looked up at him, eyes wide and earnest. “If I’m having to work harder to receive them, that means you’ve been working harder to improve them. It’s logic.”

“That’s more a testament to how amazing you are than anything.”

“You think I’m amazing?”

Asahi looked down at his underclassman, astonished. “Of course I think that. You are amazing, Noya.”

Noya beamed, gently pushing his fist into Asahi’s chest. “You’re amazing, too, ace.”

“Not compared to you. You’re so…so energetic and adaptive and tough, and I’m…I’m none of those things.”

“Tough? I’m not tough,” Noya laughed. “You’re the tough one.”

Asahi tossed another volleyball into the basket. “Yeah, right.”

“You are!”

“Noya!” Tanaka snapped from the supplies closet. “A little help would be nice!”

“Hang on a second, Tanaka,” the libero called back. “I’m giving a pep talk here.” He turned to look up at Asahi again. “You’ve got to believe in yourself more, dude. I can see you’re improving. All of us can. Why can’t you?”

“Sure, I’m improving. Just not enough.”

“Everyone moves at their own pace.”

“I’ll never be as awesome as you.”

Noya frowned, and the look was so unusual for him that it gave Asahi pause. “I’m not as invincible as you think I am, Asahi. I’ve got weaknesses, too.”

“I have yet to see one.”

“Where do I start? My test scores are average at best, I’m total crap at serving – kind of why I chose to play libero, honestly. Oh, and don’t get me started on my luck with girls—”

“I meant physically,” Asahi said quickly, putting an end to that train of thought. “Physical weaknesses. On the court. I haven’t seen any.”

Noya hesitated for a moment, suddenly looking embarrassed. He glanced around to make sure no one was listening in, then lowered his voice. “Look, I’ll admit something to you, because you need the encouragement and I trust you. But you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone else, okay?”

Asahi swallowed, nodding.

“I’m ticklish,” Noya said quickly, cheeks turning pink as he spoke. “Like, stupidly ticklish. One poke and I’m completely useless.”

Asahi stared at him. He scanned him up and down, his mind automatically filling in the blanks. Ribs, sides, waist, knees. All places he’d attack first if he were to tickle Noya. Not that he was going to, of course. Not after the libero had specifically said he trusted him.

“Oh,” he said at last, voice soft. He blinked, straightened. “Well…I suppose that counts.”

“Nishinoya!” Tanaka yelled.

Noya whirled around and ran to him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!”

Asahi watched him go, then blindly – as if in a daze – picked up the rest of the volleyballs and helped take down the net, putting it away for the night. Ticklish, he thought, and that was all he could think. Noya’s ticklish. Noya’s ticklish. Noya’s ticklish.

Once the gym had been cleared up and cleaned up and the captain had locked the doors, Noya found Asahi again, prancing up to him as if it was the first time he’d seen him all week. “So, feeling better now, ace?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess so.” Asahi took one glance at the libero’s smiling face and lost all control. He wanted to see that smile more. Wanted to make him smile like that more. He was dying to hear what Noya sounded like when he was tickled. So, in a flash, he grabbed the little first-year’s sides and squeezed.

As promised, Noya immediately burst into giggles and crumpled to the ground, his legs giving out beneath him. “Nohohoho, Asahi!” he pleaded, holding up his hands defensively as the ace knelt down to join him and dug in again, more purposefully this time. “Nahahahahahahahaha! P-Please, I tohohohhohold you, I’m reheheheheheally ticklihihihihish!”

“You had to know I’d want to see for myself,” Asahi countered, beaming at the adorable sight but lightening his touch slightly.

“Ahahahahahahahaha! Sehehehehehee?! I’m n-nohohohohohot so tohohohohough, am I?”

“You’re the toughest person I know, Noya.” Asahi snatched up both of his wrists and held them above his head, using his free hand to wiggle his fingertips into the grooves of the libero’s ribcage. Noya spasmed, laughter spilling out of him faster than he seemed able to keep up with. “You’re just a sensitive guy, that’s all.”

“Tehehehehehell that to the lahahahahahahadies!” Noya retorted, squealing when Asahi found the backs of his ribs and kneaded there. He tossed his head back and laughed unguarded. “STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Part of Asahi thought he should stop, but another, stronger part of him found that he simply couldn’t. Noya losing control of himself like this was just so…so unprecedented and unusual, not to mention the cutest thing he’d ever seen. He swung a leg over to pin his thighs down and dug in a little harder, enjoying the shriek he got in response.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE, ASAHIHIEHEHEHEHE!!” Noya begged, smiling uncontrollably as mirth burst out of him in helpless waves. “STOP, PLEHEHEHEHEASE, I CAHAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAHAHAKE IT!!”

“You’re really ticklish, huh, Noya?” Asahi asked, half-teasing, half-serious. He trailed his fingers down to the libero’s belly and scribbled there. “It’s kind of cute.”

“SHUHUHUHUHUHUHUT UP!! I’M NOT CUHUHUHUHUHUHUTE!!” Noya insisted even through his frantic cackling and squirming. “I’M THE COHOHOHOHOHOOL, CONFIDENT LIHIHIHIHIHIBERO!!”

Asahi laughed with him at that. “Oh, are you, now? Not so cool and confident when I’ve got you pinned down like this, hmm?” He poked at Noya’s belly button, chuckling at the “eep!” he got as a reward. “Let’s see. Where’s your worst spot?”

“HAAH?!” Noya made a distressed noise through his giggling, twisting every which way under Asahi’s grasp. “N-Nohohoho, no, plehehease don’t, I cahahahahan’t take it! Reheheheheally!”

“I haven’t even found it yet!”

“Y-You wihihihihihill,” Noya replied, sounding nervous, his eyes panicked. “T-Then you’ll nehehever want to stop. Nohohoho one ever dohohoes.”

At that, Asahi pulled back, releasing Noya entirely as he climbed off of him. He frowned. “Whoa, dude, I’m sorry. Is this…is this traumatic for you?”

“No,” Noya groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes, still laying on the ground. “It’s just…I’ve got this reputation, you know? You were telling me yourself that you think I’m some awesome, unbeatable volleyball star. I…I like being cool like that. And this undermines that coolness.”

“Then why did you tell me?” Asahi asked. “If you were worried it would ruin your reputation?”

“Because it’s you,” Noya said, uncovering his eyes to look at him. “I trust you.”

I trust you. Those words again, with more meaning this time. Asahi smiled at him. “Then do you believe me when I say I’ll never tell anyone else about this? I’ll preserve your reputation. Don’t worry.”

“But…” the libero looked away, seeming embarrassed again. “My worst spot makes me sound ridiculous when I’m tickled there. There’s no coming back from that once you’ve heard it. That’s why I…I don’t want you to try it.”

Asahi felt a little wounded. “Why? Do you think I’ll think less of you?”

“Everyone always does. Once you lose your cool, you’re no longer cool. You know?”

“Noya, I’ll never think you’re not cool just because you’re a little ticklish. That’s silly.” When the libero didn’t answer, he continued, “But if you want me to stop here, I will.”

Noya turned to look at him again, and he frowned. “You really want to, don’t you?”

Asahi could feel himself blushing, but he couldn’t help it. “I mean…yeah. Tickling you just now was…was fun. I’d like to hear what other sounds you make. But not if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Ugh.” The first-year covered his face with his hands. “You’re the cool one, Asahi. I’d never let anyone else do this, you know? You’re the only one allowed to see me like this.”

Asahi’s heart leapt. “So…is it okay? Or do you want me to stop?”

“It’s my thighs.”

There was a pause. Taking that as an invitation, Asahi cautiously reached out to try said spot, but stopped when he realized Noya was still hiding. He leaned forward and gently pried his hands away, forcing him to make eye contact. The ace smiled, then carefully grabbed one of the libero’s thighs and squeezed.

Noya spasmed again, his smile back in an instant, and just as instantly covered up again.

“Don’t hide,” Asahi said, pulling his hands away again. “I want to see that smile.”

“You’re the worst,” Noya whined, giggling. “The actual worst. I can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me-EEEEEE!! NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Asahi chuckled, scratching and scribbling along his thighs, enjoying how the lightest touch forced him into this amount of hysterics. “You know what, Noya? This is way more than just cute. This is cool.” He found the inner thighs and kneaded, making the libero toss his head back and scream like a banshee. “This is really, really cool.”

“NO IT’S NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOT!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHASAHIIIEEEEEE!!”

“Yes it is! Seeing you laugh so freely like that, like you don’t care who’s watching or listening? That’s really awesome. You’re the coolest, Noya.”

“SHUT UP, SHUT UHUHUHUHUHUHUHUP!!”

“Don’t be rude! I’m your upperclassman. I know what I’m talking about.” Asahi left Noya’s thighs, darting back up to his ribs and scribbling wildly, enjoying the tussle of trying to keep up while the little libero squirmed around on the ground, curling up, giggling wildly. “You’re so cool. The best first-year in the bunch. Don’t tell the others, though.”

“Please,” Noya wheezed, grabbing onto Asahi’s wrists, too weak to actually push them away. “Please, stohohohohop tehehehehelling me I’m cohohohohool whihihihihile you’re tihihihihihickling me!”

“But you are!” Asahi insisted, grinning at how red Noya’s cheeks were becoming. “I already thought you were cool, but your laughter is awesome. I think you’re cool whether you’re ticklish or not. I want you to believe me. Do you, Noya? Do you believe me?”

“Yehehehehehes, all rihihihihight, I’m the c-cohohohohohoolest kid on the theheheheheam!” Noya relented, giggling so hard he was gasping for breath. “Plehehehehease, stahahahahahap it! Let me gohohohohoho!”

Beaming, Asahi did as he was asked, allowing Noya to catch his breath before reaching down to squeeze his shoulder. “You’re the best, you know that? When you’re around I always want to do better. To improve. Having you share this with me and letting me indulge a little bit makes me feel like I can do anything. Because if our cool, confident libero trusts me enough to do this, there’s nothing I can’t do. Right?”

Nishinoya looked up at him incredulously, then burst out laughing all over again. “Oh my god, you’re such a sap!” he cried, clutching his stomach as he rolled onto his side. “All right, fine, you’ve convinced me. I’m glad my being so stupidly ticklish makes you feel invincible.”

“You’re not stupidly ticklish. You’re extremely ticklish,” Asahi countered, reaching down to scribble at his belly. “Because you’re an extremely cool person.”

Noya beamed, giggling, allowing his friend to have a little more fun at his expense.

From that day forward, he never called his sensitivity stupid again.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #yuu #nishinoya #noya #asahi #azumane #cool #tough #playful #teasing #encouraging #affirmation #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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comfortwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Best Friends Brother Part 3 - G.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

This is part 3 of ‘Best Friends Brother’ please read part 1 and part 2, want to be tagged? let me know!

George Weasley x Fem Reader slow burn

Warnings: mention of food and eating, swearing,

The moment your lips touched, fireworks went off around you, George wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him - all of your worries withering away, all you could feel was happiness and pure bliss.

George pulled away from the kiss and slowly opened his eyes, you were in shocked and couldn’t believe who’s lips had collided with yours moments before.

Opening your eyes slowly, you stared into George’s brown ones, his gentle hands holding yours and squeezing them softly.

“T-Thank you for tonight” you blushed, letting go of one of his hands, tucking a stray hair behind your ear nervously “It’s been wonderful.”

George smiled softly and nodded “it has” he paused for a moment, his thumb tracing circles into your palm “same time next week?” he asked, sounding quite nervous.

You squeezed his hand back in excitement and nodded “I would love to” you beamed.

Your three month anniversary was hanging around the corner, you had planned a whole day out on Saturday once George finished Quidditch practice, your heart fluttering in excitement and skipping beats, causing you to squirm in your seat - giggling out and squealing, confusing those around you, especially Ron who thought you were going barmy.

Despite seeing each other every day, the two of you were keeping things secret, you weren't ready for anyone to know - George knew his little brother all too well and so did you, Ron would be far from happy.

“George didn’t say anything to you after he, you know?” Ron asked, acting quite shifty in his chair.

“No he didn’t” you replied, “he’s not interested in me Ron, he just hates creeps.”

“Where were you last night?” Ron asked over breakfast, staring at you questioningly.

Shit! Think of something! I totally wasn’t kissing your brother, no, not at all.

“I went for a walk” you lied “I just had so much energy and needed to get out, I found an injured little owlet and was up all night nursing it, he’s helping me get over Penny.”

Ron believed you and nodded slowly “are you sure you’re ready for another owl?” he asked, trying to sound as caring as he could.

You sighed “I think it’s about time, yeah” you replied “It’s been almost over a year so I figured why not.”

So instead, you wrote to each other a few times a week, you had to admit, you quite liked the schedule; Wednesdays and Sundays nights were for the love letters, Saturdays were for dates unless he couldn’t skip Quidditch and the rest of the week you barely spoke and only engaged in eye contact if you were in the company of others - if not, you would hold hands and kiss in empty broom closets or even in the astronomy tower, but it was rare as Fred was never far behind from his twin.

Dearest Y/N,

Although we see each other every day and go on dates most weekends (when Ron isn’t on your back, or when I’m in detention like now) writing to you feels just as good as the real thing - but still bloody ridiculous.

Fred keeps asking what I’ve spent my Galleons on, told him it was for an experiment to do with our products we’re testing - he’s suspicious but believes me after I made myself sick to get out of Quidditch, oh the things I do for you, Y/N.

I think Gideon is the perfect name for the Owlet, mum will be so heart warmed and honoured when she finds out - but don’t bring the galleons into it of course, not until the joke shop is up and running with great success!

Seeing you last night up in the Astronomy tower was nothing short of the highlight of my day, I wish we could do it more often, but not to worry - one day we won’t need to meet up in private at all.

Anyway, I better get back to some homework before the greaseball comes over and reads this - detention with him always drags.

The next one will be longer, I promise, love.

Lots of love,

Georgie.

Dear George,

You should be focusing, get your head down and do your homework if you can bear it, I swear George, the day I receive a letter from you that wasn’t written in detention will be the day I wink at Snape - it’s silly I’m even asking you knowing that it’s never going to happen.

Your letters always cheer me up, Georgie, I can hear your voice as I read, feels like you’re sitting next to me and it’s good enough for me at the time being, I’m so thankful that we aren’t hundreds of miles away from each other.

Hey! You can’t be skipping Quidditch for me, you plonker! Gryffindor team need you and you’re a bloody good Beater - unbeatable in fact but stop skipping! we can make up for a lost date another time, I’ll try not to miss you too much I swear.

Thank you for gifting me Gideon, he is the sweetest little owlet and I cannot wait to watch him grow and to teach him like I did Penny - if his mother will let me that is. I won’t say a word to anyone, no one will know that you did such a thing although I want nothing more than to tell everyone, your kind-heartedness should never go unnoticed.

The joke shop will sweep you up off your feet and I can’t wait to see Weasley wizard Wheezes everywhere I go.

Thank you so much for last night, please don’t forget to send me your Christmas list - please don’t get me anything - Gideon is enough.

Focus on your bloody homework!

Speak soon and lots of love,

Y/N.

Looking over and your Owl, now named Gideon who had grown so much he was no longer a tiny owlet, you stroked his head and giggled at him as he nibbled on your finger.

“Alright, alright, but don’t be out too long” you whispered, opening your bedroom window, Gideon flapping his wings, leaping out and soaring into the night sky.

You beamed at your treasure, flying away to get some food for the evening, climbing into your bed as quietly as you could, hoping you wouldn’t wake up Hermione or your other roommates. Sliding your hand under your pillow, you patted around for the love letters from George you were hiding from everyone.

Your fingers grazed the corners of the crinkled parchment, lifting up your pillow you retrieved his most recent letter, taking it with you as you dive under your covers, shielding you from your roommates and giving you some privacy.

“Lumos!” You whispered, a beam of light stretching out from the tip of your wand, your cheeks flushing again upon seeing George’s handwriting.

Dearest Y/N,

Thank you for the heads-up, saved me and Freddie a lot of trouble, I swear one day Mr Filch and that bloody cat won’t know what’s hit them - if it wasn’t for you, we would’ve lost all of our plans and The Marauders Map, so thank you again for saving us all that trouble.

These three months have flown by so fast, I can’t believe it, I know this seems rather daft - a tall prankster being all lovey-dovey like this, but you really make me happy and I can’t wait to spend more time with you.

If you ever want to test any puking pastilles or fainting fancies, let me know and I’ll be able to look after you, love.

Looking forward to seeing you on Saturday so we can actually speak face to face - if Ron asks, you already know what to say.

Wrap up warm, it’ll be quite cold in Hogsmeade.

Looking forward to seeing you,

lots of love,

Georgie.

“Where are you off to so early? We never see you anymore over the weekend!” Ron complained, a mouthful of bacon.

“Oh get some manners, Ronald!” Hermione hissed, knitting her eyebrows together and grimacing.

You stood on the spot and stared at Ron, trying to plaster the most obvious expression on your face to make him feel stupid. “I’m off to spend some quality time with Gideon, he’s only a few months old and I want to make sure he’s as stable as Penny was at her age - I won’t be able to trust him to send letters long distances otherwise.” you lied.

But in all honesty, you weren’t really lying completely, next weekend was the end of term and the start of the Christmas Holidays - you wanted to make sure Gideon could deliver George’s letters to the burrow, you wouldn’t be able to hide them around for him to stumble across and pick up any more, and the two of you already discussed the problems of trying to use a device which muggles called a telephone.

“I’ll write you letters every week” George whispered, standing next to you in the corridors swarming with busy students, Fred chasing after Angelina outside “look in the middle of your textbooks, I’ll slide them in the middle of the pages.”

Opening up your book, a piece of folded parchment slid down and fell into your lap, you quickly stuffed it into your pocket, looking around to see if Ron noticed - luckily for you who he was copying Hermione’s classwork.

Ron looked lost for words, swallowing his bacon and thinking about your owl and how much you truly loved them “Alright then, well, see you later.” he replied,

You raised your eyebrows and smiled, waving goodbye to him, Harry and Hermione, walking out of the Great Hall and getting ready to meet George in Hogsmeade.

“She spends too much time with that bloody owl if you ask me” Ron muttered, stabbing some peas with his fork.

Hermione sighed “I think it’s quite sweet actually, she’s quite similar to Hagrid.”

Harry grinned and started to laugh, Ron rolled his eyes.

“Except the fact that she’s not a giant and she only flocks to birds of prey, not dragons or creatures that could kill us!”

“Well, at least you know where she’s going” Fred called out, walking past his brother “George never tells me where he’s off to and what he’s up to on a Saturday, he’s skiving Quidditch practice again and I get in bothered for it - I can’t check either because he’s got that sodding map with him!”

George wasn’t wrong, this time of year, Hogsmeade was freezing - your fingers changed colour and you could feel the ache and tingle against the freezing air that nibbled on your exposed skin.

You embraced yourself in one of the jumpers he had given you, one you were wearing under your fluffy winter coat which matched the colour of the snow. Looking around the small Village, you noticed George waiting outside The Three Broomsticks, looking slightly nervous as he scratched the back of his head.

You walked up to him, as you got closer you couldn’t help but blush at his red nose that had been attacked from the harsh winter air “Hello, George” you smiled softly, pulling him into a hug after clearing the coast of possible students.

George held you in his arms for a moment, taking in your scent and the feeling of your face against his chest, your hair under his chin as it rested on your head. “shall we get a drink, love?” he asked softly.

Following him inside and getting sat down in a quieter area of the pub, George ordered you and him a butterbeer and held your hand over the table, casually checking the map every now and then, checking on his brothers.

“It’s so good to see your face” he smiled, his starry eyes getting lost in yours.

You blushed and smiled widely, your drinks being placed down on your table, “It’s so good to see you too, can’t believe it’s been three months already!”

George took a sip of his butterbeer, the butterscotch warming up his tummy, you mirrored him, leaving behind a white foamy moustache. George smirked and leaned over the table, carefully avoiding spilling his drink as he wiped away the foam sitting on your top lip with his thumb, his index finger lifting up your chin.

The two of you exchanged a quick, risky kiss, remembering you needed to tone things down despite how hard the temptation was to snog him. George leaned back in his chair, sucking the foam off his thumb.

“I’ve been training Gideon” you beamed, the butterbeer warming you up “he’s finally got the hang of flying long distances and coming back in one piece.”

Meeting George in the small and squashed broom closet, he examined your tired features, looking slightly concerned, his hand resting against your face.

“Are you alright love?” he asked, “you look exhausted.”

You nodded and replied “I’m fine” suppressing a yawn “been up all night with Gideon, he’s growing so fast and he won’t allow me to baby him forever - he’ll be big enough to deliver letters soon.”

George felt a part of him fall in love with you all over again, the picture of you and Gideon in his mind made his insides got all warm and fuzzy - more so than his drink.

“So now he’ll be delivering you letters over Christmas!”

George went quiet and scratched behind his head like he did when he stood outside the pub, he paused for a moment and pursed his lips, licking them. “About that..” he trailed off, staring at his now half-full glass of butterbeer.

Your insides started to sink suddenly but your hopes were lifting, trying to figure out what he was going to say.

Is he staying at Hogwarts for Christmas with me whilst everyone else goes home? Am I unable to send him letters over Christmas if he goes back home?

“What is it?” you asked, both curiously and nervously.

George broke out into a smile, quickly glancing at the map again, then looking back into his favourite pair of eyes.

“Well, I was wondering...” he paused again “if you would like to stay at the burrow over Christmas, with me, everyone else of course but-”

“Yes!” you squealed, getting excited “oh George I would love to!”

George broke out into a grin, so relieved you were willing to come and spend some more time with him, a chance for the two of you to try and get some private time together, in the comfort of his own home.

“I had to ask mum ‘on behalf of Ron’ so if she says anything, just go through with it” George said quietly “Ron wouldn’t remember asking me to do such a thing anyway - his head is that clouded with Hermione.”

You swallowed down the rest of your drink, remembering to wipe away your foamy moustache this time “This is going to be wonderful, George” you smiled, squeezing his hand over to the table “Two whole weeks that we can just.. just be ourselves together!”

George smiled but remembered to remind you “We still need to keep everything on the down-low, it will be a full house and if we disappear it will be obvious we’re together - we’ll just need to wait for everyone to go to bed or go for a walk when they’re too busy to notice.”

You nodded your head, remembering that you would now be under not just Ron’s watch, but every Weasley who wouldn’t approve of your budding relationship.

George kissed your hand and looked down at the map once more, his smile dropping.

“Shit!” he panicked, getting up out of his seat.

“What is it?” you panicked, following him to the back doors in the pub.

He stared down at the map, his eyes following the group of feet storming into Hogsmeade “Fred, Ron, Harry - everyone’s heading this way - to this bloody pub!”

You swallowed hard, the butterbeer churning in your stomach, George’s drink rising up into his throat.

“When we can get away I’ll head to the owlery!” you put your coat back on, pulling the zip up quickly “you go hurry to Honey Dukes or Zonko’s when you get the chance, you’ll find your letter folded in your Quidditch jersey!”

George nodded, looking up from the map and quickly kissing you on the lips, the look in his eyes expressing the most sympathy you had ever seen.

Keeping things a secret would only get harder, harder than you and George were expecting.

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @xmalfoyweasleyx

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #ron weasley #ron weasly x reader #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley oneshot #ron weasley fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic

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skellebonez · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt 69 with Syntax, except he's the one doing the glaring but at who, you decide!

So uh... what would have happened if MK didn’t just run in to get the sign in episode 9? What if, before grabbing it, he heard a certain voice that he recognized and went to investigate? Yeah, consider this an AU. Need a name for this one, I am accruing many now.

You see that death glare means she (he) likes you

This was... not exactly the predicament that Xiaotian expected himself to be in. At all. Not after being chased away from Spider Queen by her spider trio. He had just wanted to get Pigsy’s sign back... and he did! Eventually! 100% A+ marks on that! He just... hadn’t expected to find Macaque there as well.

Or some back with him and another... straggler.

"So... Syntax, was it?" Pigsy said roughly, earning a glower from the spider demon in turn.

They were inside Pigsy’s noodles, away from prying ears but still in their night clothes. Not that they had time to change. Not when Syntax was immediately interrogated and started explaining, and then Xiaotian had tried explaining over him, and then Macaque just. Revealed everything in one sentence. And that lead to a very tense, very uncomfortable explanation of exactly what was going on.

Xiaotian didn’t tell them Macaque was from the shadow play. Or what he did before than. Only that he was someone he knew through Sun Wukong who had tried to teach him before and wasn’t on good terms with his mentor, which wasn’t exactly a lie. And oddly, Macaque didn’t say anything either.

"Care to tell us exactly what the plan was for dealing with this "immense evil power" you were tricked into assisting at the cost of your entire clan's deaths?" Pigsy continued, brandishing his spoon he was using to make an emergency meal at him.

"Pigsy!" Tang chided with an exasperated look. "We don't know if they're dead."

"Could you maybe stop saying dead please?" Xiaotian asked quietly, curled up at a table in a corner away from the others, so quiet that the only person who seemed to have heard him was Macaque.

They wouldn’t be here having this conversation if MK hadn’t heard Macaque yelling in frustration so he supposed that was a slight victory. If Xiaotian was being honest with himself... he probably wouldn’t have told the others anything about what had happened. You can’t exactly hide a suspiciously familiar monkey and a very familiar spider when the three of you crash land on a roof together.

Going to see what was up let him free the immortal from the draining webbing he was tied up in, and had alerted Syntax to their location. If he hadn’t insisted on going back for the sign and that had not lead Syntax after them.. That would not have lead to the Spider Queen almost, almost, agreeing to work with him, and if he hadn’t grabbed the other at the Spider Queen’s insistence maybe...

“We were attempting to rebuild the mech from new years, if you must know,” Syntax answered haughtily. There was a shaking in his hands that no one pointed out, but Xiaotian could tell at least Pigsy and Macaque picked up on it from their expressions, as he did something with the gadget on his arm. Schematics, bright digital holograms, displayed in the air before them. “It would have worked, I’m positive of that! The White Bone Spirit is powerful, but not unbeatable as she is right now. Unfortunately, even if the Monkey Boy-”

“Kid, but if you’re going to call him the wrong name at least call him a man,” Tang said, a slight glower shining through his glasses.

“Monkie KID,” Syntax corrected himself tersely, returning to look at the schematics with a frown. He looked... genuinely upset as he reviewed them. “Even if he hadn’t interfered by coming for the sign my bots stole from you, we wouldn’t have had enough time or material to finish it before she found us out. It was... inevitable that something like this happen if we couldn’t convince our Queen to leave. And we couldn’t.” Syntax reached up, massaging his head as the hologram dissipated. “And we weren’t going to leave her alone. If only Huntsman had started asking questions sooner...”

At the mention of the eldest spider demon Sandy frowned, something deeply sad that Xiaotian couldn’t quite understand or parse from it. But clearly something had happened between them when he went to get the flower for his hiccups. He hadn’t hid their encounter from them, even if he didn’t tell them exactly what happened.

Syntax on the other hand went quiet, the mention of his comrade seeming to be the last thing to make him need to sit down at the counter and hold his head in his hands. “You know... he was annoying. Always trying to one up me, get the approval of our queen over me. But seeing him like that... and Goliath... they didn’t deserve that. He was good at what he did and I never got to tell him I didn’t actually hate him.”

The room went quiet after that. Xiaojiao moved to sit beside Xiaotian, wrapping her am around his shoulder. Tang stayed sat at the counter across from Syntax, watching him from the side with the barest tilt of his head. Sandy sat at a table away from the others, pulling something out his his pocket and cradling it in his hand. Pigsy continued to cook, more focused on it than he had been before.

And Macaque... Macaque stood in the middle of the room and scowled. Probably because he was so drained from the webbing that if he sat down he looked like he would pass out on the spot.

“There is... one good thing,” Xiaotian said after a moment, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Maybe? I-I was kinda distracted by the, you know. Spiders. Macaque screaming he was going to ‘send WBS to a realm even she can’t escape from when he escapes’, but I passed this room full of stuff...”

That got Syntax’s attention. “What room full of stuff?”

“It had the Trigram Furnace in it,” Xiaotian continued. “And a bunch of other stuff. Like this.” He pulled his hand back out and uncurled up on top of the table, letting his prize gently float down. Bright and golden-orange and as vibrant as the day Sandy had picked the whole thing. “I thought since Huntsman tried so hard to steal it from Sandy it might be important?”

“You stole back the Crimson Jimsonweed!?” Syntax yelled, jumping up and using his spider legs to nearly catapult himself in Xiaotian’s direction. “That... that may have been the most dangerous thing you could have done! And... and the smartest!”

“What?” Xiaotian asked deadpan, looking at the spider in confusion.

“The White Bone Spirit needs that flower petal to finish whatever she is making with the furnace!” Syntax continued, now pacing back and forth between the table, a smile slowly forming on his face. “Without it, she can’t finish it properly! She may be able to try, but there is no guarantee it would work, if she takes the chance and it does work than she will be significantly weakened by the lack of a key ingredient! She-she probably doesn’t even realize it is missing yet! YOU!” He pointed a spider leg in Sandy’s direction, making him jump in surprise. “Huntsman said you were knowledgeable of the flower’s properties, and I know there is a way to make it into a non-tea like medicine. Do you know of it?”

“Y-yes!” Sandy said after a moment of surprise. “It’s not hard to make, I could make it with what Pigsy’s got.”

“Good, make it immediately before she realizes,” Syntax continued, smirking. “She needs that petal whole and in tact. If you can break it down and make multiple small doses of medicine out of it-”

“Then she wouldn’t be able to use it because it wouldn’t be enough and what is left would be contaminated by the other ingredients!” Sandy finished, jumping up and rushing to the back of the shop. “PIGSY I’M USING YOUR SUPPLY CABINET!”

“What the hell is happening?” Pigsy asked in confusion, looking around.

“Your Monkey Man accidentally figured out the best way to mess up everything that was being planned,” Macaque said with a smirk, nodding in Xiaotian’s direction. “Gotta say, Kid, I’m impressed.”

“Wait, won’t this WBS person figure out what happened?” Xiaojiao spoke up. “She probably won’t be happy about it, she’d probably going to come after it!”

“....so we leave,” Xiaotian said, looking to everyone. “Maybe not all of us, but some of us should leave the city, stay in the forest or the desert so that if she does come back for it no one else will get hurt. Besides...” he smiled, finally, kind of sheepish. “I, uh.. think we should maybe stop squashing the city when we train. I think the neighbors are starting to get annoyed.“

“I think... that’s an excellent idea,” Pigsy said with a smile, taking his finished soup off the stove. “And you ain’t leavin me behind!”

“Or me!” Tang spoke up, turning in his chair to smile at Xiaotian as well.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT WE’RE AGREEING TO BUT I’M IN!” Shouted Sandy from the back.

“And you know your girl is not getting left behind!” Xiaojiao laughed, pulling Xiaotian into a proper hug.

“Great, a whole gang,” Macaque said with a sigh, looking to the everyone before smirking in Xiaotian’s direction. “I know you’re not gonna let me just walk away, so I guess I’m stuck with you. But remember how I told you that you couldn't have too many teachers? That offer’s still open.”

“Tomorrow,” Xiaotian said firmly, more serious than his friends had ever probably heard him before. “We can start tomorrow. Real training, no tricks.”

The answer seemed to genuinely shock the immortal monkey, his un-glamored eyes wide in surprise. “Uh... ok. Tomorrow it is. No tricks.”

If everyone was confused by what they meant they didn’t say anything.

Syntax, moved back to the counter, tapping his hands and fingers against it in nervous energy. “I supposed I am stuck with you, after all my Queen said to go with you, and I can give you any information you need. Help with tech. That sort of thing.”

“As long as you don’t steal my dang sign again,” Pigsy scowled, depositing a bowl in front of the spider. He looked at it with suspicion, like he didn’t trust it to not be poisoned, much the way he looked at Pigsy in turn. “Or I’ll be the one squashin ya.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Syntax countered, his bright tone betrayed the severe lack of threat he felt at the other’s words. His glower though...

“Don’t worry about him,” Macaque said with a laugh, gesturing to Syntax. “You see that death glare means he likes you.”

“I DO NOT!” Syntax protested quickly and sharply, turning back and grabbing the bowl of soup and shoving a spoonful of noodles in his mouth before pausing. He said nothing, just looked down at the bowl before proceeding to devour it like a starving man who had been trapped on a desert island for weeks.

And for a moment everything seemed hopeful again.

It was the first time Xiaotian felt like this in a long time. He just didn’t expect it after revealing his secrets and with two of his enemies in the same room.

As they left to get on Sandy’s drone an hour later, full and ready to get more sleep after landing, Xiaotian couldn’t help but notice that Macaque stood father back from everyone else. Masked in shadow at times but still close enough for him to be seen. Syntax, on the other hand, seemed to have situated himself between Pigsy and Tang, talking to the scholar and the chef spiritedly about his recipes and the science of gastronomy (did this guy just know random stuff?). Which was weird, but at least they weren’t fighting.

Things felt... like maybe they could be alright.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #this au will be named eventually #gen fic #prompt fill #ensemble cast #i already have a lot planned for this actually #I wrote an entire outline for how the finale could still kind of go down in a slightly different way #also i have a crackship planned for this and no one can stop me

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feliix · 4 years ago

Text

Bluff ⇢ PJM (18+)

⇢ Pairing: Jimin x Reader ⇢ Summary: Working at The Big Kahuna with Park Jimin consists of a lot of suggestive flirting with no actions made to follow it up. But after a summer filled with endless amounts of sexual tension, it’s finally time to let things loose. ⇢ Word Count: 3.8k ⇢ Rating: M ⇢ Genre: Smut, PWP, Coworkers to Lovers, a lil bit of fluff ⇢ Warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, teasing, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, overstilulation, dom!jimin, sub!reader ⇢ Banner made by @hobiance ⇢ A/N: thank you @jinterlude for beta reading this and @jinned for hyping me up always ily ily ily ♡ (the end is not edited so sorry rip) ⇢ Written for BHQ’s Bangtan Boardwalk Summer Collab

Working at the Big Kahuna hasn’t always been such a breeze. During the busy season, customers are in and out of here, renting jet-skis, paddle boards, and kayaks alike, all day long.

It's a little blue hut right on the water, a walk-up window that you sit behind overlooking a wooden dock. It’s small inside the hut, just enough room for you and one other person to work a shift, but it’s cozy, and the view is unbeatable, so you don’t really mind. The sandy beach surrounding you holds a plethora of water-sports equipment, ready for rental and just dying to be used at this point.

But now it's late in the season, the weather is cooling down, and fewer people have been showing up. It doesn’t quite matter to you, though. Fewer customers mean less work, and the less there is to do here, the better.

You’d think it’d get boring with nothing to do, but with a coworker like Park Jimin, things are always interesting. To be frank, he’s a flirt. But so are you, which is why working here this summer has been nothing short of a dream.

The flirtatious banter between you goes no further than just innocent teasing. It’s just something to keep you occupied while you get through your shift. Not that you’re complaining, though. If it did ever go somewhere further, you would not be mad about it. He’s hot, and you’re both young and single, so something’s bound to happen. You can cut the lingering sexual tension with a knife, and the longer you’re around each other, the thicker said tension gets.

So far today, there have only been two customers; a dad and his son who came in a few hours ago to rent out a couple of jet skis. When things are slow around here, the two of you seem to match the energy. It takes twice as long to clean up after people leave with twice the amount of energy expected just to complete a simple task. All you want to do is sit on your stool behind the counter and look pretty – nothing more, nothing less.

But even though the customers left over two hours ago, Jimin has yet to clean off the jet-skis. After losing a close match of ‘rock paper scissors’ the daunting task now belongs to him. And even though the equipment probably won’t be used for the rest of the day, it still bothers you that Jimin has been pushing off the task for so long.

All he’s doing is sitting on the stool next to you and messing around on his phone. Every once in awhile, he’ll snap a quick selfie, pushing his hair back with one hand and adjusting his look for the camera. He’s probably Snapchatting another random girl, whatever lucky lady has the pleasure of having his attention for the day. Not that you’re jealous or anything...

“So are you gonna clean those jet-skis or..?” Your voice is passive-aggressive, slightly taunting, and that bothers Jimin.

His eyes roll back into his head, a deep exhale leaving his mouth, “Yeah, when I feel like it.” A sly smirk grows on his lips, knowing his careless words and procrastinating actions are driving you up the wall.

Now it's your turn for your eyes to roll back into your head. You are just about to stand up and grab a rag to clean them yourself, but you will not let Park Jimin get his way again.

That’s how working with him went. It’s like he knows he has some kind of mindless control over you, that you’ll just pick up his slack once he flashes you with his pearly whites. Damn him and his little crooked tooth that makes your heart twist a bit more than you’d like to admit.

“Can you just wipe off the jet-skis already? You did lose the bet.”

Your tone is kinder this time, adding a head tilt to make you seem a bit more friendly. He doesn’t buy it.

“Be careful ordering me around like that. Keep it up, and I’ll have to show you who’s actually in charge.”

There he goes again with the suggestive flirting. Except his actions never follow through. He just throws words like that out there, making your knees weak to rile you up. That’s half of the fun. The other half is watching you try to muster up some confidence to respond while your face flushes and legs squeeze together.

“You’re bluffing.” You roll your eyes once more. Part of you thinks that he is, but that deep-seated desire for him is nearly at its peak. And the small tinge of hope you have that he’s being serious suddenly becomes not so little – right at the moment, his feet begin pacing over to you.

“Am I?”

The left corner of his mouth lifts upwards, his eyes growing dark and eerie as he gets closer and closer. You swallow thickly, your heart beating faster as he approaches you. Without realizing, your legs clamp shut, squeezing together for dear life to ease the throbbing ache of your pussy as Jimin slowly closes the distance between you. And before you know it, you’re standing up from your stool; your heart caught in your throat as your mouth runs dry.

So badly you want to hold your ground. To keep yourself back from jumping his bones, grabbing the back of his neck to crash your lips into his. But you need restraint. He’s the one who's bluffing; he’s the one that has to make the move.

“M-mhm,” you hum, saving yourself the embarrassment of actually trying to speak in a state like this.

His hot breath fans across your cheeks and deep breaths pass his plump lips as he stands just inches away from you. Being this close to him is too intimidating for your liking. You're trying your best to keep your stance, but your knees are quaking, and your heart is pounding so hard that you can hear it.

But the closer he leans in, the quicker your heart begins to race.

“How about now?” He whispers over your lips, just a hair’s width away from brushing over them. Instantly, your eyes flutter shut, inhaling deeply to regain your composure and to get a grip on your sanity. If you let yourself go for one second, you’ll fall into him – but that’s what he wants.

“Mhm,” you repeat, too afraid to open your lips in fear they’ll touch his. Not because you’re scared to kiss him, but because you are too damn stubborn to be the one to kiss him.

You feel a gust of air push onto your lips as an airy chuckle leaves his mouth, “Cute.”

You swear your heart skips a beat when he says it, how he says it. His voice is low and seductive, dripping with lust and drawing you in, capturing your attention though you aren’t even looking at him. But even still, you're immersed with the thought of him. The predicting thoughts of the feeling of his lips on yours, and the soft texture of his light brown hair as your hands card through it.

It’s getting harder to hold back and stand your guard each time a soft breath lands on your lips. The sweet smell of his cologne overwhelming your sense of smell as heat from his body radiates onto you.

But suddenly, you find yourself not holding back any longer; your will power rapidly decreases as his hands rest on your waist. And when he tightens his grip around you, it's game over.

That strength you’ve been gripping onto for dear life is gone. Your lips crash into his in a heated kiss, his mouth instantly moving steadily against yours. They’re so much softer than they look, his pillowy lips encasing yours while his hands pull your body tightly into his own. His tongue soon traces over your bottom lip before he catches it between his teeth, tugging on it slightly in a way that drives you wild.

A stiffness forms beneath his shorts, pushing right against your body as he pulls you into him. Arousal quickly floods between your legs at the feeling, a needy moan vibrating past your lips and onto his. You’ve waited too long for this, the whole summer aching to feel his body pressed up against yours like this. And now you can barely hold it together just from a passionate make-out session – you’ve already soaked through your bikini bottoms, and he’s barely touched you.

But once his fingers find the hem of your shirt, you know this isn’t the furthest it's going to go. Internally, you’re singing praises, thanking whatever higher power allowed you to be in this position and this very moment.

And just when he’s about to pull away and rip the clothing off your body, he remembers where the two of you are. Quickly, his hands leave your body as he races over to the shack window. You roll your lips into your mouth, savoring the taste of him on you as you watch him reach for the heavy overhead door to shut. He closes the metal gate with a rough grunt, the slam of the door onto the countertop echoing through the small hut. And just like that, the room is filled with darkness, only a tiny beam of sunlight making its way through a small window in the back.

The sound of footsteps shuffling back in your direction calls you back in. Jimin’s figure appears again in front of you, the small amount of light peeking into the hut bouncing off his slender form. He’s just inches from you, but the sexual tension in the atmosphere feels like a million pounds weighing down on you.

Jimin’s hands reach back for your top, pulling it over your head in one swift motion. He wastes no time removing his own shirt, your hands effortlessly reaching out for him, running your fingers down his defined torso. His skin is hot, whether it's from the temperature outside or the building heat within him is up to your interpretation – but you’d like to think of it as the latter.

As he leans back into you your heart flutters, the now-familiar feeling of his breath washing over your lips comforting you.

“Fuck,” Jimin hums over your lips, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

His hand wanders down under your thigh, gripping the muscle while lifting your leg with his strong arm. His body presses into yours, feeling the rough outline of his cock through his swim trunks right over your core. You’re dripping; arousal seeping right through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms and onto your cotton shorts that do absolutely nothing to conceal your desire.

He can feel it for himself once his fingers graze down your body, finally meeting the flimsy fabric covering your core. Jimin’s digits flatten across the area, dragging them across your slit ever so slowly, making you shudder at his touch.

A satisfied sigh leaves your lips as he applies some pressure, pressing and rubbing your clit through the material of your shorts. You let your head fall back, bucking your hips into his hand to feel more, but the layers between you keep you from getting what you desire.

You’re too needy for his touch, unable to withstand much teasing before crying out for him. “Jimin,” you whine, “stop teasing me, please.” Your voice is high pitched and drawn out, begging for him to just rip the remaining clothing off your body.

“Hmm,” he hums, satisfied with your begging. “Tell me what you want.”

A knot forms in your throat, desperate enough to keep begging, but your pride prevents you from letting any words out. Your body language should be enough, pressing yourself further into him and raking your fingers up his back and running your fingers through his hair to try and entice him.

“With your words,” he says firmly, stopping the movement of his hand over your core. You keen into his touch, letting your head fall onto his shoulder as you’re unable to look him dead in the eye. Not while you’re so desperate and needy for him, and not before you’re about to admit it.

“Jimin,” you whine again, dragging out the last syllable of his name for greater emphasis. “Want your fingers inside me.”

He smirks in response, satisfied with your words. “Already so wet for me,” you shiver as a deep, lust-filled voice leaves Jimin’s lips, his fingers slowly pulling the fabric of your shorts to the side. It sounds different from his normal voice; usually light and airy, something you could pick out of a crowd. But this was a whole different Jimin – one that you certainly like.

The cool air meets your soaked core, giving you a quick chill. Instinctively, you lean into him, the shiver running down your spine as his fingers begin to circle your entrance making it hard for you to stand up straight.

But all you can focus on is his erect member now rubbing against your thigh as the pads of his fingers smeared the wetness along your slit. Your eyes are sewn shut, your head digging deep into his neck as your only supporting leg quivers.

You’re so sensitive to his touch, it’s becoming difficult to control your body. Your eyes are closed so tight you can see stars dancing behind your eyelids, just focused on the feeling of his fingers dancing along your core. As his fingers work their way upwards, a high pitched moan leaves your throat. It catches you off guard once he begins rolling your clit between his fingers, pinching it lightly, making you keen over in pleasure.

“Fuck, Jimin. Feels so good,” your fingers grip the roots of his hair, tugging and pulling at it to ground yourself. But once his lips begin moving over your neck and his hand supporting your lifted leg tightens, you can’t help but let out a wanton moan.

You find yourself grinding down onto Jimin’s fingers, needy for more of him, and yearning to feel him inside of you. You’ve already asked once, you already feel like you could come right now and he hasn't even been inside you yet.

He can read your body language well, bringing his fingers to trace the extent of your slit back until they meet your entrance once more. Swiftly, he dips two fingers into the arousal that's pooling from your core. Finally. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as just his digits carefully caress your walls. The slow movement of his fingers plunging into your depths takes your breath away in an instant.

The bulge rubbing against your leg is doing nothing but teasing you. Each time his finger slides in and out of you he ruts into you, begging to be touched. You pick up on this, snaking your hand between your bodies to palm at the evident cock outline he's sporting. A sudden gasp leaves his lips at the feeling, his eyebrows raising in succession as his cock jumps in your grip.

His movements stop as you squeeze his member, now unable to focus at the task at hand with you teasing him like this. A rough grunt leaves his lips, removing his fingers from your core instantly. You immediately feel empty and bare without them inside you. So your jaw drops, confused and ready to ask what his deal is – but Jimin has other plans.

His hand holding your leg up quickly leaves your thigh. You don’t even have time to react before his hands are gripping your waist, spinning your body around, and bending you over the desk as he steps behind you. Air is sucked out of your lungs as your chest meets the wooden desk, cheek pressed onto the hard surface as Jimin harshly grips your hips.

“Such a tease,” he shakes his head, one hand coming down to leave a playful slap on your ass. You wince in reaction, the quick tinge of pain turning into pleasure. Arousal floods from your core as his hand rubs over the affected area, soothing the skin over the material of your clothes.

Jimin’s fingers loop themselves over the waistband of your shorts and under your bikini bottoms, tugging them downward. He doesn’t bother to even take them off fully, just shimmies them halfway down your thighs so that he has full access to your dripping pussy.

He’s quick to slide his swim trunks off his body, his fully erect member springing from the confines of the fabric. Your heart is pounding in your chest, heaving as you try to catch your breath. But he’s not one to wait, wrapping his hand around his shaft and pumping it a few times before lining it up at your entrance.

You brace yourself for his length, but it doesn’t come. You’re desperate, arching your back in attempts to push him inside of you, but he just shifts his weight backward.

“Ask nicely.”

His voice is stern; teasing but direct. Rolling your eyes, you give in, unwilling to play another game of cat and mouse while he already has you bent over and ready for the taking.

“Please Jimin,” you moan, “please fuck me.” Leg bouncing impatiently as you wait for him, he lines himself up with your entrance once more. The light pressure of his tip pressed against you makes you stir, bouncing your leg in anticipation as your hands look for something to grip onto.

A steep gasp passes through your lips as his cock slides itself into you; your velvety walls squeezing the veiny ridges of his member as you take him in. He’s thick and long, his length continuing to push into you until you’re filled to the brim.

You can’t help but clench down on him as you adjust to his size, your walls squeezing his thick cock as he bottoms out his thrust. A string of curses leaves his lips as your walls squeeze around him from every angle. The arousal spilling from your cunt coats his cock deliciously.

Jimin’s hands quickly find their place on your hips, holding you steady as he begins to rock backward. His cock slides in and out of you slowly but forcefully. He makes sure to bottom out each time, taking his time to pull out and then slam himself into you with such force.

“So fucking tight,” he moans, his thrusts beginning to quicken in pace. Your arms extend before you, gripping onto the edge of the desk to keep yourself steady. His powerful thrusts fail to subside, the force he rocks into you causing his member to prod your g-spot.

The sounds of his skin colliding with yours and the deep moans echoing from his throat fill your ears. Soft whines bubble past your lips with each thrust, his power shaking you and the desk underneath you.

Smoothly, Jimin’s hand reaches downward, snaking between your legs and gathering your arousal on his fingertips. His fingers graze over your clit gently, immediately making your body jerk in reaction. Slight pressure is added by his hand, soon to make a slow rubbing motion.

“So...close…” you manage to get out while you pant for air. You can feel a knot tightening in your stomach, threatening to snap if he keeps on like this.

“Cum on my cock, princess” he groans, teeth clenching as you squeeze tightly around him. The pet name is what gets you, your walls already beginning to spasm as he applies more pressure to your clit.

Euphoria takes hold on you as you release, your vision becoming fuzzy as your body grows limp. Jimin pushes you through it, his fingers continually moving over your throbbing bud as you release over him. Your legs shake, the strength of your orgasm so strong you lose all control of your body. His name leaves your lips like a mantra, chanting it over and over with curses intertwined.

It takes you a bit to come down, oversensitivity quickly setting in as Jimin’s trusts continue. His fingers are more gentle now, lightly toying with your clit as you do your best to try and swat his hand away. But you’re too lethargic, too drawn out from your orgasm that took all your strength away from you.

“One more,” he says, “doing so good for me.”

And soon enough that familiar knot in your stomach was making its way back to you, if it ever left in the first place. The repetitive tap of Jimin’s tip deep inside you has you so far gone; your pussy clenching and unclenching around him completely out of your control.

But it's getting to him too. The added lubricant of your orgasm mixed with the squeezing of your walls around his cock is bringing him close to his own end.

“Gonna...come,” he moans, his hands leaving your overstimulated clit to grip onto your hips. The pace of his thrusts quickens, his brow furrowing deeply as he focuses on chasing his high.

All it takes is one powerful thrust, and you were coming undone around him once again. “Fuck, fuck!” You nearly scream, pushing back into him to meet his thrusts, helping him through an orgasm of his own.

The everlasting sensation of bliss takes over the both of you. Jimin’s thrusts grow languid and sloppy, his torso slowly falling on top of your back. You lie like this for a moment, letting him collapse over you and feel the heat of his body radiate onto yours. It feels nice, close having him inside you like this while his arms wrap around you in silence.

“We should've done this sooner,” his voice breaks through the quiet room. A small smile forms on your lips as you internally agree, showing him with a nod of your head.

Slowly, he stands up, pulling out of you and leaving you feeling empty for the second time today. A mixture of your and his cum dribbles out of your cunt, Jimin noticing and quickly swiping it up with his finger. You can see him out of the corner of your eye, watching his movements closely to see what he’ll do next.

Swiftly, his hand finds its way to his mouth, his digit slipping past his lips as he licks the juices from it. Your jaw drops in reaction, his finger leaving his mouth with a soft pop of his lips.

He notices you gawking at him, raising his eyebrows as you suggestively in response. “I’d like to try it right from the source next time.”

A slight chuckle leaves your lips, in disbelief while still being very turned on. “Next time.” You hum, liking the sound of that as it leaves your mouth.

“There will be a next time, won't there?” Except his question comes across as more of a statement, his tone firm and gestures sturdy while he reaches for his swim trunks to pull back up.

You follow his actions, standing back onto your shaky legs to pull your swimsuit bottoms and shorts up in one quick motion. There will definitely be a next time.

#bb2020 #ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #smutcentralnet #magicshopnet #bangtanhq #cypherwritersnet #kpopuniversenet #jimin x reader #jimin smut #park jimin #jimin fanfic

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silver-renjun · 4 years ago

Text

Cafe 7 Dream: Jeno

Word count: 1,796

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood

Read the prologue before reading this!

You were helping out at the cafe like usual. Today, you had been assigned to work with Jeno, mixing drinks. It was going smoothly until Chenle had called out your name.

“y/n!”

You immediately turned around to hear what Chenle had to say. Jeno happened to be moving two cups of water towards the flavoring syrups at the same time. Your sudden movement caused Jeno to lose his balance and skid across the cafe floor. The drinks spilled all over Jeno’s clothes and the floor.

“Watch out,” Chenle said, his voice becoming quieter as he saw the scene unfold.

“Nice timing,” Jeno grumbled.

“Oh my gosh, Jeno! I’m so sorry, I really didn’t-” you started to say.

“It’s no big deal, y/n.” You watched as Jeno moved his hand over the spill. All of the water that had been on the floor had turned into a orb of water hovering over Jeno’s hand.

“What the-” Jeno covered your mouth with his free hand before you could finish you sentence.

“I’ll explain everything later.”

You and Jeno got back to work, but you couldn’t help but think about what Jeno had done. The water had been floating in the air like he could just summon it. He’d better have a good explanation for that one, you thought.

After the shift was over, the dreamies started cleaning up immediately. They were all quiet and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Will anyone tell me how the hell Jeno can just summon water?”

The boys exchanged concerned looks to one another. When they saw that nobody was opposed to the idea, they decided to break the silence.

“Do you know what magic is, y/n?” Jeno said.

“Yeah.”

“Well what you say earlier was magic. I’m a water spirit so I can do those sorts of things.” Jeno paused to see if you were following along. You nodded as if it was no big deal. “And Jisung’s a wizard. He fed you a love potion by the way, so you’d come back to the cafe.”

You shrugged and said, “Jisung makes one fine love potion. I’m addicted to this place.”

The dreamies were suprised by how casually you were taking in all this information.

“Chenle and Haechan also aren’t human.” You nodded along again. “Jaemin and Mark are regular people though. They’ve pretty much been exposed to magic their whole lives though, so it’s not really a big deal for them.”

“What about Renjun?” you asked.

Jeno stayed quiet, and all the boys looked down at the floor. Mark didn’t pick up on the signal.

“Renjun’s an oracle. How cool is that! He can see into the future and stuff and he even saw you, except you were being attacked so that kind of sucks, so-” Mark paused when he saw the stern looks the boys were giving him.

“Were you guys just going to keep this a secret from me?” you asked with your mouth agape.

“Renjun was, like, black out drunk at 1 am when he had that vision. He’s also never had a vision that’s come true, so we figured that it would only worry you if we told you about it,” Jeno explained.

You laughed at his explanation.

“Black out drunk at 1 am and all you can think of is me, huh, Renjun?” you said in a teasing tone. The boys began to laugh at Renjun.

“Hey! Jeno’s the one that started crying at the party when he heard it!” Renjun said trying to defend himself.

You glanced over at Jeno and raised an eyebrow.

“Look at you y/n, you’ve got drunk guys swooning all over you at parties you don’t even attend!” Haechan said in a teasing tone.

“Ooh, I’m so lucky! What ever shall I do?” you replied, matching Haechan’s playful energy.

After all the jokes were over, you all got back to work on cleaning up the cafe. You were heading out towards your apartment when you heard Jeno call your name.

“Hey y/n, wait up for me!” he said as he ran over to catch up with you.

“What’s up, Jeno?”

“I know you were joking earlier, but if you are going to pick one, I really hope it’s me.”

“Are you trying to ask me out, Jeno Lee?” you giggled.

“Is it working?” he said with an expectant look.

“Yes. One hundred percent yes.”

Jeno laughed at your response. He gently held on to your hand and listened to you talk all the way to your apartment.

“So, uh, a date after class tomorrow?” Jeno asked.

“Sure thing,” you said, laughing at how shy Jeno was.

The next day, you and Jeno headed out immediately after the lecture.

“We’re heading out the cafe now, not going to stick around and chat guys,” was all Jeno said before he whisked you away on a date.

Indeed, you both did go to a cafe, just not Cafe 7 Dream. It felt nice to be the ones ordering drinks and not the ones making them. After you had gotten your orders, you and Jeno began to talk.

“You didn’t tell me everything yesterday,” you said.

“What do you mean?” Jeno tilted his head in confusion.

“About Chenle and Haechan. Isn’t there more to them?”

“Well Chenle, he’s got magic and that’s all I know. And Haechan, he hasn’t really gotten his powers yet.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Well most kids learn how to use their powers from their parents, but his dad was just a regular human. And his mom, she died when he was really young. He hasn’t really got any guidance on how to summon his powers naturally, so he’s just been waiting for it come out one day.”

“And there’s nothing you can do to help?”

“I mean, there’s this really old practice that requires the blood of a human, so I suppose you could offer yourself up for sacrifice. That’ll definitely awaken his powers,” Jeno chuckled.

You and Jeno continue on your date, talking about everything from your childhoods to ice cream flavors. There was never a dull moment between you two.

The next day, you walked into your 8 am lecture late as usual. You slipped into you seat and pulled out your books for class.

“Why so late y/n? Jeno keep you up too long?” Haechan teased.

“He told us everything about your little date,” Jaemin said.

“I’m offended y/n! I really thought you would choose me over Jeno!” Renjun said, pretending to be upset.

“I had to make all the drinks yesterday with Jisung! y/n please never go on dates during cafe hours. It was like hell,” Chenle complained.

“Hey! I’m not that bad! I only spilled half of the drinks!” Jisung said, trying to defend himself.

You and Jeno never skipped a shift at the cafe after that, as the teasing was too much to handle. Even though the boys still joked about you and Jeno when you two worked together, it was still better than all the comments you had gotten after the date. Instead, you and Jeno had decided to have movie nights at your place after work. You never really paid attention to the movies. You were always more interested in your boyfriend’s warm snuggles and kisses.

It was finally the day before the cafe event. Chenle asked you all to stay back late and help set up for the next day, since it was going to be even more busy than usual.

“Hey y/n, you’ve never seen the potions right? You should come help me in the back! I’ve got so much stuff prepared for the event tomorrow!” Jisung said. You followed Jisung into the back room, which looked like a labratory. There were tons of vials lined up with colorful liquids, all stacked up on shelves.

“Woah, this is crazy. How did you guys pass the health inspection will all this stuff back here?”

“It’s simple. Magic,” Jisung said with a smile. Jisung grabbed a vial with a yellow liquid and popped the cap off. “This one is actually a-”

Jisung swung his hand as he was speaking and accidentally spilled the liquid on your hand. You screamed in pain as you felt your hand burning. Jisung stepped back in fear of what he had done. Haechan, who had been packing boxes by the back door, heard your scream and rushed to help you.

You were lying on the floor in pain and Haechan dropped down to inspect your hand. The rest of the boys had now walked into the back room to see Haechan holding your bloody hand.

Jeno immediately though the worst and assumed that Haechan had been crazy enough to try the sacrifice with your blood. Jeno pulled Haechan away from you and punched him in the face. You watched as Jeno blasted Haechan with water until Haechan collapsed onto the floor.

“y/n, thank goodness you’re safe,” Jeno said was he pulled you into a hug.

You pushed him away and began to scream.

“What the hell! Haechan was trying to help me! Jisung spilled some potion on me and Haechan came to help! Help, Jeno! He was just trying to help!”

Jeno stepped back from you as he took in what you had said. He felt horrible for attacking his innocent friend instead of helping his girlfriend. Jisung rushed to your side and gave you a potion to drink.

“This one is going to heal you, y/n. Don’t drink too much though, Haechan still needs it,” Jisung said.

“I don’t need it,” Haechan said. Everyone’s head turned to look at Haechan. He was manipulating two fireballs in his hand. “Jeno’s attack kind of summoned my powers. Looks like I’m a fire demon.”

“Congrats dude,” Mark said.

“That’s really cool,” Jisung added.

“I’m really proud of you,” Jaemin said.

“I always knew that there was more to your fiery attitude,” Renjun said with a smile. Everyone turned to Jeno to hear what he had to say.

“I’m really sorry for attacking you, but at least you’ve got powers now,” Jeno said with a laugh.

“Look at you two! Fire and water! An unbeatable combination in battle! Let’s hope you two are an unbeatable combination at cleaning up too,” Chenle said.

Jeno helped you up and held you in a tight hug.

“I’m so happy I didn’t lose you.”

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Never The Same, Always Together (Diamond Chaney) - pureCAMP

A/N - Well, this started as a fic challenge entry but very quickly veered off in a different direction so I’ll have to see if I can make something else for that. In the meantime, here’s around 12.3k words detailing two average Scottish gals.

CW for mentions of body image and body shaming, although fairly brief

Summary: Lawrence and Ellie from the start, and the story of how they came to be.

“How did you know she was the one?”

It’s mid-September. The last dregs of summer are still clinging on, far from ready to abandon ship, and although the leaves on the trees around the edge of the playground are starting to turn brown, sunlight still warms their bare arms as they run with blue cardigans tied around their waists in loose knots.

Lawrence is a proud five years old in comparison to some of her classmate’s barely four years, an advantage that makes her feel powerful. Adults often describe her as “a right little character”, but her young mind has yet to realise that they mean bold, talkative, and still untouched by the childish nervousness that claims many of her peers. She is, in essence, blissfully unaware of what the world thinks of loud little girls with accents so thick they question her coherence.

There is another little girl sitting on a bench. It’s the friendship bench, Miss Darling told them, where children can sit when they feel lonely and upset, allowing other children to invite them to play. No one really sits on it because nobody wants to waste their precious play time sat down when they could be running like the wind and making up stories.

The little girl is crying, very quietly. She has blonde hair in two neat plaits, tied off at the end with pink checkered ribbons, and she’s wearing one of the school summer dresses with a little patterned collar. Lawrence’s mum didn’t want to pay the extra money for a patterned collar, so she’s immediately a little jealous that this girl has one and she doesn’t. Her cardigan is all rumpled, falling off one shoulder, the sleeve over her hand which she uses to wipe her face dry every so often. She has clean white socks pulled up mid-calf, and black patent shoes on her feet, dangling in the air as she’s too little to touch the floor.

Lawrence is tall for her age. She can reach the floor with her feet when she sits on the bench.

As yet unaffected by the aforementioned nervousness, Lawrence bounds her way towards the crying girl. The girl looks up, teary blue eyes meeting tactlessly wide ones, and wipes her nose with her sleeve.

“Why are you sitting on the bench?” Lawrence asks, too young to know better than to speak bluntly. Subtext is a skill for older children, one that she will one day wish she had never had to learn. Life is easier as blatant, honest children.

The girl sniffs. “I’m on my own.”

“No you’re not.” Lawrence tells her, arms folded across her chest. “I’m here, so that’s not true. Why are you crying?”

“My brother’s in the other class and they won’t let us be in the same class and he’s playing with the boys and not me,” The girl explains, still crying but less so, pointing a shaky finger across the playground.

Lawrence follows her gaze towards the big stretch of field that, for now, they’re still allowed to play on, soon to become banned once the slightest hint of autumn rain hits and turns it into a mud puddle treacherous to school uniforms everywhere. A group of boys, scruffy and dirty, are kicking a foam football around, running like crazy, shouting at one another. She counts carefully, finding six in total. More than five and less than seven. One of them is blonde and little, like the girl.

“What’s your name?”

“Ellie.”

With little patience left in her small body, Lawrence grabs Ellie by the wrist and pulls her up off the bench. “Right. You’re the princess and I’m the big scary monster, you have to run away or I’m going to catch you! Rarrrrr!”

Ellie screams, tears her wrist away, and starts running as quickly as she can, little legs moving at a million miles an hour. Lawrence chases her, growling and biting behind her to let her new friend know how close she is. For fifteen minutes, though to their five and four year old selves it could have been days, they are a flurry of squealing, yelping, monster snarls and giggling.

When the bell rings, Ellie stands behind Lawrence in the line - she takes the front, unafraid to lead her peers back to the classroom, where Miss Darling is waiting to teach them about ai and ay. She sits next to Lawrence on the carpet, both cross-legged, her tears of separation from her brother quickly forgotten. She giggles as Lawrence is told off for her wandering attention span and chatty nature. At lunchtime, she plaits Lawrence’s hair the same as her own, and though it looks bad, they see it as the same perfect standard of Ellie’s mum’s handiwork.

Birthdays are the most specialest days in the world ever. Something about them is just magical. It’s the way that Lawrence goes to bed in her house as normal and when she wakes up, there are banners and balloons everywhere, diagonal on every door, above the fireplace, even on the letterbox. Presents neatly wrapped that seem to appear from the middle of nowhere, hidden expertly well and then piled in the living room ready for eager hands to tear open and play with. A day where no reasonable request can be refused, and silly hats can be worn.

Silly hats make both adults and children laugh, and Lawrence loves to be the centre of attention and making everyone laugh. At seven - no, eight now, eight today - she has been labelled a “class clown”. This, supposedly, is a bad thing, but it depends on how you look at it. Classmates and friends love class clowns, invite her to play their games because she’s funny, pay little attention to her big height and chubby body because she makes them laugh. Teaching assistants like class clowns, they laugh at them when they should be chastising them, and gently warn them to tone it down a little with kind smiles. Teachers, like Mr Macpherson, don’t like class clowns. They put them in time-out and shout at them.

But Lawrence doesn’t care, and Ellie always laughs.

Her party is at the big play warehouse, and the whole of Primary 4 have been invited, because they all wanted to come. Everyone is wearing baggy jeans and colourful leggings, racing down the rainbow slide, throwing balls from the ball-pit at each other, climbing through the foam structures with cherry-red faces and sweat dripping from their wet foreheads. Everyone is sectioned off into their little groups, playing as they see fit, exploring every inch of their veritable wonderland.

Lawrence is with Ellie, at the very top. Ellie is still seven, and as such, a bit scared of the great height that comes with the rainbow slide. Her sparkly unicorn t-shirt says “go, girl!” in swirly pink letters, a sentiment that she enthusiastically repeats to her trembling friend. They are sat in the very middle, classmates whizzing down on either side of them, building up the courage together.

“It’s too high! I can’t do it!” Ellie pleads, her eyes huge. Her cheeks are bright pink, play exertion written all over her, but her energy still not depleted. Lawrence is raring to go, but has learned the art of tact, kindness, and helping a friend.

“We’ll go down together, Ellie Bellie!” She proposes, an idea that makes Ellie pause and consider it. “I’m bigger than you so if you hold onto me we’ll get to the bottom super fast and then it’ll be over, and when you see how fun it is we can go again and again and again!”

She chews her lip. “What if you let go?”

“I won’t!” Lawrence assures her. “Look, we’ll hold hands all the way down, and then I’ll race you back to the top. Bet I’ll win.”

Ellie gasps, affronted. “Will not!”

“Will too!”

“Will not!”

“Only one way to find out, Ellie Bellie!”

They grab hands, sweaty and gritty from playground rubber and climbing on all fours. Ellie screws her eyes shut as Lawrence starts them off, and before they know it, they’re zooming down the techicolour mountain at speeds hitherto unknown, records unbeatable, aided by the slippy fabric of pink leggings and purple capris. Their hands remain linked the whole way down, until they stumble into the netting at the bottom and break apart. Ellie flops down in breathless laughter, euphoric at both defeating her fear and discovering a new sensation.

“You did it!” Lawrence squeals.

Ellie’s eyes are wild. “We have to go again!”

They race to the top. Ellie wins the first time, Lawrence the second. The third time, they tie, and bicker about who won all the way down the slide and back up again, after which Lawrence claims another victory. Each time, they go down hand in clammy hand, fall over themselves laughing, and carry on.

It repeats until a little jingle plays, and all of Primary 4 race in a mass exodus towards the special party room, where they have buffet lunch and drinks. Lawrence guzzles her paper cup of orange cordial like her life depends on it, a dehydration like she’s never felt gripping her throat, and Ellie laughs at her so much that she chokes on her blackcurrant cordial, leaving Lawrence’s mum to run for paper towels to clean her up.

Lawrence wears a gold cardboard crown as her classmates sing Happy Birthday, Ellie sitting at her right with a lopsided paper tiara slipping off her head but in pride of place nonetheless. They eat chicken dippers smothered in ketchup and party rings and a slice of cake, and Lawrence ends up with a big ketchup splodge on her lilac t-shirt that, while making her mum go spare, makes Ellie hysterically giggly.

“Oh, Lawrie, what are you like?” Her mum fusses, smiling and shaking her head all at once. “How you and Ellie can be so different yet so close, I’ll never know. She’s all nice and neat, see?”

Ellie beams up at what is essentially her second mum. “I think she’s funny!”

“She is!” Her mum agrees. “Funny little madam, aren’t you?”

Little madam is another turn of phrase that Lawrence will come to learn has other meanings attached to it that previously she had not considered, but as a happy eight year old at the world’s best birthday party, she pays it no mind.

Ellie ends up with white birthday cake frosting in her hair, so she’s not really as neat as Lawrence’s mum suggests. It doesn’t matter that Lawrence is the one who put it there.

The first year uniform is ugly as sin, no matter how much Lawrence’s mum fawns over how smart and grown up she looks. It’s a white polo shirt with the school logo stitched on the right hand side, a heavy black blazer with white piping around the cuffs and lapel, a tie with your house colour, and black trousers if you’re Lawrence, or a black skirt if you’re Ellie.

Lawrence and Ellie are both in the green house, sporting their forest-coloured ties with fat knots and rucksacks at the ready on their shoulders. They’re in the same form, too, a stroke of luck that is appreciated by both of them. Most of their primary school went to another local secondary school, leaving the two of them to start elsewhere and forge their new identities as awkward tweenagers thankfully with each other side by side.

Their mums insist on a million photos outside in the driveway together, right up until the bus is about to pull up to the bus stop and they have to leg it to catch it in time. The photos, though awful, will come to be treasured by Lawrence one day, sweet innocent memories to be stuck inside albums, frames and on walls and mantelpieces.

Form is first thing in the morning, a group of thirty terrified first years headed by Mrs Buchanan. She’s an older lady, fifty or so, and not nearly as kind and gentle as they’re all used to, thus requiring a bit of getting used to. But they’re in secondary school now, so growing up quickly and adapting into a new way of learning and being is critical. Lawrence makes sure there’s space for Ellie to sit next to her, and as their timetables get handed out, she squeezes her friend’s hand under the table. The worry is soon alleviated; they have all classes together for the whole year.

Over time, the friendship group expands, even as Lawrence and Ellie remain firm best friends, ever the duo within the circle of new people. Aurora’s string of three-week maximum boyfriends earns her the nickname A’Whora, and she brings Tayce along with her, who brings Asttina. Ellie befriends Tia who brings Veronica. Bimini just appears out of nowhere and slots right in, and they have a designated little collection of people to spend all their time with.

Secondary school is rough. Mean-spirited girls and overconfident boys poke fun at Lawrence’s weight while having the audacity to laugh at her jokes, and Ellie’s girly nature is picked on and mocked as if there’s something wrong with just liking the things you like. Together they ignore the hurtful words, shake their heads in silence, stand up strong and pretend endlessly that it glances off them. Truthfully, it’s an unnecessary stress on two girls just trying to figure out who they’re going to be one day, but they’re glad to have each other.

They’ve learned to thicken their skin, at least. Lawrence can hardly believe the difference in shy little Ellie from Primary 1 to now, third year, virtually prepared to throw hands in defense of her best friend.

It’s PE, fourth period, right before lunch. The changing room is in a bizarre L shape, and Lawrence likes to change behind the bend, increasingly aware of how her body differs from the girls around her and conscious of it in a way she never has been before. Sometimes her eyes unwittingly fall on Bimini, in her bright pink M&S bra, or on the smooth slim back of a girl changing opposite her, but she just tears her gaze away and doesn’t dwell on why it ended up there in the first place. She usually changes red-faced, embarrassed of herself, having mastered the art of not removing any uniform until the sports one is safely on top of it.

A girl across from them watches Lawrence’s fail-safe method of changing and laughs cruelly, nudging her equally-bony friend. She pretends not to notice, swallows hard, fights the angry blush.

“Look at the fuckin’ size of her!” She overhears, a whisper not really meant for disguise, quiet enough only that the teacher won’t hear, but Lawrence will. It’s a deliberate trick to damage her self-esteem, and it works exactly as intended.

Besides her, Ellie bristles. Lawrence touches her arm, then takes her hand away, feeling weird about a platonic touch when they’re half undressed. “Ignore em, Ells. They’re just catty bitches.”

Ellie herself isn’t the waif of a girl she used to be - she’s tall, now, and not quite stout but sporting a thick athletic build, tied in with a girlish waist and a strong physique. Her fists clench at her sides.

“Get fucked!” She calls across the changing room, shocking even Lawrence. A hush descends over the girls, a mixture of dread, horror and excitement for drama looming over them. Undeterred by the silence, she continues, “Nasty wee cows, commenting shite like that. You’re mad because she’s got tits and you haven’t, and you’re mad because you’re built like a netball goal post. Embarrassing.”

Somewhere around the corner, Lawrence hears A’Whora, Tayce and Bimini stifle a burst of unexpected laughter, Bimini carefully styling it out as a cough that fools absolutely no one. The two offenders look bewildered, as if no one has ever taught them not to bully, and as Ellie’s words dawn on them, hurt flashes across their faces, visible even beneath the orange foundation. It’s a glorious moment right up until-

“Ellie Diamond! How dare you speak like that? Girls, what on earth is going on here?”

Miss Brown, the PE teacher, rounds the corner with a furious glare, which Ellie shrinks down under and swallows nervously. Her hands sit on her hips, demanding, waiting for an explanation that Lawrence knows Ellie can’t give. She’s lost her bottle, all of it used up on telling the girls not to be so vile, and now she’s left floundering under the inevitability of a detention no matter what her story is.

Well, Ellie just helped Lawrence, and she’s never been one to wait upon a debt.

“Miss, they were calling me fat and Ellie had just had enough of them being horrible bitches, treating her like the bad guy is a bunch of shite. She did nothing wrong.”

It’s carefully calculated; a defence of Ellie so that her anxieties settle down, and a cleverly thrown-in swear to ensure she gets nailed with a detention of her own. It works like a charm, of course, Ellie and Lawrence scheduled for Tuesday evening and the thoroughly humbled arseholes scheduled for Thursday.

Lawrence always takes goalkeeper in netball, so Ellie takes goal defence. They stand together at their third of the court, the entire game happening at the other end, rubbing their arms to keep warm.

“You didn’t have to do that, Loz. Now we both have detention.” Ellie complains, though she doesn’t sound upset. Lawrence knows she’s grateful, but saying so would just make it weird. Subtext makes up most of their conversations now, a series of vicious bickering and ridiculous jokes that convey you’re my best friend of course I had to do that in a language that only they can decipher.

Lawrence shrugs, unbothered. “Think about it, hen. If I don’t have detention and you do, I have to sit alone on the bus. If we both have it, we can walk home together, grab a couple of Monsters from the shop and have tea at mine.”

“You’re a fuckin’ genius,” Ellie grins, bumping her shoulder. “They didn’t hurt your feelings, did they? Once Brown’s not around, I’m not above smashing their noses in with a netball.”

Lawrence is fourteen years old. Breathing in her direction wrong hurts her feelings - comments about her physical insecurities and inferiorities are completely soul-destroying.

“Nah, babes.” She brushes it off, smiling at her best friend. “I mean, watch this.”

The game progresses into their third. The goal scorer for the other team is pretty good, tall enough to reach the hoop and rail thin, but Lawrence herself is tall and stocky and provides the perfect obstacle to scoring a point. She intercepts, lobs the ball as hard as she can in Tayce’s direction, and it ends up back in the opposite third once again. They score another point, and Ellie whoops at their victory.

“Fuckin’ smashin’ it, hen. A skinny bitch could never.” She gloats, chest heaving, beaming with pride.

Ellie’s hair is pulled into a high ponytail, the neat plaits of her past long forgotten. Over the game, little wisps have fallen out to frame her face, which is pleasingly pink and flushed with effort. She has a neat wing of eyeliner and mascara that makes her look like some kind of Disney princess, and as the nightmare of puberty goes on around them, Lawrence notes with an entirely unselfish happiness that her best friend is going to be really, really pretty.

She sort of already is.

Bimini’s sixteenth birthday comes with a party. She’s never one to go halves - her mum is thirty two, a fact that makes A’Whora and Tayce elbow her that she needs to get busy to continue the family tradition - and since the weather is uncharacteristically Mediterrean for the middle of May, up comes the gazebo, on goes the hot tub, and out come the drinks.

Lawrence and Ellie have a bottle of summer fruits rosé between them, two straws poking out of the top. Ellie insists on holding it because she doesn’t trust Lawrence, in case she decides to do something stupid for a laugh and spills it onto the grass. It’s not like it matters, because Bim’s mum will provide them as much as they like so long as they’re safe in the garden, but she lets Ellie take control anyway, because it makes her smile and her smile makes Lawrence flutter a bit.

She’s been realising some stuff recently. Sixteen feels like the right age to be realising stuff.

Ellie got braces when she was newly fifteen, prompting months of merciless teasing from Lawrence. She still has them now, at sixteen, a pretty pale pink colour that matches her Pretty Little Thing dress that she ordered on her phone with next day shipping at Lawrence’s house last week. Her smile is radiant, her glittery lipgloss only highlighting it, though over only a few years her makeup has progressed so far that Ellie paints herself like she belongs in a museum.

Her face is a work of art full of meanings that Lawrence could spend a lifetime pondering. Sometimes, alone, late, she wishes it was a viable career choice.

It’s only nine o’clock, but everyone’s completely bladdered and quite happy about it. Lawrence passes Tia, who can’t stop repeating “Oh my god I’m so drunk” to anyone who’ll listen, and finds A’Whora and Tayce leaning on each other for support, sloppily humming stripper tunes as Bimini wiggles down her ASOS dress to reveal the bikini underneath. She winks at them both, announcing “Bimini’s swimini is now open for business!” and hops into the hot tub, half of the party rushing to join her. Tia, A’Whora, Tayce and Asttina all follow Bim’s lead, stripping down and settling into the bubbly water with excited giggles and shrieks.

“Come on, Lawrence! Get in, join us!” A’Whora urges, gesturing wildly with a wet hand that splashes drops of water all over the porch.

Tayce nods eagerly. “It’s lush, babes! Come on!”

Lawrence snorts. “Fat fucking chance. If I get in, the water will get out.”

Everyone roars with laughter at her joke. It’s something of an ego boost, especially when she hears Ellie a little way behind her, giggling.

“Aww babes, please?” Bimini calls out, rising up out of the water so that she’s in up to her waist. “I’ll show you my tiiiiiits……..”

For show, she shimmies her shoulders, the whole garden erupting into wolf whistles, scandalised giggles and outright cheers. Lawrence rolls her eyes playfully and sticks two fingers up at her, internally wondering how and when Bimini figured it out. Still, her drunk brain doesn’t want to dwell on it, so she forces it away and stumbles back towards Ellie for another sip.

As the night grows darker and the girls grow drunker, the cloud of sleepiness starts to descend onto them. Bimini’s mum had set up the gazebo with a Tetris-like arrangement of sleeping bags and air mattresses in it, cleverly keeping her house from being infested by a bunch of pissed fifth years while still able to keep an eye on them. As usual, when Lawrence claims hers, Ellie claims the one next to it.

“Bloody hell, it’s like you two are attached at the blumin’ hip!” Tayce comments, an offhand observation that’s perfectly spot on.

Ellie is a bubble of pure light and laughter. Her face brightens at the acknowledgement of their friendship, her ponytail swinging from side to side as she lifts her head to look up at Tayce. She bumps hips with Lawrence and bursts into a fit of giggles, nodding her agreement.

“Look who’s talking, hen,” Lawrence teases, nodding towards A’Whora. “Attached clit to clit, eh babes?”

A’Whora splutters her indignance. “Oh my god, you’re vile! Shut your fucking hole, Loz!”

“I will when you stop Venus Fly-Trapping Tayce with your fanny,” She shoots back, high-fiving Ellie and dissolving into identical hysterics.

An empty can of something is lobbed at Lawrence’s head, but thanks to A’Whora’s shitty aim and however many drinks she chucked down her neck, it misses by miles and rolls off into the grass, never to be seen again. She considers throwing something back, potentially waging a fight of epic proportions amongst the girls, but one glance at Ellie reveals an undisguisable tiredness in her gaze that influences her otherwise.

Ellie always gets this tired look before she actually sleeps. It’s not something Lawrence can tangibly describe; it’s just a heaviness behind her eyes, a sort of barely-there serenity wiping her mind clean of anything other than its purest, most unfiltered thoughts and inclinations to sleep. A sweet, lazy smile crosses her lips and she starts to speak quietly, softly, like raising her voice is too much of an effort for her body to keep up with. Year after year after year of sleepovers has well-equipped Lawrence for an exam in all things Ellie Diamond, one that she’s certain she could achieve an A in without any revision at all.

They settle down in their sleeping bags, and muffled sleepy conversations float out for a short while. Bimini, drunk as a skunk and high on the birthday bliss, lays in the middle of everyone, doling out nicknames that ensure the night will live on in their memories long after the morning has broken. For years to come, Taycegarean - a strange bastardisation from Game of Thrones - will crop up in group chats and pub meetups seemingly out of nowhere, and the entire night will be fondly remembered.

Lawrence herself will remember it for a multitude of reasons. Good reasons, all of them happy and positive, but they will warm her heart at one stage of life and in another, sting like gentian violet on grazed knees.

She hunches down on her side and feigns sleep for what feels like hours, until a symphony of heavy breathing around her suggests that everyone is finally asleep. Once she’s sure, she shifts onto her back and laces her fingers together, just letting all her thoughts run wild in her head in the hopes they’ll eventually tire her into slumber.

Evidently, she’s not careful enough, as within minutes, a soft voice whispers, “Lawrence? Are you awake?”

Nevertheless, she can’t help the smile that crosses her face. “Yeah. Are you?”

Ellie snorts. “Nah, hen, I’m asleep.”

“Stupid question, stupid answer.”

“Stupid bitch.” Ellie quips, Lawrence acquiescing and laughing.

There’s an open flap in the top of the gazebo, right above Lawrence’s head. It’s not the most practical thing in the world, given the very real possibility of a downpour of Scottish rain soaking them to the skin, but the night sky is clear and Bimini’s house is just enough out of the way of the city that the stars are visible. She remembers reading somewhere that Sirius was the brightest star in the sky, but that can’t be true when Ellie’s eyes could rival the entire Milky Way.

Neither of them have anything to say; they lie side by side in a comfortable silence, connecting patterns between the tiny dots of light above them, content to just be. Still, one thought of Lawrence’s jumbled up brain won’t stop tugging on her vocal chords, begging to be freed, so she decides to give in and just let it have its own way.

“Ells,” She whispers, rolling onto her side to face her best friend. “I got something to tell you.”

Ellie mirrors her without even realising, turning onto her side and even resting her face on her hand the same way Lawrence has. It’s a testament to just how connected they really are, and it swells a little balloon of confidence and hope in her chest that this is definitely the right time to do it.

“Go ahead, chick. I’m all ears.”

“I’m gay.”

The night is quiet. Nothing rustles, nothing moves, the air itself is still and silent as if holding its breath at Lawrence’s coming out. She waits, both terrified and exhilarated, for the person she cares most about in the world to react to the news.

It’s a snorty giggle, well-intentioned and free of malice, that follows a few seconds of silence. “I could’ve told you that, hen.”

She’s a cheeky shite, always has been and always will be. Lawrence grins, shaking her head.

“Hey, bawbag, this is a big fuckin’ moment for me!”

Even without makeup - Lawrence made sure Ellie took hers off to save her skin, ever the helpful best friend - Ellie’s a Renaissance beauty, her expression a picture of adoration and warmth. “Aye, I know. I’m really proud of you, Lawrie. Thanks for trusting me.”

With the gentlest of smiles gracing her lips, Ellie reaches out a hand and softly rubs Lawrence’s cheek. Her fingers are bitter cold on Lawrence’s flushed skin, but the gesture is so tender that she would endure the sensation for a thousand lifetimes before she would utter a complaint about it. Their usual way would be a joke, a mocking statement with subtext of support and gratitude, but now feels right for a fleeting moment of sincerity beneath the stars.

“If I can’t trust you, Ellie Bellie, I can’t trust anyone.”

Ellie snuggles down into her sleeping bag. “You can always trust me.”

Sometimes it’s baffling how quickly time flies. Lawrence crosses off days on her calendar as an old habit her mum passed on to her, and before she knows it she’s in her sixth year, exams on the horizon, the enticing glow of study leave calling her name in just a few short months. There’s an acceptance letter for the University of Edinburgh sitting on the desk in her bedroom, slightly crumpled and splashed with coke and scribbled on with pens she wasn’t sure worked or not, but nonetheless taking pride of place.

Poor Ellie is never out of the art block, slaving away on her twenty hour final piece that Lawrence just knows is going to look amazing. While she’s busy, Lawrence sits in the common room with A’Whora and bitches about stressful teachers, irritating students and the impossibility of having ever been as annoying as the current first years are.

Lawrence maintains she was never that short or that childish.

Every weekend, Ellie pops over to revise English, although it usually deteriorates into we hate the English why are we revising this shit again and turns into an excuse to hang out separately from the group. There’s a weird stigma about only inviting some of the group somewhere ever since A’Whora and Tia’s big falling out in fourth year, but it never really seems to apply to Lawrence and Ellie. It’s just a given that they can branch off at any time and no one’s being left out, it’s just their time.

It’s nice.

At present, Ellie lies flat on her back on Lawrence’s bed, legs hanging off the side, groaning loudly about how much work she has left to do. She reckons it’ll be done in two months, but only two months of hard graft with no social life, no sleep, and no eating.

“You better fuckin’ let me see it when it’s done, for all you’ve fucking moaned about it,” Lawrence tells her, spinning on her desk chair. “I deserve compensation of that at the very least, if not more.”

Ellie blows a raspberry. “How about I give you a blowie and we call it even?”

It’s one of those jokes that makes Lawrence laugh and blush at the same time. They’ve become increasingly common as of late, but as a far cry from her former bluntness, Lawrence masks with a disgusted face, a forced retch, and some exaggerated mimed vomit.

“You’re gonnae make me throw up, hen. I know you’re just gagging for a taste of the old Chaney to confirm your bisexuality but at the very least I expect to be taken for dinner before that,” She shrugs.

Ellie sits up, sticks out her tongue, and rolls her eyes. “I’ve paid for enough of your lunches, thank you very much! I feel entitled to it at this point.”

“Fuck me. Anybody’d think you actually wanna be with me.” Lawrence teases, one eyebrow raised.

In the last few weeks, Ellie had taken to drawing these tiny pink hearts underneath her eyes, a ridiculously cute addition to her already perfect makeup. It was only last week that they crammed themselves into Ellie’s mum’s bathroom and dyed her hair pastel pink to match Lawrence’s vibrant purple, and she’s since curled it, where it now rests prettily on her shoulders from the signature Ellie Diamond ponytail that she just can’t let go of.

Something unusual flashes across Ellie’s face, something Lawrence recognises with a jolt but hasn’t seen in years. Nervous Ellie feels like a thing of the past, but it’s definitely that - a moment of hesitation, a spike of courage followed by a drop. Ellie’s nervous about something.

She swivels her chair around to face Ellie properly. “Ells?”

Ellie coughs. “My mum always says the person you date should be like, your best friend. ‘Cause no one knows you better and understands you better than they do.”

Lawrence’s hopes shoot up before she can warn them not to, and she’s sure her face says it all, much to her embarrassment. “Aye, I’ve heard that before too. Interesting idea, don’t you think?”

“Very interesting.” Ellie agrees. Already she looks calmer, and Lawrence prides herself on her ability to always soothe Ellie’s fears, years down the line. She would argue it’s her only natural talent, but she’s big enough to admit that she’s also hilarious, great at sewing, and the fastest at chugging out of the whole group.

For the first time, she allows images previously forbidden to enter her mind. She imagines going with Ellie to the formal at the end of the year as her date, dancing close to something slow and sweet, dancing even closer to some Whitney Houston once the real bops start playing. She imagines how Ellie’s cherry lip-balm will taste, how it’ll feel to thread her hands through Ellie’s hair in a real, proper embrace. She imagines Ellie Diamond as her girlfriend, a sentence both weird and wonderful to think about.

“Ellie, darling! Your mum’s here!” The voice of Lawrence’s mum from downstairs interrupts them.

Ellie stands up. Lawrence doesn’t move.

“You need to pass your fucking driving test so you can stay here longer.” Lawrence states. Glaring subtext: I like you.

“Booking my test next week. Hoping I don’t kill any primary kids or drive over a roundabout.” Ellie grins back. Glaring subtext: I like you too.

“Fat fucking chance of you passing first time, Dirty Diamond. You’ll probably bowl over a pensioner.” You’re my favourite person in the world.

“You’ll visit me in jail though, right?” I know. I feel like I’ve always known.

“I’ll smuggle you some lipstick, hen, but don’t be asking me for fuckin’ Morphe palettes.” I’m willing to try.

“What else could I ask for?” What else could I ask for?”

Ellie smiles, and the room lights up. “Just a second, I’ll be there!”

The twenty seconds that it takes for Ellie to gather her books into her bag are excruciating, and Lawrence sits full of frenzied energy, fingers tapping on her knee as she tries and fails to play it cool. This is new territory, previously unexplored land, and she has no idea how to navigate it, nothing to fall back on except the cushion of thirteen years worth of friendship. It dawns on her that it’s an exceedingly soft place to land, should she fall.

As she makes to leave the room, Ellie stops right by Lawrence’s swivel chair, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright. With one hand, she turns the chair in her direction, and the other caresses the side of Lawrence’s face. Then she leans in for a brief kiss, eyes fluttering shut, and pulls away looking as if every bit of love in the world is concentrated into one beautiful girl.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Lawrie.”

Monday, they hold hands in the common room. Ellie’s feet rest on the table, her legs extended, and Lawrence leans her head into the crook of her shoulder, exhausted from a late-night History essay she’d totally forgotten about it (too busy texting her girlfriend, not that she’ll ever admit that). No one bats an eyelid, the conversation focused on Joe Black’s completely against the dress code and yet fucking amazing new facial piercings. It’s not like this sort of affection is unheard of between them, anyway. It’s definitely not enough to cause a stir.

Just for shits and giggles, Lawrence plants a casual kiss on Ellie’s cheek. The room goes dead silent.

“You! Fucking whores! As if! You two!” Tayce splutters, whacking an equally astonished A’Whora on the arm, as if she could have somehow missed the spectacle.

“What the fuck! You just- Babes! Oh my god!” A’Whora squeals.

Bimini whoops obnoxiously, then flips the bird at a disgruntled group of fifth years giving them dirty looks. “Oh, piss off with your negativity, we’re celebrating young love, you should try not being a bunch of miserable virgins!” She calls over, before turning back to them. “Aww, bless yous!”

Ellie flips her hair and smiles. “Fuck out of our business, you nosy shites.

Lawrence ignores the funny feeling in her chest, dismissing it as a reaction to the sudden change of all their friends knowing about it, and deciding that it’ll go away once she’s used to it. She kisses Ellie again, just for fun, and wills it to settle down.

The art classroom has to be one of the weirdest spaces in the school, though Lawrence quite likes it. In one of the corners, there’s several twisted models of human bodies, contorted and stretched in a way that makes her back ache just to look at, all splattered with paint. Elaborate pencil drawings and smudgings of chalk hang from the ceiling, and everywhere she steps seems to be a hazard to someone’s work.

Ellie stands tucked up against the wall, a huge canvas in front of her. Lawrence remembers something about the art brief she’d come up with, a commentary on prejudice and hate represented in a way that conveys - okay, she doesn’t remember much. She likes listening to Ellie’s art rambles, but they tend to go in one ear and out of the other.

It’s okay, though. Ellie knows this, and she chats away happily anyway.

Two months of work have shaped the piece nicely; it distinctly shows two embracing figures from afar, and upon further inspection reveals thousands of carefully printed words to make up the image. The darkest parts read negatively, homophobic slurs and hatred and bullying, and as the colours lighten and transition into softer, prettier shades, the words themselves soften, becoming love, light, companionship.

Apparently, Ellie’s art teacher had predicted her a grade B for her efforts throughout the course. Lawrence thinks she should easily get an A*, but then what does she know? She always thinks Ellie deserves the best.

Ellie deserves the best. Her stomach twists just thinking about it.

“Lawrie!” She greets, arms flinging upon for a hug before freezing and pushing her away. “Oh my god, forgot about my paint shirt. Sorry, no hugs. Can’t have this all over your clothes,” She gestures at herself, her everyday clothes covered by a big white t-shirt that Lawrence suspects is her own, not Ellie’s.

“What the fuck is this, then?” Lawrence jokes, her sarcasm sharp as ever, arms folded as unimpressed.

Ellie immediately shoves her away and laughs, grabbing her forearm to stop her from going too far away and pulling her back in. “Hen, shut it! What do you think?”

“It’s fuckin’ brilliant, Ells, it’s really really good. I told you you should believe in yourself, look what happens when you do!” Lawrence cheers her on, the facade not worth keeping up.

She should kiss her. Ellie’s her girlfriend and they’ve been together for two months and this beautiful piece of art that she’s been working on forever and consuming all of her time is finished and looks absolutely fantastic. Lawrence should kiss Ellie and tell her how proud she is, show her how proud she is, love her the way she deserves to be loved.

She can’t. She doesn’t.

Instead, Lawrence clears her throat awkwardly and steps back, taking in the canvas again. “Yeah, yeah, really good that. I like it a lot.”

They perch on the table, legs swinging for want of something else to do. Not that anything extreme should be happening, but they’re completely alone and Lawrence thinks to herself that love isn’t meant to be this awkward, this uncomfortable, this unsure. No one is watching them and yet it feels like an invisible set of eyes is there, and they’re performing for someone or something.

Ellie reaches for Lawrence’s hand across the table, neither of them making eye contact - the safe zone is the canvas, and that’s where they remain. Their hands link for a few seconds, but both girls pull away at the same time, an uncomfortable energy claiming the should-be romantic moment.

“This is fucking weird,” Lawrence mutters.

“I- yeah,” Ellie agrees, sighing. “I’m sort of glad you said it because I don’t know if I would have been able to.”

Something sinks; the anchor falls from somewhere in Lawrence’s chest and the weight crushes down on her, pinning her in place. Every decision feels like the wrong one, every direction blocked off in an endless route of diversions that leads nowhere. Going back the way she came seems impossible, but forging ahead can’t be done either, and every alternative route is full of brambles and obstacles and ultimately doesn’t exist.

“I don’t really know what to say.” Lawrence shrugs. There’s about four inches between them physically, but the emotional distance could be miles. Lawrence and Ellie are in the same room, but on different planets. Solar systems apart, even.

Ellie coughs, hesitating, horribly unsure of herself. “I think,” She laughs, though mirthlessly, empty, “Maybe mum meant the person you date should become your best friend, not start off your best friend. ‘Cause this is weird.”

Heartache is at once cold and hot, it freezes and burns simultaneously, a sensation that Lawrence can’t properly register or explain. On one hand, this is exactly what she’s been thinking about, the only real cure for the weirdness that taints the air around them. On the other… she doesn’t even know.

Pretending to be unaffected, Lawrence is conscious of her face tightening and forces herself to relax, injecting a casual note into her voice. “You think?”

Ellie starts chewing at her fingernails; out of habit, Lawrence gently takes her wrist and pulls it away from her, before dropping it like hot coal and going red. Why does everything require so much forethought now? Why can’t they just sit with their legs hanging off a friendship bench until the world rights itself with brutal honesty and a complete lack of tact? Why now does Lawrence have to consider feelings and implications that never used to exist?

“I mean, I dunno,” Ellie shrugs eventually. “We were more affectionate before this, honestly. We’re just thinking too much about it and it’s making things weird. Kinda liked it better before.”

It stings, but at the same time of the sting, there’s a wash of relief. It’s not to say that the two feelings cancel each other out into a calm neutrality - no, Lawrence feels both concurrently, at once nauseous and healed, not sure where she stands. All she knows is that it’s ending and it’s probably a good thing, definitely a good thing, and it’s what she wants, and she also doesn’t want it at all.

“Yeah. Yeah, same.” She manages, mustering strength enough to agree.

“Well!” Ellie perks up, claps her hands, dispels the tension in the air as much as possible. “We gave it a go, it didn’t work, and now we know. I count that as a win. Thanks, Lawrie.”

She pulls Lawrence into a side-hug, mostly just wrapping her arms around Lawrence’s neck and shoulders and squashing her face into Ellie’s chest. At least they’re both in-tune enough to know how they should pretend, Lawrence fooling even herself into thinking she feels fine as she plasters a smile on her face and wriggles away again. On a surface level, everything seems fine again, and they’re both grateful for it.

“Love you,” Ellie tells her, eyes sparkling. “God, it’s nice to be able to say that without it being weird. You’re my best friend in the whole wide world.”

Lawrence raises her eyebrows, laughs, masks everything behind her funny friend demeanour. “Oh fuck off with that lesbian shite. Love you too, Ells, now don’t ever talk like that again. Best fwend in da whole wide wowld.”

Ellie laughs so hard she collapses, head on Lawrence’s shoulder, shaking with giggles. Once her fit comes to a stop, she pulls herself upright and grins sincerely, the very weight lifted off her chest happily deposited in the pit of Lawrence’s stomach. Ellie deserves the best and I just can’t be that for her.

“Anyway,” Lawrence starts, smacking her hands down as she hops off the table and makes to leave, “Your art is fab, you’re gonna nail this assessment, I’m glad all your whining was worth it. See you tomorrow, hen.”

It takes roughly an hour and half after receiving the news that it amicably ended for their friends to start making jokes the following day. Lawrence, as the funny friend, is at the heart of everything, firing off quips about how everyone makes mistakes and relating everything to silly miscalculations and swears that with each laugh, her heart heals itself just a little faster. She even convinces herself everything is fine, and it’s better this way.

Her sole relief is that her friendship with Ellie remains unchanged through it all.

University is an utter shitshow.

Every second of it is awful, nothing like she’d hoped, assignments that she consistently fails and snobby students with weekly budgets higher than her entire student loan and flatmates that she fucking hates. Worst of all, she hates her course, hates the professor, hates that she decided to do this while still freshly eighteen. Worst of the worst, she’s further away from Ellie than she has been since the first day they met, Ellie off in fucking Manchester of all places having the time of her life on a beauty course while she’s hating her life in Edinburgh.

Ellie doesn’t need a beauty course, anyway. She’s naturally beautiful and naturally good at enhancing it on herself and others. Ellie radiates beauty so much so that even the ugliest people seem to be that little bit more attractive when Ellie is around.

It’s not that Lawrence hates Edinburgh, anyway. The city is stunning, somewhere she could happily see herself spending the rest of her life. It’s a hub of culture and art and life, a niche suited to everyone somewhere within it. Edinburgh is gorgeous, but Lawrence feels like she’s wasting herself at this university being so miserable.

Not a single person she’s met so far laughs at her jokes. She desperately needs someone to laugh.

She ends up in a smoky little bar one night, some dingy little place that hosts proper comedians during the summer and vaguely funny wannabes for the rest of the year. On a whim, she writes down her name on the amateur volunteer list for a slot doing some stand up and chats some shite on stage mostly pertaining to the comments she’s gotten on all of her failed essays. Mercifully, people laugh.

Being the centre of attention is something Lawrence knows she’s always thrived at. Even when Ellie was her sole cheerleader, the one little pest who stuck by her side and always loved her, Lawrence was good at commanding favour from others purely from being a right character and a little madam and all of the rest of it. She’s bolshy, loud, unafraid to call people out in the name of a laugh. Stand up is enjoyable, and she wonders what it’ll be like when she has time to actually prepare real sets.

The logical next step is to drop out of university. It’s the best decision she’s ever made. Lawrence works shifts at the big Tesco and volunteers all her off time telling stupid jokes on a little stage until she’s eventually handed a small paying gig, not quite enough to stop scanning eighty-five year old Barbara’s fem-fresh on the weekly, but enough that she feels like she’s progressing. Life finds a way, she thinks. Then she tears her mind away from the hope that it really does find a way.

Hopefully Ellie visits from Manchester soon.

“Aye, alright then, what’s your name? No, not him, you in the fuckin’ heinous orange shirt and green khakis like a fucked up Oompa Loompa. You, what’s your name?”

Lawrence is twenty two years old. She’s known for a couple of things - the colour purple, her offensively Scottish accent, and being the most highly recommended local comedian in the entire city. Sure, there are bigger and better stars in the world of comedy, but as far as a fairly cheap night that doesn’t require booking months in advance, Lawrence’s stand up is a sought-after night for anyone visiting the area.

The fact that people book tickets for the nights she’s working now rather than stumble upon her and have a bit of a laugh at the glamorous fat girl ripping the piss out of the audience before them - that’s shocking enough. Weekends always need booking a couple of days in advance, and she even manages to sell out on weeknights now. It’s slightly less fabulous than it looks, her sparkly purple outfits a stark contrast to her shitty flat, but she loves everything about her life.

Loneliness is a slight issue. Everyone is busy all the time, except at night, when Lawrence is working, and she misses everything. The group chat is most active when she’s on stage; messages go unanswered when she’s sitting at home just writing. But she’s learned to be okay with it. She hardly even misses El- hardly misses everyone anymore.

Adults naturally drift apart, sometimes. Life is busy, and no one knows that better than Lawrence.

Besides, she’s hardly been in the mood for socialising, this week. It’s nearly Ellie’s birthday - that’s not why, just a fact that has been burned into her brain - and she’s finally been booked somewhere else, a much better venue than she’s ever worked in before. It’s bigger, more well known, and when the list of comedians that have performed their sets on there is revealed to her, she nearly faints.

But walking inside in a purple glittery pantsuit, hair all done, makeup slathered on, she feels like this is who she’s meant to be and what she’s meant to be doing. She’s rehearsed her new set endlessly, could recite it in her sleep, drunk, backwards, in alphabetical order, anything and everything. Most importantly, she doesn’t feel nervous. She can just play it by ear, read the room, and the idea of not having a totally solid plan doesn’t terrify her.

Lawrence trusts herself to make the room laugh no matter what. No bad for twenty fucking two.

The orange-shirt man laughs and mouths his name. He likely shouts it, but Lawrence can’t hear, so she lipreads.

“Sta- did you say fucking Stanley?” She teases him, frowning in horror. “I’m sorry, you’ve thrown me off, who the fuck is called Stanley in this day and age? I’m assuming Albert and Brent were already taken? Your fuckin’ brothers or some shite? Jesus Christ, you’re called fucking Stanley.”

The laughter is uproarious; someone near the front row has this god-awful titter, snorting and high-pitched and breathy, but the fact that they’re so entertained that they can’t control their ugly laugh makes Lawrence feel like she’s killing it.

She walks across the stage, shaking her head in disbelief. “I mean, we were on the topic of mistakes, weren’t we? Fuck me, your mum made one fucking hell of a mistake naming you Stanley, I’ll tell you that one for free.”

Stanley shouts something inaudible.

“Eh? Shut up, you lot, I’m communicating directly to Stanley now. This show isn’t about you anymore, pipe down and let me bully him for a bit.”

The audience cackles and goes quiet. Stanley repeats himself, “My mum’s dead!”

A ripple of gasps and laughs emanates from the audience, waiting for Lawrence’s reaction. She’s good at this - faking it while knowing exactly what she’s doing. She pretends to pause, freezing in place and sucking her teeth as if this has thrown a spanner in the works, and then shrugs.

“Killed by your dad for giving his son such a stupid fucking name, I imagine.” She replies flippantly, the thunderous laughter that follows evidencing a job well done. “Mistake after mistake. I’ll tell you, though, not to worry Stanley, or the rest of you lot I guess. I’ve made tons of mistakes.”

She launches into a favourite crowd-pleaser. It’s the perfect set up, an emotional moment of her life, the build up to telling her mum a crucial bit of information about her life, and them wham- she imitates her mum, screams “Niiiiick! Your daughter wants to tell you she’s gaaaaay!”

It’s the perfect intersection of a joke well told, a slightly sensitive topic, and a haha gay is funny moment that always ends with howls of laughter from her audience. Maybe she’s slightly overconfident, but being this good at twenty two feels like a fucking achievement, and she’s seriously proud of herself.

Her next story has been told so many times she hardly thinks about it anymore. It hurt at first, the first few times she told it, the chuckles just solidifying the idea of having fruitlessly attempted something that would never work, but by now it’s just a cringey look back on the past and a good opportunity for some pity, relatable laughs.

It’s not like it matters, anyway. They text sometimes, every few weeks probably, but Lawrence hasn’t seen Ellie since she came home for a week in her second year of uni. The ache is virtually gone, and she’s always had a knack for finding the humour in pain.

“See!” Lawrence finishes, spreading her arms wide. “Making mistakes is fine, hens! I haven’t seen her in about two years but that’s in the fine print and we all know no one fucking reads that. It totally won’t destroy the things you love if you take a risk!”

She grimaces as if grinning in pain, feigning a heartache that has long since left her. Lawrence is at peace with everything life has thrown at her thus far, something that has taken patience, hard work, and plenty of distraction techniques.

“Edinburgh, as always you’ve been fuckin’ amazing, I’ve been your favourite fat bitch Lawrence Chaney and this has been a waste of your time. Goodnight to you all!”

There’s something she’ll always find funny about naming her show A Waste Of Your Time. It’s so stupid and yet so perfect.

Once she’s off stage, she disentangles herself from the microphone and reaches for her water and her phone, both parched and interested to see if anyone has tweeted about her in the five minutes they’ve had leaving the venue. Instead, she glances at the screen and her heart drops.

Ellie Diamond [20.04pm]: Hiya slag!! Good luck with your show tonight, keep an eye out for a familiar face in the audience ;) xx

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Lawrence tears through the dressing room, out through the little back door, aware of venue technicians probably gawking at this flurry of purple sequins and panicked yells. She all but races out of the fire exit and frantically scans every passing figure on the street, her stomach churning and twisting horribly.

“ELLIE!” She shouts, more than conscious of how ridiculous she must look. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. ELLIE! ELLIE DIAMOND!”

She legs it further down the street. It’s Scotland, it’s night, and it’s fucking freezing, but Lawrence ignores the cold. The streets are mostly full of people ready for their nights out, heels clicking through puddles illuminated by orange street lamps, and here is Lawrence barrelling through everyone, desperately hoping to see a flash of pink amongst them all.

Her heart feels like it’s beating at a mile a minute, thumping so hard it could burst right out of her chest. In some sick way, she hopes it does, hopes to see the wet muscle glistening and bleeding on the pavement before her in the hopes that Ellie, dependable Ellie, always there for her Ellie, will rush to her aid and help fix everything.

Why would she, though? Why would she when she’s just sat and listened to Lawrence slander their poor attempt at loving each other and shrugging it off as if they’re better apart, distanced, no longer joined at the hip? It’s all a lie, it’s all a fucking lie constructed for stage that Lawrence has foolishly duped herself into believing until now. She really had herself convinced that loving Ellie was a thing of the past, and that she thrived best on her own, when in reality Ellie held the key to everything that Lawrence considered good and right and beautiful about herself.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. Where the fuck is Ellie?

In the midst of her blind panic, it hits her that Ellie hasn’t moved home yet, meaning she will have gotten the train into Edinburgh for the show. Pushing down the wave of guilt that engulfs her at the thought of Ellie’s endless support, she dashes across the roads, dodging buses and running like her life depends on it towards the station. She’s lucky it’s not too far from the venue, but there’s still no guarantee she’ll find her before the train sweeps her away back to Manchester or wherever the fuck else she decides to go to get away from her shitty excuse for a friend.

Everything that happens next feels like it’s solely fuelled by adrenaline, panic, and sweat. Lawrence vaguely remembers squinting at little digital times and place names until she found one that seemed right, her eyes so frenzied in their search for the correct platform that it’s a wonder she’s not arrested or phoned an ambulance on suspicion of too many hallucinogenics.

On her way down the steps to the platform, she’s going so fast that her foot slips and she crashes all the way down, embarrassingly unhurt besides the humiliation and a bruised arse, but it makes such a commotion that everyone on the (thankfully almost deserted) platform turns to look at her.

Including a tall, pretty girl with pastel pink hair tied in a curly high ponytail, big pink heart earrings dangling from her ears, and a surprisingly not pink, but lilac, minidress.

“Oh my god,” Ellie murmurs, just as Lawrence swears, “Fucking OW, Jesus in a fucking minivan!”

She looks hurt; perfect eyeliner smudged in the corners, as if she’s been blinking tears away, but in spite of that she giggles. “A minivan?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Lawrence curses, dusting herself off and huffing at what’s now an uncomfortably wet trouser suit and a myriad of bruises from arsecheek to thigh. “My life just flashed before my eyes.”

Ellie extends a hand to help her up. Lawrence takes it, and doesn’t let go.

“Lawrence,” She says uneasily, “I- my train’s in five minutes–”

“Fuck your train.” She responds, too achy and upset for nuance. “Ellie, I’m so sorry, you have to let me explain–”

“You explained yourself quite well on stage, hen.” Ellie cuts her off, sniffing. “You were very eloquent. It was funny.”

The flatness in her voice is agonising to hear. Lawrence thinks she might burst.

“You- I- I mean, fuck me. You must- you must know when I’m bullshitting, right? Hen, I’ve been telling this narrative for years trying to make myself believe it but you always could tell when I was lying about something,” She rushes out, terrified that Ellie’s train will arrive and she’ll disappear forever.

Ellie’s face crumples. She pulls her hand away from Lawrence’s grasp and as she sobs, hides behind her palms, as if her shuddering shoulders and heartbroken cries will vanish along with her face. The loss of contact is felt sorely, Lawrence feeling as though a piece of her is suddenly missing, and reasoning that a piece has been missing for a long long time, and she’s only feeling the excruciating loss now that she almost had it again.

Lawrence has never known what to do what someone cries. It just hurts and feels awkward and she’s terrified that this will be another day in the art classroom, hiding feelings behind smiles and waiting uncomfortably for something else to happen.

“I know,” Ellie gasps through tears, surprising her. “God- Lawrence, I- I knew you were lying but it fucking hurts that you’d give me this stupid hope that something could happen when we already know it’s the shittest idea either of us has ever had-”

Ellie’s still talking, but Lawrence tunes out completely as the two glowing eyes of the train approaching glare at her with a malicious intensity. Times up, Chaney. Life doesn’t always find a way.

Fuck that, she thinks. Fuck relying on life to fix everything. Life didn’t hand Lawrence her comedy job. Life didn’t hand her Ellie on a friendship bench. Lawrence applied for the job. Lawrence approached Ellie. She’s in control, she can take control back, and she fucking will.

The train draws closer.

Lawrence kisses Ellie.

Both of them are crying - the kiss is uncomfortable, salty, wet. Lawrence didn’t even know she was crying, but she’s so close to Ellie slipping through her fingers that it’s no surprise her emotions have run away with her. It’s been too long without her best friend, too long suppressing and ignoring and laughing it off, and if this is another mistake then she’ll add it to her stand up routine and move on, but she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

The rest of the world disappears in the moments following the kiss. Their foreheads touch, and the only sounds are Ellie’s shaky breaths, the only smell is her sweet perfume, the only sensation is her skin against Lawrence’s. There are no trains, no passengers, no cold draughts sweeping through and chilling them to the bone.

There is just Ellie Diamond and Lawrence Chaney.

Reality, eventually, floats back in - just as the train pulls away from the station. Ellie looks at Lawrence.

“You made me miss my train home.”

“Hen, y’already are home. This is home, us, me and you. I’m shattered from pretending like that’s not the case.” She pauses. “No, actually. I’m fattered. Fat and shattered.”

Ellie laughs, and her eyes fill with tears. “Christ. Lawrence. I’ve missed you so much.”

Lawrence wakes up feeling suffocated. Upon closer inspection - she’s being suffocated.

She groans, low and tired. “Ells. Ells.”

The monster slumbers on.

“Ellieeeeee,” She groans again. “Move off me, you fat bitch.”

That one works. Ellie yawns, stretches, and slides back onto her side of the bed, rather than on top of her girlfriend.

“Rude,” She replies, voice thick with sleep. “I thought I told you not to mention the stone I’ve put on over Christmas.”

Lawrence snorts. “And I agreed not to, but you were crushing me to death. No more mince pies for you.”

Ellie buries her face in the pillow. “Yeah, ‘cause you scoffed them all.”

“Get fucked.”

This is her favourite kind of domestic bliss. They will never be able to hold a conversation without delightfully destroying each other’s characters, but as they do so, Ellie wriggles the covers back over them and cuddles up to her back like a warm little leech, hooking a leg over her and pulling her close. Christmas is a flurry of making sure everything’s done but Boxing Day has time for slowing down, sleeping late, giggling against one another’s skin.

Lawrence isn’t sure how they made it work, what they did different, but they’re four years strong and hosting their friends for Boxing Day dinner to make up for the family fiascos that Christmas inevitably brings. Somehow, they just found their way, and now they’re here. Wrapped up in bed in matching Snowman pyjamas (thanks to Ellie), having some kind of family of their own.

Ellie flips over, lying flat on her back, and groans. “Lawrie, I can’t be arsed to cook.”

“Well I’m not cooking an entire fucking roast for everyone by myself, you lazy bawbag. We’re in this shit together.” Lawrence tells her.

Ellie shakes her head. “No, think about it. What if we ordered one of the readymade ones from that place up the road and then just stick it in the oven to pull out when whoever gets here first gets here?”

Lawrence stretches, enjoying the satisfying pops and clicks. “You mean, when Bims gets here? Tayce and A’Whora will be late, we all know that.”

“Yeah. Like, ta-dah, we cooked this, no one’s any the wiser, Bob’s your uncle’s fanny or whatever.”

“Bob’s- Ellie, what the fuck did you just say?”

“I am very, very tired.” Ellie defends herself, as Lawrence howls with laughter. “I’m not sure what language I’m even speaking hen. Can we just order dinner and be done with it?”

Lawrence is a weak, weak woman.

The prepared meal smells amazing, a fake chicken absolutely smothered in all the goodness of a Christmas roast, veggies all neatly packed together, everything steaming and hot. Ellie turns the oven on to keep everything warm and they high-five one another a job well done before scrambling to get ready.

Everything goes according to plan. Bimini, predictably, is on time, and A’Whora and Tayce show up late, flustered, apologies spilling from their mouths as soon as the door swings open. Lawrence tries to play housewife and reveal her perfect roast from the oven, but burns herself on the tray and sits swearing next to the cold tap while Ellie, smartly equipped with oven gloves, takes it all out instead.

“Oh, this is lush!” Tayce clinks her glass with Bim’s, the Bucks’ Fizz freely flowing. “Absolute bang up job, gals, just brilliant. And the atmosphere too, so cosy! Love the candles. Especially love the distinct lack of pointed homophobic stares.”

A’Whora laughs. “Oh my god, don’t even. Yesterday was a disaster.”

Lawrence frowns. “I’m sorry, are my looks not reading as homophobic? They were meant to. I’ll work on it, don’t you worry.”

The table is merry; Bimini asks if every dish is vegan despite being told in advance that everything was, Tayce and A’Whora rant about their nightmare families, and Lawrence basks in the warmth of having a real family gathered at her table, deciding it was worth the effort to get them all to come.

Plates cleared, Bims grins. “Ellie, you’re not one to forget, make sure you thank Gosling’s down the road for this roast. Easily a ten out of ten.”

Bimini, Tayce and A’Whora all burst into laughter. Ellie gasps, Lawrence folds her arms.

“How’d you know?” She demands, certain their ruse was foolproof. Bimini points at the bin.

“The delivery bag’s sticking out, babes. Also, neither of you can cook worth shit. Not a joke, just a fact.”

Lawrence smacks Ellie’s arm. “You fucking twit! Didn’t even hide the bag!”

Ellie yelps. “Lawrie! Abuse! Abuse!”

A’Whora simpers. “Aww, I love it when you two get all cute and affectionate like that. It’s such a classic romance.”

Four simultaneous middle fingers, though great for getting their point across, make the perfect bait for a night of teasing to fill the rest of the evening. These girls are absolutely rotten to the core, and Lawrence loves them to death.

“How did you know she was the one?”

It takes a moment for Lawrence to flip through her rolodex of memories that contain Ellie; god knows there’s millions, and though she maintains that thirty five isn’t old, she has to admit at least privately that her memory isn’t as quick as it used to be. Tayce gives her the time to think about it, eager to be sure as if she’s not one of the most cautious people regarding relationships that Lawrence has ever met.

The café is in the middle of the city, yet tucked away behind the high street. It’s become something of a sanctuary, somewhere for her to relax, to write, or just waste the hours where going home feels too far but staying feels too close. Tayce has been visiting as a show of support, but undoubtedly her second motive was a factor in it too.

“Hen, there’s not a moment I could tell you. It’s just a feeling, you’ll know. I think you know, but you wanna know if I knew the same way you know.” She answers, feeling like a bit of a cop-out, but unable to muster the mental energy to come up with something better.

Tayce sips her latte thoughtfully. “Yeah, I mean…” She pauses guiltily, but continues, “the thought of doing what you’re doing - I feel like I couldn’t, but then I know that if it came to it I absolutely could.”

Lawrence nods. “Right. When you have to, you just do. You don’t think about.” She smiles, internally focused on what happened that made her so swoony and sappy after all this time. “Babes, when you’re ready, just do it. You don’t need me to tell you how you feel. The fact that you’re asking is enough.”

It’s pretty fucking sound advice, not bad for a university drop-out turned full-time comedian. What expertise does Lawrence have beyond her own lived experience? Certainly not enough to advise someone like Tayce, who still looks twenty five.

The woman in question looks down at her watch and sighs regrettably. “I’ve gotta go. Want me to walk you back?”

Lawrence shakes her head. “Nah. I know the way like the back of my hand, trust me. Go get your girl, get them invites out as soon as you can.”

They embrace tightly outside the café door; Tayce whispers encouragement in her ears, presses kisses to the side of her head, wills her to be strong. Lawrence watches her until she’s gone, then begins the same walk that’s etched into her brain, a groove of familiarity at this point. She even knows where the wind will whip through separations between buildings, when to put her hands into her pockets to stop the rush of cold from attacking them and when she’ll be shielded.

She knows the exact placement of each hand sanitizer dispenser so well that she can press each of them along her walk without stopping or fumbling. She knows roughly who will be on duty, whose smiling faces she’ll be greeted by. She knows that Ellie will be awake.

“It’s looking good!” Ellie informs her, mere seconds after she’s entered the room. “Just spoke with the nurse. No longer than a month.”

She looks tired, but she looks beautiful nonetheless; free of makeup, hair piled up on top of her head, dressed in a pink nightie that Lawrence had to run out and buy from Sainsbury’s since she didn’t need nor want one of the horrible hospital gowns. There are tubes and machines around her bed that Lawrence has grown to take no notice of, instead just leaning down to kiss her wife’s head before settling in the chair beside her and squeezing her free hand.

“A month? I like the sound of that.” She appraises, peppering Ellie’s fingers in kisses. “Plenty of time for us to get ready for Tayce and A’Whora’s wedding.”

Ellie squeals excitedly. “Stop it! Are they?”

She laughs. “Not right now, but any minute. Tayce just asked how I knew, as if I’d be able to answer.”

“Bitch.” Ellie sticks her tongue out. “Still not able to find a single nice thing to say about me?” She laughs at her own joke and then frowns. “Rude of Tayce not to tell me about her proposal plans.”

Lawrence rolls her eyes. “Hen, you were fast asleep. She wasn’t about to wake you up for random gossip.”

Ellie pouts. “Tell her I’m upset.”

“Will do.”

“And to reserve us the biggest slices of their wedding cake.”

“Oh, definitely gonna do that one. Knew I married you for a reason.”

Ellie beams triumphantly. “See! Stick that in your text to Tayce, having a wife is helpful.”

“I’d say you’re a handful more than you’re helpful, babes, but whatever you say.”

Lawrence promised years ago to love her wife in sickness and in health. She has kept true, and always will.

“If this DJ plays one more Lady Gaga song I’m going to fucking lose my mind.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, shushing her wife with a glare. “It’s the bride’s choice! You miserable old bitch.”

Lawrence looks at her, properly. She’s alive with light again, eyes like the starry sky, always complementing her prettily flushed cheeks with her pink hair and dress. Ellie bleaches her roots now to hide the encroaching greys, but Lawrence knows she’d be just as gorgeous with a full head of silver.

“I love you,” She says, the words slipping out before she can thinking about it.

Ellie smiles, and every problem in the world dissipates. “Sentimental old cow. I love you too.”

Fuck the brides. Lawrence kisses Ellie and promises she’ll dance to as many shit songs as the DJ will play. That’s just sort of what love is.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #uk2 #purecamp #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #ellie x lawrence #a'whora #tayce #bimini bon boulash #lesbian au #tw brief body shaming

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heartbreakgrill · 4 years ago

Text

Best Friends; Matthew Gray Gubler

a/n: THE AMOUNT OF SERATONIN THIS GAVE ME WAS INSANE IM CRYING OMG

description: you’re a makeup artist and mgg is just...outgoing.

K BUT IMAGINE BROS

You’re just a regular ol’ makeup artist (and in this fantasy world, makeup artists are TRAINED TO DO MAKEUP ON POC BECAUSE THEY ALREADY SHOULD BE). It’s season 13 of Criminal Minds and this is your first time working on set because the show you’d been spending the majority of your career on just ended.

You had met the cast and crew at the start up party a few weeks ago, but this was the day. The pressure was on. (Not really, it’s just makeup lol). Anyway, so you’d already set up in the makeup trailer alongside the other artist. Today, scenes were going to be filmed just in the Bureau, so no gore. You doubled checked your list just before 5 am, ready to cross off each actor and actress you were assigned.

“You nervous?” You heard the other stylist, Henry, ask you.

You turned to him, setting down your clipboard. You leaned against the counter and crossed your arms over your sweatshirt clad shirt. You were dressed down because it was so early- a Disney sweatshirt, jeans, slip on Vans, and your glasses instead of your contacts.

“Yeah, a little bit,” you chuckled.

Henry grinned at you, “Don’t be, hun. They’re all really great people.”

“I know, it’s just- I just feel awkward at first, grabbing people’s faces. I know I’m trained for it, but it takes a bit to settle into with new people,” you explained yourself, wiping your sweaty palms off on your jeans.

Henry opened his mouth, but a series of knocks resounded off of the door. You both turned towards it before Henry said, “It’s time.”

You giggled at his dramatic spectacular, turning to wash your hands as Henry let in the first cast members. Aisha and Joe stepped into the trailer. They greeted you with open arms, wide smiles, goofy jokes and polite goodbyes. You felt giddy, high, almost, when they walked out the door.

“So?” Henry asked as you both began to disinfect your areas.

“I feel so much better,” you grinned, folding a towel in half.

The rest of the cast flew past, already making great companionship with you. Henry, too, continued to get to know you between eyeshadow brushes and hairspray. Finally, the last person knocked on the door. It was nearing 6:30 AM, and you were somewhat tired. You yawned into your palm, sighing gently as Matthew Gray Gubler walked in.

“Hello, lady and germ!” He bounded to his chair, the biggest grin on his expression, a coffee cup in hand, and the other shoved into his character pants.

You jumped somewhat in surprised and he laughed at you. “You’re new.”

“Yeah, hi, we met at the party, Y/N,” you reached out your non-yawn hand and shook the one he pulled from his pocket.

“Ah, yes, I remember well. You were wearing very pretty eyeshadow. Green, right? It reminded me of Elpheba, but it definitely brought out the flecks in your eyes,” he rambled on, unashamedly and confidently.

Additionally, he barely made eye contact, it was more here and there as he busied himself with sitting down and crossing his legs. When he was settled, he met your eyes firmly and looked you up and down.

“Except now your wearing glasses.”

Henry laughed at your deadpan expression. Matthew chuckled lightly, too. Henry spoke, “She’s new, remember? Very talkative, but new. And tired, I guess.”

You nodded slightly, “Yes to both. Overwhelmed a little. I like the effort, but I’m not used to your energy. Give me ten minutes, and I promise I’ll get distracted from doing your makeup because I’ll be exchanging sarcastic remarks.”

“Only my character is a profiler, but I can see it,” Matthew spoke and took a sip of his coffee. He then reached to set it down on the makeup counter before hesitating. “Do you have a coaster?”

“Wait, yes, I do! I made sure to bring some just in case. At my old job, we constantly had people leaving rings of coffee on the counter.” You rushed over to your tote bag, which was set on the couch. You rummaged through it as Henry spoke to Matthew, messing about with his hair.

You found the coasters your sister had hand-painted, which ranged from pumpkin to dinosaur designs. You held them out in front of Matthew, who pulled his head from Henry’s hands to look at them.

“Oh, my Gosh! Pumpkins! Defintiley pumpkins!” He pointed excitedly at the coaster in your right hand.

You giggled and set the coaster onto the counter. Matthew thanked you as you politely took his cup and placed it on top of the design.

“I take it you’re a fan of Halloween?” You spoke as you set the others down beside your makeup supplies.

You sat down in the seat beside Matthews, awaiting him as he got his hair done.

He hummed in response, “It’s my favorite holiday.”

“My birthday is two days prior,” you bragged lightly.

Matthew gasped, turning his head to you. “No way! Oh, we are so totally throwing the best Halloween slash birthday party bash this year, then.”

You flushed at his excitement. “You barely know me.” You laughed somewhat.

Matthew shrugged as Henry frustratedly pulled his head back forward. “Stop moving!”

“We’ll be best friends by then, I guarantee it,” he stated.

“Really? Well, shouldn’t best friends know each other’s favorite colors. Favorite foods, movies...”

“Purple, everything except for plain bread, Hocus Pocus...or-“

“No! No ‘ors.’ Final answers only,” you adjusted your glasses and leaned forward.

He looked at you from the corner of his eye and smiled like he had been played. “Hm. Okay. Hocus Pocus it is then.”

“Of course it’s a Halloween movie,” you giggled.

Matthew grinned at that. “Let’s year yours, then, bestie.”

“Okay...” you sighed, tapping your chin, “pink is my favorite color. I love sushie and every other food, but specifically Chinese food is my favorite. And...I can watch Edward Scissorhands like it’s nobody business.”

“Ugh! A classic! I love that film!” Matthew exclaimed.

You nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! I’ve loved it since i was literally a child. My mom says it’s creepy, but I disagree. It’s beautiful. The themes and symbolism are beautiful. Ugh, plus that ice sculpture scene? Unbeatable. Winona Ryder does such a wonderful job portraying innocence which turns into wicked obsession... and Johnny Depp is just gorgeous...”

You trailed off as you realized you were rambling and Matthew was staring at you with sparkling eyes, a slack jaw, and the lightest imprint of his dimples.

“Sorry,” you scratched your leg, practically falling in on yourself.

Matthew scrunched his nose as Henry sighed. “All done. Your turn, chica.”

You stood from your chair and brushed your hair behind your ears. Matthew took your spot, wriggling in it. “Thanks for making it so warm.”

You smiled as you washed your hands. “You welcome.”

Henry touched your shoulder to gain your attention. “I’m going to go get coffee. Want some?”

“Uh, tea, please. Green, with two sweet n low packets,” you listed off.

He nodded and turned to leave. “Thanks so much!” You shouted as he left.

Matthew watched you through the mirror as you began plucking through your materials. You got to work, feeling all flustered now that you were up in his business.

When your hands moved to his face, he hummed. You furrowed your brows and pulled back somewhat.

“Sorry. Your hands are pleasantly warm. I knew that they would be because you’re just very bubbly, but it was still surprisingly wonderful,” he folded his hands in his lap.

“I like the way you talk,” you blurred out. You pursed your lips and looked away from his eyes, continuing to work on his foundation.

“I like the way you blush at everything,” Matthew echoed.

You blushed again. “Sorry. I’m just-“

“Not very outgoing. I can tell.”

“I thought you weren’t a profiler?”

“I’m not. But I’m super duper outgoing, so I can tell when others aren’t. You’re bubbly, but it takes someone who shares your personality to get it out of you,” he rattled off as if he were an expert.

“You seem to know me very well now,” you laughed gently.

“Guess were best friends already, then.”

You leaned back, propping your hands on your hips. “I think we’re, like, soulmates.”

Matthew quirked a brow, “I guess so? But why do you think?”

“Look at your sweatshirt,” you tugged on your own.

His eyes flickered from yours to his. His eyes widened and his jaw went wide. “Oh, my gosh! No way! We have to document this moment on camera.”

“Really?” You giggled as he stood, towering over you.

“Yes! Henry, come quicker!”

The door had swung open when Matthew stood, and Henry ran up the steps. “What’s wrong?”

“You have to take our picture,” Matthew exclaimed, swinging his arm around your shoulders and holding you flush against his side.

Henry looked you up and down and finally noticed your sweatshirts. “Oh, my God, you’re, like, totally mean to be. Let me get my phone.”

After a photo session consisting of many different poses (silly faces, Matthew squishing your cheeks, tugging you onto his back, nearly falling over as he swung his leg into your arms) you finally got him sat back down in his chair.

“Let’s tackle these eye bags.”

TAG LIST: @mantlereid @boxofteenageideas @dinosaursandsocks @ashhdaniellee95 @stephaniemelville-blog @zhangyixingxing1

#matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg x reader #mgg imagine #mgg oneshot #mgg fanfiction #mgg #mgg fluff #mgg gifs #matthew gray gubler

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 4 years ago

Text

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 5 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 6; ... Chapter 18)

Summary: Emily Rooney has always wanted more than what her family wanted for her; to get married to a nice, wealthy young man and have lots of well-raised Catholic babies. So when her fiancee enlists with the marines she decides this is her chance to have an adventure before she has to get married. She finds herself outfitted with the 506th working alongside a flippant intelligence officer.

Emily - November 1943

Emily and Luz beat their final opponents by 50. She walked home that night with a new sense of pride bolstered by her new soldier friends’ praise.

Their first opponents had been Joe Liebgott and Moe Alley. Their speedy victory had been chalked up to beginners luck on Emily’s part. So, she graciously accepted a second invitation to play, this time against Donald Malarkey and Skip Muck. After another inevitable win the men grew rowdy with the idea that Emily Rooney was seemingly unbeatable.

After another three games in a row Nixon had come over to let Emily know that he and Welsh were headed back to base, if she wanted to walk back with them. Luz and the other soldiers around her whined for her to stay. After their time together, Emily felt she could trust the men. She at least felt she could trust Luz so she told Nixon to go on without her.

“How’d you get so good?” Luz asked as they walked back.

“Played a lot in college.”

“How was college?”  “College was,” Emily hesitated, “fine.”

“Just fine?” Luz’s figure was barely visible in the darkness. A few paces ahead of them walked Joe Toye and Frank Perconte.

“I really enjoyed learning!”

“Oh yeah? What’d you study?” George sounded genuinely interested.

“Geography and History.”

“Smart girl, eh?” Emily thought she could make out the flash of George’s smile.

“I love those subjects, it’s easy when you love it,” she said.

“That makes sense why you’re here then! Teaching us common soldiers all about maps and such,” George said, “so why just fine then? Since you got to study what you love?”  Emily focused on the gravel crunching beneath their steps as she tried to formulate the best way to explain herself. She didn’t know why she felt so comfortable being vulnerable with George right now, but she did. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just because he was being so friendly. “I don’t think anyone wanted me there, not to learn at least.”

“Whaddya mean?” George’s warm shoulder brushed hers briefly as he moved closer to listen.

Emily exhaled, “I was so excited to learn and to get to go to college! But when I got there I quickly realized that it was just one giant pantomime.” She paused. George remained silent, waiting for her to continue. “We were encouraged to spend time with the Notre Dame boys, and it wasn’t subtle. I didn’t really feel challenged academically or that my scores or assignments mattered. All my classmates were consumed with the latest hair styles, their boyfriends, dances, and as far as academics went,” Emily scoffed, “they didn’t really care about learning or thinking critically,” she was ranting now, “as long as they appeared to be a ‘successful’ student, that’s as far as it mattered. A respectable young woman with a formal education. That moves you up in life. But no one actually cares if you learn anything or have any thoughts of your own!”

George was quiet and Emily felt a flush taking over her cheeks. She was grateful for the shield of darkness.

“Well, good thing you didn’t listen to them,” George finally said.

“What?” Emily turned to look at him, despite the low visibility.

“Well, you’re here aren’t ya. You’re actually doing something with your education. You’re doing everything they didn’t want you too and that’s gutsy.”

Emily allowed herself to smile slightly, “yeah, I guess so.”

“Not a lot of dames would leave everything behind to join the European front. I mean, how many women do you see around you right now?” Emily chuckled, “there’s plenty of other brave women here.”

“Yeah, and you’re one of them.” They were approaching base at this point and the few dim lamps that hung on the front of the buildings illuminated George’s face slightly.

“Thank you, George,” Emily smiled softly at him.

“Anytime.” He bumped her gently with his shoulder. “You want me to walk you back to HQ?”

“That’s okay, we’re fifty feet away,” she gestured, “though I appreciate the offer.”

“Sure, see you later.” George disappeared into the darkness with Joe and Frank.

The next morning Emily felt more exhausted than she had in a long time. She wasn’t hungover - or at least she thought. To be fair she hadn’t experienced that sensation before.

“Alright kid?” Nixon asked as he trudged into the intelligence room.

“Kid?” she asked dryly. He shot her a look that said, yeah and?  “Yeah I’m good, thanks. You alright?”

“I’m up aren’t I.”

“Indeed,” Emily chuckled, “coffee?”  “Sure,” he accepted the drink, “is this..?”

“Regular,” Emily didn’t have the energy to elaborate until she had consumed her own cup of coffee. Luckily, her and Nixon’s shorthand had evolved into a clear language.

After a few quiet minutes of mutual existence Nixon finally said, “we’re getting you on the rifle range today.”

“Okay,” Emily said dully.

Nixon squinted at her, “okay?”

“Yeah, okay, just tell me what time so I can change into my pants.”

“Okay,” Nixon drawled suspiciously.

“What?”

“I was expecting a little more pushback or more questions.”

“What’s there to ask?”  “I don’t know, you always seem to come up with something!”

“Well I just said let me know so I can change.”

“Right, well are you nervous?”  Emily raised her eyebrows at him, “I’ve shot a gun before, Captain.”

Nixon winced into his coffee.

“What?” Emily asked, “don’t like women shooting guns?”  “No,” Nixon said defensively, “god, you make me sound like a misogynist. I don’t like that title.”  “Captain?” Emily was confused.

Nixon waived his hand is disgust, “yeah that.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t care for it. I don’t care for the frou-frou and fanfare of it all.”

“This is coming from a man who has an exclusive drink preference?”

Nixon gave her a cool look which caved into a little chuckle. “I’m here to do a job, a job I don’t particularly want to do, and that’s it,” he said with finality.

His attitude came as a surprise to Emily. Her impression of Lewis Nixon thus far had been that of an out of touch but clever and capable officer. She never had any sense that he took his military career seriously, like Winters for example; Nixon’s flippant attitude made that clear. But before now she would’ve guessed that title and rank meant something to him. Their conversation revealed a surprising humility Emily hadn’t expected to find in him. He was here out of duty to his nation just as much as any other foot soldier who had enlisted, not for glory. Guilt tugged slightly in Emily’s stomach. What was she here for? Not glory, but if she was being honest, not in humble service of her country either. Between the two of them, she was the opportunistic one using the events of war to seek adventure.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Nixon interrupted her introspection.

“Sorry,” Emily shook her head to clear the fog of her mind, “I’m tired.”

“Wild night?”

“Not really,” she said innocently.

“Really? I’m disappointed in George Luz.” Nixon smiled devilishly.

Emily couldn’t help the red flush that crept up her cheeks. There was nothing to be embarrassed about but Emily was Irish, so her blushes were frequent and beyond her control.

Nixon clocked it immediately and wasn’t about to be gracious enough to let it go ignored, “what?” he demanded with a half-smile, “what are you keeping from me?”

“Nothing!” Emily insisted.

“Aw come on, you know I’ll find out.”

“There’s nothing to find out!”

“There isn’t? Why are you so red then?” Nixon was unrelenting.

“I don’t know! I can’t help it!” Emily pressed her hands against her cheeks, desperately trying to cool her face, “I’m not hiding anything!”  Nixon raised his eyebrows in doubt. Quickly, Emily collected herself and straightened, determined to get her power back from him, “There’s nothing to hide. Besides, I am spoken for, Captain,” she said haughtily.

Nixon wrinkled his nose in distaste at her pointed use of the title he had just admitted he hated. Emily smiled smugly back at him and the conversation was put to rest. The pair ditched their empty mugs and were about to start out for their morning duties when Private Allen Vest stopped them in the doorway.

“A letter for Miss Rooney,” he said holding out an envelope.

“Thank you,” Emily took it and Vest was gone as quickly as he arrived.

“Finally a letter from that boyfriend of yours?”

“Fiancee,” Emily corrected, opening the letter.

“Hey ask him if he’s had a chance to try the local cuisine yet. If he’s anywhere close to Turin, I know this lovely little hilltop place I’d love to recommend.”

Emily looked up from the letter to shoot Nixon a disgusted look. He raised his eyebrows in mock offense, “at least say hi for me!”, then he swaggered out leaving Emily shaking her head and smiling. She had barely comprehended the few words she had already read, having been distracted by Nixon. She began again,

Dearest Emily,

I’m glad to hear you’ve settled in England easily. I apologize for the time since my last letter. I can’t begin to describe to you how difficult things are over here and frankly, I’ve had more to worry about than our correspondence. I do appreciate each of your letters, and your enduring loyalty to me…

A slight pang of guilt hit Emily at those words. Why though? She asked herself, had she been unfaithful? Not in the slightest. She had done nothing wrong or untoward since she’d been separated from John. But, though not explicitly wrong, she had done things she knew he wouldn’t approve of. She had played darts and cards, she’d drank and socialized with men without a female companion. She had been alone in a room with who John would consider a strange man on more than one occasion. This was on top of the liberties he had already been a good sport about; her working, shooting, and potentially being sent to the continent. These were all things that were acceptable from women who were single and not from her class, especially when there was plenty of dignified work to do on the home-front. And so Emily had omitted the details of her relationships and aspirations in her letters to John. She most definitely would not be conveying a hello to him from Nixon.

Emily finished the letter, folded it up, and stuffed it in her breast pocket. From her desk on the far left of the room she collected a box of maps and hurried out of the room. She was running late. Emily walked as quickly along the pebbled road as she could while still maintaining her poise. The box hadn’t seemed to weigh much when she first picked it up but it grew heavier in her arms with every step. The edge of the cardboard dug into her stomach, pulling on her skirt. A sudden anxiety of how her skirt may be twisted around when she entered the classroom came over her. She bounced the box on her hip which provided some momentary respite and room to desperately pull at her skirt in an effort to straighten it. She was roughly twenty-five yards away when two hands reached out for the box, accompanied by a friendly voice

“Em, let me take that for you,” George Luz said.

Emily’s initial instinct was to protest the help. She was more than capable but George was already taking the box from her and she couldn’t deny her relief.

She straightened and smoothed her skirt before she looked up at her rescuer, “thank you, George. You sure it’s not too much? You’ve got a lot on you right now.”

“Another couple pounds won’t hurt, whoa!” George feigned dropping the box and laughed when Emily lunged to support him. “Seriously, no sweat. Where are we going?”

Emily pointed straight ahead to the building they were approaching. “Perfect, that’s where I’m supposed to be anyways,” George said.

Emily grinned at the trouble maker, “you running late too?”

George smiled crookedly back at her, “I left for the bathroom while we were getting settled in. I don’t think they got up to much without me if we were waiting on these.” George lifted the box in indication.

Emily flushed, “I know, I know, I got distracted and lost track of time.”

“By anything good?” George’s question was innocent but there was something about it that felt probative.

“Letter from John,” Emily patted her breast pocket, doing her best to keep her voice nonchalant. She noticed that George took the opportunity to glance at her chest and redness flared in her cheeks again. George quickly looked away and said, “nice, how’s he doing? Remind me, brother or boyfriend?”

“Fiancee, and he’s doing well.”

“Nice,” George stepped aside to let Emily enter first through the already open doorway. Inside, Welsh was already lecturing.

“Yesterday we talked about magnetic declination and the left add right subtract rule,” Welsh noticed her enter with George close behind, “today,” he continued, “we’re gonna put it into practice.”

“Thanks George,” Emily whispered her thanks and took the box from him. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Emily walked around the soldiers, occasionally having to step over a canteen or helmet, until she reached the front of the classroom. As Welsh continued to speak, Emily took out gridded maps from her box and began to distribute them to the soldiers.

“Glad you could join us,” Welsh grinned a gapped tooth smile at her once the lesson was ended. His hands were stuffed deep into his pants pockets and he rocked back and forth on his heels as Emily re-organized the maps in her box.

“I’m so sorry I was late,” she grimaced, “I - I don’t have any excuse just lost track of time.”

Welsh gave a shrug that told her it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t say anything more but remained standing only feet from her, watching her work.

“That was a good lesson,” she said to break the silence, “they seemed to really get it.”

“Yeah, it always makes more sense when once can practice it on their own,” Welsh said.

“Agreed, best way to learn is by doing.”

“I’m relieved to think you went well though,” Welsh said settling himself on the edge of the table. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at her with those disarming blue eyes, “I only learned all of this a couple days ago. It really should’ve been you teaching them.”

Emily smiled at the ground in response to his slight compliment, “you did a fine job. Besides, you’re their leader. It’s important to establish that you’re the one they should go to for information and support.”

“Pfft,” Welsh scoffed, “I’m sure that’s true, but no one wants to look at my ugly mug at the front of a classroom. All of those guys would have paid better attention to a beautiful lady like you.”

Emily fully flushed at this blatant compliment.

Welsh bit at his bottom lip, “anyways, time to get on to the next thing,” he stood, “want to leave that there for this afternoon?”  Emily nodded, “that was the plan. Just tidying things up a bit so you can easily find everything you need later.”

“Thanks,” Welsh said. Emily watched his lean figure walk out the door, silhouetted by the mid-morning sun streaming in. A little shiver ran through her body. Thoughts were creeping up in her mind that she was afraid to touch. If she acknowledged them there would be no denying them. She refused to be distracted from her plan; make the most of her career now before she had to return home and settle down. She couldn’t give anyone an excuse to send her home, not her parents or John or Nixon or any of the soldiers she worked alongside. Any acknowledgement of her growing crush would only lead to trouble.

#band of brothers #fanfiction #original character #lewis nixon x original character #george luz x original character #harry welsh #harry welsh x original character #as far as friends go

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