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gothmiqote · 5 months ago

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dt spoilers kinda, varha/estinien stuff ofc ofc but it's msq plot related naturally :p

estinien being only Sort Of around for this expansion kills me lmao like he on the periphery and whatever it is he’s doing intersects with varha when it counts (fighting the cyberpunk army in the desert etc etc) he’s also just like. ostensibly doing who knows what the fuck between appearances?

after the events of ew those two were definitely around each other a Lot (seeing her friends disappear one by one like that will apparently lead to some nasty separation anxiety, who would have guessed) & getting on the separate boats to go west is probably the first meaningful amount of time they’ve been apart since. to a degree she’s like it’s fine I’ve got this handled, although I don’t uh. Think he told anyone Where he was going? so she probably knew he was going to be away for a bit but not how long exactly or even really where (which she actually is cool with for real, they’re both kinda Like That TM so it’s normal). So yes, she’s very much starting to feel the yearning & the pining & what have you by the time they randomly cross paths in the throne room again.

But thEN he just. Walks out? Just says some complimentary words and fucking Leaves? I like to think he’d end up stopping by her inn room or whatever later on but based on how he was for the entire expansion I don’t even know if he would actually stay the whole night 💀 which is frustrating for her but at this point nothing super weird. Or so she thinks anyway because some point after Krile pulls her aside and is like Hey is everyone cool? Like are you good? Because Varha considers her one of her closest friends & she likes to torment Estinien psychologically for sport she knows them pretty well. To which Varha is just ?? Of course we’re good why wouldn’t we be good? But it makes her think anyway. It does Not help that Wuk Lamat flat out asks if she knows who he is personally, because the greeting she got was apparently the kind you’d reserve for acquaintances.

By the time she’s on the mini road trip with Erenville she’s trying Very hard to not think about her relationship because she’s keenly aware of how good she is at making herself quietly spiral & twelve help her, they see him and he does it again. Says some weird shit to her and fucks off into the sunset. Shout out to Erenville for not commenting on the weird vibes that were absolutely happening here. & it’s at this point she’s also starting to get kind of upset for real? Tries to back track mentally between the moments of dealing with an active crisis and no, she doesn’t think she’s done anything wrong, he didn’t seem to like her any less when he left—but that doesn’t mean things don’t change, & for all she knows maybe he’s just decided that she’s become more trouble than it’s worth to know her intimately like that (she wouldn’t blame him, she’s aware of her baggage). What kind of send off is ‘go do what it is you do’? No ‘good luck, stay safe’ or anything even remotely close? She needs to be focused on current events so she makes herself tunnel visioned but it’s still on her mind.

Meanwhile this man decided after getting paid for keeping Wuk Lamat’s dad entertained he wanted to plan a little romantic wilderness excursion in Tural. It’s literally the exact opposite scenario she’s been dreading and picking up on, they both like ‘camping’ (for lack of a better term) & this is a new area to explore, he thinks it’s a great idea. And it is! A similar trip was the catalyst for the getting together in the Steppe, albeit that one was unplanned & nothing was official until after she got back from the first, but still. Unfortunately he’s just so singularly focused on this plan (he’s looking for some decent locations when they run into each other outside of the city) he’s legitimately unaware of how he’s coming off in the present. In his mind he’s just in a good mood, & will at some point let her know what he’s been quietly putting together for them. He just wants some sort of concrete plan in place before he stops being cagey. Like he’s just in a good headspace in a relationship he’s actually very happy in & that’s manifesting in ways that make sense for Him once you know what to look for. It’s like being around your crush, except you’ve been serious about each other for the better part of the last few years now & also you never really learned how to flirt ‘normally’ (I feel like Aymeric probably tried to help with this at some point in the distant past & eventually just gave up to let his weird friend be weird. Sometimes that’s as good as it gets) because you’ve never been much of an extrovert or particularly socially gifted, so it usually comes across either insanely awkward and/or painfully earnest when you do give it a shot. All that to say, he’s doing his best, it’s just filtered through his methods every single time.

And to be fair to him also, she’s competent as hell. He had zero reasons to think she’d need any more help with the contest stuff, his presence would 100% just be overkill. He’s not saying this because he feels like it’s objectively obvious. Unfortunately it is Not, she is fully not getting this impression from any of his actions & ultimately just ends up stewing quietly over it. Initially she’s annoyed but over time gets progressively more sad lmao. If you click on him before one of the few trials you can run with npcs he’s like “I saw a big lizard, I’m going to hunt it later” which is so very baffling to her. AGAIN no real commentary on her actual situation or that she might not come back through that portal. Run the lizard through a translator and he actually meant something to the effect of I know you’ll take care of this, so I’m not worried, & as soon as you do come back we’re going to grill that lizard meat for dinner. In HIS mind this is what’s coming out of his mouth in fewer words. She’s just tired lmfao.

Once everything is taken care of & there’s some downtime she’s finally able to pull him to the side and ask what his deal has been lately, has she done something without knowing, has she been pulling away unconsciously etc etc etc. His turn to be confused now. This legitimately only becomes a miscommunication issue because every single conversation got cut short until this one, which of course gives him ample time to explain what’s actually been happening & also no, he’s definitely not bored or unhappy or anything like that, he’s been enjoying the opportunity to try and orchestrate something nice for her (even if the execution wasn’t. The greatest) and honestly didn’t realize how it looked from the outside. He was very much talking her up at any given opportunity each time someone asked about her, to the point where it was inevitably deduced that his descriptions of the Warrior of Light were apparently a good deal more personal than other accounts. She’s effectively been on his mind in some capacity since he got here.

& She feels extra dumb for getting upset at all, because that’s actually incredibly sweet and it makes perfect sense when you lay it all out that way, in hindsight she didn’t need to get worked up and just feels weirdly guilty now. Varha has been in a small handful of situationships, she’s never actually been important enough to anyone for them to go out of their way for her like that (she’s never even really had friends up until recently, it’s all uncharted territory), she does not know how to properly interpret it when people just decide to do things for her because they like her. She reacts like an asshole (in her own opinion, literally no one else thought that she was anything aside from maybe a bit Off since she internalized everything so much). This does not make her feel particularly good either, she has unfortunately looped back around to kicking herself for missing the obvious.

& Estinien, being himself, is still not the best with words when it comes to this sort of thing. Because he knows he didn’t actually do anything wrong here, so he’s not experiencing misplaced guilt, but she’s clearly still upset on some level for misreading things and he doesn’t like that for her, especially when this conversation is almost definitely taking place on the sidelines of a post-battle celebration back in the city. He’s not coming up with anything directly helpful to the situation. He’s task-oriented, hardwired to look for solutions. The one he comes up with on the spot here is:

“Do you want to hunt the lizard together?”

Long pause. Yes, she does. She wants to hunt the big lizard together very much. It sounds like a good way to kick off a small wilderness excursion together. The big lizard does not fix her pre-existing self worth problems, but it’s definitely effective for the immediate situation (which is about the best he can hope for right now). Problem solved-ish, she seems happier & now they can bond over the big lizard hunt together. He’d honestly just be pleased to spend time together doing whatever but this is probably the best outcome of that whole situation. (Also he Does end up kissing her right there, partly to get people to stop pestering her with questions but mostly because he wants to.)

#varha naiarro #wolstinien #estinien x wol #estinien varlineau #oc tag #my writing #kinda dhjfkf it’s more like a long summary than actual fic #he was funny as hell for no fucking reason the entire time #what an absolute specimen of a man. why is he like that.#anyway once again they’re both weird and it ends up being a complimentary sort of weird.#she straight up could not date someone more normal lmao #oh right #dawntrail spoilers #kind of like I said dhdjjf

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jinxquickfoot · 3 months ago

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@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Hostage Situation

Find the fic on Ao3!

“Does anyone have eyes on the target?”

Clint rounds the corner of the abandoned office building, bow at the ready. “I’m catching up to her.”

Phil’s sigh over the comms is so loud he can practically see it. “Barton, you’re meant to be on lookout.”

“I am. I’m looking out for our target.” Clint peers past his arrow down the dark corridor. The path forward is suspiciously empty, even though he swears he saw his quarry take this route. He presses forward, poking his head into the various side rooms. There are no cornered weapons dealers to be found. Yet. “She’s good.”

“Yes, she is, which is why we sent the entire STRIKE team after her.”

“Funny, I’m not seeing any of the STRIKE guys in the right position.”

“You’re the one who’s not in position, Barton.” Phil’s voice is more exasperated than angry. “You know I went on the record saying you could learn to play ball, right?”

“Hey, I can play ball.” Clint finishes his search of the corridor and turns left into an equally empty set of side rooms. Huh. Mills is good. Very few people are able to vanish on him like this. Not to mention that she’s stayed off SHIELD’s radar almost as long as he had managed by now. Every day he’s grateful Phil gave him a shot (ha) to be here, but he’s not particularly keen on letting Mills break his record. “I’m about to catch the target SHIELD has been chasing for months. How’s that for playing ball?”

He’s been with SHIELD for just over a year now, and every single day has been a battle to prove he belongs here. Phil had plucked him out of Sing Sing after Clint had finally managed to put Jacque Duquesne in the ground, offering him a job instead of a life sentence. Clint still doesn’t entirely know why. He does know that he’s not going to blow the first chance someone’s given him at a halfway decent life.

“No,” he’d told Phil when he’d first offered him a position at SHIELD.

Phil gestured at the chains encircling his wrists and ankles. “You’d rather stay in prison forever?”

Clint shrugged, ignoring the way it made the metal constraining him clink. “Three square meals a day and a roof over my head? I’ve had worse.”

“I’m aware. Are you aware you could have better?”

“What you’re offering isn’t better.”

“What do you think I’m offering?”

“A chance to kill a lot more people in exchange for something you’re trying to pass off as freedom. I’m not doing it.”

Phil leaned back in the rigid visitor’s chair, his face unreadable. Clint wasn’t a fan of that. His people skills from a life bouncing around foster homes, the streets and a circus weren’t top-notch, but he’d like to think he’d know by now when someone was playing him. Emphasis on he’d like to. Duquesne had strung him along for far too many years before Clint put an arrow in his heart.

“If you joined SHIELD, you would be expected to kill when necessary,” Phil stated. “But only very specific targets.”

“Still targets.”

“You seem very adverse to killing for a man serving a life sentence for murder.”

“He deserved it.”

“Any regrets?”

Clint let his lips form a cold smile. “None. World’s better off without him.”

“And what if I could offer you not only a way out of this prison, but a chance at taking out more Duquesnes?”

“I’d still tell you no.”

“Explain that to me.”

“Because I don’t want to.”

He had expected Phil to leave after that. Instead, he seemed to have handed the man the exact answer he’d been looking for. “Good,” Phil had said shortly. “We try to avoid hiring the murderous type. I can’t promise you’ll never have to kill again, but I can promise that if you join us, you’ll have a chance to do good.”

Phil had looked him straight in the eye as he finished, “And despite what your rap sheet says, I think you’re the kind of person who wants to do good, Clint Barton.”

If only the rest of SHIELD had decided to believe in him as easily. Getting Mills in his clutches would be the feather in his cap that might finally get the STRIKE team to lay off him. Just because he didn’t go to their stupid academy, they assume he can’t be one of them. Phil’s done what he can to get them to back off, but Clint’s not going to hide behind his coattails forever. Phil gave him a chance. He’s not wasting it.

There’s a rustle over the comms, as though Phil’s changing locations. His next words are a murmur. “You have nothing to prove, Clint. You became a SHIELD agent the moment you accepted my offer.”

The way Phil seems to read his mind sometimes is downright unsettling. Clint’s spent his life building masks that no one is supposed to see underneath. Then again, maybe no one’s really tried before. “That sentiment isn’t universal.”

“So not everyone has been entirely welcoming, given your past. We’re working on that. But you do have a place at SHIELD as long as you want one. Unless you start doing stupid shit like defying orders.”

“I like to think more in implied orders. Like ‘catch Mills’.”

“Your orders were to be on lookout. You want to prove yourself? Do it by showing Fury you’re a team player.”

“Sorry, Sir. Don’t really see myself as a part of a team anytime—”

He doesn’t hear her until the click of a safety is taken off a gun. Clint freezes, nocked arrow pointed uselessly at a cobweb-infested fax machine.

“Barton.” The worry in Phil’s steady voice wouldn’t be apparent to most people. Maybe that mind-reading thing goes two ways. “Barton, come in.”

“Put the bow down,” a female voice says behind him. “If you try pointing that arrow at me, I’ll shoot you. I’m fast enough to kill you first.”

“I believe you.” Still, Clint doesn’t move. Disobeying orders and bringing in a target single-handedly is hero stuff. Disobeying orders and getting shot for it is just embarrassing.

“Put it down,” Mills repeats slowly. “Last warning.”

“She’s there,” Phil surmises. Definitely worried. It’s almost nice. It’s been a long time since Clint can confidently say anyone has worried about him. “Stay where you are, stay alive. We’re coming to get you.”

Great, and now he’s the damsel in distress. As much as it soothes a long-buried ache knowing that Phil actually cares whether he makes it home or not, that does not extend to actually wanting to be rescued. Knowing it’s a stupid move, and deciding to do it anyway, Clint whips the bow around.

The gunshot is enough to deafen him as pain explodes in his left leg. He keeps his grip on his arrow though, he doesn’t need much to fire it into an enemy this close, it will be a matter of a second to pull it back and release—

Then he gets a good look at Mills for the first time.

Phil is demanding updates in his ear, but Clint’s frozen, unable to focus on anything but the round belly right in his face. There had been months of reconnaissance on Mills, and yet somehow all of SHIELD had failed to report that she was pregnant.

“Really?” The belly shifts and Clint’s view transforms into a gun barrel. There’s blood running down his leg, the wound hot and aching, but he’s still on his feet. Must just be a graze then. Small mercies. “You’d kill me for some minor weapons trading, but as soon as there’s a fetus in the picture you go soft?”

Clint finds his voice. “Minor weapons trading. That’s what you’re going with?” He lifts his eyes to her face. She’s all hard lines, worn down from exhaustion and stress, but still… prettier than her mug shots made her out to be. Not the right kinds of thoughts to be having when there’s still a gun directed at his forehead.

“Bow. Down.” Mills brandishes that gun, even as she makes sure to keep well out of Clint’s range. “Who the hell takes a bow and arrow into a shootout, anyways?”

“Me,” Clint answers, placing the bow and unused arrow on the floor. His quiver follows. “Clint Barton. Hawkeye. Nice to meet you.”

She’s thoroughly unimpressed. “Kick them away.”

Wincing, Clint boots his bow down the corridor. It won’t damage it, the weapon is built for battle, but it had been a gift from Phil for his one-year SHIELD anniversary. Clint’s not a fan of punting it like a soccer ball.

“Gun too,” Mills orders.

That goes with less remorse. The STRIKE team likes to rib him for how little Clint pulls his gun on missions, but their bullets aren’t multipurpose or reusable. There’s been many a shootout where Clint’s the last one with ammo, as long as he’s willing to retrieve the arrows during said shootout. Maybe he should invent one that comes back.

“Now the knives. Both of them.”

And maybe he should focus on the armed woman in front of him.

The blades are thrown away with more hesitation, first the one in his belt and then the one tucked into the compartment in his boot. He’s not the best at hand-to-hand combat and he isn’t given much opportunity to practice as SHIELD’s top sniper, but he can do some serious damage with a knife if the enemy is stupid enough to get close. So far, Mills definitely doesn’t fall into the stupid enemy category.

As soon as he’s disarmed she holds out her hand, snapping her fingers at him when he hesitates. “Comms.”

With a heavy sigh, Clint forks over his earpiece. He is never, ever going to hear the end of this. For all Phil’s words of always having a place at SHIELD, he can’t help but wonder if getting captured because he disobeyed his SO’s direct orders is grounds for dismissal. A streak of fear goes through him at the idea. Most SHIELD agents who get thrown out on their asses sign a ten-mile-long NDA and go and live a boring, middle-class life. Clint knows he hasn’t won enough of Fury’s trust to be offered that option. It’ll be back to Sing Sing, this time for good.

A year ago, the idea of that wouldn’t have bothered Clint so much. He’d picked enough fights when he’d first been arrested that the rest of the prison had learned to leave him alone. The shitty bed and food were still a step up from sleeping on the streets. And he didn’t have to watch over his shoulder every moment in case one of Duquesne’s lackeys decided to take the former crime lord’s place.

But now… he has his own apartment. It’s a shithole in Bed-Stuy, but it’s private and it’s his. For the first time, he’s using his skills to do good. He likes that. He likes that a lot.

And he has Phil. The first person in his entire life who had looked at him and seen something more than a circus brat with a knack for sticking arrows in people. He’s not entirely sure that relationship is going to last if Clint gets himself kicked out of SHIELD after Phil stuck his neck out for him.

Mills shoves the earpiece into place. “Who am I talking to?” She flicks her eyes up and down Clint as she says it, assessing him. “Well, Agent Coulson, how much is your man worth to you?”

Clint would like to believe that answer is at least enough to warrant a negotiation. He also knows he got himself into this and Phil will abide by SHIELD protocol until the end.

Something like surprise crosses Mills’s face. “Really? Didn’t think SHIELD would care.” She raises the gun so it’s pointed right between Clint’s eyes, but some of her attention is on Phil now. He could probably lunge forward and take it without getting shot a second time, wrest it from her hand and take her down. He could still salvage this.

He… doesn’t.

He can’t put a finger on why. He just knows that it’s the same instinct that aims his bow, whispering directions he can never quite explain but will always guide him to the bullseye.

Mills is demanding something about clearing the path and getting her a vehicle. Good luck. Phil might be able to pull enough strings to stop her from shooting Clint point-blank, but they’re not going to let her run. Not after what happened in Miami.

Phil must say as much, because Mills’s eyes narrow. “Fine.”

There’s a scattering of syllables from Phil’s end, too muted for Clint to make out from this far away.

“No,” Mills snaps. “You can talk to him after you figure out how to get me what I want. If I see a single SHIELD agent in this building, I’ll kill him.” She flourishes the gun, indicating the office closest to them. “Get in.”

“You’re wasting time,” Clint tries. It’s the least he can do. “If you run, I won’t stop you. They’re not going to bargain for me.”

“That guy on your comms sounded like he would. Now get in the damn office and maybe I’ll let you patch up your leg.”

Right. He’s bleeding. Clint allows himself to peek at the injury. It’s hard to see through his pant leg, but he doesn’t think the graze is that deep. Still, blood loss is blood loss, and he needs to get pressure on it sooner rather than later. “Fine. Step into my office.”

He limps his way in, playing it up. He doesn’t really think Mills buys it, but he’ll take whatever advantage he can get until he can disarm her. If he wants to disarm her. That little voice is niggling at him, telling him there’s a better way here. No STRIKE team is invading the building, which means he’s at least important enough that the threat of his death is keeping them temporarily at bay. Emphasis on the temporarily. If there’s a way out of this that doesn’t end in bloodshed, he’s going to have to find it fast.

He props himself against the dusty desk, ripping away the bottom half of his ruined uniform pants to use as makeshift bandages. The wound probably needs stitches, but he doubts Mills is going to go needle-hunting on his request. “You should sit. I feel like I should be offering you my seat on a bus.”

She snorts, unimpressed. “Don’t do the I care about you act.”

“In training we call it the humanise the hostage act. Speaking of, I’m Clint.”

“You said. I don’t care.”

“Can I call you Laura?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m going to. Get used to it.”

Laura jerks the blinds down over the window, even though it would be a hell of a shot for a sniper to make given the angle of the other buildings. The one person who could pull it off is on the wrong side of the glass. It plunges them into semi-darkness, the cracks of sunlight through the closed blinds casting rows on the dust-laden carpet.

A heavy silence falls between them. The striped light casts Laura’s face in golden streaks, her grip on the gun not wavering. Not that that matters. Clint’s not going to take it from her. She’s going to put it down. He doesn’t know why he’s so sure. He just knows that, if he plays this exactly right, he can save a life today instead of ending one.

He likes that idea. Too much, maybe. It’s the kind of thought that gets agents in the field killed.

It’s also the kind of thought that got Phil on his side.

“I’d hate working an office job,” he remarks, trailing a finger through the dust. “I think I actually have a desk somewhere at HQ. People keep sending paperwork there. Or so I’m told. I don’t do much paperwork.”

“I told you to cut that out.” She glances at the door, as though wondering if she can barricade it without lowering her gun. She seems to decide she can’t, because she goes with another tactic. “Take out your cuffs.”

He’d seen this coming, but a part of him was still hoping Laura would skip the whole tie up the captive step. He doesn’t take his gaze off her as he pulls a zip tie from his belt and goes to place it around his wrists.

“No,” she stops him. “Tie yourself to the desk. And thread it between your wrists as well as around.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He does as he’s told, distantly wondering if he should be more on edge about the situation. He tells himself it’s because they both know that, if she shoots him, she’s as good as dead. She might be as good as dead anyway. Laura’s good, they wouldn’t have been chasing her for this long if she wasn’t, but there aren’t many people in the world who are able to get past SHIELD’s entire STRIKE team. He doubts she's the exception, pregnant or not. STRIKE do what they’re trained to do, and STRIKE are trained to shoot on sight.

He pulls the zip tie tight with his teeth, locking his wrists around the desk leg. He’s pretty sure he can get out of it—it’s doing so before Laura pulls the trigger that will be the trick. He can’t dodge bullets. Which leaves that talking option.“So, how far along are you? Seven months? Eight?”

She casts him a disparaging look. “Stop pretending to care about me. You don’t. Just like I don’t care if you’re breathing beyond keeping your friends off my back.”

Clint shifts, trying to get comfortable, grimacing when it pulls on his injured leg. “Well, I’m not seeing a TV in here. If you want any form of entertainment while we wait for either your car to show up or the cavalry to ride in, I’m it.”

“And what if I don’t find you entertaining?”

“Give me a chance. Circus audiences loved me.”

She gives him a look as though she’s not sure if he’s joking or crazy. It’s a common response whenever he utters the word circus.

“Please sit,” Clint tries. “I’m not going to try anything. I’m tied up, you have the gun. You’re making my feet ache just looking at you.”

“Stop—”

“Pretending to care, I know.”

She exhales, exhaustion starting to show through the cracks. “You could have just left me alone.”

“That’s not my call.”

Laura scrubs at her forehead. Definitely exhausted. Life on the run will do that to you. Clint’s well aware, and that was without a baby growing inside of him.

“Laura. Sit down. It’s okay.”

For a moment, he’s sure she’s going to snap at him again. Then, slowly, and never taking her eyes off Clint, she sinks to the floor. A sigh of relief leaves her as she sticks her feet out straight, the hand not holding the gun cradling her stomach. It’s kind of…

Don’t call the person holding you hostage cute, Barton, he can basically hear Phil scolding him. Ah futz, Phil. This is his mission too. He’s probably going to get into even more trouble for it going sideways than Clint. Clint will make it up to him later.

“So,” he breaks the silence. “What’s the plan? You have to know that car isn’t coming.”

“You’re not going to shut up, are you?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“What if I shoot you again?”

“If STRIKE hears a gunshot, they’re coming in. But you know that.”

Sighing, Laura lays the gun aside. It’s still well within her reach, but at least it’s not pointed in his direction anymore. “You want to talk. Fine, we’ll talk.”

“Great. What’s your favorite color?”

She stares at him like he’s an idiot. Which… well, he’s zip-tied to a desk with his bow in a different room. Maybe that’s fair enough. “What?”

“I’m making conversation. Mine’s purple. Your turn to ask a question.”

“Sure. How did you find me?”

“That’s not how the game works.”

“I’m the one with the gun, and I say that’s exactly how it works. How did you find me? I’ve been so careful.”

Clint drops the joking tone. “I wouldn’t count what happened in Miami as careful.”

She glares at him. “You don’t know shit about Miami.”

Clint shrugs as much as he can with his wrists zip-tied. “I know fourteen people died.”

She transfers her gaze back to the door. No one is pounding on it with a battering ram yet. They’ve got time. “Fourteen,” she muses.

“You didn’t know?”

“Not the exact total, no. Honestly, it’s less than I feared.”

“Still fourteen people.”

Her expression hardens. “And as I said—you don’t know shit.”

“Tell me, then.”

Laura shakes her head. “No. I don’t snitch.”

“What if I promise not to tell?”

“Really? You’re the best SHIELD had to send after me?”

He gives her the crooked grin that gets him second dessert in the SHIELD cafeteria. “You haven’t shot me yet. I count that as success.”

“I have shot you.”

He checks his leg. “Hardly. Can’t even tell that’s a bullet wound.” There’s the ghost of an idea there that he tucks away for later. “Okay, so success is you not shooting me twice.”

“Because I need you, idiot.”

“For now. But if you’re thinking about marching us outside with a gun to my head, you’re just going to get us both shot. Don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to avoid that.”

“What’s the alternative? Turn myself in?”

“\Surely that’s better than getting shot.”

Her hand flutters around her stomach. “I can’t get caught. I can’t.”

A distress leaks through the words that Clint knows all too well. It had been a long internal battle when he’d realized that killing someone as high-profile as Duquesne would propel him right to the top of SHIELD’s Most Wanted List. He’d spent multiple nights unable to sleep as he’d let any hope of a normal life slip away from him. Still, Duquesne had to go. Even if Clint had spent the rest of his life behind bars, it would have been a fair price for ridding the world of that monster.

“You don’t snitch, huh?” Clint tries to ignore the already growing ache in his shoulders, the burn in his thigh. “And is that because you care about someone, or because you’re scared of someone?”

Her expression hardens, but the way her hand tightens over her stomach gives her away.

“The father,” Clint guesses. “So is it the caring or the scaring option?”

Laura’s response is to point the gun in his face. “Shut up, or I’m going to drop you and take my chances sneaking out of here.”

“You have to know those chances are pretty much zero. You’re good enough to know that.”

She huffs. “Not good enough to not end up here in the first place, apparently.” The gun lowers a fraction as she surveys him, the door, the window. Clint’s all too familiar with the sensation of being cornered with no good options. “Damn. You lot are really going to shoot me, aren’t you?”

“Not if you—”

“Don’t say turn myself in. I already told you. I don’t snitch.”

“Because you think you’ll get hurt. We can stop that from happening. You’re not the first SHIELD agent who’s changed sides, you know.”

It’s a misstep. Her face hardens, her expression shuttering. “The only side I’m on is my own.” She pulls out Clint’s comm. “Agent Coulson. Are you listening?”

Clint tries to keep his face neutral. SHIELD protocol for hostage situations is to keep yourself alive and then stay out of the way if rescue comes. Phil must be trying for a non-lethal route, but he doubts STRIKE is going to prioritize his safety when they get the order to storm the building.

He doesn’t want to get shot. He doesn’t want to watch a woman and an unborn baby get shot either. And also… something else. That whisper in his ear, telling him to keep talking. To keep trying.

Laura listens for a long time, far longer than she listened to Clint. Phil’s got that knack. He’s been using it on Clint for the better part of the last year, slowly and patiently dismantling his walls to gain his trust.

“Then get me a vehicle,” Laura says, and Clint’s not imagining the undertone of desperation in her voice. “I just want out.”

I just want out. Clint’s been there. Too many times. He’d spent years trying to get out from under Duquesne’s thumb, until he realized the only way to ever be free of him was to end his life. Duquesne had made him a weapon. Seemed only fair that was the weapon he should die by.

“No. You’re going to get me a vehicle,” Laura insists. “You’ll get your man back and you’ll never hear from me again.”

He knows Phil can’t agree to that. Which means that shootout is looking more and more likely unless Clint can get this talking thing to work.

Phil speaks for a little longer before there’s a long pause, Laura seeming to consider something. “Fine,” she decides, then pulls the comm out of her ear. “He wants to talk to you. Try anything and I’ll shoot you in the other leg.”

“Noted. But, um…” Clint twists his wrists in the ties. “Gonna need some help.”

She spends a few moments weighing options, before placing the gun on the ground, well on the other side of the office before making her way over to him. Smart. Zip-tied or not, Clint would have found a way to take it.

There’s an odd moment of intimacy as she eases the comms into his ear. Her brown hair swings forward, brushing his cheek, her hands warm against his face. Then she’s gone, backing away across the room to scoop the gun up again.

"My plan to play ball seems to have backfired.”

“I noticed. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Clint swallows back the automatic I’m not. Even a year on, he has to remind himself that Phil asks that question out of concern, not reproach. “A graze to the leg, but nothing else. Don’t send in STRIKE yet.”

Laura is carefully watching every word, her eyes narrowing when he mentions keeping STRIKE at bay.

“I’m trying to hold them off but they want Mills off the streets. ”

More than they want to protect you, is left unsaid. “I got this.”

“Barton—”

“Phil. I got this. Just buy me as much time as you can.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the comms. “Alright,” Phil says finally. “Do what you have to.”

“That’s enough.” Laura replaces the gun well out of reach, honest-to-god waddling across the room to yank the comms piece out of his ear.

“You’re not going to give birth in here, are you?” he asks. “You look like you’re going to pop any second.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m being charming.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.” She does immediately sit back down though, wincing as she does so. “And don’t even think about it.”

“Don’t think about what?”

“Using the baby as leverage. Tell me you’ll give him a good home or whatever if I give myself up. As if I’d believe that.”

“I wasn’t planning to. I did my time in foster homes. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” One of his legs is falling asleep, but he doesn’t want to spook Laura further by moving it. “So it’s a him.”

“Maybe.”

“You picked a name yet?”

“As if I’d tell you.”

Screw it, Clint’s not sitting here with dwindling blood circulation. As slowly as possible, he slides the offending leg out in front of him. Laura stiffens anyway, watching his every move. “What? I hate pins and needles.”

“Pins and needles.”

“Yeah, it's what happens when someone ties you to a desk. Hey, why do you think it’s called that? The feeling is more fuzzy than stabby.”

Laura is giving him that you idiot look again. “Are you actually a SHIELD agent?”

“Last time I checked.”

“You don’t act like one.”

“Is that an insult?”

“It’s an observation.”

“I’m new. Kind of.”

“From the circus.” She doesn’t sound like she believes that part.

“There was an extended gap between the circus and SHIELD.”

“Doing what? Birthday parties?”

So, she has a sense of humor. Good to know. “Criminal things.”

She huffs. “Don’t make shit up to relate to me.”

“I’m not. Scout’s honor.”

“You were a Scout?”

“Nope. Can tie really good knots, though.”

She eyes him, cautious. “SHIELD doesn’t hire criminals.”

He gestures at himself the best he can. “Meet the exception to the rule.”

“Why?”

Clint shrugs. “Got lucky. Met the right person.”

“That guy on the comms. Coulson.” Laura settles against the back wall, contemplating. “How much authority does he have?”

“Not enough to call off the dogs if you march us out there. I already told you that’s not going to end well. But he will hear you out, if you can give us information about who you were working with.”

“I’d be signing my death warrant if I talked.”

“You’re signing your death warrant if you stay in here. Make a deal, Laura. We can protect you.”

“You really can’t.”

“Try us.”

She cups her belly with both hands. “I’m not falling for this act.”

“No act. Just trying to find the best outcome for everyone. My life is on the line too, remember.”

She weighs that. “You want me to trust the people who would let one of their own die?”

“If they think taking you down is going to save a lot of lives, then they have their orders.” Even as he says it, he feels a thread fraying in her story. He risks giving it a hefty tug. “You didn’t work Miami alone, did you?”

It’s so brief that Clint almost misses it. A flicker of emotion somewhere between regret and anger passes over Laura’s face, before it’s lost to the gloom of the abandoned office. “You don’t know anything about me. Stop guessing.”

Clint does exactly the opposite. “The kid’s father. He was involved. Much more than you were.”

“Guessing,” she fires back at him, but the way her hands clench gives her away.

He continues to tug on that thread. “You didn’t answer my caring or scaring question. Either he set you up, or you’re taking the fall to protect him.”

Laura’s fingernails bite deeper into her palms. “Does it matter?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How you want this day to end.”

She doesn’t look at him. “And if I wanted it to end with me on a farm in the middle of nowhere where no one would ever find me? What would you say then?”

Clint shifts again, trying to renew the blood flow in his wrists this time. “That I know that feeling. I know that feeling extremely well.”

“Yeah?” she challenges him. “So why aren’t you in a farmhouse?”

He decides to tell the truth. “Because SHIELD’s keeping too close an eye on me to pull a runner. And because even if they weren’t, I like being here. I like helping people.”

“SHIELD doesn’t help people.”

“Some of us do.”

She laughs. It’s distractingly pretty. “God, you are such a man. Poor defenseless pregnant woman—she must need a savior.”

There’s something in that line he feels he can use. He prepares to dig. “Trust me, I see you as anything but defenseless.”

“Because I have the gun?”

“Because I’ve read your file. I’ve seen what you’ve done. Including shipping a lot of shoddy weapons through a Miami warehouse that detonated on arrival. The warehouse workers didn’t even know what they were handling.”

She coils tighter with every word. “It was an accident.”

He keeps digging. “I doubt that was much comfort to their families.”

“Stop trying to play me. I see what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“Making me feel guilty so I surrender. This isn’t amateur hour.”

“No, it’s not.” He drives that shovel down, crossing his fingers that he’s about to hit gold. “And I can’t make you feel guilty. Because you didn’t do it.”

She tries to play it off, but the tightening in the back of her shoulders gives her away. “That’s not what your precious file on me says.”

“Because you made it look like you did it. To protect someone else.” Her eyes pinch. There’s that gold. “So it is scaring. Not caring.”

“Stop. Guessing.”

“Poor defenseless pregnant woman. Those are his words, aren’t they? He thought they’d go easier on you than him. He made you take the fall.”

“Guessing.”

“But I’m right. Aren’t I?”

She sweeps her eyes up and down him as though reappraising. “Maybe you are a real SHIELD agent.”

“So I am right.”

She refuses to confirm it. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going down either way.”

“Not if you give him up. We can protect you.”

“As if I’d trust SHIELD with protecting my child.”

“Better us than no one.” He makes a show of leaning forward in earnest, even though it’s just to get him in a better position to slip the zip-ties if he needs to. He’s daring to hope that he won’t. “Tell us who he is. We’ll get him.”

“No. You won’t.”

“We will. Then at least that baby will have one parent around.”

“He’s not the father.” Laura still isn’t looking at him. “The father’s dead. It was a reminder of what happens when I don’t…” She breaks off, squeezing her eyes shut. “He controls my whole life. Everything. There isn’t a way out.”

“There is,” Clint says softly. “Because someone offered it to me. Because someone decided to look past what the damn SHIELD file said and treated me like a human being. Because someone offered me the chance to do some good with my life.”

He’s so close. He can feel it. And he knows exactly what words he needs to seal the deal. “And I think you’re the kind of person who wants to do good, Laura Mills.”

The sun is sinking outside the office window. His heart is pounding so loud that he’s surprised Laura can’t hear it. Then again, maybe she can. Maybe, for once, he can offer someone a happy ending instead of a grave.

He lets her break the silence first. “Did yours have a stupid villain name as well?”

“You bet. The Swordsman.”

Laura snorts. “Sword versus arrow? Wow.”

“Arrow won.”

She nods, her gaze distant. She hasn’t picked up the gun again. “Mine goes by Kingpin.”

Clint files that away. “We don’t have anyone by that name on SHIELD’s radar.”

“And he’s going to kill me for putting him on it. I can’t escape him.”

“I used to think the same thing. And now he’s gone. Want me to put an arrow in yours, too?”

“Can you?”

Clint considers that. He’d meant what he said when he’d told Phil a year ago that he wanted to be done with killing. And Phil had kept his end of the bargain by only sending Clint after the targets they couldn’t take down any other way.

“If you give me the information to find him, yes,” Clint states, and he means every word. “Give me the comms, Laura. Let me talk to Phil. We can walk out of here, work out how to take down Kingpin. And then get you that farmhouse.”

Even in the dimming sunlight, he spots her lips twitch. “Why do I believe you?”

“Because I’m telling the truth.”

He’s so close to ending this. He can feel it. Part of him can’t believe he’s gotten this far, it’s not like hostage negotiations have a reputation for going well, and he’s not about to flatter himself that it’s all skill on his part. No one can help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. Phil had seen that in him. Now, Clint can only hope that he’ll see it again in Laura. He’s so close.

Which is of course when they hear the sound of the building being stormed.

Laura shoves the comms back in her ear, eyes flying wide. “Retreat,” she orders, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the gun Clint had really hoped they were done with. “I will shoot him if you come in here, don’t you dare—”

The rest of her sentence is drowned out by the stampede of STRIKE boots running towards the door.

Clint doesn’t hesitate. He twists and pulls, ignoring the sharp pain in both wrists as the zip-tie stretches. It doesn’t snap, because when does his luck ever go that way, but it gives him enough room to get free and lunge across the room.

His hand grabs the gun before Laura can fire it. It’s only when it’s in his hands that he registers that she made no move to pull the trigger.

She stares at him, breathless. “You could get free this whole time?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer. He’s too busy shoving the gun’s magazine into his boot compartment, a split second before the door bursts open.

“Don’t shoot!” He moves in front of her, heart racing as half a dozen guns focus on him instead. “She surrendered.”

All the STRIKE guys are wearing helmets, but Clint can tell the frontman is Rumlow from that stupid white X he insists on wearing on the front of his vest. And he thinks he has the grounds to mock Clint for the bow thing. “Our orders are to shoot on sight,” Rumlow snaps back. “And then rescue the princess from the tower if there’s time.”

Clint doesn’t move. “Well you were late, so I rescued myself. Don’t shoot the small fish, Rumlow. She’s going to help us get someone much bigger.”

“And that’s obviously a lie to buy herself some time. Now move before I—”

“Stand down, Rumlow. That’s an order.”

Then Clint is treated to the glorious sight of the STRIKE team parting like the Red Sea as Phil Coulson makes his way towards him. “Take Mills into custody,” Phil orders. “Gently.”

Clint doesn’t get to watch Laura be taken away. Phil blocks his line of sight, grabbing his arms and steering him away. “You good?”

“Peachy.”

“I couldn’t hold them off any longer. I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who went off-book.”

“And I haven’t forgotten about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Will you, now?”

“Yep. Already got an idea and everything.”

Phil surveys the gun Clint’s still holding. “That hers?”

“Admissible evidence,” Clint says, a bit too quickly, ignoring how the magazine is biting into his ankle. He’ll have to find a way to dispose of it when no one’s watching. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Phil reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. It feels solid. It feels like home. “Always.”

Walking into Sing Sing without handcuffs is surreal.

Clint takes the seat across from Laura in the tiny room, gesturing to the chair Laura’s perched on. “Uncomfortable, right? They do that on purpose.”

“No shit.” She shifts, sending the cuffs binding her to the table rattling. “And there I was thinking they would give the pregnant woman a break.”

“Thought we weren’t supposed to use the baby as leverage.”

“You’re not. I can milk it all I want.”

Sense of humor, Clint recalls, and has to fight back a smile. The red light of the camera in the corner refuses to let him forget he’s being watched. He only gets one shot at this. Lucky that he never misses his shots. “Well, I’m hoping things are about to get a lot more comfortable for you.”

Laura considers him, her expression careful. “Kingpin has people everywhere. No doubt in SHIELD as well.”

“Then we’ll find them.”

“Just like that?”

“If he’s as dangerous as you say he is. If he was the real cause behind what happened in Miami.”

That careful expression doesn’t shift. “Of course he was the real cause. I mean, I couldn’t even bear to bring a loaded gun to a hostage situation.” She looks pointedly down at his bandaged leg.

Clint matches her neutral tone. “Of course not. You were never actually going to shoot anyone. You were just desperate and scared.” He shifts his leg a little, feeling the stitches there pull. “Shame I tripped and cut myself chasing you.”

“Of course.” Her lips twitch, just like they had back in the office building. Clint decides he likes it. “So. I help you with Kingpin. You put me and Cooper in witness protection. That’s the deal?”

“Cooper, huh? Nice name.”

“After his father. Although I guess I’ll have to change it in WITSEC. Kingpin knew that's what I wanted to name him.”

“WITSEC is one deal.” Clint leans forward over the table, exactly as Phil had a year ago. “I have a better one.”

“Farmhouse?”

“That might be on the cards. If you join us. We’re always looking for new talent.”

Laura blinks at him, and then bursts out laughing. It’s still one of the prettiest sounds Clint’s ever heard. “Me. A SHIELD agent.”

“The offer sounded just as ridiculous to me when I got it. Seems to be working out, though.” He slouches back in her chair, taking her in. He already knows he wants to have a conversation with her without a gun or handcuffs involved. Many, many more conversations. “Someone else will run you through the logistics. I just wanted to be the one who told you the news.”

She considers him. “You’re weird as hell, Clint Barton.”

“I know. You’ll get used to it.” The camera light blinks twice, signaling his time is up. “They’re pulling me out of here. Think the offer over?”

“I… might.”

She will. Clint’s suddenly sure of it. It makes him wonder if Phil had known he’d say yes, long before Clint himself had. “You never told me your favorite color.”

“Are you serious?”

“I want to know.”

She looks a step away from turning him down before she says, “Yellow. Like sunflowers.”

“Yellow like sunflowers.” Clint has a ridiculous urge to plant her a field full of them. There will be plenty of room at that farmhouse.

He meets Phil on the outside of the cell. “How did it feel being on the other side?” Phil asks.

“Not bad,” Clint admits. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

“Information on a new crime lord isn’t bad compensation, I’ll admit.”

“I was talking about your newest SHIELD agent.”

Phil glances towards the closed door. “She didn’t say yes yet. Neither did I.”

“And yet you didn’t tell anyone about hearing gunshots over the comms after I told you Mills’s gun wasn’t loaded.”

Phil’s expression remains neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not. Manhunts can be so chaotic.”

“I know. I chased you down for nearly a year. I have some chiropractor bills I should send you, I spent so long bent over your file.” Phil straightens up, his eyes still on Laura. “I have the paperwork ready. If she says yes. If she’s worth all this.”

Clint is only half-listening. His mind is on farmhouses and sunflowers and a beautiful laugh. “Trust me—she’s worth it.”

#bad things happen bingo #bthb card #hostage situation #marvel #mcu #avengers #hawkeye #clint barton #laura barton #phil coulson #whump #whump writing

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spookyrobbins · 6 months ago

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Let's say you had a challenge to write a fic including 5 of the most popular but worst Calzona fic ideas: Arizona carries Mark's baby after his death (surprise: it's triplets!), Barbara and Daniel are Callie's biggest fans, Callie secretly develops a prosthetic leg and Arizona loves it, Lucia suddenly becomes the most supportive mother ever, Arizona changes her last name to Torres. You have to write a decent realistic fic but include all these things. How would you do it? How would you write around those things, what would be the circumstances that would make them somewhat acceptable? Would it even be possible?

hm okay amazing

i think you’d probably want to start with lucia’s reconciliation. like actually start pre plane crash. maybe after seeing mama o’malley callie reaches out. actually no arizona reaches out bc she feels awful about callie losing her mom. and also then bring in the robbinses a bit more and have arizona going to her mom for advice. and her mom who takes it upon herself to really be a mom to callie. and naturally daniel also is swayed by both sofia and callie and becomes quite friendly since callie knows more about football than either of his kids ever did and callie’s way more interested in his wood working projects vs arizona who hates the idea of splinters. so that’s two bits done and dusted

and now for the tricky part. marks sperm. which is a phrase i hate a little more every time i write it. so okay let’s say everything’s normal through mid season 9 or so and then we have a few things happening. first off, we have callie who starts developing a prosthetic in advance of arizona really being engaged with it. she’s at best distant about the prosthetic situation and she doesn’t want callie involved. but callie who needs to be involved in some way so she starts intensively researching prosthetics and wanting to know everything possible so she can help arizona in whatever way. and sort of by chance she starts actively developing one but it’s mainly theoretical at that point. and then then we have calzona who (rush) decide they want to have another baby. double points if they were actually planning on it beforehand and it’s more of a continuation than a brand new idea. maybe something about mark having left them his sperm (gross gross gross) so sofia could have a sibling - would probably pre establish that callie knew she couldn’t have kids after the crash and mark was also aware. maybe also toss something in there about how mark had made a point to tell arizoan that he wouldn’t want to be a dad to those kids if they used his sperm and only sofia would be his. just to make it slightly less weird (it’s still fucking weird team )

and add in some elements of arizona being too worn out with everything but also wanting to make callie happy so she rushes into the pregnancy and they have marks sperm and the kid will be related to sofia that way. and really, that’s how lots of people do ivf, they use the same dad so maybe it’s not totally weird.

and arizona is pregnant and depending on angst levels, miscarries once or not at all. lucia and carlos come on a surprise visit early on and it stresses arizona out but it’s also kind of a good bonding moment for her and callie who haven’t really been on the same page for months. (and thus we’ve missed the cheating)

and with arizonas pregnancy, callie decides to reveal that she’s been toying with developing prosthetics and she wants to help arizona. arizonas very resistant to it but she’s also having mobility issues bc of the pregnancy. they argue for like a month straight and arizona doesn’t want to be callies patient or test subject. and callie just wants to help her wife. callie even offers to not publish the research and it’ll just be for arizona not anyone else and arizona sort of agrees but with lots of conditions - like callie getting another ortho involved who will manage arizona’s case and callie only being involved with the actual development of the prosthetic and not arizona.

and finally, arizona becoming a torres - as arizonas due date approaches, and they’re discussing baby names, arizonas very aware that they will all have different surnames. callie’s a torres, she’s a robbins, sofias a torres-sloan and the baby will be a robbins-torres. and so arizona decides she wants to be a torres so they can all have the same name and they’ll use robbins (or robbin??) as a middle name. and probably toss in a fair bit of arizona who’s always struggled with the pressures of her name and how she wants to be a family yada yada yada

arizona has the babies and they all live happily ever after

so how did i do?

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drrutherford · 2 years ago

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amescastaignede:

Amélie paused while she walked silence falling over her as he mentioned his car. In all honesty, she forgot that some people could afford to drive, that even the thought of having enough money to own a car had always baffled her. Drawing her lip between her teeth she offered a sheepish smile. ‘’I kinda…well, I forgot. About your car, I mean, most people that I know don’t have one because…well it’s London? I guess, well…what I’m trying to say is…it didn’t come to mind.’’ She was aware that Gideon had money, he was a surgeon for christ’s sake, but she wasn’t completely in the know of the real kind of wealth he possessed or the family he’d been brought up in.

She didn’t linger on it to long though, offering him that awkward smile she’d seemingly perfected over the years, dipping her head down in embarrasment that she hadn’t thought about that. She liked the freedom of the tube, the ability to pick a place and you’d just been taken there. She guessed a car could also do that but she didn’t own one.

The evening went quickly with Gideon in tow and she’d been thankful for the help, the bitter cold sweeping in quick. There were still so many people they wouldn’t get to help and that pain in her heart remained as she offered the sweet older woman a smile and an attentive hand.

‘‘It’ll get better, Louise, I promise.’‘ She offered a kind word, as she did for most, hoping that her positivty could lift their spirits. Just seeing them smile brought a whole new light into her life. She’d never seen something so beautiful than people who had literally nothing some how finding the will to keep going day in and day out. Each had their own story, their own demons and yet they kept breathing, laughing and loving. She admired them, their strength and will power.

And soon they were on their way once more.

Gideon had seemed a little awkward himself as the meandered through the crowd, yet, he’d been willing to help and engage and to Amélie it said a lot about his character, about the kind of heart he had. He was generous, compassionate and quick to run into adventure with her. He was unlike any man she’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. Once or twice that evening she’d found her eyes lingering on him a little longer than she’d like to admit. It wasn’t just that he was handsome but his mind and manners that really spoke to her.

Gideon was someone that didn’t come around often, and she knew deep down that she stood absoutely zero chance at what ever thoughts were running through her brain. But she could admire from a far, and the thoughts alone had brought a blush to her porcelain cheeks.

‘‘Come on, only one more person and we’re done.’‘ She chuckled falling into step beside him. All the while taking in their surroundings, the cloudy sky and flashing street lights. This was where most would warn people not to venture, and yet they were safe.

His question however had her nodding.

‘‘Honestly?’‘ Amélie took a moment to ponder his question, she didn’t think it was one singular big thing but a collection of little ones. Lots of things she’d witnessed, the brutality of the world even with her naivety she knew the pain that came with being alive and the burden some had to carry to survive day to day. ‘‘I want to make a change in the world.’’ She said simply after a minute or so. ‘’It doesn’t have to be something huge to be important y’know? If I can, somehow, somewhere make someone happy even if it’s just for five minutes? I want to be a part of that. Life’s cruel and it takes so many people down and makes them into monsters. I want to try and give one person hope that they don’t have to let the world drag them down too.’‘

‘‘A smile goes a long way and a helping hand can change a life. I honestly just want to be a decent human being, Gideon. I’m here to experience this world for however long I’m on this planet. God put me here for a reason and I think its to help people.’‘ And she truly believed that every single word that left her mouth was a part of her. She was opening up even if she hadn’t yet realised it, and the small smile on her lips spoke for itself. This kind of stuff made her happy, she liked making a difference and being a part of the bigger picture.

She may have been naive but she was also kind.

‘Come on, only one more person and we’re done.’

He doesn’t say it, but he’s relieved. It isn’t because he doesn’t want to do good – he does, desperately – but because all of this alms giving to the less fortunate has come with its fair share of mental dissonance for him. He still feels like a hypocrite, bred in excess, wealth dripping from him as he hands out threadbare blankets. He still feels scrutinized, resented, condemned, uncomfortable any time his eyes meet those of the people Amélie’s helping — even if it’s just a figment of his own guilty imagination.

Oh look, a Rutherford. Have you finally descended from your lofty perch long enough to take a good look at these streets? Does your family really give a shit?...

Like the rest, he gives money. Distant, detached contributions to philanthropic causes. But it isn’t the same. It isn’t up close and personal in the same way that Amélie’s work is, here on ground level. She’s not just throwing money at a cause. She’s not waiting for the flashing cameras to catch her good works, with a falsely humble smile. She’s not doing it for the sake of image, ego, or false pretense.

... Her altruism is real.

There isn’t enough of that, where he comes from. There are notable exceptions, of course – Damon’s foundation, Yvonne’s charity for struggling mothers – but for every exception he knows of countless other fakes, fronts and fabrications in the world of the wealthy, and especially where international mob circles intersect. He hates it.

Amélie talks about changing the world as they head back to the meet-up point. He’s never been optimistic enough to believe in world change, but when she dissects it into small actions – a smile here, a blanket there – Gideon can almost see the small wave in the ocean that she dreams of creating. It might not be much on its own, but enough small waves can buoy a boat, guiding it to better land. Maybe he appreciates her perspective so much because it isn’t naïve; she knows that life is often cruel, she herself says people can be monsters.

But still, she tries. She doesn’t use the dire straits of the universe as an excuse to go cold, or grow a callous brand of indifference.

Some three hours later, after a late-night cider, they’re back in Islington. It’s just past midnight by that point, and although he believes she can more than handle herself, he walks her to her door. They’d chatted over their warm drinks, but he’s grown a little quiet again as they reach her door. Now, Gideon looks up at her décor with a small smile as she turns to face him. “Goodnight, Amélie.” He tells her warmly, reaching out to find her hand and give it a squeeze. “Thanks for inviting me out tonight.”

And he means it.

Then, drawn by every earnest word and candid smile, the Rutherford steps forward, finds the curve of her jaw with one hand and presses a kiss to her cheek. There isn’t much room for further discourse, or maybe just no need, so the surgeon turns to go.

#can wrap up here! or you can add one more reply - whatev u want #G x Amelie #january '23 #flashback #q #t.

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thebluewritingbench · 3 years ago

Note

if you’re still taking prompts, can you do happiness #1?

Before we launch into 6b next week, here's a small fantasy of a scene that I wish the cw would give us. Happiness #1 from this prompt list again.

“I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

“Alex calls it The Honesty Policy.”

Lena takes the mug of hot chocolate Kara offers, cradling it between her hands. “The Honesty Policy?” she asks, as Kara sits down on the couch beside her.

“I imagine Kelly probably fed it to her,” Kara says. “But she was helping me try to figure out how we could get ourselves… well, back to normal, after everything, and she was really insistent that this one was worth a try.”

“What is it?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. No more secrets,” Kara says, tapping her own collarbone, then fixing her gaze pointedly on Lena. “No more lying. We tell each other things. We’re honest. We trust each other with our secrets.”

Lena nods, looking down into her mug of hot chocolate. The dim lights of Kara’s loft glow orange across her cheekbones, and in the silence, the sounds of late-night passing cars rumble up from the street below. It’s the first time they’ve really spent time truly alone together since… well everything.

There’s still a lot of awkwardness between them; turns out secrets and betrayal and double-crossing—and the fact that forgiveness was barely hatching between them when Kara was banished to the phantom zone—will do that to a friendship. There was the initial hug, of course, after Kara was rescued, when Lena wrapped her arms around Kara and buried her face in Kara’s neck and held her so tightly that Kara was certain she’d never let go, her breath coming in ragged gasps and her whole body quivering. It was somewhat surreal, the warm shock of having Lena in her arms after so many months, her hair against Kara’s cheek, the muted scent of her shampoo. They’d sank to the floor, still holding each as the ship creaked around them, and stayed there for god knows how long in each other arms.

But since then, since that initial wordless embrace that felt as much like coming home as anything, they haven’t known what to say to each other. They work together easily enough, the animosity between Supergirl and Lena finally gone, but it’s more difficult when they’re just Kara and Lena. They’ve forgiven each other, Kara thinks. Or at least agreed to forgive each other, even if there’s still work to be done. But it’s weird. It’s not like they can snap straight back into how things were before.

Hence The Honesty Policy.

“Okay,” Lena says finally. “Yes. No more secrets. A clean start.”

A clean start. It’s what they need, after an entire friendship where one or the other of them has been hiding things. For the first time, everything between them will be out in the open. Nothing left to hide.

It’s oddly freeing.

Kara takes a sip of her hot chocolate. “So, where do we start?”

“Start?”

“I think we should have just an honest conversation. I don’t want this to be awkward anymore, I want to be able to talk to you like we used to. So, in the interest of honesty, tell me something you’ve never told me before. It doesn’t have to be big—” she adds hurriedly, when Lena’s eyes widen in alarm. “Something small. Something tiny you’ve never had reason to tell me.”

Lena nods slowly, thinking. “In the interest of honesty…” she starts. “In the interest of honesty, I… I really think that those bangs were a mistake.”

Kara makes a noise of offended disbelief in the back of her throat. “I—Rude!”

“You said to be honest!” Lena says, biting her lip like she’s holding back a laugh. “They’re growing out now, anyways. It looks much better.”

Kara gives her bangs a self-conscious pat. They’re still at a slightly awkward length, but they’re long enough to blend in semi-decently with the rest of her hair now. “If we’re being honest, then,” she says. “I think that blouse is really ugly.”

Lena looks down at herself. She sounds slightly hurt when she says, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything! It’s—the pattern! The sleeves! The collar! It looks like it’s made of cheap polyester.”

“It’s designer!” Lena pouts.

“Who designed it?”

“Well, I thought that blazer you wore last week was kind of hideous. I didn’t say anything at the time, but in the interest of honesty…”

Kara laughs, and Lena’s irritated expression melts away at her laughter, something in her eyes softening. It’s an expression Kara’s been seeing on her more often, in moments she catches Lena watching her when she thinks Kara isn’t paying attention.

She’s always paying attention to Lena.

“Maybe we should just agree to say that we both have questionable fashion taste sometimes and call it a day,” she says, downing the rest of her hot chocolate and placing the mug on the table.

Lena takes a dainty sip of her own still mostly filled mug. “Fine.”

There’s a long pause, and Kara taps her fingers on her pant leg and tries to think of a new conversation starter. She finally settles on. “In the interest of honesty… how are you holding up?”

Lena shrugs. “I’m okay, I suppose. I’m anxious about Lex—I know it’s only a matter of time before he’s back on our heels. Mostly, I’m just glad to have you back.” She looks over her mug at Kara. “I think that’s more a question I should be asking you, though.”

The look of intense concern in Lena’s eyes makes her feel hot, and Kara squirms slightly, pulling her collar away from her neck with a finger. She wants to say I’m fine, but honesty is the whole point of this exercise. “I’m… still not great. Being back there it… brought up a lot. Brought back a lot. I’m still having a really hard time with it all. It’s—it’s hard to talk about.”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“I want to talk about with you at some point. I just… don’t want it to ruin every conversation I have, you know? I want some things to be normal, still. I want to pretend things can be normal.”

“That makes sense,” Lena nods. She looks small when she says, “In the—in the interest of honesty, are you still mad?”

“At you?” Lena nods again, and Kara sighs, looking away. “It’s complicated, I guess. A little, maybe? I meant it when I said I forgave you, but there’s still part of me that’s a little angry. You did a lot of things that were… really bad, Lena.”

“I know.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Kara asks, and Lena’s shaking her head before she even finishes the question.

“No. No, I’m done being mad at you. I get it. I get why you hid your identity, and I wish you’d told me sooner, but I’m not angry anymore. I don’t have enough energy to be angry anymore. I’m happier if I don’t hate you.”

“Well, I’m glad for that.”

“I would have done anything to get you back, you know,” Lena says in a rush, words spilling out like she can’t stop them. “You say I did bad things before, but I would have watched the world burn if it meant I could have brought you back.” She looks down at her lap. “Who knows what I would have done if Alex hadn’t been there to stop me.”

“Lena.” Kara reaches over to take her hand. “You know I can’t possibly be mad at you for that.”

“No?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay,” Lena whispers. Kara watches her swirl around the dregs of her hot chocolate and takes a deep breath.

There’s still one more secret between them. One more secret that has the potential to ruin their friendship. Kara thinks they’re both aware of it, on some level. Aware of the way the weight of it shifts their every interaction. The others are aware of it too, have maybe known longer than Kara has. Alex certainly has. It was she who looked Kara in the eye when they were discussing this whole honestly policy and said, “You have to tell her this. You know you do.”

She can’t risk another secret in their relationship.

“Um, in the interest of honesty,” she starts, and finds she can’t quite meet Lena’s eyes. “I have to tell you—in all honesty, I would probably just keep it a secret, if I could, but I don’t think we should do secrets anymore, so I just need to tell you that I, um, have feelings for you.”

Lena straightens. “Feelings?” she says, her voice cautious.

Kara closes her eyes. Takes a breath. Steadies herself. Opens them again. “I’m in love with you,” she says. “Um, nothing has to change if you don’t want it to, but I need… I need you to know.”

“Oh,” breathes Lena. She opens her mouth, and it seem to take several moments for the words to catch up with her. “Well, in—in the interest of honesty, Kara, I’ve—I’ve been in love with you for years.” She gives a wry little half smile. “If we’re being honest.”

“What? You have?”

“Darling,” says Lena. “I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

“The day we met?”

“Why do you think it hurt me so badly when I found out who you were? Why do you think I was so deep in denial about it that I never figured it out myself? Do you really think you were that good at hiding it?”

“I mean, I thought—”

“The disguise. The hair. The glasses.” She puts down her mug, then reaches over and gently tugs the glasses from Kara’s face, folding the arms in and placing them on the table. She brushes a strand of hair behind Kara’s ear. “You mentioned Supergirl far too much as Kara and Kara far too much as Supergirl and one time you told me you flew to my office on a bus.”

“That’s—yeah, that’s fair, actually.”

“You’re in love with me? Honestly?” whispers Lena.

“I am. I really, truly am. Why do you think I refused to give up on you when everyone else was ready to?”

“I thought that just how you are. You don’t give up on anyone.”

“I try not to. But you, I could never bear to, even when it seemed like the only logical option to everyone else. Why do you think I waited so long to tell you in the first place? I was so scared to ruin things between us.”

“Why do you think I bought you an entire media empire?” Lena murmurs, and she’s so close, hand fisted in the collar of Kara’s shirt.

Kara giggles. “Why do you think I flew all over Europe to get you lunch?”

Lena laughs, and it’s such a relief to hear her laughter again, to let the conversation flow between them. There’s a bud of hope for the future that’s been sitting in Kara’s chest for years now, and under Lena’s adoring gaze, it starts to open.

“In all honesty,” Kara says, “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Lena slips a hand into her hair, runs her thumb over Kara’s cheekbone. “In all honesty?” She leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “I’d like that.”

#supergirl #supercorp #supercorp fic #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl fanfic #featuring me making fun of the supergirl costume department and also the bangs #and justifying all the sc bullshit i can #and making our girls have an hONEST CONVERSATIOn #is this therapy?#anyways I wrote this as a palate cleanser in between chapters of my WIP so enjoy :D #asks #anon #prompts #bluewritingbench writes #bluewritingbench ficlets

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phantomrose96 · 3 years ago

Text

Fenton Fact

Danny leaned back against the red brick chimney of the Casper High roof, and he looked across the stretch of land rolling far off from the building top. For a place so off-limits, so hidden-away from the normal bustle of the school, the view really wasn’t anything special. Sure, the school was decently tall, but it overlooked the staff parking lot, and the empty Casper High tennis courts, and the back of a strip mall two blocks over with the recently-haunted laundromat.

Not that it mattered. It took more than tall-building-views to impress Danny anyway, even the nice ones. And he wasn’t up here for the view.

Danny let his eyes drift shut.

“Sup loner, room for one more?”

Danny startled, and it wasn’t Sam’s voice specifically that startled him. (He’d grown used to her bursting from his Fenton Phone earpiece during most nightly patrols.) He’d just lulled himself a bit too comfortably into the idea that no other human could follow him to the top of the locked rooftop of the Casper High building.

“Did I just surprise a ghost?” Sam asked. “Should I do it again with a ‘boo’?”

“Haha,” Danny answered with a fake chuckle. He blinked himself back to prickly awareness, drowsiness batted away like dust bunnies, and stared up at Sam. “I’m not surprised. I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be on the roof. How did you even—”

Sam was a few steps ahead of him. In explanation, she waggled the Fenton-branded grappling hook gripped in hand.

Danny leaned back with a faux-exasperated sigh. “Since when do you even have a grappling hook?”

“Since I told your mom it would be a wildly cool line of gear to add to the Fenton brand.”

“Does this mean my mom now has a grappling hook too?”

“Yes. And your dad. And Jazz. And Tucker.”

“Great. When I go home and all the ceiling fans are torn down I’ll know why.”

A gentle silence lapsed over them, punctuated with the swell of fall wind.

“So…” Sam continued. “Can I sit here?”

“Huh?” Danny looked at her, anchoring his drifting thoughts once more. “Oh, yeah. I thought the ‘yeah’ was implied.” Danny shuffled a bit to the side, back still resting against the chimney. He patted the spot he cleared. “What am I gonna tell you? No?”

“Just making sure.” Sam stowed the grappling hook to the side of her belt and settled into the spot beside Danny, feet outstretched. “In case maybe you wanted some alone time.”

“’Alone time’ isn’t really something I get anymore. I’ve had about a hundred-too-many ghosts crash through my bedroom for that.”

“So why the roof?”

“Roof is more for uh…” Danny twirled his hand, “‘less adoring crowds’ time. ‘Less classmates ogling me’ time. You can stay so long as you don’t ask me to sign anything.”

“I was never interested in the parasocial or capitalistic value of celebrity signatures. Besides, you cross your ‘t’s weird.”

Danny replied with a half-hearted chuckle. His line of sight drifted into the middle-distance again, unfocused.

“Is it getting to be too much?” Sam asked.

“Hmm?” Danny answered, eyes shifting back to her.

Sam gestured broadly, hands and arms outstretched. “You know just. All this. Everything.”

“…Nah.”

Another small silence grew from the cracks in the concrete between them.

“Paulina and Star are looking for you. You know that, right?”

“Oh, are they?”

“Danny. You knew that.”

“Maybe.”

“…And you’re not interested in seeing what they want?”

“I figure Tucker is keeping them busy.”

“You’re unfortunately right.”

“Phantom Phacts?”

“Phantom Phacts.” Sam nodded. “I made him promise to leave out any embarrassing trivia from the trivia section.”

“Thanks for that,” Danny answered. “Is his presentation any good?”

“You think I’ve ever stuck around to hear it?”

“Fair.”

Sam pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs and set her chin to her knees, staring forward.

“You’re really not interested in sitting with Star and Paulina for lunch?”

“Not really. Why? Is that bad?”

“No, it’s absolutely great. But I’m…” Sam shrugged, “surprised, I guess. I feel like usually you’d jump at the opportunity. And I kinda don’t think you’re refusing because you’ve suddenly recognized the banality of A-lister status.”

“Maybe that is what happened, you don’t know that. Down with capitalism, Sam.”

“Danny.” Sam tilted a fraction to face him. “I’m worried that this is all too much for you, and you just won’t admit it.”

Danny sat with the silence that followed. “I don’t think it’s too much. I’m just—I dunno. I mean. I’m just not feeling it.”

“…You can admit if it’s overwhelming, Danny. I’ll be the first to shut down ‘Phantom Phacts’ if it is.”

“Nah, nah let Tucker have his fun. He’s not the problem. It’s… I dunno.” Danny pushed himself taller against the chimney, upright now and unslumped. “It’s a little bit overwhelming, I guess, maybe. But it’s kind of what I expected. Maybe even a little easier than I was expecting. I thought I’d be dealing with a lot of Phantom-hate once everyone knew but, I guess that kind of died down a long time before everyone knew.”

“Valerie holding you at gunpoint in the cafeteria wasn’t Phantom-hate?”

“We’ve had a lot of good talks since then, okay?”

Sam let out a quiet laugh. “So then… why aren’t you sitting with the popular kids right now?”

“I just didn’t want to, I guess?”

“And why didn’t you want to?”

“It just didn’t really feel right.”

“Is it because of me?” Sam asked, another side-long glance cast to Danny. “Because you can sit with them. I’ll still make fun of you if you do, but you don’t have to… not sit with them because of me.”

“What? Huh—no. Nah, nah I mean I do care what you think Sam. But I mean if I wanted to be sitting with them then I would so. I mean. You don’t have to worry that it’s you.”

“So then what is it?”

Danny took a moment to answer.

“It’s just… it’s a feeling. I dunno. Like.” Danny spread his arms out. “The invitation is wrong? Or the invitation isn’t actually for me?”

“…The invitation is for Phantom instead?”

Pensive indecision set into Danny’s eyes. “That’s not totally it. Because I mean I AM Phantom. I’m not not me when I’m Phantom. Maybe I trash-talk a little more in ghost form but I’m not… not me. That’s still just me. You know that.”

“Right, yeah, no Danny. It just sounded like that’s what you were saying.” Sam let her legs slide out a few inches. “So what are you saying?”

Danny sat with the question. “When the news first picked up on Phantom, way back when—Inviso-Bill?—that wasn’t really anyone, you know? They made up some spooky icon to make the news about. Which was just like, whatever, not me. I didn’t even take ‘Inviso-Bill’ too personally because that just wasn’t me. And even when I stopped being an enemy and started actually being ‘Danny Phantom’… no one actually got it right, you know? They kind of came up with a character for me. Just some hero. I listen to the news and how they talk about me and I think, even now, I think ‘That isn’t me.’”

Danny pulled his knees in, a mirror to Sam, and stared down into his tattered jean fabric. “And when everyone learned I’m Phantom I guess I kind of expected them to be like ‘Oh it’s Fenton’ and then that fake version of Phantom would go away.” Danny raised his eyes to Sam, far more bothered than before. “…I think the opposite happened. They don’t look at Phantom and think ‘oh it’s Fenton’. They look at Fenton and think ‘oh it’s Phantom.’ I think Danny Fenton got put away. I think the person I was for 14 years doesn’t exist to them anymore. Whoever they invited to lunch isn’t me. He doesn’t exist. But I’m suddenly responsible for him. And it’s not even me.”

Danny paused. “And now I’ve been wondering like… how long until I disappoint them? You know? How long until I do something that makes them angry because I’m not doing the thing they expect ‘Phantom’ to do? How long until they start seeing there’s too much ‘Fenton’ in me and they start to hate me for it all over again? For them to really like me, I don’t think I can be me, and I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to be someone who doesn’t just disappoint everyone in the end.”

A long gust of wind swept between them, stealing away the seconds.

“…So now you’re hiding on the roof.”

“It was the easiest solution to my problem.”

“But not a lasting one, if you ever want to get down.” The wind settled, and Sam swept a lock of hair behind her ear. “…Do you care if you disappoint them?”

Danny shrugged. “I. Yeah. I think. I don’t—I don’t think I totally know for certain, but I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“Well, you’re not going to disappoint me, or Jazz, or Tucker—and if Tucker does act disappointed over any lost Phantom Phacts ventures I’ll whap him over the head. But I mean, we know who you are. We’re not going to be disappointed realizing you’re not ‘Phantom.’ The worst you can do is land right back where you started.”

“And what if I started acting like ‘Phantom’ instead. Would that disappoint you guys?”

“Do you want to act like ‘Phantom’?”

Danny paused. “…No. Not at all.”

“Then don’t. It’s that simple.” Sam stood, and she stretched until her back popped. “It’s not your responsibility to uphold whatever delusions people project onto you. I won’t hesitate to call them out on it. You know I’m good at being direct, and you know I’m even better at making enemies.”

“I don’t wanna be mean to them though when they’re finally being nice.”

“They’re not being nice, they’re projecting. If their niceness to you is conditional on you fitting to the box they created for you, that’s not nice, that’s manipulation, and it’s exactly the root of my ever-frothing disdain for popularity. It’s always some element about popular people that people latch on to, and they can fit the box that people give them, or they can reject it and find themselves wallowing amongst us outcasts. Don’t do that to yourself, Danny. Don’t live in their chains.” Sam tilted her head to Danny. “You spend all day trapping ghosts into tight little boxes and you can’t even recognize when it’s happening to you. I think you’d be better at spotting this.”

“It’s a cylinder, really. The thermos. It’s a cylinder. And don’t say ‘box’ so much. You might summon company.”

“You just said ‘box’ though.”

“I did say ‘box’.”

“Box.”

Sam laughed, noise trailing light on her lips. “…Feeling any better?”

“A little, I think… I still… I still think I... it's not as easy to just say 'I don't care if I disappoint them.' It's still scary. I don’t want to end up proving them right that they were right to hate me all along.”

“Are the opinions of Dash Baxter really the ones to be holding on a pedestal? Is his opinion of you really more important than what you think of yourself? You’ve been through this with the A-listers already. Don’t torture yourself again just because the door is wide open. I promise you Danny, it won’t make you happy.”

“So I should just do whatever makes me happy?”

“Every time.” Sam nodded.

"Even if I'm a total disappointing loser?"

"All the better."

"Even if I blow any chance I have with Paulina out the window?"

“Wouldn't have it any other way. Got any idea what you intend to say to her when she finds you?”

Danny paused. He pushed himself standing. “Maybe I could talk her ear off about NASA until she gets bored of me?”

“Excellent. Can I join? I have a lot to say about SpaceX and private capital encroaching on space exploration.”

“Does that apply to me? I’ve been to space. Am I private capital?”

“You’re not private capital.”

“Then what am I?”

“Annoying.” Sam locked arms with Danny, and dragged him along forward, her combat boots clunking against the rooftop. “And my friend. Come on. I’ll brief you on everything wrong with privately-owned space exploration while we’re rappelling down the side of the building with my sick and cool as hell grappling hook.”

“I can fly.”

“And I have a sick grappling hook. What’s your point.”

“It’s probably called a ‘Fenton Hook.’”

“Is that a Phantom Phact?”

Danny shook his head, and a smile pulled on his lips. “Nah. I think it’s a Fenton Fact.”

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #-lobs this over the fence-

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yagamiluvr · 3 years ago

Note

Aight this is for my friend cuz she loves L (I mean I do too but this is her request) and doesn't have Tumblr.

So, headcanons for this kind of situation?: The reader is a café waitress and so one day L decides to get sweets himself and orders from the reader. He decides to come back everyday to the café for the sweets and because he liked the waitress. So like as he visits everyday he starts to get a crush on the reader and the reader with him if that makes sense. Eventually he asks out?

bye bc i absolutely adore this idea 🥺 thank you so much for this request, and i hope both you and your friend like this! <3

so we ALL know l loves his sweets

one day he asks watari to bring him some after a long while of working, to which watari replies that they've run out

so l is like "okay" and decides to take matters into his own hands

he's not too afraid to go out in public without any kind of disguise or protection, as he always keeps his identity hidden while working as l

he wastes no time in pulling on a pair of sneakers and waltzing out, trying to find a good place to buy himself more treats

after a while of looking, he finally comes across this cute little café

which just so happens to be the very café that you work in!

so he walks in there while you're working the register

he sees you and he's literally like "oh my god"

there's something about you that makes him feel just... weird

not like a bad weird though! he feels his heart skip a beat and his stomach suddenly start churning

it's an odd feeling for him, but he likes it????

he doesn't really know what to think; all he can do is just ogle at you

he can't get enough of you, and he hasn't even spoken to you yet

so finally l gets over himself and shuffles up to the counter

you notice him and you flash him a warm smile

"hello! what can i get for you today?"

if you look into his brain at this moment, all it would be is the windows error screen LMAO

l is able to keep up a decent front as he quickly spouts off the names of some cakes and pies and such, but right now he's more interested in the pretty person in front of him rather than the sweets

before he knows it, you're ringing up his items and handing him his food

he's well aware that this is his cue to leave, but he just doesn't want to

something about you makes him want to stay. he just finds you interesting, is all

so he takes the stuff and he goes back to his hotel, but he can't stop thinking about that pretty cashier

so fast forward to the next day, and l is like "screw it" and decides to go back to see you again

luckily for him, you're there! he couldn't be more excited :D

he's definitely not one of those people whose face you'd see in a crowd one day and just totally forget about. he's got a certain air about him, this little quirky charm, so obviously you recognize him

"hello again! i did see you yesterday, didn't i?"

"uh, yes. yes you did."

"see, i knew i recognized you! you back for more sweets?"

"mhm. do you have anything strawberry flavored, by any chance?"

l's already an introvert, but he can feel himself getting shyer the longer he's near you

he's very well aware that he's an awkward kind of guy, but you manage to get him all flustered in a way he's never been before

as you ring up the items he'd ordered, he attempts to make small talk with you

"the weather's nice today."

"you think so? it's been really rainy and gloomy."

"i like the rain."

"oh yeah! nothing wrong with the rain. it can be quite nice."

when you hand him the bag of stuff, you're about to wish him farewell before he randomly says, "oh, by the way, what's your name?"

"it's (y/n)!" you tell him, gesturing to the name tag on your shirt. "yours?"

"oh, it's ryuzaki."

(as interested as he is in you, he's not about to just give himself away as l like that)

"i like that name! well, ryuzaki, i hope you have a good day! and come back soon!"

"i will, thank you."

you didn't expect him to actually take 'soon' so literally, as the next day he's back again

and the day after that

you get the gist

l always comes in at around 6 or 7 in the evening when business is slow so you have more of a chance to talk to him

the more he comes in, the more comfortable he grows around you.

talking about each other's day, sharing funny stories, getting to know each other- it's really nice! and you always look forward to seeing him come in, because you always have a blast hanging out with him

as time goes on, l only falls harder for you. your smile, the way your hair perfectly frames your beautiful face, the way you laugh every time he makes an attempt to crack a joke... he loves it

unbeknownst to him, you've caught feelings as well. you've already grown to be feel comfortable in his company, but the more you get to know him, the more you realize that omg this guy's the cutest

finally, one evening he comes in, but he looks way more anxious than normal

"ryuzaki! hey, you doing okay? you seem kinda... i don't know. off. did something happen?"

"no, no. nothing happened. i just- i have something i want to tell you."

"hmm? what is it?"

"well, you see, i... i've been thinking about you a lot. i quite enjoy visiting you and talking to you, and i think you're one of the most interesting people i've met. i like being with you, so i was wondering if you would like to, um, spend more time together outside of your work. like a date. but only if you're comfortable with it."

at this, you're literally over the moon

"i'd really like that, ryuzaki! i get off work early tomorrow; would you be down to grab some dinner with me?"

l flashes you his signature tiny smile, the one you've grown to know and love over this past while

"yes. i'd like that, (y/n). i'd like it very much."

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karalora · 3 years ago

Text

On Disney's Live-Action Remakes

A thought occurs to me, as I read all the emphatically well-deserved snark aimed at the Cruella movie, especially the aspects that make little sense in connection with the original animated film…what Disney is counting on, when they release these live-action remakes and perspective flips, is that the majority of the audience hasn’t watched the original any time recently. That we have fond memories of watching as kids and instantly recognize the characters, but aren’t actually what you’d call familiar with that source material. In fact, they are relying on us being more familiar with the pop-cultural osmosis version of these movies and characters—with the discourse—than the actual portrayals.

Why make an origin movie about Cruella DeVil? Why, because she is the MOST EVIL of all the Disney Villains—she wants to kill puppies!—and wouldn’t it be just fascinating to discover how she got that way? Never mind that anyone who actually watches Disney movies and thinks about it for more than five seconds will realize that most of the Villains want to kill people at one point or another, and that any decent system of morality rates killing people as worse than killing puppies (at least if, like Cruella, you don’t know the puppies are sapient beings)��puppy-killing is memetically The Worst Thing, so Cruella’s backstory is deemed The Most Intriguing.

How about Maleficent? Well, people have seen a lot of well-meaning but superficial discussions about the Disney Princess brand and sexism much more recently than they have watched Sleeping Beauty, so what they remember is “the Princess sleeps through her own movie” and therefore it is Unfeminist and Bad. Therefore, they are primed to accept that turning the story on its head to be about the wicked fairy, who is an empowered woman, AND making it a rape-revenge story on top of that (awareness!), is More Feminist and also The Truth All Along.

Never mind that Sleeping Beauty, on its own, is a perfectly serviceable feminist movie, because the major movers and shakers of the story on both sides are all powerful women (and indeed, Maleficent can’t reckon entirely without the Good Fairies…so it makes them cowardly buffoons, diminishing three women in order to elevate one. Much empowered. So feminism. Wow).

Or take Beauty and the Beast. Now, that is one that adults actually watch frequently enough, so they couldn’t get too screwy with the plot and characterization, but boy oh boy did the internet discourse rear its head. You know how people are always noticing that Disney Princesses never have moms? Well, we’re gonna explain what happened to Belle’s mom! (She died. Of a disease. This of course changes our understanding of Belle on a fundamental level oh wait no it changes literally nothing) You know how modern people living in individualistic democracies criticize the Enchantress for punishing the Prince’s servants for his jackassery? We’re gonna explain that too! (See, it was sort of their fault he turned out so rotten, because they didn’t raise him better, which is definitely something the hired help in a monarchy has any control over). And on and on it goes, laser-focused on addressing what people think they know about the movie rather than being any sort of meaningful examination of its themes a generation later.

Hell, this mentality is even seeping into the animated features now. People are wondering where Elsa’s powers came from? Fine, make a sequel that explains it. Any sensible and confident creator would be able to say “It’s not important why she has powers. That’s not what the story is about. You don’t need to know where her powers came from anywhere than you need to know where Peter Pan’s powers came from.” (Except that apparently people have been asking where Peter Pan’s powers came from, because there’s an entire cottage industry dedicated to writing Peter’s origin story.)

I’m starting to drift, so I’ll wrap this up. Not only is Disney buying up every media empire under the sun to mine for new material since they can’t be bothered to make up their own anymore, they’re doing the same thing to their own back-catalogue. But that only works if the audience doesn’t have any more respect for the back-catalogue than the company does. So do yourself a favor, you with the Disney+ account that you only use to watch the new stuff as it comes out: Go back and watch the classics. When you hear that Disney is gearing up for another live-action remake of a decades-old animated feature, watch the animated one. Take it as it is, on its own terms, instead of looking for stuff that Cracked.com would have a field day with.

Disney can’t skin the puppies if people are still petting them. Go pet those puppies, and you’ll know to say no to the fur coat.

#disney #cruella #101 dalmatians #maleficent #mulan #the beauty and the beast #the fucking state of media engagement these days

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sarasapen · 3 years ago

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Among the Blues and Greens

Another installation of the Little One series.

Summary: Meditation often allowed for Jedi to discover and learn about their thoughts and feelings, aiding them in solving their problems. This meditation session unfortunately reveals more than you’d like.

Or the one in which Obi-Wan’s Padawan realises she loves him.

Warnings: Language, meditation, slow dancing, yearning, revelations, forehead kisses, Past Obitine relationship mentions

Word Count: 3k

Star Wars Masterlist

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You were a fraud.

Whenever you felt particularly emotional, you meditated, as any good Jedi was supposed to do. Before daybreak, the gardens at the Sundari Royal Palace were relatively uninhabited, at least by people. You didn’t mind the plants and animals. Their energies were soothing, incorrupt, they just were. That’s how you find yourself there, for the third day in a row, trying desperately to calm the tempest that’s seen fit to take up permanent residence in your mind.

Why were you a fraud? A fake? A poser?

Because here you were, years of training under your belt, pretending to meditate. Fraud.

It was an old ‘trick’ that young Padawans- very young Padawans, you added- resorted to when they were made to meditate. Sitting there with your eyes closed, trying to keep your breathing even. No actual self-exploration or deep diving into your mind, just putting up a facade that any force insensitive being wouldn’t see through.

Unfortunately for you, Obi-Wan Kenobi was Force sensitive.

“You’re pretending,” He muses, lowering himself beside you and crossing his legs, assuming the same position you were in. You keep your eyes closed, forcing your breaths to remain even as if he hadn’t even spoken. He sees right through it, amusement weaving into the deep blues that were his signature.

Oftentimes you wondered what it was like, to be in the middle of all that was him. Observing one’s signature from the outside was very much different than actually experiencing it. Each individual’s signature was different, and his signature was always so wonderful… You wanted to learn more about it, about him. But you knew you wouldn’t ever dare to be brash enough to even brush your signature against his, let alone delve into him fully.

His signature morphs, from the vibrant, rich hums to a gentle, soothing wave. He’s meditating.

You scowl.

He’s barely been sitting down for a minute, and he’s already accomplished what you’ve been trying to do for the past three days.

“Focus your thoughts on something,” He suggests quietly, sending out a wash of calm over your prickling irritation. He’s guiding you, as he used to do years ago when you were a young and distractible little thing, and you let him.

You’d let him do anything.

You’re swept backwards into the deep abyss that’s your mind, and you fall freely, watching Obi-Wan’s signature withdraw slowly from yours. It’s like watching waves upon the shore, gently sweeping backwards and away, taking with it such tiny, essential parts of you while simultaneously shaping you into a thing to behold. It was always, before anything else, soothing.

He didn’t like studying others’ energies too closely. It was a common trait amongst blue sabers, whilst reading people's energies were crucial for the Jedi, studying them at great lengths could often prove to be uncomfortable. But yours, he had said. He wouldn’t mind spending days traversing the inside of your mind if you’d let him.

When you were younger, you’d asked him what your signature looked like to him. He said it was a mass of shades of green that were so beautiful he doubted the mere names of the colours or any other descriptive words would be able to do them any justice.

Beautiful, was the word he’d always use.

And he was…gentle, and kind, and smart. You exhale slowly, no longer stiff in your posture. He’s always been so patient with you, even with his occasional sarcastic comment. The perfect Jedi.

Even as a youngling, you’d hear exaggerated stories from Padawans slightly older than you, or, at least, he insisted they were exaggerated. A few years into your training with him, you began to think that maybe the far-fetched stories weren’t so far-fetched after all.

You’re so lucky, younglings would say shortly after you had become his Padawan. After all, Master Kenobi’s previous Padawan was the Chosen One. You’d have to be something special to attract his attention.

And you were lucky. But not for the glory and the awe that sparkled in people’s eyes at the mention of his name. It was for his undivided attention on you, his genuine interest in the things you enjoyed, his efforts to shift your training to aid in what you wanted to specialise in, even if it was wildly different from what he was good at.

Not that there was much he wasn’t good at.

You loved the way he carried himself, not with arrogance or pride (both of which you thought would have been deserved), but with a humble sort of almost shyness. You loved that he pushed to do better, to be better, not for himself but for you and Anakin. You loved the way he conducted himself with people, even those considered to be the lowest of the lows, he treated them with so much respect and kindness.

Perhaps it was just that he was a decent human being, but that didn’t mean you loved him any less.

You loved the way he’d throw in a sharp remark when facing an adversary, or the way he’d stand tall even in the face of-

Hold on.

You loved him.

You loved him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

“What are you thinking about?” Obi-Wan calls from beside you, his voice no louder than a low murmur, and it still makes you flinch. “You’ve grown tense.”

Play dumb. You could do that. Just… blurt out something random and leave it at that, and then you can-

“She seems nice.”

FUCK. Not that fucking dumb oh stars above you were so fucking screwed-

“She… The Duchess?”

“Yeah, your Duchess.” Oh kriffing hells, if you could just. stop. talking.

“Duchess Satine is not my Duchess,” His force signature dips suddenly, as if he’s reeled everything back into himself. It pulls you along with it, and you can no longer pretend that you’re meditating. Not with the way your Master turns to face you, studying your features with a concerned curiosity. You tense up again, keeping your eyes trained on a lone tree, a distance away. There’s a caterpillar crawling on one of the branches, and you focus on that. You can tell that he can tell. He’s always been so good at reading you.

“You…” He starts, but stops himself, straightening and regarding you once again.

“Sometimes I find myself having to meditate more than usual. Even up to a few times a day, if I’m…” Obi-Wan’s gaze flickers down from your eyes for just a split second, a movement so quick he doesn’t even realise he’s done it. “Distracted.”

There’s a stutter in your signature, one you try to hide by slamming up your walls, but the brush of Obi-Wan’s hand against your arm has you faltering. The waves of him approach slowly once again, waiting patiently beside the storm that’s your signature.

“What’s gotten you so tense?” He probes gently, the weight of his hand against your shoulder mirroring the gentle reassuring taps of his signature against yours.

“Do you love her?”

You know what. There’s a ledge. Right there. You could just jump off. If you were dead you wouldn’t be facing this amount of embarrassment.

“...I used to,” Obi-Wan reveals, and his admission surprises himself more than it does you. Not that he wasn’t aware of what the extent of feelings for Satine used to be, but admitting it, out loud? It was something he had never done before.

“Used to?”

“It was a lifetime ago, when I was still a Padawan.”

It’s strange. Neither of you want to continue talking, to keep delving into dark and murky uncharted territory, between the blurred depths of what’s allowed and what’s forbidden. It scares you. It scares him too.

“So… what? You decided to give her up?”

He should say something about the way of the Jedi, that attachments were forbidden, and that had anyone else known, they would’ve expected him to leave Satine. If it were anyone else asking him this, he would’ve said it, accompanied by a deserved lecture on subtlety and manners.

But you’re the exception.

You’d always be his only exception.

So, instead, Obi-Wan says, “The Duchess, while a remarkable woman, has a very different outlook on life than I do, even back then.”

There's a stretch of silence that he feels like he needs to fill. “Besides, it gave me the chance to meet people even more remarkable.”

“Not many people can compare to the Duchess of Mandalore,” You mutter, closing your eyes to block out the sight of him when he gets to his feet.

“No,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Although the Duchess couldn’t come close to comparing to you.”

And with that heart-stopping revelation, he leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Focus,” Obi-Wan whispers in your ear, and then he’s gone.

Now you really couldn’t concentrate.

——

“Breathe,” Obi-Wan had instructed you, sitting beside your fidgety body with his own long-since perfected form.

It was the second week into your Padawan training, and it had taken Obi-Wan twenty three minutes to get you to sit still. Not including the sixteen minutes it took to get you past the normally three minute walk from library to your room, or the seven minutes it took for you to pad over to him and sit beside him. Not for your lack of trying, Obi-Wan mused, watching you fidget once again.

Your eyes fly open at his words.

“If I stop breathing during meditation will I die?”

Yeah, okay, that one was on him. It takes a lot of control for Obi-Wan not to choke on his overwhelming surprise at your words.

“Meditation can only occur when you stop speaking, little one,” He hints, keeping his posture straight. Thirty two minutes now, he’s been sitting in this position, not meditating, but focused on your wild little signature.

“Oh, yeah,” You concede, shifting again and screwing your eyes shut.

Master Kenobi, the whisper-shout in his head very nearly startles him, and Obi-Wan can’t keep pretending his focus is impeccable. He turns to regard you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. If I stop breathing during meditation, will I die?

Again, to your credit, you weren’t exactly… speaking.

Perhaps that’s why, with a self-indulgent smile, he sends back a quick no.

Okay, you accept happily, shifting again in your seat. Your early days were so much like Anakin’s. Both of you, filled with a curiosity and outlook on the world that only children could view, and it baffled him to no end that both of you viewed him in exactly the same way.

You just accepted everything he said without much thought, readily eager to believe that your Master was always right, because what else could he ever be? It was perhaps that specific period of time during both his Padawans’ training that Obi-Wan was the most stressed. The first few years were the years he felt as though he could disappoint you the most, to fail to protect you and teach you and nurture you.

He didn’t fail. He didn’t even come close. You’d tell him if you could. Anakin would tell him too. But it just wasn’t a conversation Jedis had.

And…there.

You’re not meditating. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat when he feels you oh so carefully reach out your signature. He follows along at a distance, careful not to alert you, and he watches as your signature gingerly approaches the plant situated outside your apartment door.

The plant. You were connecting with the plant.

You’re calm, he realises. Nearly ridiculously so, if he didn’t know any better he’d think your signature was that of a fully trained knight. The spurts and bursts and branches that were usually your energy flutter gently down, acting obedient and serene.

It’s… for lack of a better word, beautiful.

So with your thoughts centered around that little plant outside, all Obi-Wan has to do is give you just a little nudge that blocks out all other distractions for you- maybe it’s cheating, but he wants to see what will happen.

And then you’re meditating.

——

“It’s the first time I’ve worn a dress!” Swishing the fabrics of the skirt around you, you’re easily entranced by the movement. It’s a pretty dress, courtesy of the Mandalorian court, floaty and airy with barely there off-the shoulder sleeves. It reveals more of you than Jedi robes would ever, but you’re so enraptured with such innocent curiosity that Obi-Wan doesn’t even try to suppress the affectionate smile he gives you.

“You look lovely,” He responds honestly, pushing himself off the couch and taking slow steps towards you.

“I feel like a… like a…” You pause, glancing up from your skirts to fix your eyes on him, mind racing.

“Like a?” Obi-Wan prompts.

“Like a cloud!” You settle for, twirling around as if to emphasise your floaty feeling.

“A cloud?” He confirms, voice laced with amusement. He takes your hand, twirling you around once more through your giggles.

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’re the prettiest cloud I’ve ever seen,” Folding his hand over your own, he steps into your space mid-twirl, his other hand coming to press flat against your back. He doesn’t know what propelled him to do this, to press you against him and pull you into little steps around the room. The giggles he gets from you are enough to diminish any second thoughts he gets, so he hums softly, pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

Your little impromptu dance session is made to end as quickly as it started, a knock on his door reminding the both of you the reason for such fanciful dressing.

A dinner.

It was exciting to you, as most off-world mission events were, so different from the usual routine of your life on Coruscant. Your excitement is blindingly obvious, and yet Obi-Wan, who’s long since tired of having to accept invitations lest the Jedi be perceived as discourteous, Obi-Wan says nothing at all. He gives you a warm smile and gestures for you to move towards the door.

And oh, what a dinner it was. The food was marvelous, the company a little less so, but the moments you’d glance up at your Master to find him already watching you made up for it. If only he weren’t seated so far away… and so close to the Duchess. You don’t turn your head in their direction again.

Apparently a royal dinner on Mandalore was not just dinner, so after an hour of sitting at a table several seats away from your Master and surrounded by boring politicians, you’re ushered into a ballroom. Several ask for your hand to dance, but you turn them down with a polite smile and even politer excuse. You want to dance, you do. Just… not with them.

Then you see her.

She had changed her dress, and she was gorgeous. Elegant and beautiful and carrying herself with such grace even on the dancefloor, she looked every bit the Duchess she was. You sort of hated her.

“The prettiest, huh?” You mutter bitterly under your breath, taking a moment to try to calm yourself. You take another breath when you turn to face Obi-Wan, expecting his eyes to be on her. Everyone’s eyes were on her.

He’s looking at you.

You immediately curse yourself out for the snide comment, hating that you’ve revealed yourself, your insecurities, that he’s going to admonish you for a silly little comment that just slipped out.

Instead, he holds his hand out towards you, and bends down a little in a bow.

“If I may have this dance, my dear?” The words come out as a low murmur, and even with the loud applause of everyone around you signalling the end of the Duchess’ dance, you hear him perfectly. Your cheeks are flushed and you’re trying impossibly hard to keep your breathing even as you slide your hand into his, letting him lead you to the middle of the dance floor.

It’s strange, you think.

The two of you have been in arguably far closer quarters than you were in now, with a decent amount of space between your bodies, joined only by your hand in his and his other hand on your waist. You’ve trained together, sparred together, been forced into close confines in the middle of missions and on occasion even slept in the same bed together.

Obi-Wan’s grip on your hand tightens, the tips of his fingers skimming up your back and brushing tantalisingly against the skin that’s uncovered by the dress.

No, this… this, in front of a whole room of people from all over the galaxy, this was far more intimate than anything ever before. It’s almost as if you’ve been transported back in time just a couple of hours ago, when it was just him and you in the privacy of your quarters.

“The prettiest,” he confirms, voice low in your ear. Your breath hitches at his statement and all its implications. “It’s not even a competition.”

Good things, as all things do, must eventually come to an end. Obi-Wan guides a slightly tipsy and very giggly you back towards your room, laughing despite himself when you trip over your own two feet. The last thing he wants after a successful mission is for you to get concussed by falling.

He bends and effortlessly sweeps you into your arms, letting you swing your legs in the air. It’s not the first time he’s been in this position with you. Perhaps he’s carried you like this a little too often. His thoughts don’t linger on that topic for long.

You change out of your dress and sit cross-legged in front of him, letting him brush out your hair and pull it back into a braid for you to sleep in, actions so practised that they’re not even spoken about.

And on the floor of your room, discarded almost carelessly at the end of the bed, lay two weapons beside each other, one green, and one blue.

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The next one will be Obi-Wan’s revelation ;)

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Obi-Wan taglist:

@allinmymind @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mugoi-usagi @babymango-writes @fluffyhales @whinsical-ash @filthy-thots @altarsw @mando831 @ruleroftides @soft-and-lush @softlikefairydust @bumblegadget @stafskislava @torihester @shedobeclownin @satikryze @buwnni @mando-amando @mrskenobi19 @butch-medusae @fandomtrxshh @a-c-lee @neji85 @reejero @silverpuppi @thereluctantherosrose @shinybananapastanickel @hey-there-angels @grumpymuffinmama @hufflingpuffling-blog1 @kyle9no @qt-ane @arsowon @aesthelliec @lovelyweepingrebel @marvelranger @lovelylostminds

#obi wan fluff #little one #little one series #fluff #obi wan is in love but doesn’t realise it #slow dancing #meditation #obi wan kenobi #obi wan fic #obi wan fanfiction #reader #padawan reader #master x padawan #dancing #ewan mcgregor #Star Wars #Star Wars prequels

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

Text

only you and me

w/c: 6.7k

warnings: angst, mentions of weed, and some swearing

summary: whenever peter tries to tell you how he feels, harry gets in the way

a/n: ahhhh hi my loves! my mini writing break is over :,) life has been just a mess for me and i’ve been way more critical than usual about my work but i’m doing a little better and ready to get back into everything! this helped me a lot so i’m excited to share it with y’all <3 it’s also my first time writing harry osborn so lmk how i did lmaooofwfjj but yeah pls enjoy

“dude, she’s right there! just tell her!” ned whisper yells to peter, elbowing him for emphasis. they’re hidden behind a wall to watch you at your locker. you’re grabbing books while betty rants to you and mj rolls her eyes. “not now. she looks... busy,” peter gulps, gaze trailing down your body. he always finds excuses to put off telling you how he feels.

or rather, excuses find him. something comes up every time he gets the courage to do it. he has no idea why he’s so scared because he’s pretty sure you like him back. pretty sure. there are a few reasons why you might not. also, plenty why you might. you stay up late texting most nights, and you’ve even flirted a couple of times. it never fails to make peter blush. he trips over his words whenever he tries to flirt back.

he’s had feelings for you since the first time you two hung out alone. none of your other friends could make it, but you happily took him up on his offer to come over. you grinned through his whole apartment tour, asked about may and what she does. when peter showed you his room, you even complimented his movie posters, much to his surprise.

“really? you don’t think they’re, like, dorky?”

“no, peter. your interests aren’t dorky. everyone likes what they like.”

and, he liked you. he knew it from that point on. you’d know it too if the universe wouldn’t keep stopping him from saying that.

“she’s so...” peter pauses for a second. him and ned watch you pull betty in by her shoulders as if you’re going to kiss her. she dodges you, mj pushing her back, all three of you giggling about it before you grab betty’s hands and give her words of encouragement. “cool,” peter finishes, turning back to ned. “i mean, how she puts herself out there like that.”

“what’s stopping you from doing the same thing?” ned points out with a knowing smile that peter returns. you make it look so easy. whenever you’re comfortable around people, you can let go of any doubts you have. you stop worrying about what they might think and instead do what you want. it’s inspiring to peter, and heart warming getting to be one of the people you’re fully you with.

he wishes he could apply your wisdom himself.

peter shakes his head, staring down at the floor. “oh, you know. anxiety, fear of rejection. that fun stuff.” “so, yourself,” ned concludes, clapping peter’s backpack so hard it makes him stumble forward. betty and mj wave goodbye to you before heading to their first class. you’re still getting your things together at your locker. this is peter’s moment.

“come on, dude! y/n’s not busy anymore. you got this.” ned keeps his hand on peter’s back, adding on, “it’s been a year already.” “half a year,” peter corrects him in a mumble. he’s liked you for a really long time. “ok, i’m going. wish me luck.” he takes a deep breath and focuses in on you. “aw, dude. you don’t need it.” ned gives him one last pat on the back. “good luck, though.” “thanks, man. see you in trig.”

right as peter starts heading over, harry comes up behind you and covers your eyes. you squeal, jumping up and turning to him, laughing as you playfully hit at his chest. he brings you into a hug where your face is buried in his sweater and probably inhaling his super strong, super expensive cologne.

that’s what’s stopping peter, harry freaking osborn. his own friend.

peter quickly loses the tiny bit of confidence ned gave him. he figures it might be better to hold off on his confession and get an early start to class. unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen. harry has already spotted him and calls him over.

“hey, pete! come give us some love, eh?” harry beams, an arm slung around your shoulders and you smiling up at him. you direct your smile to peter when he slumps his way to your locker. his lips pull into a barely noticeable frown. you notice. “there’s my guy. why so down, sunshine?” harry offers his fist for a fist bump. peter gives it to him, eyes staying on you.

harry osborn. where to begin with such a specimen? he’s the perfect combination of everything you’d want in a guy. he gets good grades, he’s a star player on on the basketball team, nice to everyone and makes you laugh, popular yet fits right into your small group.

he was friends with you before the popular thing. what kicked it off was him making varsity basketball while only being a sophomore. yep, he’s unreal. since then, he’s been balancing his cool life and also hanging with “the nerds,” as he likes to call you. he got his own feelings for you along the way. peter can tell.

he’ll give you rides home, compliment how you look, basically act like your boyfriend without really being it. it absolutely infuriates peter because he doesn’t compare to harry in the slightest. if he were you and had the choice between himself or harry, he would pick harry.

it’s been a factor in why he hasn’t come clean about how he feels yet. he’s not trying to create a love triangle that he doesn’t stand a chance surviving in.

“for real, peter. you good?” you ask him, eyebrows knitted together in concern. “fine,” peter lies and musters up a smile. “i’m just tired. didn’t sleep too good last night.” you’re only more concerned now. this has been happening to him a lot lately. you search for his eyes. “again?”

“aw, man. you need something for it?” harry punches peter’s shoulder and lowers his voice. “i know this kid who-“ “harry, stop.” your words are serious, tone lighthearted. you throw your head back on his arm. “do you really know a kid?” “i’m not telling you,” he says in an overly happy voice, you humming the same way. peter feels like he’s third wheeling.

“i was telling pete.” harry looks at him expectantly, peter’s mouth dropping open while he thinks of what to say. harry likes to mess around. this is a different level, though. “no thanks. i- i shouldn’t. i’m-“ “relax, i don’t know a kid,” harry chuckles and points at peter. “your face right now.” it’s completely flushed. you knock into harry’s side.

“ok, well literally no one laughed. you’re scaring him,” you tell harry sternly. peter tugs tight on one of his backpack straps. he doesn’t feel like he’s third wheeling you two now. he feels like your kid. he’ll never let ned mettle in his love life ever again if this is where it gets him. “he knows i’m kidding, y/n/n. right?” harry checks with peter. you make a face at him that says you aren’t convinced.

he switches his arm from you to peter, drawing him into his side. “look, pete. i’m sorry. the only kid i know who’s selling is chocolates for his band trip.” you’re satisfied with that, grinning at both of them. peter forces a laugh and nods. “no worries, man. i gotta get to class.” “good boy,” harry lets him go. “bye, pete. we’ll see you at lunch,” you remind him. he gives you a tight lipped smile. “see you, y/n/n.”

you and harry continue practically spooning each other as soon as peter is out of sight.

what the hell is going on?

peter is back to being grumpy, plopping down in his seat next to ned. their teacher has the lesson plan pulled up on the smart board. ned looks from it to peter, almost jumping in his seat. “oh, you’re back already? how’d it go?” “it didn’t go,” peter huffs, copying down the aim. he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to look ned in the eyes while telling him he bailed. again.

“you didn’t do it?” ned repeats, peter writing something about pi and a unit circle in his notebook. he bites the inside of his cheek. “you have to do it at some point,” ned sighs out and picks up his pencil. even he’s getting tired of this, and ned never gets tired of a good friends to lovers moment. “i think she likes harry,” peter says under his breath. “huh?” ned gasps.

peter doesn’t feel like explaining the extremely awkward moment he just finished living. although, it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion. “y/n. he came over, and they kept hugging and whatever.” “they always do that,” ned almost scoffs, their trigonometry teacher moving to stand in front of the class. “yeah, but he had his arm around her the whole time we-“

the bell rings and cuts their conversation short. peter struggles to label the unit circle they learn about when his mind is filled to its capacity with images of you and harry all over each other. it’s not daydreaming. this is a nightmare. maybe, he actually will be having sleep problems.

peter’s morning is relatively decent after that. he gets to do an experiment with mj in chemistry, and she lets him take the lead for once. spanish is easy, health is okay, then he has a free period, then it’s lunch. things can only go downhill from here.

he thinks about hiding in the library until it’s over, but it’s the thought of harry eating your face that gets him to drag himself to the cafeteria.

flash is at the head of your table talking to harry when peter gets there. great, now he can’t eat his soggy chicken fingers in peace. “sounds dope. let’s go on the-“ flash stops saying what he was saying and nods at peter. “penis parker, you’re late.” peter takes his seat on your left, harry on your right. you glance over at him to make sure he’s okay. he acts like he doesn’t care, peeling open his milk carton.

“just text me later, man. get outta here,” harry dismisses flash, the two of them doing a bro handshake before he leaves. he’s well aware of his and peter’s history. he keeps them separate for the obvious reasons. peter appreciates it because saying no to flash is nearly impossible. he shouldn’t be so mad at harry, should he? he’s a good friend.

harry’s arm snakes around your waist and brings you closer to him. never mind.

“who’s up for sushi later?” he asks the table, everyone agreeing and saying how awesome that sounds. everyone except peter. you tap his shoulder with a small smile. “what about you, peter? you coming?” he realizes you’re all waiting for him to respond and puts down his milk. “uh, i can’t. homework,” he lamely answers.

“dude, we have homework, too. just do it a little later,” ned suggests, betty laying her head on his shoulder. you share a look with her, your eyes wide and a grin on your lips. that must have been what you were talking about this morning. she asked for boy advice. ned advice. why can’t this crap work out for peter?

“i really can’t. sorry, guys,” peter half heartedly apologizes.

he misses the disappointment that crosses your features because he’s pouting at his lunch again.

“homework, huh?” mj tests him, squinting as she takes a sip of apple juice. harry nudges peter’s side with two fingers. “you still mad about the sleeping thing?” “sleeping thing? what sleeping thing?” betty wonders while ned rests his head against hers. a quiet laugh slips out of you as you lean in to tell her.

“peter said he couldn’t sleep last night, so harry offered him...” you mime rolling a joint. “i said no,” peter clarifies, rolling his eyes at the inevitable teasing he’s about to get. none of you have even smoked besides harry. you’re being annoying about it. “of course you did,” mj sighs and kicks her feet up on the table. “unrelated to what y/n just said... harry, i have insomnia.”

everyone bursts into laughter at that, betty shoving her side and you pulling harry by his torso as he pretends to go into his backpack. peter wants nothing to do with any of this. he usually enjoys joking around with the group, even if it’s at his expense because it’s from a place of love.

today feels like you’re straight up making fun of him. harry might as well invite flash to join in.

“alright, alright, alright. enough of the weed talk,” harry decides, you removing your arms from him and grabbing your coffee. “you’re such a bad influence.” your voice drips with sarcasm. you bend the straw and take a sip while scooting closer to peter. “you really can’t come later? i feel like i’ve barely seen you today.” that’s on harry. “i wish i could, y/n/n,” peter exhales. “i’ll text you later, okay?”

you don’t get to answer because mj tugs on your arm, distracting you from peter. she explains how she has to do an art project on what it means to be a woman and needs help brainstorming ideas. you’re full of them, offering up an interesting perspective for her to use. peter smiles to himself as he listens in. you find a new way to impress him every day.

he should tell you that.

“hey, y/n?” “listen to her! you’re seriously my idol,” betty gushes, so loudly you don’t hear peter. not a single thing has gone in his favor at this table. he gives up.

peter locks himself in his room when he gets home from his overall terrible day. he does homework like he said he would, only taking a break for dinner, giving one word replies to may’s questions about school. he’d much rather be having sushi with you. he would’ve gone if the others didn’t.

after dinner, it’s back to grumbling and scribbling down answers. there’s a knock at peter’s door around ten o’clock, which he assumes is may saying goodnight. “i’ll be done in a few minutes, may! love you.” “it’s y/n,” you reply, the smile clear in your voice. his eyes go comically wide. that’s the last thing he expected to hear. “oh. uh, come in.”

you’re holding a small takeout bag, shutting the door behind you and walking over to his desk. you meet his twinkling eyes in the dim light that hits off his walls. from his open window, you faintly hear cars as they rush by and honk their horns in the distance, accompanied by a fresh breeze. it’s cozy, safe. it’s peter.

“hey. what’re you doing here?” peter questions, leaving his pencil in his binder and shutting it. you shake around the plastic bag. “i saved you a roll.” he bites back a smile, getting up from his chair. “may let me in. she was really chill about it,” you continue and hold out the sushi for him. “it’s a california roll. i wasn’t sure what you wanted, and everyone likes those.”

peter lets his smile spread out and takes the bag from you. “thanks, y/n/n. i was honestly hoping one of you would have leftovers.” you laugh softly, peter setting the bag down on his desk. he scratches the back of his neck. “did you guys have fun?” “yeah. i missed you, though.” you clasp your hands behind your back. “everyone did.”

“i feel bad i didn’t go. just... things felt off today,” peter admits the real reason he stayed home, you letting out a breath. “it was harry, wasn’t it? god, he was being so weird.” your arms drop back to your sides. “there’s a difference between playing around and actually upsetting people.” by people, you mean peter. no one else seemed too bothered by him. “i’m sorry, peter. i tried to make him stop.”

“no, you don’t have to apologize,” peter assures you sweetly, grabbing one of your hands. “it’s not your fault, okay? he probably didn’t realize what he was doing. the jokes landed.” he’s referring to ned, mj, and betty finding harry’s comments hilarious. you lace your fingers with peter’s and frown. “this isn’t like him. maybe he’s stressed about a game.” your gaze drifts off to the side, what you see getting you to perk up.

“is that new?” you ask peter, leading him by his hand over to a poster he put up recently. it’s for 13 going on 30. you showed it to him a couple of weeks ago, and he clearly liked it a lot. any movie that makes it to peter’s wall is a special one. “mhm. i got it literally right after you went home the night we watched,” he chuckles and looks over at you while you study the poster.

you turn to face peter again, keeping your hand tight in his. “were you gonna tell me something earlier? at lunch?” he’s confused for a second, then he remembers your ideas for mj’s art project. the fact that you cared enough to bring it up after all these hours makes his stomach do summersaults in the best way. he shrugs and gives you a smile.

“the stuff you were saying about femininity and how there are so many ways to define it,” peter starts, you grinning back at him, at how he took an interest in what you were saying. “you’re so smart, y/n. you make me wanna be better.” a light pink dusts his cheeks. “peter, you’re a feminist?” you coo, joking but genuinely wondering at the same time. he squeezes your hand. “duh.”

“i thought so,” you nod, taking in the rest of what he said. “you think i’m smart? i trust you because you’re way smarter.” peter pffts in response. “i’m only good at, like, physics. you’re good at things that really matter. smart in that way.” you’re feeling your own face get hot. you swing yours and peter’s hands back and forth. “why are you the nicest person ever?”

the answer to that, may, peeks her head into the room. “hey, kids. it’s getting late.” she notices your intertwined hands and shoots peter a smirk. “i thought you were a cool aunt,” he teases, you sadly letting go of him. “she is. thanks for having me over so late,” you tell may on your way to the door. “oh, stop it. you can come over any time.” she puts a hand on your arm. “thank you so much,” you murmur back.

you walk backwards to the doorway, may leaving you two to say your goodbyes. “wanna hang out only you and me? on friday maybe?” that should make up for everything earlier. “yeah, of course. friday is perfect,” peter agrees and bounces on his feet as excitement takes over him. “thanks again for the sushi.”

“no problem. goodnight.” it’s taking every last bit of power in you to not freak out. “night. text me when you get home.” he presses his tongue into his cheek. you slowly pull the door shut. “ok, i will. bye!” it closes, leaving peter skipping across his room to his bed on one side and you doing a little happy dance on the other.

the next day at school, everything is back to normal. honestly, better than normal. your hangout with peter is tomorrow, and he’s planning on telling he likes you then. he already talked it over with ned. he’s relieved it’s finally happening, especially since him and betty have their own thing. she’ll be taking up most of his free time from here.

your group is spending lunch outside today, lounging across a picnic table, surrounded by trees and the shining sun in a bright blue sky. mj sits on the table and has her feet on the bench, which would usually bug peter to no end. he doesn’t mind this time because it takes up enough room that harry has to sit with ned and betty instead of you. you lean into peter’s side and stab a piece of lettuce from your salad.

“it’s so nice out,” betty sighs, ripping off half her cookie and giving it to ned. “we should ditch.” “oh my god, you sound like harry,” you groan between bites of salad. peter lets out a breathy laugh, you looping your arm through his. he grins down at where you’re linked. harry crosses his own arms over his chest. “she wishes.” betty only nods because her mouth is full of m&m’s.

“nah, seriously. i’d take us out somewhere, but i have practice after school.” he speaks quieter than he normally does, less confident. your theory about him having basketball drama was right. “what did we tell you? talk about the sports shit with your sports friends,” mj complains, sitting back on her hands. she glances at harry over her shoulder and catches ned mouthing you can’t say that.

sitting criss cross, she spins around to face harry, unenthusiastically saying, “what i meant was, you sound upset. what’s wrong?” harry gets into it right away, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “coach says there might be a scout at the next game. it’s a really good opportunity even though i don’t have to worry about... college yet.” the word makes him cringe.

“oh, damn. that’s a big deal. scary,” mj snorts, turning back to you and peter. her behavior makes ned internally face palm. “that’s awesome, dude. you’re gonna play amazing like always.” he gives harry a high five, who smiles nervously in response. he’s never nervous. “thanks, bro. you guys wanna come and watch?” he’s never invited you to one of his games before either.

this isn’t a group of friends that likes to spend their weekends in bleachers while angry teens shout around them.

“definitely. we’ll be there to support you, harry,” betty answers for everyone, ned pecking her cheek in satisfaction. mj cusses to herself before replying. “if i absolutely must, sure.” only you and peter haven’t said anything yet. he’s been chewing his lower lip, and you your salad. harry looks between you two hopefully. it’s more so at you, which peter doesn’t like.

“y/n? pete? it would help a lot, i’m serious.” he taps his fingers on the table until one of you speaks up. you’re the one who does. “i’ll go. this is pretty huge, right? congrats.” you reach across the table and squeeze his shoulder while simultaneously tightening your arm around peter’s. he takes that as a cue. “i’ll go, too. happy for you, man.”

though peter isn’t currently in the best place with harry, he should show his support by showing up. it can’t be too bad since the rest of you will be there.

a loud, long chuckle leaves harry as he hops up from his bench and comes to yours and peter’s. he bends over and wraps both of you in a hug from behind at the same time. his arms are around each of your shoulders, holding you so close his cheeks are squished against either of your heads. you giggle at that, peter finding himself laughing along and reaching back to ruffle harry’s hair.

staying mad at him is one of the world’s greatest challenges.

“you’re saints, both of you. my angels.” he kisses the back of your head, then lays one right on peter’s cheek, leaving him blushing red and grinning. “what about the rest of us? i never go to shit like this,” mj huffs and seems genuinely offended. harry wiggles his eyebrows. “you want a kiss?” his offer gets her flustered, which she can’t manage to hide. that’s a first.

“shut up. i’m just saying... never mind.” mj glares at you and peter, ned and betty making kissing noises behind her. “someone change the subject.” peter steps in. “when’s the game, harry?” he asks, harry snapping and waving his finger. “tomorrow! cancel your plans, kiddos.” “like we had any,” betty retorts.

some of you did. that was going to be peter’s hangout with you.

ned smiles sympathetically at peter before betty is getting his attention. you‘re unfazed and rambling to harry how proud you are of him.

did last night mean nothing? was it an empty gesture? were you only doing it out of guilt? peter must have read your visit wrong. he’s been wrong the whole time he’s liked you. you don’t like him back, you pity him. harry is who you’re really interested in.

may always says he should trust his instincts.

peter pulls his arm from yours suddenly, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. you’re taken back because it’s so out of no where. you stop talking to harry so you can figure out his deal. “where are you going?” “bell’s gonna ring,” peter mumbles and picks up his lunch tray. he heads to the garbage can without another word or goodbye to anyone.

“i’m gonna go check on him,” you tell harry, already getting up from the bench. “you do that,” he acknowledges and calls mj’s name again.

peter tosses his mostly untouched food in the trash, seeing you make your way over from the corner of his eye. he tries to speed walk inside so he doesn’t have to talk to you. you’re too quick, cornering him between the door and brick wall.

“we still have ten minutes,” you state, worry flashing across your face. he’s avoiding you. well, attempting to. “what’s wrong?” peter gulps before saying anything. “my next class is on the other side of the-“ “no,” you cut him off. “what’s really wrong?”

he doesn’t feel like having this discussion. it’s bad enough he came to the realization his feelings are one sided. must he break that down for you so soon?

you toy with your sleeve while you speak because peter doesn’t. “i thought you and harry were fine again. i mean, he kissed you.” peter clenches his jaw so hard he can imagine the sound of it cracking. “it’s not about harry.” “what, then? what the fuck happened?” your sleeves are now balled in your fists. you hate it when peter does this angsty routine.

he keeps his voice low and calm so he doesn’t come off as jealous or hurt. he’s both of those things. “the game is tomorrow. friday. when we were supposed to hang out.” you meet peter’s eyes with nothing but remorse in yours. “i... i forgot,” is all you have to say.

you feel awful. he’s had a tough couple of days, and you fell through on your promise to cheer him up.

“clearly,” peter remarks, voice sharp. the way you’re looking at him makes him think he won’t like what’s coming. “peter, we have to go,” you almost whine. “i’m really sorry, i am, but this is a big night for harry. he needs us there.” peter stays silent. you’re twisting the knife deeper into him with every word. “i wouldn’t be cancelling if this wasn’t important.”

now you’re cancelling?

you reach for peter’s hand, but he shoves it into his pocket. that stings for you and him. “please, peter. we’ll hang out at the game, i swear.” this is the last chance you’ve got, so you pile it on. “harry won’t even be there, technically. he’ll... he’ll be on the court.” peter hadn’t thought about that. he lets himself unclench, starting to see the appeal. you add one more thing to lighten the mood and persuade him.

“i’ll buy you popcorn, all you can eat.” it’s that easy. cracking a smile, peter accepts. he’ll deal with his unresolved, unreciprocated feelings after he stuffs his face, courtesy of you. “you better. i’m gonna need it for this long ass game.” your face lights up, grabbing his wrist in both hands.

“so, you’ll come?” “i’ll be there,” he confirms. you throw your arms around his neck. he laughs into the hug and holds you by your middle. “i promise this’ll be the first and last game we ever go to,” you say and mean it. harry is lucky you’re even suffering through this a first time. “thank god,” peter exhales, resting his chin on your head.

that interaction leaves peter confused as hell. you’re crushing his mind and soul one minute, then hugging him the next. you were making him feel so special lasts night, and treating harry the same way today. it’s so jumbled that he isn’t sure if he’s in the friend zone or something more zone.

there are a ton of mixed signals coming his way, and he sucks at reading people as is.

he can’t take another second of this. he’d rather you come out and say you like harry already because it’s torture. knowing you don’t want him in that way would at least eliminate the possibility of anything happening between you two, and allow him to stop driving himself insane.

he’d be able to stop taking it out on harry, too.

the hold you have on peter, that you’re oblivious to, rules his every thought and decision. he’s constantly analyzing what you say to him, debating whether or not your affection is simply platonic. it’s been half a year of this madness, the night of harry’s game blurring every line so much more.

your group arrives a bit early to find seats and hype harry up before he plays. peter gets there after all of you because he’s not exactly in a rush to watch sweaty guys be aggressive. there’s only one upside, which is spending the night with you... and everyone else.

he steps into the gym that’s filling up fast with family members, friends, and the college scout harry was talking about. midtown has a different feeling to it at night. the smell of pencils is oddly stronger, and it’s a lot less intimidating.

cheerleaders are huddled in a circle while the team supervisor has them run their chants. the “leading official,” who peter thought was called a referee, takes his place off to the side. coaches give their players last minute instructions, players fool around with each other, a lot is going on.

peter scans the room for you, and grins a toothy grin when you catch his eyes. you’re sitting by yourself in one of the middle bleachers, only a bag of skinny pop in your lap. you return the smile once you spot him and wave him over.

“i don’t know why, but i thought they’d have an actual concession stand,” you explain the lack of fresh, buttery popcorn as peter takes a seat next to you. he catches the prepackaged bag you toss him. “it’s just a snack table.” “works either way,” peter hums and pokes the bag. “i’m not sure skinny pop is all i can eat, though.” “it’s good!” you defend the snack you chose for him.

“i’m kidding! you’re right, it’s kind of addicting.” he puts it by his feet for now and gives you a half smile. “you’re welcome,” you deadpan in a playful tone. “thanks.” he narrows his eyes. “where’s everyone else?” “right,” you twist around and gesture to the bleacher above you. mj is gloomily seated near the back. ned and betty are a few behind you.

“i told them to find their own seats so we can sit together, alone.” you look over at peter and move ever so slightly closer. “welcome to our friday hangout. just the two of us.” “aw, you didn’t have to do that,” peter laughs out, his knee bumping yours. “but, i’m happy you did.” he goes to put an arm around you, then harry comes racing up the stairs.

just the two of you didn’t last so long.

“y/n, i’m freaking out,” harry announces, zooming through your row to get over to you. he stops once he’s standing in front of peter and shakes him by his shoulder. “hey, pete. you made it.” “yup,” peter replies, pressing his lips together. you wince at his reaction, then quirk an eyebrow at harry. “you’re freaking out? why?”

harry sits down between you and peter, blissfully unaware of the moment he interrupted.

“i found the scout. he’s fucking terrifying as fuck. this super ripped guy, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else,” he talks quietly, like the man will hear him. “he’s not the only one,” peter says to himself, kicking around his bag of popcorn to pass time. you ignore him and grimace.

“shit. wait, how do you know it’s him? did they tell you?” you’re not sure how these things go. harry casually shrugs a shoulder. “dude has a clipboard. seems legit to me.” he gives you a cocky smile. “he’s also in the row before mj. that’s how i noticed. um...” his back now facing peter, he whispers something in your ear that makes you giggle.

peter’s face scrunches up as the spark of anger the past few days have lit reignites itself.

when harry pulls away, you motion for him to come closer with your index finger, cupping your hand around his ear and speaking into it.

nope, no more. peter is entirely about to explode. you cancelled your plans so you can force him to watch basketball, you sweet talk him so he’ll let it go, and you’re running right back to harry after all of that? what the hell does that mean?

peter stands up from his seat. “y/n, we need to talk,” he demands, you moving away from harry to respond. “ok, gimme a minute. we’re-“ “no, we need to talk now.” you don’t have time to refute because he’s taking your arm and dragging you away. harry squints at you in utter confusion.

“um, have a good game! we’ll talk later,” you call back to him, walking with peter even though you have no idea what his issue is and aren’t a fan of how he’s acting.

he releases you once you’re in the hallway. you make a point of harshly yanking your arm back, a scowl painting your lips. “jesus, peter. i was having a conversation.” “do you like harry?” peter blurts out. you’re so shocked at his abruptness that you don’t give him much to work with, only, “what?” “do you like harry?” he asks you again, this time less accusing and more curious.

“do i like...” you’re too aware of the seemingly hundreds of people surrounding you to answer comfortably. “can we talk about this somewhere else?” “sure,” peter nods, letting you lead the way since he did to get out here. you two go down the hall and choose the first room you see, which happens to be the custodian’s closet. it’s thankfully unlocked.

things were tense between you and peter on the way over, and it’s physically mirrored when you step into the room, air thick and smelling of lemon cleaning supplies. you tug on the string hanging down to turn on the light. it casts a faded glow, leaving you in mostly darkness. you sort of like it. this feels more intimate, which is fitting for what you’re both about to say.

neither one of you knows where to begin. peter’s question is ringing in the back of your mind, and you could touch on that, but there’s more to it than a simple yes or no. you don’t have to worry about it because peter gets his words out first.

“i think harry likes you, and i think you like him back,” peter restarts, already sounding deflated by what he came up with. “he doesn’t, and i don’t.” you take a step towards him. “he likes mj.” it’s peter’s turn to be shocked. the hint of a smile sets on your lips. “that’s what we were talking about. harry asked if he should take her to dinner after the game, and i said yes.”

this is going better than he expected.

“mj is the one who likes him, not me,” you reiterate and watch some life enter peter again, a tiny bit. he’s coming around, and he wants to believe you. his trust issues don’t. “but, you’re so... touchy with each other. the hugging the other day?” he mentions. you tilt your head to the side in amusement. “friends can’t hug?”

to be fair, you hugged peter yesterday. that’s a point rightfully shut down.

“he calls you pretty,” peter tries, raising both eyebrows. you have to laugh at this one. “you call may pretty.”

obviously, peter’s analysis skills could use some serious improvements. it sounds like he had the right idea, wrong person. your relationship with harry is platonic. hell, he’s crushing on a whole different person. this actually opens up the possibility of you liking peter in the romantic way, of him being in the something more zone. he had it backwards.

in case peter isn’t convinced yet, and because you really want to, you use one more trick to prove to him you don’t like harry.

“do me and harry do this?” your lips speak for you, colliding with peter’s unexpectedly yet easily. he feels like he’s floating, like he’s in some sort of magical wonderland until it hits him that this is real, and he should probably kiss you back. he does so softly and tangles his fingers in your locks. his hand supports the back of your head as the kiss goes on.

you push forward so your bodies are almost fused together, the closest you can be while you hold his jaw. peter breaks the kiss for a short breather, going back in without more than a moment passing. this one is feverish, his free arm looping around your lower back, hand resting on the small of it. you let out a giggle against his swollen lips and stroke your thumb over his jawline.

he’s been waiting to do this for the longest time, but he doesn’t have to tell you that. it shows in how eager he was to reciprocate, his shyness blossoming into passion. you feel yourself melting under his touch, the kiss eventually becoming a series of short pecks. peter gives you the final one. his pink lips form a grin when you pull apart. your hands stay on each other, not in a rush to go anywhere.

“woah, i like you so much,” peter laughs out. the words roll off his tongue naturally. “you know i like you,” you drawl, smiling at him, a full body smile while you caress his skin. he winds both arms around you and dips his head down to steal another kiss. you’re loving what’s happening. however, you don’t feel like making out while dirty brooms stare at you. you should take this back home.

“wanna get out of here? i do,” you suggest, voice muffled from his lips. they detach from yours and brush your cheek gently. peter makes a funny face. “hm, i thought we had to come. harry needs us,” he says what you did yesterday, earning a groan back. “you’re joking.” “i’m not. what kind of friends would we be, ditching him like that?”

he’s going to end you one day.

“yeah, no. i have no idea how basketball works, and i’d like to keep it that way,” peter drops the act, pressing his fingers into your sides. “i’ve been so mean to harry. i was...” “a dick?” you finish for him. it’s more of a statement than a question. to soften the blow, you rub his cheek with the tips of your fingers. “yup. he’s gonna think i hate him or something if we don’t stay.” his formerly smiley face is frowning.

“harry of all people will understand after we tell him our reasons,” you reassure him, nudging under his chin with your nose. “besides, he has other things to worry about. mj, the scout. it’s fine.” peter considers it, ultimately giving in to you like he always does, resting his forehead on yours. “i guess so. less distractions for him, yeah.” “exactly. that’s what i wanna hear.”

having his approval, you unwind yourself from him and head to the door. his fingers wrap around your wrist gently. “what about my popcorn?” a giggle escapes your lips. “you’re still on that?” “you said all i can eat!” his voice comes out high pitched, adorably high pitched.

“fine. i might have those bags you put in the microwave.” you smile when his fingers lock with yours, peter kissing the side of your head.

“even better. let’s go home.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine

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rwrights · 3 years ago

Text

WE'LL BE OKAY - NAT.

summary : nat and you never got along. reasons still unknown, but it was affecting the whole team. steve assigns you both to a mission, with natasha acting harshly. she said something to you before heading off. she got in your head and the aftermath wasn't so pretty.

contents : angst (??) / fluff

warnings : mentions of blood, guns, bullying, cursing and just occasional marvel fight scenes.

NOT PROOFREAD. a/n : my first fic aaaahhh !! i was inspired by a lot of similar fics like this, but mostly by this WANDA FIC WRITTEN BY @/maximons - i suggest you give it a read BCS ITS SO GOOD ARRGH <3

you don’t know how the feud started between you and natasha. you couldn’t tell if it was because of your age or because you were new.

you had quite an age gap with the former assassin, being a striking 24 years old, but according to the russian - you might as well have been 12 years of age.

unlike most of the avengers, you had a decent childhood. it wasn’t filled with trauma, and death, and basically what some of them unfortunately went through. you grew up in the suburbs with your mum and two older siblings. you got all the toys you wanted and everyone loved you! because of that, you were always polite and cheery - it’s what made people like you. you were funny and usually managed to put a smile on people faces ; usually.

natasha found your positivity irking and unnatural. how could someone be so, happy? she felt as if you were shitting rainbows down her throat, and god, did she hate it. how could someone like you even have the guts to be an avenger?

she enjoyed picking fights with you out of nowhere, and as fun as it was at first - the hostility only progressed and became a disruption to the whole team, including you. you tried your best to really become friends with natasha - or at least be civil with her. but the more effort you made, the worse she treated you. all you wanted to do was make it a little easier for the team, you all have enough crap to put up with and the quarreling between the both of you was definitely not needed.

─── donk.

“nat! y/n! conference room one, now!” steve’s loud voice called out through the speakers placed throughout the compound.

you set your book aside before running down to the conference room as you were told. you walked passed natasha, already giving you a sharp glare from afar. she adjusted her speed and basically ran to where away from you. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her as you trailed behind.

you entered the room, greeting everyone politely before sitting down next to wanda, who saved a space for you.

“alright, now that we’re all here..” cap began, walking around the table where you were all sat. “we’ve got a mission for two of you,”

“did you call us here to compete for it? because i am so getting this mission.” natasha stated, pointing at everyone as if she was threatening them. “uh, no.. not exactly. we’ve already assigned the mission to two of you..”

“who?” she asked, wanting to leave the compound immediately and get some action (not the peepee way).

“you and y/n,”

hearing your name, you just froze. you couldn’t help but stare at steve as if he was out of his mind.

“what?!” natasha squeaked. “i’m sorry, but there is no way i’m going with her. it’s probably best if i go on my own!”

“that’s just mean..” you replied quietly, in your seat. you weren’t in the mood to argue, so you tried to contribute as little as possible into this conversation. “cap, if natasha doesn’t want to do the mission with me, i’m totally fine with sitting this one out.”

“oh, don’t suck up and use your y/n reverse psychology on this. it’s not gonna work,” she spat, obviously mad about the whole situation. “nat, i’m being serious. i know how much you’ve been dying to go out, so please. just take it.”

“no, y/n, you’re going with nat. we’ve decided this already.” steve stepped in, trying his best to set his foot down. “steve, i think you know this isn’t going to happen.” natasha glared.

“you either go together or y/n takes someone else.”

“steve! i swear i’m fine!” you argued, seeing how natasha’s ears were practically steaming from anger. “i-”

“no, you know what? fine. enjoy your mission, y/l/n.” she growled as she stormed out of the room. you couldn’t do anything but watch as she slammed the door shut. as much as you wanted to chase after her, you and everyone else in the room knew you’d probably make the situation a thousand times worse for natasha. you sighed and slammed your head on the table in exhaustion.

“we’re sorry, y/n. we thought her need for a mission would make her say yes even with the partnership.” bucky said from the other side of the room. your head shot up almost as quickly as you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“we thought sending you two on a mission together could… make the arguing stop - even by a little.” steve explained, sighing. you laughed at them, did they really think that would work? did they know the obstacles you went through to try to get on her good side? your first few weeks were HELL because of it.

“it’s alright.. clint? what do ya say?”

“always up for a mission, y/l/n.” he smiled, giving you a fistbump.

─── donk.

clint knocked on natasha’s door after the meeting. “nat? it’s me,” he called, nat opening the door a few seconds after.

“can you believe them? they know how much i dislike her and they’d send me on a mission with her? Bozhe mo! (oh my god!)”

“nat, y/n is awesome. it’s been months, it’s getting tiring.”

“oh, please. it took forever to get any of you guys to trust me. doesn’t mean it has to be the same with her.”

“nat, she’s a kid!”

“ugh, don’t say it like that. it makes my thoughts uneasy..” nat replied, mock-gagging. clint glared at her as he playfully shoved her. “you’re so stupid.”

“and oh, i’m going on the mission with her.”

“wait what?! but you’re my best friend, why would you take it!” she exclaimed. “i never say no to a mission, nat. you and i both know that. i thought you did, too.”

“i would’ve taken it, but.. no! i’m not losing this fight.” she huffed as she fell on the bed. “turn the tv on, i need to distract myself.”

he did as he was told and decided to stay and watch with her until dinner.

─── donk.

it was the day of your mission and you were making your way to the hangar. to your surprise, you saw natasha waiting there. you smiled at her only to receive another sharp glare. yeah, what a surprise. you looked away and decided to wait for clint.

not long after he arrived and said his goodbyes to natasha, just as you were going to aboard the ship, she grabbed your wrist and whispered in your ear.

“you’re gonna trip and get yourself shot, y/l/n.”

“what the hell? i’ve barely left and you’re already telling me i’m gonna fuck up?” you retorted, angrily. you weren’t in the right state to panic or stress. especially not before you were leaving. “have fun, y/n.” she smiled, dripping in faux kindness.

you followed clint onto the ship and couldn’t help but shake in fear. great, now you were worried. you didn’t want to fuck up. you weren’t planning to.

“you’ll be okay, y/l/n. i’ve got your back.” clint reassured, seeing the panic clouding on your face.

“thank you..” you mumbled, but natasha’s words never left your head.

─── donk.

“something seems off, clint.” you whispered, looking around and keeping your guard up. “i agree, y/l/n. it’s too quiet.. too easy.” he replied.

just as you were going to reply, someone charged at you from behind, getting a hold of your throat. by instinct, you kicked his shin and flipped him around. “clint!” you called out as you knocked your attacker out.

suddenly, groups of people were coming towards you - fully armed. “clint!” you screamed, pulling your gun out and shooting as many of them as you could. “shit!”

“y/n, it’s a trap!” clint finally replied, making you roll your eyes as you threw your fist at a guy’s temple. “yes, clint, i’m aware!”

“keep your guard up, y/l/n. you can do this!”

“there’s-” kick. “too many-” elbow. “of them!” shoot.

“try to hold out for as long as possible! i’m on my way,”

you looked up to see more men charging at you. “ah fuck,”

you grabbed one of the guns from the guys you managed to knock out and aimed. “clint, i can shoot right?” you asked for permission, not knowing if you were supposed to kill them or just simply knock them out.

“yes, y/n. you can shoot.”

“thank you!”

you silently thanked god for the gun you chose and started shooting at the guards. you quickly threw it away as they ran out of bullets and grabbed two pistols and continued to run and shoot away.

as you focused on getting a certain guard, one of them slid under you, quite literally slipping you off your feet - probably making you twist your ankle, giving one of them an opportunity to get a clean shot of your thigh.

the bullet went through your thigh, making you scream in pain. “fuck!” you shot back at him immediately and slid up onto the wall.

well great, another thing natasha was right about.

“y/n?!” clint called, hearing you scream. the worry in his voice was evident, it managed to make you smile for a second until you dodged another bullet.

“i’m okay!”

no, you weren’t. you could barely stand with your fucked up ankle and the hole in your thigh, but you continued to shoot and fight.

“just.. hurry up, please!”

you used your bad leg to kick a guy down and use him as a ledge. you cursed as you ran out of bullets. there were guns scattered across the floor, thanks to you. you just grabbed the nearest ones and looked back up.

as quickly as you did, a shot went through your shoulder and your abdomen. “gah fuck!” you collapsed on the floor as you tried to control the bleeding. you got up for a second to shoot back at the closest people and went back down. “clint, hurry up!” the pain was too much, the bleeding wouldn’t stop and your ankle looked like a fucking bean. you started to get nauseous, but tried your best to stay up.

“i’m here!” he yelled as he aimed at a few people in front of him. he ran towards you, finally seeing your state. “oh my god!” he kneeled down, putting pressure on your wounds to help with the bleeding, but the blood just kept seeping through “you just said you were okay, idiot!”

“i know, i didn’t want to worry you..” you mumbled. “no, no! y/n, you have to stay awake. come on!” he picked you up and started running away to go back to the ship. “you’re okay, y/n. tell me you’re okay right now.”

“i’m okay.. i’m okay, clint.”

“yeah, yeah, you are.”

you tried making it to the ship, but you were already so tired. “i’m gonna nap, clint..” you said before passing out.

─── donk.

clint alerted steve about you right when you passed out. they were rushing you out to the med bay to perform surgery on your injuries.

“she told me she was okay, steve. i thought she was okay!” clint screamed, he blamed himself for what happened to you. only if he arrived a few seconds before. you wouldn’t have been in the situation you’re in now.

“no, no. this isn’t your fault. neither is it hers, it happens, okay? we put ourselves at risk every time we step out of here. y/n was brave, alright?

wanda rushed down to the medbay, reaching for the door before pulling her back. “wanda, we have to let dr cho do her job right now. she’ll be okay.. y/n will be okay.”

she cried into steve’s shoulder - her best friend was being operated on. you were being operated on! the thought of you getting hurt never crossed her mind because she knew you were strong.

the team soon heard about the incident and let their worries out, obviously caring about you. natasha was confused about the whole hassle.

“vision!” she called out. he turned around and walked towards natasha. “how may i help you?”

“what’s the hassle about? everyone keeps whispering,”

“mr barton and ms y/l/n have returned from their mission, but ms y/l/n has suffered some major injuries and has been in surgery for about an hour now-”

hearing that, she sped to the medbay, thanking vision quickly. she saw wanda, steve and clint waiting around. “no, no, where is she?!” she yelled, making the three of them look at her in shock. “she’s still in-”

she tried running into the room like wanda did, getting pulled back by steve. “natasha, we have to let dr. cho do her job.”

“i need to see her!” she exclaimed, not being able to breathe. “what happened to her? what major injuries?!” she demanded.

“broken ankle, shot through her thigh, shoulder and abdomen..” clint recited, looking down at his feet. “where were you!? how could you let this happen?!” she roared, genuinely shocking them.

why did she suddenly care about you? well, yes, you suffered major injuries, but why was she getting mad?

“natasha! enough!” steve scolded. “this isn’t clint’s fault, and you know it.” he said, sternly. she didn’t reply as she panted. wanda held her hand as support, needing it for herself as well.

─── donk.

an hour later, dr. cho finally walked out of the room. everyone stood up in eagerness.

“is she okay?” steve asked, immediately.

“y/n suffered major blood loss, but we are lucky none of the three bullets hit any major arteries. she has also quite definitely broken her ankle, so i’m putting her on bedrest for at least 6 weeks until you get her up and going again.”

“main point, yes. y/n is okay.”

a smile broke out in all of their faces. “thank you, doc!”

“you may see her now, but she hasn’t woken up yet. don’t be too loud.”

they all walked into your room and stood beside your bed. “she looks so peaceful,”

“she definitely looks better right now than earlier,” clint joked, earning a soft laugh from the three of them. they stood by you for a while until natasha spoke up.

“um.. could- could i be the one who stays with her until she wakes up?”

they looked at the red head in surprise, “are you sure, nat?” steve asked.

“yeah.. i just want to be here.”

“alright,” they smiled softly at her before leaving.

she held your hand and stayed with you, waiting for you to wake up. it took for a while so she managed to fall asleep, holding your hand.

you slowly started coming back, groaning from the late pain you experienced. natasha jumped in shock and saw that you were awake.

“you’re awake!” she whispered, making you turn to her. “natasha? what’s happening?”

“you passed out during your mission. i know i told you you’d slip and get shot.. but i didn’t actually mean slip and get shot, idiot!” she scolded, flicking your forehead. “gah! it was an accident, i was doing fine,”

“no, you have three holes in your body. and not the good ones,”

“nat??” you replied, shocked. “did you just joke around with me?”

“no..”

“you’re holding my hand.. what did they bribe you with?” you asked, quickly getting suspicious. you tried pulling your hand away, but she only held onto you tighter. “nothing! i.. i volunteered. ask steve and wanda! and clint!” she replied, defending herself quickly.

“well, if you volunteered.. what do you want from me? i’m not gonna be leaving the compound for at least 2 months, so you can have all my missions-”

“no, y/n. truthfully, i just really want to apologize.”

“huh”

“i know i’ve made your first few weeks really hard and even after being here for months, i still managed to.. you know.. make it hard for you. in full honesty, i genuinely don’t know why i’ve been so horrible to you. i had a hard time opening up to people - and.. you were just so welcoming and i got scared. not an excuse for my actions, by the way! i was horrible and i’m so sorry.”

“thank you for your apology, i forgive you, nat.” you smiled, squeezing her hand. “i also.. have feelings for you.” natasha added, avoiding eye-contact with you. “you whAT?!”

“i-”

“i like you too! but are- are you serious?”

“yes, y/n… i like you. guess that’s why i was so defensive about.. literally everything.”

“nat.. thank you. for opening up to me. it genuinely means so much - especially after all this fucking time, you asshole.”

“are we okay now?” she asked, hopeful.

“yes, nat. we’re okay.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x reader #avengers au #marvel #black widow x reader #black widow

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lovely-jily · 3 years ago

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potions and locked closets

hey!! sorry this is such a long fic BUT i just wanted to say that i’m also working on this same fic but from lily’s pov lmk if you’d want that:))) thanks and i love you all so freakin much <3

James tried to steady his breathing. His heart was already beating too quickly for his liking, and he hadn't even seen her yet. He was already surprised that she agreed to be his partner; they both know that it would likely be another hour of pointless bickering but nonetheless. Lily Evans had agreed to partner with James for their weekly project Slughorn had assigned. She finally said yes to something.

"Fine," she had said after he asked her, following it up with, "But I'll undoubtedly need help with Transfiguration this week, so if you swear to help me, then I suppose we can partner."

In all honesty, James wasn't having too much trouble with his Elixer to Induce Euphoria, but he just wanted an excuse for Lily to be with him. And maybe if she saw that he had matured at least a little bit, it would make her start to tolerate him.

If that were even possible.

The dungeons were decently empty, but Lily had intentionally reserved the potions room in advance so no one else would be around. Meaning they would be completely and totally alone.

When he walked into the room, she was fiddling with the size of the fire under the cauldron. She was at the desk she usually sat in, the second row to the left, with her back to him.

"Evening Evans," He said, setting his bag on the table and standing next to her, "I see you've started already."

"Well, I actually want a good score on this," She exhaled through her mouth and flipped through her Potions book, her dainty fingers lingering on the words "Elixer to Induce Euphoria".

"I'm right there with you," he said, rolling up his sleeves. He watched Lily's eyes dart from his arms back to her textbook. From what James could see, she already gathered the ingredients and had them neatly organised in front of them.

"Alright, you can start by skinning these then?" She said, swiftly handing him the Shrivelfigs.

"Got it," he noted the way her eyes darted up to his for a second when she was handing him the Shrivelfigs, their skin touching momentarily. While it was only a second, it was long enough to cause James to hitch his breath in an all too noticeable way.

He started skinning the flower, trying to ignore the way her perfume smelled or the curve of her jaw. She tied her hair up in a low ponytail, pulling out tiny wispy hairs that framed her face. He chastised himself for the dirty thoughts that followed, but, Jesus, he couldn't help his want to do the most unholy things to her when she did that.

She started working on porcupine quills as he attempted to pull himself together.

"I wish we got Amortentia."

James took a sharp inhale, resulting in him coughing on his own spit. She, Lily Evans, the same Lily Evans who insisted she hated every fibre of his being every day since they were twelve, wanted to make a love potion with him- James! James Potter! As in the same James Potter that she would shoot daggers at any excuse, the boy she would scold any second she could, the boy-

"It's just so much more of a challenge compared to this one," she finished.

Right. Of course. That's why Lily wanted to make that potion, no other reason, as much as James wanted there to be.

"At least we didn't get Felix Felicis. That takes a while," He ignored the feeling of his heart sinking and his stomach twisting as he finished up the Shrivelfigs. He should've known that was the reason, but he couldn't help but innocently jump to conclusions with her.

"What did Amortentia smell like for you?" She asked, causing James to start jumping to conclusions again.

How do I answer this honestly without giving away the fact that I smelled her?"

"Fresh bread, rain, and- uh- my mother's shampoo," He mentally kicked himself for bringing up his mother, but it was the quickest thing he could think of on the spot, "What about you?"

She sighed, stirring in the quills, "The ocean, my mum's hot chocolate and a cologne of some kind, but I couldn't place where that one was from."

A pang of jealousy beat along with James's heart as he thought about her smelling another lads cologne. Whoever he was, he was a prick.

She shook her head quickly as she seemed to panic for a moment, hastily saying, "Anyways, I'm sure it doesn't matter."

She fiddled with the ladle, brushing the few hairs out of her face. Her cheeks were bright red.

"You alright there, Evans?" He asked as he turned to look at her. He swallowed what felt like all his dignity and pride but was actually just the extra spit that always was around with Lily.

"Just fine," She cleared her throat and handed him the Sopophorous beans, not looking at him, "Would love it if you could start working on these, though."

"Got it," he mumbled as he started dicing the beans.

"No, Potter," His heart lightened a little at the sound of his name in her voice, even if it was to chastise him, "Those are far too small. They'll dissolve too quickly."

"What do you mean, this is how Slughorn does it-"

"Slughorn always cuts things too small, but he makes up for it by moving a little quicker-"

"Well, that's stupid. What kind of a teacher-"

"James," She looked up at him, sighing, and despite her exhausted expression, his lungs lifted immensely at the sound of his first name. She never used his first name.

"Yes, Evans?"

"Could you perhaps go find more in the Potions closet? I think it'll just make things a lot easier."

"Got it."

The closet was cluttered, full of misplaced ingredients from students whose first priority clearly wasn't organisation. After a solid minute of staring at the mess, he called her in to help him.

"What do you mean 'Can't find them'- I just saw them," she huffed, shoving herself next to him in the tight space. James would be lying if he said he didn't do this on purpose but let the boy live. He would take any excuse to be in close proximity to the girl.

"Not sure how anyone could find anything in here. I feel bad for the poor bloke who has to clean this during detention," He said, hands on his hips as she stood in front of him, green eyes scanning the shelves. The closet door closed behind her, and while they weren't any closer than they were by the desks, it almost felt like she was right on top of him. It was taking his total concentration to not think about shoving her against the door and having a long-awaited snog.

"It'll probably be Sirius," she said, glancing at him, a smirk on her face.

He chuckled as he looked at the messy shelves, suddenly shy from her eye contact, "Probably. Maybe we should leave him a note."

They faced each other, her back towards the door and his towards the shelves of messy ingredients. There was just enough room between them for her to fold her arms against her chest, her smile making James's lungs feel extra airy, "Or we can charm the Wolfsbane to fall off every time he tries to put it away."

James laughed, shaking his head as he looked down at her. Their faces were only inches apart, and his heart was beating so hard he was worried she could feel it.

"You know, for such a stickler for rules, you're quite creative with pranks."

She smirked, "I've learned that you can get away with a lot more if you aren't so obnoxious about it."

James let out a fake, dramatised gasp, "You?! A Prefect breaking rules?"

She just shrugged, a smirk still painted on her face. James took a second to look at her, feeling fortunate that not only was he was in the potions closet with her, but she had chosen to carry a conversation with him. This friendly banter was still a little rare, even though they had been getting a little closer lately. Since the incident at the end of fifth year, roughly nine months ago, James decided to get his act together. Mainly for the sake of Lily, but also the threat of war was becoming more than just rumours, and he knew that a war was no place for an immature bully like himself. He was not a person that he- or really anyone- was proud of, and he wasn't okay with that.

James was about to say something when her eyes lit up at something behind his head.

"There it is!" She said and reached her arm out to grab something just next to his ear.

Under normal circumstances, James would've been disappointed that she found it because it probably meant that his time in a closet with her, the girl he's wanted to shag since he had first laid eyes on her, was now over.

However, when Lily reached forward to grab whatever they were looking for (James had since forgotten. Other things had occupied his mind the past couple of minutes), she had subconsciously pressed her body up against his. In a panic, James put his hands on her waist. They both looked at each other with panicked eyes when they realised what was going on, faces close enough that James felt her heavy exhale as she attempted to catch her breath. Her eyes darted to his lips as he was suddenly aware of how naked they felt without hers on them. He instinctively bit them.

James cleared his throat and politely turned his head away from her, trying to reduce the awkwardness.

"Er-Um-Sorry," He said, taking his hands off her waist and shoving his hands into his pockets. Lily's hand was still grasping the beans behind him, and she was staring at him, seemingly debating something. Feeling shy and awkward as she studied his face, James was staring at her left earlobe, noticing the freckle resting next to her small pearl earring.

"Don't worry about it," She mindlessly whispered, still looking intently at him. She seemed to be deep in thought and was not thinking about the words she was saying.

James was just surprised she wasn't showing any signs of being uncomfortable. He would've guessed that she would be yelling at him by now.

"So-uh- I guess we should get-" James cleared his throat as he reached for the door handle behind her. He was nervous under Lily's stare and was having a hard time keeping composure. He wasn't sure what she was thinking, and that honestly bothered him more than if she was yelling at him. At least he knew how she felt then, but he was entirely in the dark right now, "We should get going. The potion's probably been simmering for too long."

Lily blinked and shook her head as if leaving a deep trance. Suddenly embarrassed and blushing, she nodded her head and cleared her throat.

"Right," She said as James tried the door handle.

It didn't move.

He tried it again.

Nothing.

"Well, shit," James said, trying to jiggle the door handle again with both hands despite knowing it wouldn't work. She probably thought he did this on purpose (Which wouldn't be a terribly bad idea if James wasn't so afraid of her), "It's locked."

Lily's eyes widened in a panic, and she promptly turned around, trying the door handle for herself. When it inevitably didn't work, she turned back around and sighed as she leaned against the door, looking up. She groaned and brushed the hair out of her face.

"I forgot that Slughorn keeps it locked," She said, still huffing, "Normally, it doesn't matter because he just keeps it open, but..."

James felt his pockets for his wand and remembered he left it on the desk, "You haven't got your wand, do you?"

Lily looked down as she felt her own pockets, looking back up as she shook her head.

It was then, at the sight of a dishevelled Lily Evans, that James realised that he was locked in a closet with her, and he had a hard time remembering why this was such a bad thing. He tried to shove out the thoughts that entered at the way she looked dishevelled and breathing heavily. The things he would do to be the one making her look like that...

"Sorry, Evans. I feel partially responsible for this predicament," He shook his head, trying to regain self-control. What was he thinking? This was Lily Evans he was thinking about. The girl who never failed to let him know just how much she wanted to strangle him at any given moment.

She said nothing, instead resumed studying his face. He sheepishly messed up his hair, unsure what to do with his body under her gaze.

"Oh, Christ, James," She said in annoyance, biting her lip softly.

"What did I do? I didn't know about the lock!" James said defensively, finding it odd that she was just now getting mad at him.

She rolled her eyes and just looked at him.

"Fuck it," She said, and before James could form a confused expression, her hands were pulling his neck forward, and her lips were being slammed against his.

"What the fuck?" James said, shock widening his eyes as he pulled away slightly. He clearly was baffled beyond logical thinking and reason because Lily would be shoved up against the door if he were thinking clearly. There was no way that Lily Evans, the same Lily Evans that swore she wouldn't ever go out with him not even nine months ago, had just kissed him. Passionately, at that.

"Are you complaining?" She asked, a soft smirk resting on the lips that James was just kissing.

"What-No? Of course not, I just-"

"Then shut up," She whispered, feeling her way from his neck to his tie, which she pulled him forward with so their faces were close again, "And give me a good snog."

"Yes, ma'am," James smirked and tilted his head, pushing her against the door and kissing her firmly without a second thought.

#jily #jily fic #james and lily #james potter and lily evans #james potter supremacy #james and lily potter #lily and james #lily evans and james potter

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jaehyunfirstlove · 3 years ago

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Pairing: idol!jaehyun x idol!f. reader

Special appearances: members of Itzy, members of 127

Genre: smut (18+ only)

Warnings: angry sex (jaehyun is a bit of an ass, sorry), unprotected sex, rough sex, oral sex (f. receiving), multiple positions, overstimulation, spanking, choking

Word count: 3k

Taglist: @jaehyunnie77 @mrg-jjh @keeach @the-universe-in-you-jjh @nootnoot-yoonoh @winniet @jaejoongiewifey-blog @iknowyuno @10chitaphrr @tamakikaname @ellethereal00 @michplusb (send me a message/ask if you want to be tagged in future fics)

A/N: this was a request sent by a lovely anon, i’m so sorry that i got carried away with this lol (and i hope it was what you wanted! apologies to members of itzy :)

“Jaehyun, could you take a picture of us?”

You handed your phone to him, smiling sweetly as you took up position with your members in front of the heritage building. Both of your groups were on tour together, which you were elated about because you and Jaehyun were secretly dating, only that Jaehyun insisted on pretending to be mortal enemies whenever a camera was around. It was a good ploy, he had explained to you, it would throw people off and make them think that you hated each other.

Except that sometimes it worked too well.

He took your phone from you, smirking the entire time, an evil glint in his eye. You knew that look, but you could only smile woodenly as cameras were filming all around you. He took a few steps back, raised your phone up, and you and your members posed as you waited for him to take a picture.

“Smile!” he said, clicking away, but you noticed that two of his members had joined him, standing beside him and making funny faces. When he was done he showed the phone to them and they all laughed hysterically, before walking away to join the rest of the group. Jaehyun handed your phone back to you, a wide grin on his face, a camera trailing him.

“Hope you like them,” he shrugged, “they’re not my best work.”

You took your phone from him, scrolling through the pictures, your members crowding around you to see.

“Hey, those aren’t of us!” Lia pouted, as you scrolled through picture after picture of Jaehyun, Mark, and Winwin. He’d obviously taken selfies while pretending to take pictures of you and your members. You looked up at Jaehyun, his eyes practically dancing with mischief.

“Jaehyun,” you sighed exasperatedly, and it wasn’t for show. “I asked you to take pictures of us.”

“Come on, Y/N,” he jabbed you lightly in the shoulder, “it was just a joke.”

“Well it’s not funny! I wanted pictures with my friends!” you fought to keep your tone level, keenly aware of the staff holding up cameras to your faces.

“What’s the big deal, it’s just a picture,” he said lazily, “I’m sure you have a billion pictures of yourselves.”

“That’s not the point!” you shot back, and you could feel Yeji tugging at your arm. “I wanted a picture in front of this building!”

“Fine! Give me your phone back and I’ll take it!” he yelled back.

“I don’t trust you anymore! You’ll probably take more selfies of your pompous ass!”

Ryujin suddenly jumped in front of the cameras. “Okay, cut!” she yelled, waving her hands in front of the cameras nervously. The staff just chuckled, and as they walked away you could hear them saying the footage was perfect. Jaehyun smiled.

“Good job,” he leaned in and whispered to you, before he walked away to find his members.

You were left seething, your anger very real. Yeji patted you on the shoulder.

“Don’t let him get to you,” she said soothingly, “he’s obviously doing it to rile you up, and it’s working. Either that, or he has a crush on you.”

She winked at you and walked away, and suddenly you had a pang of guilt that you were keeping your relationship a secret from her. Lia was the only one who knew, as your roommate she had to keep your secrets.

“That worked well,” she said, coming up to you and putting an arm around your shoulder.

“Too well,” you grumbled.

---

“And this is where we get ready for the concert.”

You were filming with a staff member, showing them around the concert hall backstage. As you walked by a doorway, you saw Jaehyun standing in the room, talking to another member. But as soon as he noticed you, a camera trailing behind you, he suddenly grabbed a towel that was draped over a nearby chair and pulled it in front of him.

“What are you doing, Y/N?!” he feigned shock, “some of us aren’t decent!”

You panicked for a second, but you saw that he was fully clothed behind the towel. “Very funny, Jaehyun.” You rolled your eyes at him.

He just snickered, and you were about to walk away but the staff member lingered in the doorway, pointing the camera at Jaehyun, hinting to you to continue your conversation. You sighed and entered the room.

“So are you ready for the concert tonight?” you asked Jaehyun, putting on your best interviewer voice.

“I’m always ready, Y/N,” he said with ease, smiling sweetly at the camera so that his dimples came out. “How about you, hm? I heard an awful lot of noise coming from your hotel rooms last night, hope you weren’t up too late partying.” He furrowed his brows at you, feigning concern.

You felt the blood rising to your face. “We were not partying.” Again you tried to control your tone, remembering Yeji’s words, but he was really pushing your buttons.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” he said, putting a finger to his lips and winking at the camera.

“Jaehyun, I told you, we were not partying!” you knew you were raising your voice, but you really couldn’t help it. Behind the camera, you saw the staff member smiling.

“Whatever you were doing, I just hope it doesn’t compromise your performance, that’s all.” He shrugged, putting his in-ears in and adjusting his mic, as the staff signaled for his group to head up to the stage.

You wanted to scream but he just walked by you, saying some last words to the camera before he headed up to the stage.

---

You hadn’t had a lot of time to spend together as you had wanted, most of your time spent in practice and preparation for the concerts. Your free time never seemed to match up with his, and whenever you could see him there always seemed to be cameras around filming everything. It made you annoyed and frustrated, and by the time the tour was winding down your mood was downright foul.

It was the last night of the tour and you were in your room resting, when Lia burst in.

“I just saw Jaehyun downstairs in the cafe, and he was alone!” she pulled you by the arm, and you barely had a moment to put your shoes on. “Go!” she yelled, pushing you out the door.

You made your way down to the cafe, excited that you would be able to have some alone time with him, but then you wondered why he hadn’t told you he had some free time, so you could spend it together. You figured he must’ve had a good reason, and just shrugged it off. When you caught sight of him, sitting alone in a corner of the cafe, your heart did a flip. Excitedly you ran up to him and slipped into the seat opposite him. He looked up in surprise.

“Y/N?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” you scolded him playfully, reaching to grab a piece of the croissant on his plate. He slapped your hand away.

“Because then you’d steal my food like that!” He looked at you with a stern face, and you thought he was joking, but his face didn’t change.

You rubbed your hand where he’d slapped it. “Jaehyun?”

“I didn’t invite you here, Y/N, don’t you have some partying to do or something?”

You were blindsided. Tears sprang to your eyes, your face feeling hot. “What- what are you talking about?”

He suddenly started motioning with eyes, looking to his right side repeatedly, and when you finally got the hint you looked over. There was a staff member at the next table, a camera pointed at the two of you. You had completely missed them when you first walked into the room.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” You slammed your hands down on the table. Jaehyun’s eyes widened, looking at the staff member out of the corner of his eye. You didn’t care, you’d had it.

“You can’t keep acting like a shithead just because there are cameras around!”

He looked affronted. “Me? Are you calling me a shithead?”

“You’re rude, and you’re mean, and you’re full of yourself!”

“Oh yeah? Well you’re a goddamn princess, and you need to learn how to take a joke!”

“I can take a joke, if it’s funny! And you’re not funny!”

“Well you’re not as hot as you think you are!”

You suddenly stood, your face burning up. “Why you-”

Jaehyun stood up too, signaling to the staff member to cut the camera. He grabbed you by the arm and dragged you out of the cafe. “Come with me.”

---

The ride up the elevator was silent, Jaehyun never letting go of your arm. You were still seething, and once you got to your floor you tried to wrench your arm out of his grasp, but he held fast.

“Stop fighting,” he snarled, gripping your arm harder. You winced at the tightness of his grip, but could barely do anything about it with the way he was pulling you along.

“Let go of me!” you seethed, but you could barely catch your breath keeping up with his long strides. He didn’t answer you, just swiped his card to open the door to his room, dragging you in. Once the door closed behind you, you finally succeeded in pulling your arm free, giving him a hard shove.

“How dare you!” you started, your voice dripping with anger, “I’ve had it with you embarrassing me in front of the cameras!”

He towered over you, getting in your face, his eyes hard. “You need to get a sense of humor, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that!” you were furious, unable to think straight, “Don’t ever call me that again!”

“Or what?” he suddenly got closer, his nose almost touching yours, the faint scent of coffee on his breath. His body was almost right against yours so you involuntarily took a step back, right into the wall. He had you trapped, his arms coming up to cage you in. “What are you going to do about it?”

You wanted to shove him, kick him in the groin, run out of there, but instead you fisted your hands in his shirt and crashed your lips against his.

He kissed you hard, his lips unrelenting, your tongues and teeth clashing. You kissed him just as hard, channeling all of your anger and making him feel it. You pulled and grabbed at his shirt, and he pressed his body harder against you, shoving his knee between your legs.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he said, breaking the kiss to suck harshly on your neck.

“Fuck you,” was all you were able to get out, because he was rubbing his knee against your core, your panties getting wetter the more he moved.

“You’d fucking like that, wouldn’t you,” he growled, his hands going to your hips, fingers digging in.

“You wish,” you responded sarcastically, tugging at his shirt to get him to take it off. Once he pulled it off you rubbed your hands all over his chest and abs, but he suddenly grabbed your wrists, pinning your arms to the wall.

“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head at you, “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You need to take your punishment.” He leaned forward to kiss you but you turned your head, anger bubbling up inside of you at the pet name. He just attacked your neck instead, sucking so hard on your skin it took your breath away, and you were instantly glad you didn’t have any more concerts because the make-up artists would have had a hell of a time trying to cover up the marks he was giving you.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” you said, trying not to moan but he’d gone back to rubbing your crotch with his knee. You bit your lip as he kept at it, but then he suddenly picked you up and carried you to the bed, dropping you on it before he stepped back and started taking off his pants.

“Take off your clothes,” his voice was low, commanding, leaving no room for debate. You decided not to make it easy for him.

“Fuck you.”

His eyes narrowed, his upper lip twitching. You smiled, but it was the wrong thing to do. Suddenly he was on top of you, his full weight pushing you down onto the bed. His hands seemed to be everywhere, under your shirt, over your bra, down your pants. The rough way he was handling you was so arousing that your breath was coming in short gasps, heat rising through your body.

“We can do this the hard way, or the easy way,” he growled, leaving a trail of marks down your chest as he rubbed a nipple over the fabric of your bra. You were panting so hard you could barely breathe, but you knew exactly how you wanted this to go.

“Hard.”

He barely reacted to your answer, but you thought you could see a hint of a smirk on his face. He paused only briefly, catching your eye as if to say you could still stop this if you wanted to, but you didn’t move, just stared him down. In a flurry your clothes were practically being ripped off your body, and when he got to your panties, he actually did rip them, taking a hold of them and tearing them at the seam. When you were finally naked on the bed he pushed your knees apart and settled his face between your legs.

You couldn’t help but cry out, because he didn’t start off gentle, not that you were expecting him to. You were expecting him to be rough, but you got a lot more than you bargained for. He’d never eaten you out like this, like a crazed man, his tongue harsh against your folds, sucking and licking until you were a thrashing mess. You tugged at his hair but he still wouldn’t let up, adding his fingers and ramming them deep inside you while sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Oh god, oh Jae,” you moaned, delirious with arousal, your body tensing as your orgasm hit. He didn’t stop, overstimulating you until tears pricked your eyes and your knees wanted to close around him.

“Jae,” you whined, “fuck…” you didn’t know whether to beg him to stop or keep going, your fingers still entangled in his hair. Finally he pulled back, lips flushed, chin shiny with your juices. His eyes were hooded, hair mussed, and he was so unbelievably sexy in that moment you would’ve let him do anything he wanted with you. Yet you still didn’t want to make it easy for him.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” he asked, a smirk forming on his lips.

“I’ve had better,” you replied in a bored tone. It was a lie, but it produced the desired effect. The look on his face darkened and he leaned over you menacingly.

“On your hands and knees.”

When you didn’t comply, just stared at him defiantly, he flipped you over onto your stomach, pulling your ass up until you were on your hands and knees. He entered you without warning, but you were already so wet that he slid in easily. You whimpered at the stretch, your body still getting used to his size.

“I know you like this, sweetheart,” he leaned forward to whisper in your ear, “I can hear it in your voice.”

Indeed you hadn’t stopped moaning since he’d started pounding into you, this position one of your favorites since he could hit so much deeper in it.

“Fuck…. you….” you could barely breathe, only managing to get out the words between his harsh thrusts.

Suddenly his hand landed on your ass with a resounding smack, and the impact of it went straight to your core, making your pussy clench.

“Hmm, you like that too I see,” he commented, and you could hear the astonished delight in his voice.

“Not at all,” you replied, fighting for a nonchalant tone, which was almost impossible with the way he was drilling his cock so deep and so hard into you. Another slap landed on your ass, followed by another, and another, and soon you were moaning so loud he had to stop for fear of getting a noise complaint.

“You’re a really bad liar, sweetheart,” he said, and you could hear the sly grin in his tone.

“I told you to stop calling me that!” you panted, but suddenly he grabbed your arms and pulled you up to him. Impossibly he quickened his pace, slamming into you so hard the room was filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping on skin.

“Don’t fucking test me,” he growled into your ear, and then he slid one hand up to your throat, the other one down to your clit.

You came with a scream stuck in your throat, as he constricted his hand around your neck, his fingers rubbing furiously at your clit. He fucked you through your orgasm, letting you go so that your upper body flopped back onto the bed. He pulled out, flipping you onto your back and throwing your legs over his shoulders as he entered you again. You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying out, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, seeing as he already had a smug look on his face. All you wanted was to wipe that self-satisfied look off his face so you pulled him down and kissed him, sticking your tongue down his throat until he was moaning into your mouth.

He came with a deep, guttural groan, the sound of it reverberating through you, triggering your own orgasm as he thrust deeply inside you one last time before his hips finally stilled. His lips never left yours, but the kiss softened, turned less heated, more tender, until he finally pulled away. He rested his forehead against yours, as you trailed your fingers up and down his back.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said, running his finger along your jaw.

“Fuck you,” you said, smiling.

The corners of his lips tugged up into a smile. “Watch it, sweetheart.”

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